Page 89 of How to Ruin a Wedding

When I give Anders a perplexed look, he tells me, “I forgot to mention, I have to travel to New York for just a couple days. I’ll be back early morning before the Jack and Jill.”

Anders presses another kiss to the side of my head.

And Bethany claps her hands. “You two are so damn cute; let me get a photo.” When she whips out her phone, Anders and I lean into each other, cheek to cheek.

We take a few shots, and then Anders asks, “Can you send me those?”

And my heart doubles its pulses.

Bethany asks about Anders’s newest book cover, and Olive busies herself with a game on her mom’s phone. Valerie joins the conversation now and then, and I keep my eyes on John, who barely joins in but is paying attention. Whenever Valerie fidgets with her hands, he covers them with his. If she twirls her hair, he pulls her fingers away.

“This is a vineyard,” I interrupt them all, standing up. “Shall I grab us drinks?”

“Sure,” Bethany agrees. “Get us the house wine.”

“I’ll help with the cups.” Anders starts to get up.

I press my hands on his shoulders and shove him down. “John,” I say, “let’s let them continue their conversation. Come help me.”

There’s no weapon in my hand, but John looks as if I’m pointing a gun his way. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Valerie’s eyes widen, and I give her a slight head shake. Of course I’m not mentioning what happened with the scammer. For a plethora of reasons. Also, thinking of even having a million dollars makes my head spin, let alone losing it.

He follows me at a slower pace than necessary as we make our way inside to the curved bar overlooking the hefty guest list. I order the house wine and a Shirley Temple for Olive.

“So,” I say, “heard I’m a bridesmaid now?”

John shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. “I did.”

I frown. “You don’t sound excited.”

“No,” he says, then brings his hands back out in a frantic wave. “I mean, yes, I am.”

“You’re incredibly hard to read. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“No,” he says, but if that’s true, that doesn’t mean other people don’t agree; it’s just that they’re not saying it to his face.

“You and Valerie are vastly different,” I point out. “She can light up a room and talk up a storm.” I don’t say the rest, but let him hear the implication that he’s far from those things.

“I know.”

“Does it make you nervous?” I ask. “You seem so. Even Olive can see how awkward you two can be.” When he stammers, I add, “In a sweet way, of course. I mean no offense.”

“Yes, it does,” he answers, and even when he does, I still can’t get a read on him. I want to feel him out more. Gather more information. And, really, the more I care for Valerie, the more genuinely I want what’s best for her. Unfortunately, the little I’ve learned about John isn’t reassuring.

They come from different lifestyles, and they barely so much as glance at each other when in the same room; he got her scammed out of a million goddamn dollars. Her family is already hesitant about the pair.

I just don’t see this working.

“So why ask her to marry you?” I say. “I know that’s blunt—I know I’m a new addition to the family dynamic—but I really adore Valerie, and I want her to be happy.”

He avoids my gaze. “Maybe we don’t look perfect to you, but Valerie thinks we are.”

“And what about you?” I counter.

He opens his mouth, then shuts it, then opens it again.