by Alina Jacobs
Then I was alone with my mother.
“Oh, I’m so happy I’m moving in with you!” she gushed. “We’re going to be just like Gilmore Girls! You have to tell me all about how you snagged a Harrington, and Evan at that! Good for you for going toe to toe with Camilla over him. Thankfully, your mamma’s here to make sure you win him from that entitled little bitch.”
“I’m not in a competition for him,” I sputtered. “It was a mistake, and it’s not happening again.”
“Good,” my mom said, opening her suitcase and starting to unpack. “You have to play hard to get. Don’t be a slut.” She sighed. “You don’t want to be like me. You have to hold out for the right man—a rich man—then trap him with a pregnancy. That was the mistake I made with your father. I thought he had money. But he was only sixteen, so of course him having his own car and job at the Sonic was impressive. But you, Ivy? A billionaire? Well. You’re going to have it made. Then I can come live with you and him. I can be your assistant or your nanny!”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. There was no universe ever in which my mother would watch my hypothetical children.
“Mom, you can’t stay here.”
“Why not? You have room.”
“I literally don’t!” I said, gesturing around.
“Oh, I know. It’s because of Evan,” she said knowingly. “This will be a good thing. Evan can’t keep coming over here like you’re his mistress. You need to go over to his space and stake your claim in his life.”
“I’m not going to be in a relationship with him,” I insisted.
“If I have anything to do with it, you’re going to marry him.”
39
Evan
Ivy was so fucking intoxicating. If her mother hadn’t shown up, I would have spent all night fucking her.
I arrived at the wedding venue early, hoping she would be there. I wasn’t disappointed. Ivy was walking around a side hallway, taking notes, when I found her. I stifled her squawk of surprise with my mouth when I pulled her into a shallow niche, pressed her against the wall, and kissed her.
“I need you,” I whispered hoarsely in her ear.
“You can’t keep coming over to my house anymore,” she whispered.
I ran my hands under her skirt, wanting to feel the slick heat of her pussy. “That’s fine. My penthouse has room anyway,” I told her. “I can fuck you on the couch, in my bed, in the shower, in my office. But first, I’m going to fuck you right here.”
“That’s not a good idea.” She squirmed against me, the motion making my cock hard. “Someone might see.”
“It will be quick and dirty,” I promised her, my hand pressing against her wet panties. “Unless you don’t want to?”
Her eyes were glazed with lust.
“Hmm?” I said, kissing her. “We only have a few minutes.”
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” she whispered, nibbling her lip.
I kissed it. “But you want to.”
Her breath was hot against my mouth when she whispered, “Yes.”
That was all the permission I needed. I stroked her hard as I pulled out a condom, ripping the paper with my teeth, and Ivy unzipped my pants, running her hands along my hard cock.
“You want that in you, don’t you?” I whispered in her ear, rolling on the condom.
She moaned, and I pressed kisses to her neck. Then I hiked up her skirt and used two fingers to move her lacy, soaking panties to the side. I kissed her hard, silencing her screams as I thrust into her. There wasn’t time to be slow. We could be caught any minute, and Ivy would be furious.
I thrust into her hard, filling her tight little pussy with my huge cock, ramming into her again and again. Her tits strained against me as I fucked her. I longed to free them to take the hard nipples into my mouth, but I had to make her come. I angled her, my large hands digging into her ass as I fucked her, jackhammering into her, making sure my cock stroked her clit with every thrust. Her legs tightened around me, and I knew she was close.
I covered her mouth with mine as she screamed her pleasure while I pumped my orgasm into her.
“Shit,” Ivy breathed.
I tucked a sweaty curl back around her ear. She kissed me hard then bit my chin.
“All that did was make me want you more.”
“Where is my wedding planner?” Imogen shrieked from the distance.
Ivy’s eyes widened, and she adjusted her clothes. “How do I look?” she asked, her face flushed.
“You look like you’re just begging to have me bend you over and fuck you,” I purred.
“Oh gosh!” She ran to the bathroom, and I went to the lobby to run interference.
“Where’s Ivy?” Imogen demanded.
I shrugged. “I was making a phone call.”
“Honestly, I need to fire her,” Imogen fumed.
“Ah, there’s the bride!” Ivy said, flanked by two of the event space staff. The venue was a historic conservatory in Central Park. Imogen had booked it before Teddy had even proposed. I had been told ad nauseam that it was a very in-demand space.
