“That’s amazing. Who could eat, though? I’m just so excited to see everyone!” She’s beaming and fanning her face with excitement. That giant rock on her finger hardly looks real. She sent me about fifty pictures of it yesterday, and I assumed the camera angle was exaggerating things.
But, nope. Rosie’s marbles are smaller than that thing.
She puts her hands on my chest, and the sparkle almost blinds me. “Mark, one of the reasons I was so happy for Asher to plan this party tonight is . . .” She stops, her smile growing bigger, like it’s about to unleash a secret she’s been holding in all evening. “Ever since we were kids, I always knew I would want to do this.”
Ah, I sense a moment coming.
Hannah isn’t dramatic, per se. But she does like to do things up. Why go hiking when you can go bungee jumping? Why go to a wine tasting when you can do mustard canning? Proof of her get-out-and-go-for-it approach is that she met Flip at a candle-making class in Brooklyn that she signed up for at the last minute, and that’s why you just need to try new things, since life is full of moments, and you need to be ready to receive them. Her words.
I’m not a moments guy. But I love my sister, and I owe her, so I go along with it. “And what is this exactly, Hannah Banana?”
Her eyes twinkle brighter than her diamond. “I’ve always imagined when I got married . . . that you’d be my best man.” She practically squeals the request.
And whoa.
That’s definitely a moment.
I didn’t think I’d be part of her wedding party, being a guy and all. I figured Yasmin would be her maid of honor. Bet she is, and I’ll be standing with Hannah’s college bestie.
“How many attendants are you having, exactly?”
“Just you.”
That’s all she says. But the way she says just you conveys the meaning. This matters to my sister. We’re twelve months apart in age. We’re good friends and always have been. We rely on each other.
I clear my throat, square my shoulders, and treat the request with the gravitas it deserves. “Yes, of course. I’d be honored.”
I pull her in for a hug, trying to wrap my head around how I went from the worst brother to the best man in twenty-four hours, but hey, it’s one of life’s moments. As she squeezes me, Asher sails behind her, moving next to Flip. My skin prickles. He’s everywhere, and I can’t get away from him.
When Hannah and I break the embrace, she locks eyes with Flip, then gives the quickest of nods. Like she’s giving him permission.
They’ve definitely got something planned.
Flip pivots, claps a hand on his wingman’s shoulder. “Asher, we’ve been best buds since our first year at Lyceum du Lucerne when we had the brilliant idea to try out for the ski team and I broke my leg instead of making the cut. But you carried my tray in the caf for eight weeks. You’re my guy. You’ve been there for me through everything. It’d be an honor if you’d be my best man.”
I groan inside. No fucking way.
I bet it’s not easy to surprise Asher St. James, but judging from the size of his hazel eyes⏤wide AF⏤Flip just did it.
And for the first time all night, I’ve got a sinking sense that Asher and I are feeling the same damn thing.
I don’t want to be “the best men” with that guy.
But it’ll be fine. It’ll all be fine. What’s the big deal anyway? Asher was always going to be at the wedding. Who cares that we’re the best men? It’s not like we have to pick balloons and boutonnieres together.
Probably all we’ll have to do is stand opposite each other at the wedding. And right now, since Yasmin waves a hand high above her head. “This calls for a pic!”
She ushers the four of us together, and thank fuck she has the good sense to put the bride and groom in the center as she snaps a few shots of the wedding party.
When Yasmin lowers her phone, Hannah grabs my arm, and thrusts me next to Asher.
“Let’s get a pic of the best men, too,” my sister says.
Where is an escape hatch when you need one?
The answer is⏤nowhere close enough, especially since Asher throws an arm around my shoulders, and that is not fair.
Arms on shoulders are not supposed to send my mind spinning with thoughts.
My jaw clenches.
“Say cheese, Mark. You’re not getting a root canal. You’re going to a wedding,” Yasmin instructs.
“And I promise I don’t bite,” Asher says, in a volume just for me.
Biting.
That’s not helping.
I manage a sliver of a smile.
I probably look like I’m posing for my office headshot. Sidenote: I hate my office headshot. I also hate the existence of office headshots.
Ten endless seconds later, Yasmin is done. “I’ll send them to you, Hannah, and you can send them to the guys.”
There’s no need for that, but I keep my mouth shut on that front. Asher lets go, then says, “It wasn’t too painful,” then he heads off, probably to charm more guests.
And I suppose it wasn’t that bad.
And being the best men together won’t be either.
How long does wedding stuff take? Two days? Then I’ll be free of the object of all this weird, misplaced lust.
I move away from the center of the party, when Hannah grabs my arm, Flip beside her. “Just one more thing,” she says.
I turn around. “Sure.”
“The wedding is going to be a small one, and I’m already asking our friends to drop everything to come to it next month. So . . . remember that favor I said I needed?” she asks, rocking back on her heels.
Flip puts a protective hand on her waist. And I try not to hold it against him.
“Of course, Hannah,” I say. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s about the wedding. We’re going to be pulling this off at warp speed, right in the middle of your MTA next month.”
“Right, I do appreciate that.” MTA, or mandatory time away, is a requirement for all securities traders who run more than a billion dollars of risk for the bank. For two weeks, you’re not allowed to step foot in the building, so your books can be marked to market by someone else.
It’s meant to root out fraud. But it’s really just the best scam ever. Two weeks of paid freedom. If I ever meet the genius who devised MTA, I’m probably going to kiss him, because MTA is extra hot.
“We’re going to do a glam little destination wedding in Miami,” she says. “It was Asher’s idea, actually.”
Of course it was his idea.
“But some of us don’t have Wall Street jobs with MTA.” She rolls her eyes playfully. “And I want to use my vacation days for my honeymoon. So I was hoping you would fly down there a few days early and check out all our vendors. The caterer, the DJ. That kind of thing.”
“Sure?” I rub the back of my neck, trying to picture how this would all work, since I’m not, well, a wedding planner. “I’m not that familiar with Miami, though.”
“You won’t have to be,” Flip says. “Asher will be there to help you.”
Wait. Did he just say what I think he said? “Asher and me?” I choke out, hoping I got it wrong.
But Flip nods. “Yup.”