Page 31 of How to Ruin a Wedding

I swipe gloss over my lips, then drop it back into my bag, zipping it shut. “Why are you paying me so much?” He’d agreed to double what I needed to buy my share of Save a Paw, simply because I asked. “I mean, you know I’ve been evicted, and I’m unemployed, so really, you could have paid very little, and I might have agreed.”

“I have the money. You need the money. Why would I say no?”

“Because my pricing is unreasonable?”

His head tilts slightly to the side—a habit I’m noticing he does whenever he takes a few extra seconds to think before answering. “But your reasoning is not.”

I squint my eyes, but I can see nothing in his face that seems like an ulterior motive or a lie. He answers everything I ask, not vaguely either, yet I still feel more questions take root after he does.

“You seem pretty steady, so I can’t imagine why your aunt would have to worry about your spiraling,” I say without thinking, but Anders doesn’t tell me if the statement crosses any boundaries.

Instead, he shrugs. “My aunt says I keep my emotions in my bones. That no matter what I’m feeling, I don’t let it show or let it out. It just merges with my body and becomes part of my foundation—she’s worried for the day it crumbles. What’ll be left behind.”

“Are you? Worried, I mean.”

“I’m not sure. I feel fine, more often than not.”

I purse my lips and watch a man walking two large dogs on the sidewalk as we drive. I have to know, seeing as I’m meeting with his family, but it still feels like trespassing into Anders’s private, meticulously locked corridors when I ask, “Where are your parents?”

“My biological mom? Somewhere in the world, traveling, maybe remembering to send a postcard from wherever her free spirit pulls her. My dad and stepmother are here in South Carolina. My father’s an executive director at a law firm; my stepmother doesn’t work.”

“You talk about your aunt as if she’s more maternal than them.”

He rolls his shoulders. “She practically raised me. My mom was my father’s mistress, so my being born caused a lot of problems. For my mom, who never wanted kids, and for my dad, for obvious reasons. My mom kept me because she figured my father would send her money to keep her away. She was right.”

“That’s horrible.” I can’t keep the horror from my voice. “I’m sorry.”

My resentment at the loss of my parents is entirely directed at the universe, and my love for them remains this great, beautiful thing. So much less burdensome than it must feel to be entirely, voluntarily left behind the way Anders was, without ever feeling the love a parent should give.

“Don’t be sorry. My aunt is the greatest person. I’ve lacked nothing in my life.”

There seems to be no underlying grief behind the words, but I can’t imagine it being true unless Anders is far more emotionally resilient than most, or he truly has just accepted his mom abandoning him. I’m not sure what’s sadder.

“They’re still assholes,” I mumble and earn a low chuckle from Anders.

“So, anything else I should know about you? Something your family will expect me to be aware of?”

He shakes his head. “We went over the basics already, but nothing is pressing. Don’t worry about that; they’re easily charmed by compliments and gifts. Just try and get to know them, especially Val.”

I blow out a breath and nod. I needed that, the reminder of what I’m here for. It’s not about getting to know him, though my brain keeps forming questions that branch off endlessly. No matter how sweet Anders is, his sister is also his priority. I need to focus.

“Right, so I’m going to impress them all. Charm them into letting me in on the wedding planning and get invited as a participant.”

“Anything I can do to help?” he asks.

“Not yet. I have to figure out what kind of wedding your sister’s is.”

“What ‘kind’ of wedding?”

I nod. “Each wedding, the ones that need wrecking, falls into one of three categories: Because of Family, Because of Opportunity, or Because of Delusion.” I explain, “There are smaller umbrellas, too, that couples can fall under. Usually, it’s Trust, Lust, or Rust. Trust, there’s infidelity. Lust, you only said yes because you had rose-tinted glasses, or you’re in love with someone else. Rust, the love got stale, and you’re staying together out of obligation and duty. Once I figure out that, I can decide how to ruin it.”

“Wow.” He whistles. “I know you said this isn’t what you want to do forever, but you seem to know a lot about such a niche gig in the short amount of time you’ve been doing it.”

“If you’re going to do a job, do it right,” I say, echoing one of my father’s many mottoes.

He grins. “A true professional.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, and I catch myself watching Anders more closely than I probably should. Part of me wonders if I’m genuinely curious about him—or if it’s just the shallowness of finding him so attractive that I want to know what’s really underneath.