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“I know,” Brittany whispers. “If I don’t make it as a showgirl, I’m marrying the kind of guy who can pay for flowers like these.”
I give Brittany the side eye. Clearly, she’s a woman with a lot of plans. Mine currently aren’t that grand.
My mother, brother, and I moved to the United States ten years ago, after my father disappeared. When she died a few years ago, I became my brother’s caregiver. And when he developed a rare liver disease…
I’m just trying to get him the medical care he needs. “I don’t need flowers. I’d settle for health insurance.”
Brittany laughs. “Girl, with a face and body like yours, you ought to dream big.”
I look down at my fitted Oxford, smoothing the pleats that show off my small waist. I wish she was right. But I mostly I feel like I attract a lot of Mr. Right Now kind of guys.
I date sometimes, but the moment I mention being my brother’s guardian, or heaven forbid, his illness, whatever heat had filled my date’s eyes just disappears.
I get it. I’m a lot.
We set up the chairs, and then ready the tablecloths, plates, and silverware, knowing we’ll only have a few short minutes to change the room over when the ceremony is done.
Waiting discreetly in a small room off the function room, I watch the guests file in. Each man wears a suit that costs more than what I make in a month, all of them handsome.
Some come with a beautiful woman on their arms while others file in alone.
Mason walks in with Charlotte at his side, his arm wrapped around her waist. She catches my eyes and gives me an enthusiastic wave and a thumbs up.
Mr. Stanley tosses me a glare, muttering under his breath.
But his words are drowned out by Brittany as she cranes her neck. “Now see. That’s what I’m talking about. I need a husband like that.”
Behind us, one of the guys working set up scoffs. “Oh please. We all know you’d end up on your back before the appetizers on the first date were even served.”
“Fuck off, Brian,” Brittany snaps back. “We both know you’re a slutty bottom. Besides, what I do for work and how I date are two totally different things. Mostly.” Then she leans closer to me. “Stay away from Brian. He’s a snarky bitch.”
I don’t know if Brian hears her or not as he quips back, “Good luck explaining your career as a prostitute to your super-rich future husband.”
I look at her in confusion. We work at a restaurant…
Brittany lets out a huff. “To make extra money, I work as an escort on the side.”
My eyes go wide, but I press my lips together to keep them shut. Brittany has been a big help, I don’t want to irritate her.
“The pay is really good, and it helps me learn polish,” she says, her nose lifting in the air. “And I don’t always sleep with the guys. Only when they offer me a really big tip.”
“Oh. Right.” I nod like this is a totally normal thing. I don’t mean to judge, but it’s a career I hope never to explore.
The ceremony begins, and I let out a sigh of relief, glad to have an excuse to end this conversation.
The groom steps up to the arch, his perfect suit in complete contrast to his sharp looks and his tattooed hands. He looks bad ass, despite wearing Armani.
That is until his bride appears. Gorgeous in a mermaid wedding dress, her honey hair done up in a simple but beautiful twist, I look back at him to see his eyes light up, a smile making his entire appearance soften.
Brittany must see it too because we both sigh at the same time.
“The estrogen in here has reached an all-time high,” Brian grouses from behind us. “Is this why women put out at weddings?”
“Pig,” Brittany lobs back, leaning out a little further as the ceremony begins. “The groom. That’s Killian Smith. His oldest brother is a real-life duke in England.”
“A duke?” I gasp.
Brittany nods. “Yeah. You’d think the rest of the family wouldn’t work. But they own this major real estate company with some organized-crime ties. The groom is their enforcer. That’s what I hear.”