Wedding Bells and Wall Street Bros

by Alina Jacobs

  He would be such a great dad.

  Not happening.

  “I’ll take this up for you,” Mark said when he pulled up in front of the Weddings in the City office building.

  Along with the picnic hamper, Amy had also given me a crate of samples that we were going to potentially put in the reception gift bags. Mark’s biceps bulged as he picked up the crate.

  “I could have the doorman take it.”

  Mark looked over his shoulder at me. “Just grab the dog.”

  Beowulf ran around the Wedding in the City office space, happily sniffing.

  “He smells Ivy’s cat,” I joked, setting the picnic hamper on the table.

  Mark wrapped his hand around my waist, pressing his nose against my neck.

  “You smell like honeysuckle,” he murmured.

  Mark pushed me up against the side of the couch. I ran my fingers through his hair. He kissed along my collarbone and undid my shirt.

  I gasped as he took one of my breasts into his mouth, rolling the nipple with his tongue. I moaned, arching up against him. Mark ran his hands down my hips, his mouth back on mine. His finger traced up my inner thigh, and I moaned as he pressed me through my soaking panties. I whimpered when his fingers pushed under the fabric, clinging to him as he stroked me.

  The elevator dinged.

  “Brea!” Ivy called.

  Beowulf barked, and I pushed Mark’s hands away, frantically adjusting my clothes.

  “Are you ready to—oh!” Ivy said. “Hi, Mark.”

  “Mark was just helping me carry up the crate of samples,” I said. I picked up Beowulf and shoved him at Mark then pushed them both to the elevator. My friends all gaped.

  “Thank you so much for your help. I will see you at the next meeting!”

  Mark’s smirk at me as the elevator doors shut promised a lot more than a professional meeting, and that was going to be a huge problem.

  “I thought you were supposed to be making him not like you,” Sophie reminded me as she set a stack of pizza boxes on the kitchen counter.

  I took a deep breath and collapsed on the couch. I could steel feel the phantom touch of Mark’s hands on my skin. “That’s why I said it was an emergency.”

  “We need to run Memphis Eve out of town. Once she’s been caught on some other man’s hook, then you can dump Mark,” Elsie said.

  I looked up at the ceiling. “Or maybe we could wait?” I croaked.

  “Until after he’s had a chance to fuck your brains out?” Grace asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yes, I mean no, of course not. I don’t even like him.”

  Sophie nodded sagely. “Oreos aren’t doing it anymore.”

  “Let’s see the new man that is going to be Memphis Eve’s new Instagram boy toy,” Ivy said, taking out her computer. I handed her the business card, and she typed the name into the search bar.

  “Wilder Svensson—oof, that’s a name. Runs some sort of niche software company that makes stuff for energy companies and mining companies. Works with several of his brothers.”

  I peered over her shoulder. “Dang, there are a lot of Svenssons.”

  “And they all look like dicks,” Amy remarked.

  “Which is good.” Grace said. “Now you won’t feel guilty for foisting your sister on Wilder.”

  “So are you going to arrange a meet-cute?” Sophie asked, selecting a slice of sausage pizza.

  “That would be too twee for them,” I said. “We’re not trying to start the love story of the century, just get her on the Svenssons’ radar. Mark will consider her toxic after she’s been with one of them.”

  I scrolled through my sister’s social media photos. She liked to post risqué photos of herself on Instagram wearing skimpy dresses or bathing suits. I selected the one that would most likely appeal to a man with too much money and too little sense and downloaded it to my phone.

  “You need to make the text message to Wilder super thirsty,” Sophie said. “Like, ‘Do I have to sign for your package? Because it’s huge on my porch, and I don’t want some other girl to steal it!’ or ‘Are you an elevator? Because I want to go up and down on you.’”

  “He’s not going to message you back if you just send him a random photo of some girl he’s never met,” Grace said and showed me her computer screen. “Here, I cropped off her head. Send that to him. Then when he gets all excited, tell Wilder you have a hot, horny twin who wants him.”