Despite the admittedly beautiful venue, I couldn’t help but keep my eyes on Ivy. She was in a form-fitting little black dress, black heels, with her hair in a loose bun that I just wanted to take down.
“Thank you so much for letting us come by on such short notice,” Ivy said to the venue staff.
“We do have another wedding setting up,” the man cautioned.
“We understand. We’ll stay out of the way,” Ivy assured him.
We walked into the main space. The staff was setting up tables, with the long bridal-party table in front of the floor-to-ceiling lead-plated windows. Sheer drapes hung from the ceiling. Even though I was still antiwedding, I had to admit that the space did look pretty.
Imogen was not impressed.
“This is so basic,” she said loudly. Several of the staff sent annoyed looks our way.
“Imogen,” I hissed at her.
“What, Evan? You have to admit I’m right.”
“At least they have enough people for the nice long head table instead of one shoved into a corner,” Teddy said, not looking up from his phone. “Hey, Ivy, since we can’t put the head table there, let’s put the New York Giants table there instead. A guy I went to college with, his wife makes sports-themed food. I want to have nachos and red and blue Jell-O shots.”
“We’re not having a football team table at my wedding!” Imogen snapped.
“It’s my wedding too!” the groom shouted.
Ivy looked concerned.
“Why don’t we discuss this after our appointment,” I said firmly, not liking the dirty looks the event space staff were sending our way.
“No,” Teddy protested. “You always say that, and now I can’t have the wedding I want. No one is taking me and my needs seriously.”
“And you are a stingy asshole!” Imogen yelled at me. “After all we’ve done for you. You want my wedding to be ruined like yours. You want me to have terrible basic food and crappy centerpieces like this! I mean, look at it. It’s hideous.” She hefted one of the centerpieces from a nearby table.
“Imogen, put that centerpiece down this instant,” I hissed, lunging at her. She jerked away from me, and the heavy vase slipped out of her hand and crashed to the floor. Candles, orchids, and crystals scattered everywhere.
“Fuck.”
“Look what you made me do!” Imogen berated, stamping her feet and crushing the flowers. “This is your fault!”
“Excuse me,” the venue owner thundered. She was a steely-eyed older woman with spectacles perched on her nose. “This is unconscionable behavior.”
“My sister is just frazzled. She’s a bride, and she’s…” Mika made a helpless gesture.
“Entitled and spoiled is what she is,” the owner said, clearly unimpressed with Imogen.
“You can’t talk to me that way,” Imogen yelled at her. “I’m your client. I’m paying a hundred
thousand dollars to have my wedding here.”
“I think you mean I am,” I countered.
“Not anymore,” the owner said tartly. “You’re fired.”
Ivy’s face went white as a sheet. Imogen’s went beet red.
“You can’t fire me! I’m paying you.”
“Imogen!” I barked.
“I most assuredly can,” the owner said. “You are in violation of our policies. And as a reminder, you paid a nonrefundable deposit. We will email you the canceled contract.”
Imogen balled her fists up.
“Evan, pay her and make her take our wedding back.”
The owner looked down her nose at me. Even though I was probably a good foot and a half taller than her, I felt like an eight-year-old about to be scolded.
“We do not want your business. We have brides calling every day, wanting to pay triple price for this space. You have been removed from the calendar. Please make other arrangements.” The owner turned on her heel. We had been dismissed.
“Oh god, oh god,” Ivy said, sitting on the stoop of the stone stairs at the venue entrance.
“How can they do this to us?” Imogen raged. “Doesn’t she know who we are? Ivy, I have to have my wedding here. You have to make them have my wedding here. I’ve waited years for this moment. That old woman can’t kick me out. She can’t!”
My stepmother patted her on the back. “We’ll find you another venue, Immie, a better venue.”
“Oh my god,” Ivy whispered to me. “I’m going to be ruined. This is a disaster.”
40
Ivy
I was hyperventilating as we walked away from the venue. “How could this happen?” I whispered.
Evan wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
“How?” I thought I was going to cry. “We can’t just book another venue.”
“Let me work my magic.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. I was in too much shock to care that his family could see.
“This is terrible,” Imogen said, stamping her feet as we waited for the car to take us to the next appointment. “You have to fix this now!”
“We’re going to find you a new venue,” my mom said to Imogen. “Ivy’s already on it, I’m sure.”
