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More often than not, the bride who desperately wanted out of her own wedding was an emotional mess afterward, shocked by the end of what she thought would be the beginning of the rest of their lives together.
And I was not the reassuring kind. Back pats and handkerchiefs were not my thing.
I just needed my money and to get the hell out of there.
On a side note, who the hell doesn’t have Venmo or PayPal?
I heard a noise just before the door flew open.
“The Objector!” A blonde in a Red Hot Chili Peppers T-shirt that went down to her knees grinned at me. “I’m Asha. We talked on the phone...?”
Ah, yes. The bride’s best friend and my college roommate’s cousin.“So you’re Tom’s cousin.”
“Yes!” She grinned again, and I realized she was totally buzzed. “Come in!”
She held open the door, and I followed her inside what was obviously the bridal suite. Huge living room, bedroom to the left that appeared to have rose petals everywhere, and a silver bucket on the coffee table with a bottle of champagne inside.
Typical.
I shifted my gaze to the right and saw the bar, with an open bottle of tequila in the center and two shot glasses on the surface.
Less typical.
“You wereamazing,” she squealed, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe it as she went right over to the bar and grabbed the bottle. “Tommy told me to trust him, but I had no idea that you’d be such a professional.”
I smiled and muttered a thanks, but I was never sure how to respond to that. It wasn’t like I was proud of my performance. I wasn’t an actor looking for good reviews, for fuck’s sake.
It was just something I occasionally did for money.
At that moment the balcony door flew open and the bride—Sophie—ran in, saying to Asha, “I need one more.”
At least itlookedlike the bride.
Walking down the aisle, she’d been stunning. Her dark hair had been tidily piled on top of her head, accentuating her light brown eyes and long, graceful neck. She’d looked like everything I imagined a bride would want to look like on her wedding day.
Her hair now, though, waseverywhere.Technically a lot of it was in a messy bun, but long strands of curly hair hung all around her face like she’d just wrestled a bear. She was no longer wearing any makeup, which made her look like a teenager, and she’d switched out the wedding gown for a Chicago Bears jersey and leggings.
And... snow boots.
She stopped in her tracks when she saw me, and then a big smile slid across her face. “You. Are. My. Hero.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off with an index finger. “Gimme one sec. I have to finish a project.”
I watched in disbelief as Asha tossed her a Hostess Twinkie, and then she disappeared back out onto the balcony.
“Do I want to know?” I asked, my eyes still on the sliding door.
“Twinkies won’t hurt the Volvo’s paint, so it’s a victimless crime,”she said, turning to look at the bottles of liquor on the shelf behind the bar. “That’s all you need to know.”
I contemplated just exiting the hotel room at that moment, because (a) this was clearly none of my business, and (b) it was just past seven and I was starving.
But when I saw the bride pull her arm back and launch that snack cake off the balcony like a professional quarterback, I decided to stick around for another minute.
“Want a drink?” Asha asked, looking ready to pour herself a tequila shooter.
Before I could answer, the bride came back inside, saying as she closed the sliding door behind her, “We need to switch to something else.”
“What? Why?” Asha asked, pouting. She held up the bottle of tequila and said, “Jose is our friend.”