  I took a deep breath. “Here it goes!”

  Brea: I always try to be an A student but I always end up with the D.

  Brea: *sends picture*

  Wilder: That’s a nice sweater. Can I talk you out of it?

  Wilder: *sends dick pic*

  Wilder: I’m assuming this is the girl from the restaurant.

  “Good gracious!” Sophie exclaimed, fanning herself at the picture. “That guy gets around.”

  “Also,” Amy said, “can you forward that around to the rest of us? Just for…” She shrugged. “I don’t really have a good excuse.”

  Grace took a look and made a pleased noise. “Usually dick pics look like hot garbage, but he has nice composition, good lighting, and excellent use of background.”

  “I am disowning all of you,” Elsie said flatly.

  Brea: Guess again!

  Wilder: From the hot dog stand?

  Brea: Now I’m offended.

  “So I hope someone has a plan B,” Elsie said, grabbing another piece of pizza.

  “Gimme that,” Grace said and cracked her knuckles. “Watch and learn, ladies!”

  Grace as Brea: One more shot!

  Wilder: …

  Wilder: The girl from the baseball game.

  Grace as Brea: Ooh premature ejaculation!

  Wilder: No! You’re the only girl who’s ever written me back!!!

  Wilder: I’ll eat out your pussy then buy you a car.

  “Definitely Memphis Eve’s type,” I commented over Grace’s shoulder. She snickered.

  Grace as Brea: *Kiss face.* It’s the girl from the farm.

  Wilder: Shoot! I wanted it to be you!

  Grace as Brea: No dice. I need a man who has it together.

  Wilder: Please!

  Grace as Brea: Ooh he’s begging! Well how about a consolation prize?

  Wilder: A date?

  Grace as Brea: I hear you liked that picture.

  Wilder: *salivating*

  “Gross!” Elsie said. “What is he, like twenty-three?”

  “You don’t want a younger guy?” Ivy tittered.

  Grace as Brea: If you like that, there’s more where that came from.

  Grace copied in Memphis Eve’s Instagram page handle and sent the link.

  Grace as Brea: My twin sister is super hot and super into you. Message her.

  Grace sent Wilder Memphis Eve’s phone number.

  “Now we wait. I guess you’ve got a little more time to experience all Mark Holbrook has to offer!”

  I would not be experiencing any more. I already had one foot in the addiction river of sexual Mark Holbrook. I was not belly flopping in. Instead, I holed up with my sewing for the next few days.

  There was radio silence from my sister. But Mark had texted me a few times. I just gave noncommittal answers. I was already playing fast and loose. I was not going to be the person that led him on.

  You just have to break up with him somehow.

  The doorbell rang at my parents’ apartment, making me jump and almost stab myself with the needle. After checking to make sure the snow-white fabric was still pristine, I padded out to the living room. My parents were on an estate sale excursion. Somehow they were planning on packing yet another piece of antique furniture into the small apartment.

  I was expecting an Amazon package, but when I opened the door, it was not, in fact, my triceratops taco holder. Instead, standing there was my twin sister.

  “The gays aren’t here?” she said snidely, pushing past me. “Oh, I can see they aren’t unless they’
re buried under all of this garbage. What a sad little apartment.” She whirled around to face me and pushed her designer sunglasses up on top of her head.

  One of the Roombas chugged along the shag carpet and bumped against her foot. My twin made a face and kicked the robot. It retaliated by beeping then running over her shoe.

  I tamped down a laugh. “What do you want?” I asked.

  “You were trying to steal Mark from me, weren’t you,” she challenged, crossing her arms. “Pathetic.” Memphis Eve shook her head slightly. “Poor little dumpy Brea. You were never the pretty twin. Don’t you see? He’ll grow bored with you. Just wait. But don’t worry, I’m not going to try to snap him up from you.”

  “Did one of those sheiks you’ve been taking money from finally offer to lock you in his harem in exchange for a Birkin bag?” I asked meanly.

