Four Day Fling(34)

“Grandpa?” I asked.

“Pops! Why are you calling me? Am I in trouble?” Grandpa’s gruff voice was weirdly playful and filled me with warmth.

“Yes, you are!” I said firmly. “This is your granddaughter’s wedding, and you’re messing around in strip clubs! What did we tell you about Bloody Mary’s on the plane? You can’t be trusted, and this is why! Rosie’s devastated you’re not here, and Mom is about to have a cow, so you get yourself in that car and you come home right now!”

There was a moment of silence, then, “Your mother is always having a cow.”

“Grandpa!”

“All right, all right, firecracker. We’re leaving now.”

“And you’re coming straight here. I’ll see you soon.”

I heard a faint “Bugger!” right before I cut the call. I’d caught his loophole, and he had no choice but to behave himself and come here.

“Done,” I said to Mark. “Here.”

He took the phone and blinked at me. “You’re scarily like your mother sometimes.”

I pointed at him. “Say that again and I’ll slice your balls off with a butter knife.”

He put one hand over his groin and gave me a thumb up with the other.

“Is Rosie in the ballroom?”

Another grimace. He was so out of his element. “Yep. And someone let her bitch flag fly.”

“I told you to burn it.” I sighed.

“Something to do with the catering. Apparently, I wasn’t helping, so I was sent away.” He snorted. “Figured I’d get Rory and head down to the beach. And stay far, far away from my lovely wife-to-be.”

Now it was me who snorted. “I think Adam is still down there. He didn’t show any signs of moving when I left. You should see if you can find him.”

“You want me to hang out with your fake boyfriend?”

I held up my hands. “Look, if Chrissy Teigen was here as someone’s fake girlfriend, I wouldn’t care about the fake thing. I’d be down there asking her how to write bomb-ass Instagram captions and the art of trolling on Twitter.”

“I think you just need an account to do that, Pop.”

“Whatever. He’s Rory’s hero, and after Monday, I’ll never see him again. Make the most of it for him.” I paused. “And you, you big kid.”

His eyes sparkled with laughter. “Right. Sure. Monday.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” He dipped and kissed my cheek. “Try and make sure Rosie doesn’t kill anyone, would you?”

“Been doing that for twenty-four years,” I muttered, turning away from him to the ballroom.

It was nowhere near as crazy as it was last night. The centerpieces were still in place, but all the balloons had disappeared. A top table had now been set up, and I shuddered at the idea of being up there in front of everyone.

Rosie was standing by the bar with a man wearing a sharp suit and shiny shoes.

Well, I say Rosie was standing. The man was standing. She was pacing, and she looked like she was ready to go all Hulk or something.

“Hey. I found you,” I said, interrupting her pacing. “What’s up?”

My sister stopped, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. They snapped open a second later after a heavy exhale and she said, “They’ve run out of chicken.”

I stared at her.

“Poppy! Why are you staring at me? There’s no chicken!”

Apparently, silence wasn’t the right answer.

“Why isn’t there any chicken?” I asked.

“Because they’ve run out!” she shrieked.

I turned to Mr. Suit. “How can you run out of chicken? They’re not exactly an endangered species.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she beat him to it. “Some supplier issue! They’ll be delayed!”

“Can’t you use another?” I asked him as if he’d answered.

“Apparently not!” Rosie ran her hands through her hair.

I spun and looked at her. “Are you the manager?”

“I’m just saying what I know!”

“Okay, Bridezilla.” I stepped toward her, grasping her gently at the tops of her arms. “Mark is taking Rory to the beach. Why don’t you go back to your room and lie down for half an hour? Mom had a couple too many margaritas at lunch, so you’ll have some time to chill out without her causing problems.”

“But I—”

“And I will help this nice man find a few chickens to shoot and pluck, okay?”

“Right. Like you could pluck a chicken. You can’t even pluck your eyebrows,” she muttered.

“Rosie!” I snapped my fingers in front of her. “Figure of speech. Take yourself up to your room and lie down before you give yourself a migraine.”

She hovered, looking like she’d argue, but after a minute gave in. Her shoulders deflated, and she dropped her chin so she was looking at the ground. “Okay, fine.” She pulled a big file off the bar and handed it to me. “This is yours. For now. It has everything you need. The wedding planner is around and needs final confirmation on the table plan.” She whipped open the front and slammed her fist against the first page. “This is my plan. It does not change. You’re stubborn, Pops. You dig your heels in if she’s changed anything.”