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“Anton’s mom can kiss my curvy ass,” I tell Sammi. “I’m serious, dude. I’m marrying him. We don’t give a shit what his mom will or won’t let us do.”
“Yeah, but Perce,” Sammi levels with me. “Isn’t she like…theQueen?”
“Queen of kissing my ass, maybe,” I say.
Okay, yeah, I guess I should also mention that inadditionto being the Queen of kissing my ass, Anton’s mom is also the Queen of Menage—the small, wealthy European country that Anton is like, sort-of-kind-of supposed to become ruler of someday.
Which means that failing to get her blessing kind of means that Anton is sort-of-kind-of disinherited from his title, lands and future resume padding.
But look—this is all completelywhatever. Anton knows what he’s getting into, and we love each other. Blessing or no blessing. I don’t need to be queen of fuck-all. I just need to be the queen of his heart, his bed and his dick. Not necessarily in that order.
“I just want you to behappy, babe,” Sammi tells me.
“I’ll be happier when we’re slamming tequila in Amsterdam for my bomb-ass bachelorette party,” I shoot back at her.
See, Sammi got a crazy bachelorette party too. She was supposed to get married to this total control freak—and instead, we got drunk, got lost in Bangkok, pissed off the Thai mafia and made friends with a monkey. It ended up pretty fucking awesome, too. Sammi married this sexy Australian dude instead and now they like, fist-fight shark fishermen together and shit.
“Mmm,” Sammi moans, nodding, and that’s when I realize…
“Sams,” I say, “Has Lock been going down on you for the entire call, or did he just start.”
Sammi giggles. “How did you know?”
Crazy fucking kids.
I’m still laughing about it when I answer my next call—right on cue, Mysti May.
“What’s up, babe?”
When Mysti May’s blonde beauty queen head pops up on my phone screen, her perfectly manicured eyebrows are knitted together in a scowl.
“Percy. Darlin’. How drunk were you when you made this bachelorette party itinerary?” Mysti asks.
I consider it for a second and shrug. “Pretty drunk, probably.”
“Yeah, I can tell. Do you realize the amount of alcohol you’re planning on having us consume tomorrow night? At this rate, you’re not going to end up at the altar on Saturday…you’re going to end up in some European hospital getting your stomach pumped, girl.”
“Come on, Myst,” I tell her. “It’s just a little pre-nuptuial fun. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Mysti gives me that look—theholy shit, you can’t be serious right nowlook.
“Holy shit,” she says, “You can’t be serious right now. Do you not remember what happened at Becky’s bachelorette party? At Sammi’s?”
“Nope,” I tell her. “None of us do. Because we had a great fucking time, Myst! Look, just because after we go out for a fun night you always end up in bed with someone you don’t mean to…”
“Not this time,” Mysti May warns me. “I’m serious, Perce…I don’t know that this is a good idea. I mean, Becky and Sammi were different, right? They were marrying asshats. You’re marrying a total catch! Are you sure you’re not worried that you’ll do something that will…you know. Mess it up?”
“Mysti May Grace,” I scoff. “When have I ever in my life messed something up? Unheard of! Unspeakable!”
Mysti May rolls her eyes. “How many more dudes do you have to break up with before you grab your flight?”
I eye the line again. “I want to say twenty-five, but I’m not sure what the rule is for twins. Do you have to break up with them separately, or can you knock out both at once?”
“Both at once,” Mysti May says with certainty. “Just…get your ass to Amsterdam, darlin’. And consider what I’m saying here about having a chill night, okay? Becky and Sammi got their happy endings, though, Lord knows how. I just want to make sure that you get yours too.”
And thatiswhat I want, you know? My own happy ending. In a sense, Mysti May is right. The difference this time is that I’m totally in love with Anton. All-in. Unlike my dumb friends, I’m 100% sure I’m marrying a guy who’s completely right for me—and nothing’s going to get in my way.
