Page 104 of Weddings, Revenge & Fake Dating

“If anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

“Stop!”

I say it in my head the exact moment someone else says it aloud. A woman with dark blonde hair feverishly waves her arms from a distance.

“I object.” The woman scurries down the aisle.

I drop Sophia’s bouquet, along with my jaw. I’ve never been so happy to see Roman’s secret lover. All the wedding guests stare in confusion as she approaches the altar. Their curious whispers return.

Freddie rushes to the front and points his phone between Roman, the woman, and Sophia. Knowing him, he’s live-streaming our royal-family-level cluster-fudge to social media.

“Evette? What are you doing?” Sophia is the first to speak, though her words are shaky, her posture stiff.

Evette glances at Roman, maybe wanting him to explain, but instead, he shrinks away, his face turning stark white.

“You can’t marry Roman. He proposed to me last night.” As proof, Evette lifts her hand, presenting a diamond ring the size of Texas, while Sophia’s is more Staten Island.

Sophia’s eyes bug out of her head. Guests gasp. The bridal party leans closer to ogle the ring and all it suggests. Dex turns and coughs through a grin. Freddie moves closer, capturing the sparkling quality of the ridiculous star-shaped diamond on his phone.

All the while, I give Roman a death stare.

He was going to marry both of them? How, exactly? Did he need a spare? Like a tire? Was this woman his backup plan?

“Um, um . . .” The officiant fumbles, looking over his notes like he’s unsure what to do next. He won’t find the answer in there.

I understand his unease. No one ever speaks up during this part of the ceremony, except in movies when characters need a convenient way out of a sticky situation. Thank goodness for convenient Groom-Be-Gone.

“You’re what?” Sophia blinks, her attention pinging between Roman and Evette. “You proposed to our wedding florist’s daughter? Last night?” Her voice rises to an ear-piercing pitch. The sound is so high and tight, it could break glass.

Meanwhile, tightening fists form at my sides, thumbs out.

“Let me explain!” Roman lifts his puny baby hands in a big don’t kick my stanky ass gesture. He stumbles several paces, flailing.

“You cheating McCheat-face!” Sophia’s mouth twists as she follows him. She jacks her arm back and socks Roman in the eye. His hand snaps to his face when he yelps in pain. Off-balance, he reels left, then right.

The guests cry out and stand like they’re at a boxing match. The bridesmaids whoop and rally, their arms raised with excitement. This shit-uation just got real.

When Roman rights himself, I shove Sophia out of the way.

Unlike my first attempt, this time my strong knee makes perfect contact with his nut sac. When his mouth opens forming an O, I’m waiting for one man-marble to launch like a T-shirt from an air cannon.

Instead, Roman drops to the ground, cupping his damaged jewels with a high-pitched yowl. Somewhere glass does break as his eyes roll back into his skull.

“That’s for ducking with my sister.” I point, meaning this in every way you can take it, except the one. Thank God.

The groomsmen cringe, clearly sympathizing with Roman’s busted balls. Evette drops to the ground beside him, ready to nurse him to health. Freddie lunges in for video closeups. Dex’s eyes widen. The officiant covers his face with his hands and turns away to laugh, like he’s given up completely.

After pulling myself together, I turn and present my arm to Sophia. She swipes her bouquet from the ground and links her arm with mine. This time, though, it’s her who holds me tight. She needs the support, and I’m here to be the wind beneath her bra. Always supportive, never sweaty.

Well, mostly never. Two percent of the time.

“There won’t be a wedding,” Sophia announces to the guests. “But if you want to stay, I’m having a Newly Unwed party. Come to the mansion and celebrate with me and my sister, Jeanie.”

Everyone goes wild. The bridal party cheers. The string quartet strikes up the wedding recessional. Sophia and I parade down the aisle together, more empowered than before. As I pass, I make eye contact with a grinning and clapping Nathan.

“Crisis averted.” He wipes invisible sweat from his hairline.

“Teamwork,” I say and blow him a kiss. When he pretends to catch it and then rub it all over his massive chest like suntan lotion, I giggle.