My Big Fat Fake Wedding(15)

Lydia’s face morphs into an uncustomary smile in a move that seems almost difficult for her unused facial muscles to pull off, and her words shock me. “It’s absolutely gorgeous, elegantly simple but layered and warm. When would you like to start with the rest of the renovations?”

And that’s that, I guess. I wouldn’t have minded a bit more effusiveness about my work, but I’ll take the bare-boned praise happily. Woo-hoo for me!

Twenty minutes later, Arch and I have packed up our work SUV outside and are heading down the road, passing palatial estates and historic mansions. But I don’t see any of them as we celebrate our success.

“Can you believe that?” Archie asks, using an unused pillow as a headrest. “I really thought we were going to have to make a run for it before she tried to skin us to make a coat as punishment for fucking up her living room. It puts the lotion on . . .” he intones.

“So did I,” I say, shaking my head. “For the record, I don’t have any fur, though.” I smile, waiting a half-beat for Arch’s comeback, knowing I lobbed him a good opportunity.

He scoffs and deadpans, “I know. I book your waxing appointments.” He looks pointedly at my crotch. “Never fear. I booked you for a full-body removal before the wedding. Don’t want Colin flossing with your snatch patch. Should I make it a couple’s waxing appointment? Don’t want you choking on his dick nest either.”

Normally, I’d laugh at that, but my heart stutters at Archie’s mention of the wedding, but I try to let it roll off my back. I won’t let it dim my flashlight of happiness over a job well done.

Lydia Montgomery is definitely one of those people who are hard to please, and I made her smile with my pure talent.

Eat your heart out, Colin! Decorating thing, my ass!

Attempting to stay on topic, I ask, “Did you see her smile? That’s probably the first time she’s smiled in weeks. Maybe months.”

“No kidding. Her lips stay more puckered than my asshole,” Arch agrees, making kissing sounds with his pursed lips. “And did you feel that ‘bow down, peasant bitch’ aura? I didn’t know whether to curtsey or kiss her ring!”

I chuckle, slowing down to give an oncoming Bentley the right of way in the narrow street. “She does have a way about her for sure.”

“Speaking of rings, have you told your family about the wedding date yet?” Arch asks. “Your Papa has to be going mad with anticipation!”

Ugh.

I should’ve known this was coming. I just don’t know if I have the strength to talk about it yet.

I open my mouth to make up some lie when my cell ringtone, Taylor Swift’s Blank Space, goes off and I see a series of texts go across the screen.

Yay, girly! The wedding invitations are ready!

Can’t wait for you to see!

They’re so pretty! Perfect, if I say so myself.

Damn it. I’d totally forgotten about those damn invitations. They’re totally worthless now, and Abi won’t be happy when I reveal that she did all that work in vain.

Not that I could have planned for Colin calling off our engagement.

“Who is that?” Arch asks as I hold in an internal groan. “Your horny fiancé, looking for an after-work booty call? Bow-chicka-wow-wow.”

But there’s no need to answer him because he dives for my phone and reads the text messages himself. It’s part of his role as my assistant, part of his gig as best friend, but mostly just because he’s nosy.

“Whoop, whoop!” Archie cheers. “Let’s go see these masterpieces Abi thinks she’s created so I can fix them the way they should’ve been done all along.” He smirks, and I know he’s kidding. Kind of. Maybe. “Let’s go, Bridezilla. Take the 305. It’s faster.”

Sighing at what’s to come, I head down the highway back toward the city and resignedly mutter, “Yay. Let’s go.”





*



“Here they are!” Abi chirps, presenting the wedding invitations to me, beautifully embossed peach-colored parchment with white vines lining the sides, interlaced with pink-colored roses.

Archie, Abi, and I are standing in the back room of her shop, Sweet Pea Boutique, gathered around a work table stacked with beautiful wedding invitations—around three hundred, to be exact—while Abi’s associate, Janey, manages the front of the shop for incoming customers.

My breath catches in my throat as I peer down at the gorgeously designed invitations. They’re works of art, rich and creamy card stock, lettering that’s flowy without being frilly . . . they’re perfection. “Oh, my God, Abi, these are so beautiful!”

Abi beams with pride as a breath I didn’t realize she was holding leaves her in a whoosh sound. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so relieved you like them! I know you wanted white on white, but when I saw this color, I knew I had to incorporate it.”

“You were right,” I say breathlessly, a single tear coursing down my cheek, but not for the reason Abi and Arch probably think it is. “These are fantastic.”

Archie nods, holding up the invitation to the light, agreeing, “It’s definitely a work of art! Pretty in blushing virgin pink! Not that you’ve been one of those in eons.”

He laughs at his own joke as I trace a finger over one of the floral designs, feeling like my heart is going to drop through my chest.