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Matt points to an easel near the front door. “I’m guessing the seating chart is over there.”
We walk around a couple of glittering tables and approach the easel. It announces the wedding of Mr. Nicholas Holmes to Ms. Destiny Blanchette with a discreet QR code. I point my phone at the square, and it opens to a webpage announcing the wedding. Under a menu with links to photos, wedding party biographies, weekend events, maps, and special offers by corporate sponsors, there’s a seating chart. I type in my name and a circle on the diagram glows. “I’m at table thirteen. Back here.” I tap a chairback at a table near the DJ, then point across the room. “You’re up front.”
Matt stares at the other table and back at me. “I have to sit up there?”
“No.” I read the names of the people seated at my table and grab a place card. “No. Oliver James, whoever he is, will be sitting in Mr. Robinson’s seat.” I hurry across the room and swap out the cards. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. Ilka Stringer is sitting next to him.”
“Who’s Ilka Stringer?” Matt trails behind me as I swap the name cards and swing around to head back to my table.
“She’s an adult actress my father once had an affair with.” I plunk Robinson’s card in front of the now empty place. “She’s sixty years old, so Oliver James might not be thrilled after all.”
“Your dad invited his old girlfriend to his wedding?”
I snort. “Not just an old girlfriend. Ilka is the reason my mom divorced him. I’m sure it never occurred to him that Destiny might—heck, Destiny probably doesn’t care if a middle-aged former mistress comes to her wedding.”
“That is seriously messed up.” Matt stares at the place card for a second, then strides across the room toward the bar. “I think I need a drink.”
“Welcome to my world.”
The young bartender ignores us, busy rearranging boxes of booze under the bar. Matt knocks on the faux marble top. The guy doesn’t even glance up. “Sorry, we’re not open yet.”
I move around the end of the bar to see what he’s doing—and to flash a bit of leg. He shoves a second box of bottles under the lower shelf and straightens. “Sorry, ma’am, the bar doesn’t open for—” He glances at his phone sitting on the bar top. “Twenty minutes. I gotta get organized.”
Ma’am? Yikes! I glance at the mirrored wall—maybe it’s time for that Botox after all.
“Can you make an exception for us, Bryan?” Matt asks.
The kid’s eyes jump to Matt, and he smiles. “Hey, Mr. H! I never expected to see you here!”
Matt carefully avoids my eye. “I’m just hanging out with a friend at her dad’s wedding. Any chance you can get us a drink? A soda is fine, if you can’t open the hard stuff yet.”
Bryan sets down a pair of highball glasses. “I can serve you now, Mr. H. What’ll it be?”
Matt raises an eyebrow at me. I order a white wine, and he gets a beer. The kid hands over the drinks with a flourish and logs them into his tablet. Matt tries to pay, but he waves him away. “Open bar, Mr. H. Have a good evening.” He nods at me. “Ma’am.”
Matt shoves a couple of bills into one of the glasses and takes my arm to guide me away as Bryan goes back to organizing his setup.
I rub a hand against my chest. “Ouch. I’m used to going unrecognized, but I won’t lie, being called ‘ma’am’ hurts.”
“His parents were military—he calls everyone sir or ma’am. My friend Rachel loves it.” He pulls out the chair at my place and gestures to it. We sit.
“Rachel?” Jealousy twinges in my chest, but I push it down. Number one, this is not a relationship. Number two, he said “friend,” and it sounded casual. Number three—I mentally throw my hands up. I’m not fooling anybody.
“My brother’s fiancée. And my next-door-neighbor. We’ve been friends forever—we both teach at the high school.” He flicks his phone and pulls up a picture. He and Blake frame a blonde woman with striking features. A big sapphire ring glints on the woman’s upheld left hand. “They’ve been engaged for a few months, but he gave her the ring on Monday—at the chapel…”
The memory of Matt and Blake standing in front of the chapel altar with a blue box comes back to me, and I nod. “You did say teachers are like celebrities here.”
He mugs a big, cheesy smile. “You’re outta your league, Nica Holmes.”
Chapter Nine
MATT
By the time the guests finally start filtering in, Nica and I have finished our drinks. I’m telling her a story about the Halloween haunted house, and she doesn’t even glance away when people wander past our table. Her laughter rings out, drawing every eye, and I bask in the glow of her attention.
Rob and Gloria arrive, finding their seats at the table behind me. I wave, but Gloria steers her son right past us. That woman is a gem—I like Rob, but next to him, I must look old and scrawny.
“Excuse me.” Speaking of scrawny, the guy standing behind Nica’s chair makes me look buff. “I believe this is my seat.” He waves his phone at us. This must be Oliver James.
