Page 37 of Weddings, Revenge & Fake Dating

Talia reaches over to fake-slap Amelia’s face several times. With each swat, Amelia swings her head from side to side like a stunt woman.

We laugh, and I realize I’m having fun again. Under the circumstances, I shouldn’t be, but these women make it impossible. They have welcomed me into the group, no questions asked.

When the technicians begin their work, the bridesmaids break off into smaller conversations. Because I’m closest to Sophia, I’m forced to reminisce with her about our complicated childhood.

“Remember the time you were supposed to babysit me, but you tied me to a tree instead, and then you went to your friend’s house to play?” Sophia asks.

“How could I forget? Dad grounded me for months.”

“And then the time you told me Santa Claus went to jail after getting in a fight with the Easter Bunny.”

I laugh at my genius. “I believe Christmas was canceled until further notice.”

“And then the time you kidnapped my stuffed animals and held them for ransom? It cost me all the money in my piggy bank to set them free.”

“I needed cash for the movies!” Suddenly, I’m defensive. “You’re making me sound like I was an awful kid. We had some good times too, playing with our, our, our . . .”

I roll a hand in the air, trying to conjure nice memories, but my mind draws a blank. A pang of guilt sideswipes me.

Crap. Have I always been the villain?

Scowling, I say, “I was pretty sucky, wasn’t I?”

Sophia laughs. “I admit, I’ve never found anyone to torment me quite like you.” She wiggles her toes when the technician steps away.

“I don’t think you have trouble making nice friends.” I glance at the line of bridesmaids beside us.

“We’re close, but not like you and I were. You may have hated me back then, but you were the closest I ever got to having a sister.”

“I didn’t hate you.” I squirm in my seat at the use of the “s” word as I contemplate. “I hated Dad.”

“I didn’t see him through the same lens. At least, not until he took off on us years later.”

“He loved the ladies,” I grumble.

“The point is, you were the only one to make time for me at that age, even if it was ninety-nine percent hazing.”

“And now you have Roman to torture you,” I say without thinking.

“Nah, Roman only sees himself.” She shrugs.

I bark out a laugh. “He is conceited.”

“And cranky, and stubborn, and short-tempered,” she adds.

“Why do you want to be with someone like that?” I ask, testing to see how attached she is to him.

“Why did you?” She looks up at me, appearing curious.

I’m taken aback by the question. Our conversation unfolded so naturally that I didn’t have time to consider she might turn this around on me.

My lips pucker as I lean back into my seat, thinking seriously about how to answer.

Why did I then? And outside of my wish to have the family back together, why do I now? How did I get to the point where I would accept the measly crumbs of love Roman would toss me here and there?

“We were fifteen when we met. He was the high school loudmouth, and I was the resident weird girl. Back then, we were misfits who joined forces out of necessity and then formed an attachment. But now? He’s honestly changed so much on the inside, I don’t recognize him, but I suppose he could say the same about me.”

This truth bomb is like an arrow through my heart. It detonates so hard, I have to gulp in a breath.