Page 8 of Revenge Honeymoon

The two women navigated their way to the front of the line behind the velvet rope to reach Martina of clipboard fame.

“Ruby Evers and Emily Small,” Ruby said. “We have a five o’clock appointment.”

Martina greeted them with a tired smile. “We’re running a little bit behind, so I hope you can bear with us. Our photographer is new and isn’t used to how we do things.” She checked them off the list and handed them a yellow number slip. “If you could stand at the end of this line, we’ll call your number when it’s your turn.”

“Of course.” Ruby followed the line that had formed behind the velvet rope. She giggled. “Look at our number, Em.” She waved the slip of paper in front of Emily’s nose. “Sixty-nine.”

Emily snatched the paper out of her friend’s hand. “We don’t need to make a big deal out of it. What is this? Seventh grade?”

Ruby raised her perfectly microbladed eyebrows. “I always wondered what it was like to go to public school. Looks like I missed an experience.”

The ex-maid-of-honor snorted. “Yeah, it was anexperienceall right.”

At this closer vantage point, Emily briefly tilted her body around Martina to get a look at Max the Photographer.

“Shit.” A deep male voice carried across the crowded room. “These lights are shit.”

Maxwell Keeling stepped into view. His gorgeous features locked into a frown, a sheen of sweat on his perfect brow.

Emily’s stomach rolled. He was better looking than she’d allowed herself to remember.

“As I said,” Martina intimated, “he’s not used to how we do things.” She widened her kohl-rimmed eyes and busied herself with her clipboard.

“Come on, Em.” Ruby waved at her from the end of the line, her gorgeous smile lighting up the room. “Over here.”

Emily gave up her perfect viewing spot for a place at the back. Her only solace was the fact eventually she would be in the presence of Max, and she could drink him in for as long as their photo session lasted. As she contemplated that thought, she had an idea. She felt guilty for thinking it, but let her mind work on the possibility anyway. Perhaps it was a flaw she’d been born with. A bad connection in her brain, which usually made her expect the best, even though her life as of late had been a series of worsts.

The cruise became a fishbowl from which neither she nor Max the Gorgeous could escape. With happily marrieds surrounding them, Emily could attract Max’s full attention and convince him over the ten-day trip that she was the perfect woman for him. She’d be witty and sparkling. She’d outshine Ruby with amazing outfits she bought at the ship store. She’d comfort him over the loss of some woman who’d stood him up and who clearly wasn’t worthy of his fantastic, beautiful, sexy self.

“Em, hello?” Ruby snapped her fingers in front of Emily’s eyes. “Are you in there?”

Emily blinked. They now stood behind one other couple and had almost reached the velvet rope.

“We need to plan our shots. This is going to be hilarious.”

Right. Their plan. Their stupid, idiotic and possibly very juvenile and tacky plan. The plan that would likely mean Emily’s dream of wrapping up her cruise in a most romantic sort of fashion would have to wait. Or, actually, never ever ever have a chance of coming to fruition with what they were about to attempt.

Emily half-heartedly smiled. “Yes, our hilarious plan.”

Ruby’s eyes lit up. “Okay, I will be the girly one and you’re going to be the groom.” She scanned Emily in her ill-fitting dress. “Hm, maybe you should’ve worn pants like you said.”

Emily’s face heated. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” At that minute, her super supportive, very positive, very lovely friend made her feel as ugly in the dress as she’d suspected. And she knew that wasn’t Ruby’s intent. Heaven knew her best friend of almost her whole entire life had never put down her looks, her body, her less-than-perfect anything. But it still stung.

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant at all, hon.” The jilted bride enveloped the ex-bridesmaid in a tight hug. “That dress is ninety-nine percent gorgeous on you. Really. I wish I had all those curves.”

“Uh-huh.” Emily knew. ‘Curves’ was skinny-speak for flab. She tugged the hem self-consciously.

She heard a rip.

She and Ruby exchanged horrified glances.

A draft of cool air drifted up her backside. She turned so her friend could assess the damage. “Oh, God, is it bad?”

“Sixty-nine? Number sixty-nine?” The woman with the clipboard grinned widely. “You’re next.”

Chapter3

Jealousy is Not a Good Look

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