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Chapter 10
Jenna
I’m in my room, going over the seating chart Laura gave me. I don’t know how I’m going to figure it out where to put them all—there are far more fights and grudges than I realized, and I could use another person to talk to, even if it’s just to think out loud.
But I’m not involving Brett. I don’t care how hard this is.
Stubborn? You bet.
“Jen?” Stacey calls from outside my door before she knocks.
I get up and open it for her. She offers me a tight smile. “Can we talk?”
“Of course,” I say.
She walks to my living room, but I throw open the doors to the balcony, and we move outside instead. The heat has become pressing with no sign of a storm. I wish it would just rain.
We sit together—Stacey tucks her feet underneath her on the plastic cushion of the outside couch, her shoes still on the floor. I sit cross-legged, facing her. A breeze picks up, and it's soothing, but it only takes away the worst of the heat.
Stacey is tense. She looks at the view without taking anything in, and she has a tick in her jaw.
“What’s up?” I ask when she doesn’t talk right away.
Her blue eyes pierce me. “Mom says the flowers are taken care of, so that’s cool.”
I nod. “You should see the operation this guy has in place to make sure the flowers are all taken care of. Did your mom show you the photos? It doesn't do anything justice. We can take a drive and I’ll show you—”
“Mom said you don’t want to work with Brett,” she interrupts me.
"I didn't say I won't work with him per se. I just don't need him for some of the smaller things that could be a one-man job."
"But isn't this what we agreed you would do?"
"I know what I'm doing," I say carefully. "I've been doing this a lot, and—"
"I'm so stressed about this wedding thing. You said it wasn't going to be a big deal that you guys slept together. I really need you to keep things as simple as you can. Mom is already breathing down my neck over a million other things and I—"
"It's no big deal, Stacey," I say. "Really."
"Have you figured out the seating?"
I don't answer her. I haven't figured out anything at all. But that doesn't mean anything would have been different if we'd done it together—they have the most complicated dynamics in a guest list I've ever seen, and although I handle events, seating charts aren't always a part of the job."
Stacey shakes her head, her brows pinched together. She clenches her hands in her lap and she's a wired ball of nerves.
“He’s a pain in the ass, Stace," I say. "This has nothing to do with us sleeping together." I regret telling her, in fact. "I wouldn't have done this with him either way. I don’t need him; you know I can do this.”
“It’s not about what you can and can’t do. Brett is Marc’s best man. He wants him involved.”
I shake my head. “I don’t see why. He can take care of the stuff he’s supposed to do, like Marc’s suit and the bachelor party and stuff like that, but the extras—”
“You promised me this wasn’t going to be a problem,” Stacey says. “Can you just make it work?”
“I don’t see why I have to.” I’m getting frustrated. Since when do the Maid of honor and best man work together, anyway? It’s not like we’re co-hosting this event.
“Because I’m asking you to,” Stacey says in a voice that's starting to crack, and her eyes shimmer. She looks like she’s going to cry.
“Are you that upset about this?” I ask. I don’t know why she’s so worked up.
