Page 155 of Champagne Fizz

“If you haven’t forgotten,boyfriend,” Kendall emphasizes the word to poke at me. “There’s actually a wedding still going on. I need to change out of this dress and make sure the first dance is on time.”

“You take that dress off and we’re not leaving this room,” I warn.

“Then be a gentleman and leave first,” Kendall replies. “This dress is for your eyes only.”

“Is that dress going to act like a sexy code word?” I ask. “You put the dress on as a signal to let me know you’re feeling horny?”

“Right,” Kendall says dryly, leveling me with a look, “because I don’t have a condition that causes me to be aroused by five-hundred random things a day.”

“Five-hundred random things a day?” I say with a wicked smile. “You better keep that dress on full time, and maybe get some knee-pads, cause that’s going to be a lot of blow jobs.”

“Oh my gosh!” Kendal squirms. “I need to go back to the wedding.”

“Okay, but make me a promise first,” I say, releasing my grip a little.

“Maybe,” she says, not committing to the promise without hearing my request.

“Promise me you’ll wear this dress when you feel like you’re actually ready.”

“Ready for—?” But then her eyes darken and she understands. “Oh …”

Her cheeks flush red again.

“That could be this evening,” I tease. “Or—” I say quickly, “that could be in a year. Whenyoufeel like it’s time.” I run my finger under the strap of the dress and pretend to pull it off her shoulder. “Seriously, this is up to you.”

“I kind of like that idea,” she admits, looking down at the dress.

“Good,” I kiss her softly and she melts into my embrace. “Because I can’t wait to see you in it again too.”

44

KENDALL

Olivia and Ned’s first dance went off without a hitch. The flaming champagne toast didn’t erupt into a fireball of wedding mayhem. Connor and Mason gave a speech that was completely inappropriate, but surprisingly heartfelt. And it turns out all of Mason’s penis jokes have turned Olivia’s grandmother into his biggest fan. The dinner courses have been on time and presented spectacularly with smoke baths, and sparklers, and blue fire. Heck, even Veronica West would be jealous of the pyrotechnics Flambé dares to put on a plate. Not that I need to compare myself to her. This wedding is a success! And Ned and Olivia are beside themselves, staring at one another like they’re at the center of the perfect happy ending. And I helped make that happen.

I love my job!

The cherry on top is I haven’t had to see Arie during the entire reception. She’s been around, of course, I’ve heard other people talking about her. But she’s deliberately stayed out of my path all night. It’s surprising to imagine giving her any grace, but when it comes down to the actual wedding, she did her job, and she let this be Ned and Olivia’s evening. I have to admit, that’s classy.

And the professional thing would be to tell her as much.

I search through the crowd. Guests are dancing. Ned and Olivia are out on the patio laughing. The photographer is taking too many photos of Desmond. Connor’s behind the bar, juggling wine bottles half drunk, and Simon’s chatting up Mrs. Voss in an attempt to keep her from scolding her youngest son. But Arie, I don’t see her. She must be in the kitchen.

I walk through the stainless steel doors to find Arie standing in front of a leaning tower of dishes stacked in the sink. She’s scraping food off the plates as her sister Esme fills up the power washer next to them. They’re deep in conversation as they work, looking like princesses decked out in fancy dresses and elaborate hair-dos. It’s very Cinderella, cleaning up after the ball, only they drop far more expletives than Disney would allow.

“Shouldn’t the two of you be out partying with the other guests?” I ask, motioning to the reception as I walk up. Arie’s eyes darken and her lips purse when she sees I’m heading in her direction.

“Oh, we just needed to get away for a little sister chat,” Esme says, smiling politely. “We’ll be back out in a minute.”

“My staff has been working non-stop,” Arie butts in, scraping a half-eaten molten cake into the garbage disposal. “And minions are only loyal when they see their leader is also willing to scrub the floors and clean the slop just like them.”

I nod; that’s most likely true. “It probably helps to avoid calling them minions, too,” I add.

“It’s an endearing term,” Arie clips out, gripping the fork in her hand like she might use it as a weapon.

“Right,” I say, realizing I shouldn’t press my luck. “So, I came back here to say thank you.”

Arie’s eyes go razor thin, and I catch Esme put a hand on her sister’s arm like she needs to keep her from lunging.

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