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She recovered and swished her hair over her shoulders. “What would you know about piano teacher conferences?”
Honestly, he knew nothing about piano teacher conferences.
He stared at her sash, trying to decipher the writing.
“It saysbridesmaid,or are you trying to look at my tits, too?”
Yeah, he might have allowed his gaze to linger.
“And why did you call me your fiancée?” she bellowed at the top of her lungs.
“I did it to protect you. So yeah, for all intents and purposes, you’re my goddamned fiancée,” he belted.
A high-pitched squeal rose over the bump and grind of the booming house music. “Harper, why didn’t you tell us you were engaged?”
He looked over his shoulder as a woman in a white tutu, a veil, and spindly heels tottered over with a glass of champagne and a giant rock on her ring finger. If that wasn’t weird enough, a guy dressed as a gladiator was hot on her tail.
This was Vegas, but still.
“Harper, honey, are you okay?” the ballerina bride asked. Black smudges of mascara darkened the skin beneath her eyes, and her hair looked like she’d spent the last hour inside a tornado. Champagne sloshed in her glass. Droplets fell to the ground before she downed the remaining alcohol in one gulp.
“We saw that guy creeping up on you,” the leather-clad gladiator added.
“But yourfiancégot rid of him. How romantic,” the drunk bride cooed, then raised her hand and gave him a sloppy high five.
He turned to Harper. “Are these your piano teacher friends?”
She looked from him to the oddly dressed couple, said nothing, then stuck the lollipop into her mouth.
“We’re not piano teachers, silly,” the woman cried, wobbling before gripping the gladiator’s arm. “We’re Katrina and Jude, the newlyweds.”
This just got interesting.
“How do you know Harper?” He was almost scared to ask.
The bride did a happy dance. “Harper is Jude’s second cousin’s sister-in-law’s niece’s stepsister. Did I get that right?”
Harper gifted the woman with a plastic smile. “Yep.”
“And Harper’s engaged to you,” the bride continued like she’d cracked a secret code.
He stared at his hazel-eyed fiancée interloper.
Why the hell had she crashed a Vegas wedding?
He turned to the cosplay couple. “Can I have a minute with—”
“Your fiancée,” the ballerina bride and the gladiator supplied.
These two were a piece of work.
“Yes, with my fiancée,” he echoed, then escorted Harper away from the dance floor. “What is going on here?” He glanced down and caught the designs on her little half shirt. Yep, he’d called it correctly. “And why do you have bonbons on your shirt?”
She touched the fabric. “You know what they are?”
“Yeah, of course, I do. Bonbons are damned delicious.”
“They are,” she agreed.
