Real Fake Love (Copper Valley Fireballs #2)(94)

Not that there’s any fruit soaked in vodka at this party, but Marisol was kind enough to think of me when she arranged catering.

The party’s winding down when Marisol suddenly shrieks, “My garter!”

“Shit, yeah!” Emilio yells. “Let me under that skirt!”

Pretty sure that’s also meant to horrify their parents, but the next thing I know, I’m being shoved into the center of the dance floor, surrounded by all the single women, while Marisol skips to the edge of the patio with her bouquet.

Seriously?

“Excuse me,” I murmur to Marisol’s cousin.

She glances at my ringless hand, then lifts a brow at me as she blocks me from leaving the dance floor. “You’re single. You have to be here.”

“I’m in a very committed relationship. Luca and I have a pending common-law marriage.”

Emilio’s grandmother, a lovely widowed woman who promised to teach Luca and me how to make the best empanadas tomorrow, snorts in my direction. “Pending. You stay.”

As if I’m going to steal the bouquet from another woman who would appreciate the thought that she’d be the next woman to get married.

I make the “I give up, I’ll stay,” gesture for the sake of the women around me—also, is it weird to anyone else that they’d want more competition?—and formulate my escape route.

It’s simple, really.

The crowd starts counting down from three as Marisol warms up to throw her bouquet over her shoulder.

I wait until everyone yells one!, and then I squat to the ground.

I’ll probably get trampled, but Luca’s watching, and I know it’ll only be a moment before he dives over the mass of women lunging for the bouquet to drag me to safety.

Probably.

Unless he’s getting ribbed by his buddies about me being out here when we’ve told everyone that we’re in a committed relationship without the mess of formalities that are completely unnecessary for both of us. I know he’s not actually fretting that I’d catch the bouquet, nor is he fretting that I’d suddenly want a wedding if I did.

Everyone above me moves in a giant human wave, and I duck walk backwards as everyone’s leaping up to reach for the flying bouquet. I turn to glide into the open spaces between the women—as much as I can, anyway, with everyone bumping around me—and that’s the only explanation I have for not seeing what’s coming.

Specifically, Marisol’s giant bouquet.

It crashes down on my head, throwing me just off-balance enough that I end up tumbling forward on the concrete and I’m very, very grateful that this was a barefoot wedding, because I don’t want to know what would happen if everyone around me was in stilettos.

“It’s mine!” someone yells.

“No, I got it!”

“MINE!”

“ALL ME!”

I’m buried under thirty-four bodies. I’m the tight end tackled by the entire opposing team at the goal line. I’m the base of the cheerleader pyramid that fell apart.

And I’m squishing the bouquet.

The pressure on my body relaxes as, I assume, people are pulling the other women off the pile of bouquet wanna-be owners, until a familiar chuckle hits my ears and familiar hands grip me under the armpits and lift.

Luca’s face is contorting into eighty-nine different emotions, ranging from worry to horror to absolute, utter hilarity.

His green eyes sweep up and down, then catch on the ground as he asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Think so,” I pant. I suck in a full breath, verify nothing’s broken, and I nod as I glance down at what he’s staring at.

It’s Marisol’s bouquet.

I crushed the ever-loving duck out of Marisol’s bouquet.

“Oh,” someone murmurs to my right.

“I don’t think I want that now,” someone else murmurs to my left.

“Is it cursed?”

“She’s wearing it. She has to keep it.”

Luca’s shoulders are shaking, and while his head is ducked, he’s taller than me, which makes it easy for me to bend over and stare him in the face. “Are you laughing?”

“No.”

“I can see you laughing.”

“But I’m trying very hard not to.”

We both look at my dress, which is smeared with tropical bouquet flower guts.

I pinch my lips together, which makes my laugh come out my nose, which is not attractive.

Luca’s managing to not snort, but I know that won’t last much longer.

“Oh my god, Henri! Are you okay? Who made you get out there? Who did this to my friend?” Marisol stomps a foot and turns to glare at all of her friends and family, who all back up.

She snorts as she bends to grab the bouquet.

Everyone who wanted it so badly just a moment ago takes another step back.

“I’ll keep it,” I tell Marisol.

“We will,” Luca agrees. He coughs, snickers, and tries to school his features into something of a neutral smile, and fails miserably. “We’re the keepers of relics of weddings gone wrong.”

I giggle.

Luca visibly stifles another laugh.

Marisol hesitates, then hands me the trampled bouquet with a shrug and a laugh. “Only you two could appreciate this.”