9
Ivy
“Another day, another wedding,” I told Fergus the next morning. I was trying to psych myself up for my meeting with Imogen. She’d been texting me all night about the dress, about how she was worried that the signature cocktails weren’t going to be any good, and how the flowers had to be better than the ones at her friend Serena’s wedding. I had tried to be as reassuring as possible, but I was still seething about Evan. It felt like a slap in the face, him sending the lasagna. Like, “Oh no, I won’t pay you the money you’re owed, or even ask someone else to pay the invoice. Instead I’m going to gift you all this lasagna even when I know good and well you have nowhere to store it.”
I angrily heated up a piece of it and ate it for breakfast. I needed the cheese and carbs to take the edge off. Imogen had taken a brief break from texting at around two in the morning then started back up again at five.
I gave Fergus the lasagna plate to lick. You weren’t supposed to feed cats lasagna, but that was probably nice, well-bred indoor cats, not cats that had lived outside for years, were half-feral, and ate garbage. Besides, the only time the Maine Coon let me pet him was when he was occupied with food.
After gingerly running my fingers through the fat cat’s fur, I steeled myself for my first bridal appointment of the day.
“Today is going to be a good day,” I assured myself as I wrapped my scarf around my neck. “Any day is a good day if you don’t have to deal with Evan Harrington.”
I arrived at Imogen’s luxury condo ten minutes early.
“There you are,” she barked when her half sister Mika opened the door.
I had been to Imogen’s condo before, and I always had serious envy. The biggest positive was you couldn’t see the bed from the kitchen. Beyond that, it was a beautiful space—floor-to-ceiling windows, a large chef’s kitchen that had never been used, a floating curved staircase up to the second floor, and a long reclaimed-wood dining table.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she told me dramatically. On the table before her were headshots of her bridesmaids. Several girls who had originally been in the wedding party were conspicuously missing.
“Can you believe Kaitlyn?” Imogen huffed. “What kind of sorority sister gets pregnant when she knows her friend is getting married. Honestly.”
I counted the headshots. There were only four women left in the bridal party, down from eight.
“This will be a small, intimate group. There’s still enough for pictures,” I assured her.
Imogen bared her teeth at me. “I can’t only have four bridesmaids. Serena had seven bridesmaids in her party. Now I look like I don’t have any friends.” She crossed her arms and pouted.
“Maybe you have some cousins or coworkers?” I suggested.
“I already have Mika,” Imogen said in disgust, pointing to her half sister, who was bringing a platter of snacks and drinks to the table.
“Take those away, Mika. You’re trying to make me as big as you are. I have to look like a model on my wedding day. Speaking of—Ivy, did you get my messages about the dress? I cannot have my dress look dirty. The off-white dress is going to look like I’m a D-list celebrity on the red carpet, not a bride on the most important day of her life.”
“You did like the fabric when you originally picked the dress,” I gently reminded her.
“Yes, but I don’t think I like it now.”
“Sometimes brides are concerned when they’ve been away from the dress for a while,” I told her. “But once they see the dress, they fall in love with it all over again!”
“Except I’m not like other brides,” Imogen insisted.
I can think of a certain bridezilla you remind me of.
“Mika, are you ready to start the meeting?” Imogen asked her half sister.
Mika had just shoved a mini quiche into her mouth. She chewed, nodding. The mini quiches smelled buttery, cheesy, and delicious, and I wanted to eat five of them. Imogen was stressing me out. I took out my notepad.
“Does this mean Mika is taking over the maid-of-honor duties?” I asked delicately. “Since Kaitlyn is no longer going to be participating?”
“Ugh, no! Mika doesn’t look like a maid of honor. She’s the matron of honor,” Imogen retorted.
Mika swallowed. “We have a man of honor.”
No.
“Sorry I’m late,” a familiar deep voice called out from the foyer. Then Evan Harrington sauntered into the room. He saw me, and a slow smile spread across his face as he removed his sunglasses.
I clenched my jaw. I was not going to give that man the satisfaction of seeing me flustered.
“Are you sure you want a man in your wedding party?” I asked Imogen. “It’s rather nontraditional.”
She threw up her hands. “This wedding is already a disaster! But I simply must have a large wedding party, and I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
Evan pulled out a chair right across from me and sat in it. Actually, it was more like he posed in it.
“It will be nice, Immie!” Mika cajoled. “Weddings are about family. Evan’s your brother.”
“And Evan is paying for this shindig, since Dad is a piece of shit,” Evan added, still giving me that sexy, come-hither look that I was totally capable of ignoring.
“I will not have this conversation with you again, Evan,” Imogen warned her half brother. “I’m the bride, it’s my special day, and I want Dad to walk me down the aisle. Don’t you agree, Ivy?”
I was too busy glaring at Evan to register that Imogen had asked me a question.
How dare he show up here?
“Ivy?” Evan prompted with a smirk.
“You could always walk yourself down the aisle,” I suggested. “Several of my brides are doing that.”
“Brides whose fathers don’t love them, maybe,” Imogen sneered.
“He’s not even paying for your wedding,” Evan retorted. “So I’m not sure how much he really loves you!”
I muttered something about needing to use the restroom and left the siblings to squabble. In the powder room with its imported wallpaper and handmade brass faucet, I leaned against the marble sink.
Ivy: Help! Evan is here!
Grace: At your apartment?
Amy: You didn’t invite him did you?
Ivy: No, he’s here with Imogen. He’s in the wedding party. He’s the man of honor.
Brea: How progressive. Maybe you can use your feminine wiles to convince him to tell Imogen to NOT BLEACH THIS WEDDING DRESS!!!!
I took a few deep breaths to try and steel myself before returning to the viper’s nest.
You’re a professional. You can handle a good-looking ex-groom. I was still so furious at him though! Weddings were my happy place, bridezillas notwithstanding, and now I had to deal with Evan and his cockiness and male entitlement imposing themselves on this beautiful wedding.
Calm and professional, I pep-talked myself as I opened the bathroom door.
“Ivy.”
Evan clapped a hand over my mouth before I could scream. I swiped at him. He grabbed my wrist.