How to Ruin a Wedding(76)

“This is a vineyard,” I interrupt them all, standing up. “Shall I grab us drinks?”

“Sure,” Bethany agrees. “Get us the house wine.”

“I’ll help with the cups.” Anders starts to get up.

I press my hands on his shoulders and shove him down. “John,” I say, “let’s let them continue their conversation. Come help me.”

There’s no weapon in my hand, but John looks as if I’m pointing a gun his way. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Valerie’s eyes widen, and I give her a slight head shake. Of course I’m not mentioning what happened with the scammer. For a plethora of reasons. Also, thinking of even having a million dollars makes my head spin, let alone losing it.

He follows me at a slower pace than necessary as we make our way inside to the curved bar overlooking the hefty guest list. I order the house wine and a Shirley Temple for Olive.

“So,” I say, “heard I’m a bridesmaid now?”

John shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. “I did.”

I frown. “You don’t sound excited.”

“No,” he says, then brings his hands back out in a frantic wave. “I mean, yes, I am.”

“You’re incredibly hard to read. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“No,” he says, but if that’s true, that doesn’t mean other people don’t agree; it’s just that they’re not saying it to his face.

“You and Valerie are vastly different,” I point out. “She can light up a room and talk up a storm.” I don’t say the rest, but let him hear the implication that he’s far from those things.

“I know.”

“Does it make you nervous?” I ask. “You seem so. Even Olive can see how awkward you two can be.” When he stammers, I add, “In a sweet way, of course. I mean no offense.”

“Yes, it does,” he answers, and even when he does, I still can’t get a read on him. I want to feel him out more. Gather more information. And, really, the more I care for Valerie, the more genuinely I want what’s best for her. Unfortunately, the little I’ve learned about John isn’t reassuring.

They come from different lifestyles, and they barely so much as glance at each other when in the same room; he got her scammed out of a million goddamn dollars. Her family is already hesitant about the pair.

I just don’t see this working.

“So why ask her to marry you?” I say. “I know that’s blunt—I know I’m a new addition to the family dynamic—but I really adore Valerie, and I want her to be happy.”

He avoids my gaze. “Maybe we don’t look perfect to you, but Valerie thinks we are.”

“And what about you?” I counter.

He opens his mouth, then shuts it, then opens it again.

The bartender returns with our glasses, and John gathers all he can and scurries away. Running away from me, from the question, and now I can’t help but wonder if this pairing is more one sided than I thought.

I grab the remaining drink—the Shirley Temple—and head out. Anders is walking toward me, and nobody is at the table anymore. A quick scan shows John and Valerie walking toward the small fountain, and Bethany laughing incredibly hard at something a handsome man is saying.

“Party’s already over?” I say as Anders approaches.

“They want me to mingle more,” he answers. “They say the birthday boy needs to get a lot of kisses and touches and—”

I press a hand to his chest before he wraps his arms around me. “Somehow, I don’t think anyone at the table mentioned that.”

“In my head, they did.” He moves back, and because, behind him, I see his ex-girlfriend watching, I lean into him, sipping the drink.

“While we’re alone,” I say, “let me update you on some things.”

A screech pierces through the air. I jerk back, scanning for the culprit and find a man with a microphone beside a guitarist and a keyboard player, just beside the fountain. “Sorry about that,” the singer says into the mic.


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Then they start playing a cover of a song I can’t remember exactly but heard recently on the radio.

“Can you talk and dance?” Anders says, already pulling me by my waist to the center of the patio.

“Growing up in a Puerto Rican household,” I say, letting him sway us to the pop melody, “I can dance and cook and clean all at the same time.”

He smiles in his easy way, and I shake my head when my lips try to mirror it.

“Anyway,” I go on, “there are a lot of eyes on us, so I need you to put on your best acting facade because what I have to tell you is going to piss you off an unbelievable amount.”

His hand stills for just a second before he recovers.

I update him on exactly what went down and how I became a bridesmaid. On how I’ve been speaking with Valerie, texting her, chatting with her, trying to plant subtle seeds of doubt. I tell him what he’s missed and, finally, tell him about the million dollars as the band goes through their set.

My stomach knots the moment I say it. My voice lowers, my breath shortens, and guilt settles somewhere heavy in my chest. I pinkie-swore I wouldn’t say anything. Valerie trusted me. But I also watched her dig herself deeper into a hole, and I couldn’t let Anders stay in the dark—not when he’s technically my employer.