Page 101 of How to Ruin a Wedding

“Really?”

“No,” Anders admits, and I laugh. “But I don’t want you to think I’m some coward.”

“Coward, no,” I tease. “Scaredy-cat, on the other hand ...”

“Anyway,” he says, “how is my dog?”

Mydog. Already attached enough to claim Sora as his own. I knew he’d be a good owner.

“Good. Currently sunbathing.”

“And how’s my girl?”

My heart stutters. “Good. Watching your dog sunbathing, waiting for you.”

“I guess I’d better get on the plane if I can.”

Though his words are laced with warmth and sincerity, there’s still a hint of edge to them. If he’s stressed about even the thought of flying, I won’t add to it by telling him what I have planned. If he doesn’t makeit, he’ll be freaking out about missing it. If he does, he’ll be trying to calm his ass down on the plane.

I’ll just check his flight info. We still have plenty of time for him to make it; the flight is just under three hours. Plenty of time before the party. Once he touches down, I’ll tell him in person—less stress for the anxious man.

“I hope so.” I inspect my nails. “I’m tan, my skin is glowing, and I’ve never been prettier. It would be a waste if you didn’t get to see me in all my glory.” Then, feeling a little cocky and wanting to ease some of Anders’s anxiety, I add, “In more ways than one.”

“Lucinda,” he calls my name softly.

“I don’t want to be a cliché ‘guess what I’m wearing tonight,’ so I’ll just tell you: With how tight my dress is, nothing at all underneath it.”

Anders sucks in a breath. “Need I remind you I’m in a very public place?”

“Just thought I’d remind you that I miss you,” I say. “Especially at night.”

“Lucinda.” This time, my name is a warning.

“But I’ve made do,” I add, “in your clothes, in your bed, thinking about you while I touch myself.”

There’s a rustle of movement, then, “Jesus Christ, Lucinda.”

“Talking about it is making me needy,” I go on. “Maybe I’ll head back to your room now.”

“I’m honest to God about to grab a plane and pilot it myself,” Anders says, and I cackle.

“Oh,” I say mid-laugh, “I’ll be late if I don’t leave soon. I should go now.”

“You are a menace,” he says, exasperated.

I end the call on a chuckle and a bundle of satisfaction in the pit of my stomach.

Time to focus—wedding ruining D-Day is here. The Hail Mary.

It’s time to put the nail in the coffin.

It’s weird being without Anders as I enter Bethany’s home. I’ve grown used to the comfort of his presence, his body, and the feel of his arm wrapped around my waist, the ease with which we slip our fingers through each other’s.

Still, I keep my chin up as I move through people, dressed in all white as Valerie requested to match with the white balloons, white centerpieces, white gift bags; all white for the bride, who is standing by Olive, speaking with her fingers pinching her nose.

As I get closer, I spot the orange stain on the side of Valerie’s dress, matching the color of the half-empty glass Olive holds. I hold in a laugh as I approach, just as Bethany appears and starts blotting the stain.

“I told you to stay in your room and read your book,” Bethany says while rubbing the stain furiously. “Nothing at this party is interesting enough for a kid to join.”