The wedding planner isn’t dicking around either and soon we’re all ushered around the building to the grassy area at the back of the club overlooking the docks, the sparkling waves of English Bay and the towering North Shore Mountains in the distance. My own sailboat is moored below which is the reason why Will and Jackie were able to have the wedding here. Lord knows someone oughta take advantage of that perk.
It’s not long until I’m paired up with the Asian bridesmaid who introduces herself to me as Tiffany. She’s cute, young, and smells like champagne. From the way her face is going red, I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed or just has a low tolerance for booze, though the more she talks to me, the more I realize she probably doesn’t embarrass over anything.
“Wait a minute,” I say, pulling away from Tiffany and addressing Will as he stands beside the minister. “Who is walking Alyssa down the aisle if Ted is walking Jackie down the aisle?”
“This is what you get for missing rehearsal dinner,” Tiffany says, yanking at my sleeve. “You’re walking us both down the aisle.”
“Lucky me,” I tell her, looking around for Alyssa. “So where’s the hot blonde?”
“Did you just call her a hot blonde?” Tiffany asks.
“I might have.”
“Well hot blonde went to the washroom. Do you have a name for me?”
Tiffany is staring up at me with warm, slightly tipsy eyes. I play this carefully.
“Hot non-blonde.”
“You Hollywood types are all the same,” she says with a roll of her eyes.
“Oh, you have experience with Hollywood types?”
She gives me a pointed look. “I’m a receptionist for a movie studio. D’uh.”
“But you deal with VFX and animation. Those aren’t Hollywood types. Those are stoners and nerds.”
She sighs. “Don’t pop my bubble. Pretending those nerds are Hollywood royalty is the only thing that gets me into the office most days. That and the donuts.”
“Places, places,” the wedding planner calls out, trying to do this thing with her voice so it’s a yell and also a whisper. It just sounds like she has laryngitis. She frantically waves at me and Tiffany to come join her behind the rows of seats, some guests still filtering in.
As we approach, she also manages to snag Alyssa as she comes back from the washroom.
“Remember your cues,” the wedding planner says to us, her eyes lingering sternly on me for a moment too long before she jets off somewhere.
“What are the cues?” I purposely ask Alyssa, trying to get her to say something.
But Tiffany pipes up. “Follow our lead. That’s what you get for skipping.”
“Skipping?” I repeat, looking at her. “This isn’t high school, non-blonde. I was working.”
At that Alyssa makes a scoffing noise that eerily reminds me of the noises Madison makes when she’s unimpressed. AKA when she’s not in the bedroom.
That puts a bad taste in my mouth.
Of course the bad taste goes away when I start imagining what other noises Alyssa might make. You know. In the bedroom.
I stare at her openly and she holds my eye contact for just a second. Just long enough to see that her eyes are a very clear blue. “Something in your throat?” I ask her.
She just frowns at me. She’s a tough nut to crack.
“Anyway,” Tiffany says loudly. “We’re supposed to wait for the cue and then we walk down the aisle. You in the middle, us on either side. Like this.” Tiffany sticks her arm around mine and then grins up at me. “You know I love your new show,” she says.
She sounds completely sincere. “Thank you,” I tell her.
“Alyssa and I were just discussing earlier that you should have a male/male scene with you and Boomerang.”
This isn’t the first I’ve heard this. Lots of Boomerang fansites ship the hero and the villain together. What does interest me is that Alyssa was roped into this conversation.
I give Alyssa a smirk. “Oh really? You were discussing me? You know, I don’t think we’ve actually met. Maybe I should introduce myself before I give you the privilege of my arm.”
I can tell she’s trying not to roll her eyes. “Will introduced you already.”
“Are you always this prickly?”
Her frown deepens.
“Like a cactus,” Tiffany says.
Then the music starts up. The slow romantic strains of a piano playing…the theme song to Jurassic Park?
“Interesting,” I comment.
“It was Ty’s choice, Jackie’s son,” Alyssa says, keeping her eyes forward to where Will is standing by the minister at the end of the aisle.
“Ah, she speaks,” I remark.
Her eyes flash to mine. “I just spoke to you two seconds ago.”
“Uh,” Tiffany says, looking between the both of us. “Have you guys met before or something because there’s enough animosity and unresolved sexual tension to fill a million episodes of Moonlighting.”
“You are way too young to know about Moonlighting,” I tell her. “And, as you can see, I haven’t quite met her yet.” I stick out my hand and say. “Hi Alyssa, I’m Emmett. It will be a pleasure to walk you down the aisle today.”
But before Alyssa can shake it (if she was even going to), a hush comes over everyone and the music changes from the plinky plunky piano part to sweeping strings.
“That’s our cue,” Tiffany says.
I offer my elbow to Alyssa.
“You have to take it now. It’s the rules,” I tell her, strangely determined to win this prickly bitch-hot blonde over.
Once she does, I press her hand harder into my side and lean into her. “You know they both warned me to stay away from you.”
She turns to face me and this close I can see the streaks of grey in her eyes. There’s also fire in them. Rebellion. Just what I wanted to see. “Who did?”
Now I have her attention.
I just shoot her a grin and I start down the aisle, a girl on each arm.
Chapter 2
Alyssa
Earlier that day
“I’m going to throw up.”
I roll my eyes at the statement and put the window down so some fresh air gets in the limo.
“Oh, please, please don’t,” Jackie says, gathering up the hem of her wedding dress and staring at Tiffany reproachfully. “The last thing I need is to get vomit on my dress at one p.m.”
“As opposed to vomit at one a.m.?” I ask, reaching for the last of the champagne so that Tiffany isn’t tempted. I can see her wavering eyes focus on the bottle, momentarily distracting her sorry ass from the fact that she wanted to throw up a second ago.
“I’d like to keep my wedding as puke free as possible, thank you very much,” Jackie says, then reaches across to grab the champagne from my hand.
“You know,” I say, watching as she pretends to drink straight from the bottle. I put my thoughts on hold as I grab my phone and take a picture of the delightfully unladylike sight. Will is going to get a kick out of it. “I have to say I thought you’d be the one feeling sick.”
She frowns as she hands the bottle back to me. “For the last time, I’m fine. I’m not nervous. I’m cool as a cucumber.”
It’s true. And it’s annoying. And probably a sign that her and Will are really meant to be together, as if that wasn’t already apparent.
In fact, Jackie has to be the most chill bride I’ve ever come across and I’ve been to a hell of a lot of weddings over the last few years. Your late twenties is prime wedding season where everyone you know, from high school frenemies to family friends and random co-workers, are tying the knot and you get to go to every single one of them.
Alone.
Yeah, that’s the other problem. During the summer months, finding a date to a wedding is next to impossible. I’m starting to think there’s a business idea in men and women as wedding dates for hire, of course in this city the males would be in high demand. I’m not sure if there’s more women than men here or that the male dating pool sucks (and I can attest that it does) but all the guys have to do is snap their fingers and a woman will be conjured up in front of them. It’s I Dream of Genie but with sex. Meanwhile all the women are fighting over a remotely eligible man like they’re duking it out over the last ham on Christmas Eve.