My Big Fat Fake Wedding(87)

“Aww, to be in love . . . such is amore,” a voice says behind us.

I turn to see Gianna . . . no, wait . . . it’s Giovianna—those extra syllables are a killer—leaning against the door frame with her hands clasped beneath her chin. She’s a cousin, I think, from somewhere on the family tree. I swear I’m going to need a PowerPoint presentation or a flowchart to keep them all straight.

“Violet, I wanted to ask you something,” Giovianna says. Her smile looks friendly enough, but I’ve been in enough board rooms to recognize a shark approaching when I see one.

“Of course,” Violet says, unaware of the minefield she’s stepping into.

“I wasn’t sure you knew this or not, but Michael and Anna have been in several weddings now. Anna does enjoy sprinkling the flowers along the aisle, and Michael is very responsible and would keep the rings safe and sound. They’d be a lovely addition to your bridal party. They’re family, you know?”

Giovianna wants her kids to be the flower girl and ring bearer? Are these the same kids who are currently running wild in the living room using tubes of wrapping paper as swords and bopping each other over the head like feral Bunny Foo-Foo characters? Why do they even have wrapping paper out? It’s not Christmas or a birthday.

And did they just . . . yes, Michael did in fact just launch himself from the chair to the couch in a dive roll to escape Anna’s foot kicking out at the chair legs.

No way are they flower girl and ring bearer material. We’re not even doing that. Are we?

I turn to Violet, who looks like a horrified deer in the headlights, and decide to take the oncoming bullet myself. I squeeze her side, letting her know that I’ve got this.

“That is so kind of you to offer, Giovianna. But we truly are trying to keep things as small as possible, given the size of Violet’s family and my family’s business associates. I’m sure you understand that when an event like this is pulled together so quickly, it has to be as streamlined as possible to prevent anything from going awry. But thank you, truly.” I smile, thinking I handled that quite nicely.

The temperature in the room drops to frigid, and I swear, conversations stop all over the house as eyes turn this way. Even Nana is looking at me through narrowed eyes, but I have no idea what’s wrong. I thought I was pretty polite about the whole thing because who forces their kids into someone else’s wedding party twenty-four hours before we walk down the aisle? Especially hellions like Michael and Anna, who are now smearing something on the coffee table. Dear God, let that be chocolate.

Violet suddenly finds her tongue and leans toward Giovianna. “Of course, we’d love to have them.”

There’s an audible sigh of relief, and conversations begin again. Giovianna glares at me as she walks away, hopefully, to corral her demon spawn.

“What just happened?” I whisper to Violet.

“You can’t turn down an offer like that. It’s . . . it’s just not done,” she says, as if that explains everything. It doesn’t, not at all.

We both look to the living room. Giovianna has Michael by the ear, which he’s struggling against, and Anna is sitting pretty as a picture in the chair, her feet swinging where they don’t reach the floor. She looks like one of those girls from The Shining, all sweet and innocent, but it’s a cover for the evil beneath.

“So we’re up to a news crew, an orchestra, family guest singers, and a forced ring bearer and flower girl. Anything I’m missing?” I ask, shaking my head in disbelief.

Violet grimaces. “If we can pull this off, it’s going to be a miracle.”





*



We’re lying on the sofa, Violet’s body limp after the whirlwind of today. In the last eight hours, we’ve marked every last detail off the to-do list . . .

* The get together with her family, where I insulted everyone with my lack of understanding about forced wedding party participation being a gift.

* A walkthrough of the ceremony with Father O’Flannigan, during which Violet looked ready to collapse.

* Coffee with my mom, though my Dad was noticeably absent and Mom’s excuse that he was at work was painfully thin.

* Violet’s final fitting at the bridal shop. I’d heard her whoop of delight at fitting into the dress from the lobby, where I’d been relegated because it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride.

And now, we wait. In less than twenty-four hours, we will have pulled off the biggest prank of our lives . . . together this time, instead of against one another.

“Ross?” she says, her voice a bit scratchy.

I put my arm around her, holding her gently. “Yeah?”

“Did I snap at Father O’Flannigan during practice today?”

I nod, kissing the top of her head. “Just a little. I’m sure he’s seen a few nervous brides before. It’s okay.”

“Really?” she asks, utterly exhausted. “Then why do I feel like everything’s going to be a giant mess tomorrow?”

“Because despite every bride’s best intentions, and every wedding planner in the world, a wedding is like a football game,” I say with a soft laugh. “Everyone’s game plan goes right out the door when something smacks you in the mouth.”

“Thanks,” she complains, punching me weakly in the ribs. “You know, this isn’t helping with my pre-wedding jitters.”