  “I have better prospects—home-grown American ones. I was just messaged with a most intriguing offer, and I’ll be moving to Boston to live in a luxury hotel. I just came to warn you to stay away from Mark Holbrook.”

  “You can’t have two guys,” I scoffed.

  My sister gave me a look filled with pity. “And to think I wasted my time with a sisterly gesture. Poor little naïve Brea. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “He deserves better than someone like you!” I shot at her.

  Memphis Eve laughed and gestured around. “How are you going to marry him, be the mother of his children, when you live in a hoarder house?”

  “‘Hoarder’ is harsh language,” I protested. “I prefer to think of this apartment as cozy.”

  “Mark’s not going to think of it that way,” she said snidely. “His whole family is old Connecticut money. You have the veneer of being the quirky, fun girl that makes him forget about his responsibilities, but once he gets to know the real you, he’s not going to like you.”

  She swept out of the apartment, and I slumped on the couch. One of the Roombas came and bumped against my foot.

  Then I realized my plan had worked! Memphis Eve was leaving, and I could break up with Mark. The thought made me sad. You need to do it. I picked up my phone to text him then put it down. God, I was so terrible at confrontation!

  I should break it off. Instead, I grabbed a packet of cheese doodles from the kitchen and hid in my room, dreading the next day’s meeting.

  25

  Mark

  I arrived at the Wedding in the City office early specifically so I could see Brea. But she was cold and refused my attempts to talk to her or get her alone. What had happened? It was like we were back to day one.

  Maybe you moved too fast for her. You could have freaked her out. Or maybe she really just does not like you. Screw her for leading me on then.

  “We have the first wave of RSVPs in,” Ivy said, gesturing to a spreadsheet on her tablet. “Today we need to look at the seating arrangements! Now, I think we have the newly renovated ballroom at the Holbrook estate. The best layout is to have the head table on this side with the gift bags by the windows but leave that area open so people have a nice view of the gardens. We’ll put the cake and dessert table along this wall, with round tables interspersed. I find that the ten-seater tables are a bit cumbersome and not conducive to any sort of discussion, so I was thinking the six-seater tables.”

  “Let’s do a mix,” Brea suggested as Ivy made notes.

  “Yes,” Liz said. “I have some family members who are all going to want to sit at the same table.”

  The discussion was tedious. Now that Brea was being standoffish, I had zero reason to be attending these things. I scowled at the miniature model of the Holbrook estate ballroom.

  “You think Wes will like this arrangement?” Liz asked me sweetly.

  I grunted.

  “How eloquent,” Brea said dryly.

  “Are you sure he didn’t ask for anything else?” Liz prompted. “I don’t want him to think I don’t care about him.”

  “He’ll like whatever you like,” I said automatically.

  “Just tell me what he wants!” Liz begged. “I want him to be happy.”

  I shrugged. Brea was quickly embroidering a bodice while we talked, the small silver needle whipping in and out of the fabric.

  “I think he’d want a nacho cheese fountain,” I said, grasping for something a guy might want at his wedding that also wasn’t completely crass.

  “A nacho cheese fountain!” Brea said in horror. “We cannot have that.”

  “If that’s what Wes wants…” Liz said gamely.

  “This is supposed to be your dream wedding!” Brea cried. “A cheese fountain is not going to photograph nicely.”

  “It could be a fondue fountain,” Ivy said.

  “It doesn’t have to be that serious,” I said, blowing out a breath. Brea looked as if she was about to explode. “You can just buy the industrial canned nacho cheese and tip it in there.”

  “It’s going to smell!” Brea shouted.

  She was so incensed that I couldn’t help but egg her on. “We could do two fountains, you know, make it symmetrical, one with extra-spicy cheese, one with mild. Then you could have chili, guacamole, and other toppings and have a full nacho station,” I added.

  “You don’t have to have a nacho station if you don’t want to,” Brea assured Liz. “A nacho bar is too much.”

  “You think Wes would like that?” Liz asked me.

