Page 2 of The Wedding Menu

“Actually, you’d be doing me a favor. It’s either this,” he says, pointing his long finger between us, “or give into the not-so-subtle interest of the only single bridesmaid, and I’m pretty sure she’s a minor.”

I glance at Barbara’s cousin Alyssa, squeezed into a tiny purple dress barely covering her ass, who turns to Ian every couple of seconds with a coy smile. “She’s twenty-one. You’re fine.”

“Oh.” He snaps his fingers. “Too bad. I have a rule against sleeping with people a decade younger than me.”

“Unreasonable.”

“I know. I’m impossible to please.” He leans forward, the lemony scent of his cologne overpowering my senses for a second. “Come on, entertain me. What’s wrong with your life?”

I let out an unsteady sigh and feel the backs of my knees start to sweat. Truth be told, it’d be easier to discuss nuclear physics than the tangled-up mess my life is. But if he’d like a dose of my problems instead of a young, gorgeous woman wrapped around him, who am I to disappoint?

Leaning against the back of my chair, I resign myself to the truth. “My best friend is the worst.”

“Wonderful.” With a pleased nod, he takes a sip. “Hit me.”

“Martha. She’s here somewhere.”

“I hate her already. What’s wrong with Martha?”

His expression is one of total focus, as if his ultimate goal inlife is to hear about my drama. But I want to offer him an out, so I ask, “Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

His head slowly bobs up and down. “I’m deeply invested.”

“All right: your loss.” Straightening, I clear my throat, as if I am about to deliver a lecture on the meaning of life. “Martha and I were born one week apart in the same hospital. Our families were neighbors. We went to the same schools, and—”

“Dated the same guys and practiced the same sports and—wait. Are you engaged to the same man?”

The pulsing lights paint his face pink, and, with a cocked brow, I ask, “Do you want me to dump my problems on you or not? Because I can call Alyssa over.”

“You wouldn’t dare. Proceed.”

“We’re very different, but we also went through many of the same things at the same time. Graduations, birthdays, first boyfriends, first time. Don’t,” I say when the left corner of his mouth quirks up. “Same things, same time,nottogether.”

Stifling a chuckle, he says, “It’s bound to get competitive.”

“It never was. She always won, but I didn’t mind.” I drain my margarita and set the glass down. “She had the best grades, chose a higher-paying career. She got all the guys, the bigger apartment, and I never resented her for it. I always celebrated her success as my own.”

“Did you say she gotallthe guys?” he asks, tipping his head to the side.

“Yeah, she’s gorgeous.” I straighten my dress. “Men always go for her.”

“Where is she?” His head turns left and right. “If she’s prettier than you, I definitely want to meet her.”

Fighting a smile, I click my tongue. Though he’s obviously messing with me, that’s been my whole life. I’ve always been thefriend who men approach to find out if Martha is seeing anybody. “She’s engaged too.”

His eyes fill with understanding, a low hum vibrating out of his throat. “Oh, I know where this is going. You’re getting married on the same day, aren’t you?”

With a half-hearted chuckle, I shake my head. I wish that were the problem. “I’m crazy about weddings.” Fidgeting with the stem of my glass, I continue, “Martha? Not so much. She always said she was going to have an extravagant ceremony. In a casino or an amusement park. She’d arrive on a horse and wear a short red dress—not white, because white’s associated with virgins, and…” I chuckle, waving the thought off. “She has a lot to say about that. No veil, lots of drinking games and dancing. The party of the century, you know?”

He gives me an appreciative nod, and I know Martha already won him over. “And you? What do you picture?”

“Simple. On a beautiful farm, with white flowers and fairy lights and floating candle centerpieces. Hydrangea and ranunculus, a white dress and a beaded veil.”

“No idea what most of that means, but it sounds nice. What’s the problem, then?”

“I’m getting there.” He motions at me to proceed, so I cross my legs and look around. “Things changed when she got engaged. All of a sudden, Martha no longer wanted her crazy Vegas wedding. No, sir. She wanted the complete opposite.”

“Oh.” His expression shifts to one of concern. “She’s stealing your wedding.”