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Charlie shrugs. “We’re… Seeing each other. It’s new. That’s all anyone needs to know.”
“Okay…” I say, catching an assessing look from a stunning blonde with a selfie-stick. “But FYI, that won’t keep the ravenous hoards at bay.”
Charlie grins. “You let me worry about that. I can fend with the best of them.”
“I bet you can.”
A hush interrupts us, and I turn. “It’s starting!”
He regards my excitement with clear amusement. “You won’t be so excited when you’ve heard a dozen ‘I dos. Pace yourself,” he advises. “This is a marathon, not a sprint.”
* * *
The ceremony isheartfelt and brief, and I can’t help tearing up a little, even though these people are total strangers.
Charlie silently hands me his pocket square, and I sully it with my snot. “Sorry,” I sniffle, and he just looks at me, bemused.
Cynical man.
Luckily, we’re quickly whisked inside to the reception—complete with ten-foot floral backdrop for the all-important Instagram pics.
“Photos, or food?” Charlie asks.
“Do you even need to ask?” I snort, eyeing the nearest table. “Food, and pronto.” We try to head to the buffet. Try, because people swarm to Charlie like they’re the moths, and he is the tall, handsome flame.
“Hey man, how are you doing?”
“You were just in Mexico, right?”
“We’ve got to catch up with racquetball sometime.”
For a while, I’m not even sure why Charlie needed a plus-one. He makes easy small talk while I smile at his side, scooping up every hors d’ouevre that crosses my path. Finally, a gorgeous girl angling to get near him notices that I exist.
“Cute dress.
Subtle is so on-trend,” she proclaims, gesturing with one hand. Her nails are painted to look like tiny checkerboards. I clasp my hands together, hiding the rose-pink DIY manicure I was proud of all of two hours ago.
“Who does your hair color?” another girl asks. “Love that tone.”
“It’s just mine,” I say, feeling weirdly sheepish about it.
“Retro.” They nod. “Super cool.”
“Uh huh.” I force a smile. These people are nice enough, but I’m under zero delusion that if I wasn’t here with Charlie, I wouldn’t even register to them.
“So what’s the deal with your new spot?” A guy asks Charlie. “When do we get the invites?”
“Tell us,” the nail girl adds to me. “Is it sick?”
I pause.New spot?
“No one’s seen it yet,” Charlie cuts in. Then, as if he’s telling the other people in the group and not me, “My next bar concept is opening pretty soon.”
Got it. I exhale in relief. Charlie and I definitely should have covered more basics of his life if we’re going to sell that we’re even casually dating.
The guy nods. “And Grace, what do you do?”
Oh, I don’t know: Drop cakes in laps, get publicly fired, wear the wrong thing to weddings. I open my mouth to say I’m a personal assistant, but Charlie slides in.