  “Not if it will make you unhappy,” I told her, trying to backtrack. Wes was going to kill me if I ruined Liz’s wedding. Then my mother would be next in line. “Honestly, don’t worry about it.”

  “I want him to know I was thinking about him.” She was silent for a moment. “We should have a nacho station. In fact, let’s go all out! It can be a Wes appreciation station.”

  “The wedding is about the bride,” Brea said.

  “It’s about the happy couple, Brea,” I drawled, knowing that would annoy her.

  “But the vision board…” Brea protested.

  “We should have a whole array of sports-themed food—jerky, chicken nuggets—” Liz added.

  “A barbeque sauce fountain,” I said, “and one with chipotle sauce.”

  “You can’t have a chicken nugget dipping fountain at a high-society wedding,” Brea protested. “That’s…that’s…”

  “Amazing?” I teased. “We should have a station that makes french fries. It would be a shame to waste all that dipping sauce.”

  Liz’s hand rested on her stomach. “Now you’re making me hungry. I need chicken tenders! Gosh, I wish there was a Zaxby’s in New York. Their fried chicken is amazing.”

  “There’s a pretty good place down the street. We can have them bring some here,” Ivy offered.

  Liz hefted herself out of her chair. “I’ll go walk and order it. My new rule is that if I want something unhealthy, I make myself go retrieve it so I can at least get some exercise. Maybe you can come with me?” she said to Ivy. “We can talk about some of the wedding specifics.”

  Brea hopped up.

  “You don’t have to come,” Liz said craftily to Brea. “I know you have a lot of sewing you’re working on. We don’t want my dress to be delayed!”

  Brea sat back down in her chair, back ramrod straight.

  From behind Brea, Liz gestured dramatically to me, pointed to the seamstress, and mouthed, Get it.

  I rolled my eyes.

  The silence was uncomfortable after Liz left. Brea seemed like she was gearing herself up for something.

  “We need to stop doing this,” she said, not looking at me.

  “This what?” I countered. “We haven’t done anything.”

  Brea looked down at her sewing, the needle flying as she refused to look at me.

  “Brea,” I said, lightly touching her chin, tipping her head to me. “What did I do?”

  “Nothing!” she exploded. “You’re nice and wonderful! You did nothing!” Then she shut her mouth.

  I wanted to kiss her and feel her melt against me,
but the way she was weaving that needle almost automatically, she could probably take my eye out without even thinking.

  “And you’re cute and sexy and unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” I told her. “Besides, it’s just sex. It’s not like we’re planning a wedding.” That earned me a small smile. “Well,” I amended, “not our own wedding. It’s just something fun. No commitment.” Why was I being so weird about this? It was unlike me to beg. But I didn’t want to lose Brea without a fight.

  It’s just because you’re horny, I assured myself. That’s the only rational explanation for this behavior.

  “You’re clearly stressed,” I told her as she continued to sew. “I could help with that.”

  She bit her lip. “I don’t think so. Besides, I have to plan the bachelorette party, and vibrators are buy five, get one free so I think I’m good.”

  “You can’t honestly think,” I purred, “that whatever you buy online is comparable to the real thing?”

  Brea finished her stitch and tied off the thread. “Is this some sort of blatant offer?” she asked.

  “Hardly,” I countered. “I have a meeting after this. And I don’t do quick the first time around. I’m offering a bit of an appetizer.” I got up and went to stand behind her. Our reflections were faint in the window opposite the table. “You can decide if you want to invest in the full experience after.”

  “I doubt it will be that impressive,” Brea said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

  I slowly took the fabric from her and set it on the table. Then I kissed from her neck to her jaw to her mouth as my hands caressed her. I unbuttoned her top, pulling her breasts out, rubbing her tits, teasing her nipples. They were hard under my fingers. I reached down to pull up her skirt as I kissed her deeply. She moaned against my mouth as I pressed my fingers against her wet panties. She spread her legs for me; she clearly wanted me. I rubbed her through the panties, satisfied when she whimpered. Then I stopped. Brea made an annoyed noise.