“You better,” Imogen said, jabbing her perfectly manicured finger at us, “or you’re going to be sorry.”
I wanted to go home and have a drink and a large bowl of pasta. Unfortunately, the day’s bridal events had just started, and we were en route to the hair and makeup test.
“I had champagne and a charcuterie spread delivered to the salon,” Mika told me.
“Bless you,” I replied.
She looked at me oddly. “So my brother and you…”
“Are not involved at all,” I said, voice low.
“Mmkay.” Mika gave me a knowing smile. “Camilla’s still after him. So if you keep him away from her, you will be my hero. And if you two get married, even better. You would be the absolute best sister ever. In case you’re wondering,” she jerked her head to Imogen, who was further up in the limousine, complaining to the driver about the temperature, “I’m in the market for an upgrade.”
“I’m not sure Evan’s looking to get married again,” I told her.
And even if by some miracle Evan decided he wanted me for more than sex—and I was totally okay with us keeping our relationship purely sexual—I would never have a big wedding. We would go to the courthouse, I would wear civil ceremony chic, then we’d go to a nice restaurant and be in bed by nine thirty. No irate bridesmaids, no frazzled makeup artists, and no bridezillas.
The few remaining bridesmaids that Imogen hadn’t driven off were already at the salon when we arrived. They were sitting on the tufted white leather chairs, digging into the snacks and drinks.
“Stop!” Imogen screeched, slapping the crackers out of one girl’s hands. “You can’t eat so much before my wedding. You’re going to get bloated and ruin my pictures. Did no one read the dietary restriction email I sent out? You are only allowed to drink lemon tea or noncarbonated water. You are only allowed to eat raw tuna and kale. No carbs, no salty meats, and no cheese!” Imogen glared at another girl. “Are you trying to ruin my wedding, Daisy? You of all people should know better. Your rack is already gigantic.” She motioned to Daisy’s chest area. “You’re just eating all this salty food to try and show me up with your huge tits and steal my spotlight.”
Imogen started sobbing, and my mom consoled her.
“This is crazy,” Daisy said flatly to me and Mika. “I’m out.”
“Please,” Mika begged, “the wedding is in two weeks. Don’t quit!”
Daisy shook her off.
“Kaitlyn was right,” she said, grabbing her bag. “Imogen has turned into an awful bridezilla.”
“You can’t quit!” Imogen yelled at her, chasing her out of the salon. “You can’t quit because I’m firing you! I’ve fired you as a bridesmaid.”
“And then there were three,” I muttered. Mika, Ashley, and Brandy were the last remaining bridesmaids from the original ten.
“What kind of sister are you?” Imogen said to Mika. “You did this on purpose.”
“People have to have something to eat,” Mika replied. “We’re going to be here all afternoon while you try out hairstyles.”
“I don’t see how it’s going to take all afternoon, considering that I only have three bridesmaids left. This is a disaster!”
“Let’s try to make do with what we have. Three is a fine number,” I told Imogen, trying to soothe her. “You can still have nice pictures with three. It will be an intimate group.”
Imogen took a few deep breaths. “Ashley,” she ordered, “get in the chair. You need to have your hair dyed anyway.”
“Excuse me?” Ashley said, almost choking on her champagne.
“I will not have a bridesmaid with red hair. You’re going to clash with the dress. I don’t know why you dyed it that color.”
“This is my natural hair color,” Ashley said slowly.
“It needs to be brown,” Imogen retorted, flipping through the stylist’s book. “I want it this color.” She pointed to a photo of a chestnut-haired model.
“No!” Ashley said incredulously. “I’m not dying my hair. That’s crazy.”
“If you were my friend, you would.” Imogen pouted.
“I guess we’re not friends then. Have a nice life,” Ashley retorted, grabbing her purse and leaving.
“Why does this keep happening?” Imogen wailed, sinking onto a sofa.
“Weddings show you who your real friends are,” my mother said, consoling Imogen. The bride sniffed and dabbed her eyes.
“Why don’t you go on and get in the stylist chair and let her pretty you up?”
Imogen perched in the chair as the stylist started brushing out her hair. “I can’t have only two bridesmaids. I can’t,” she repeated.
“Well, now you’re only having one,” Brandy stated, waving her phone accusingly at Imogen. “You told my mom that she couldn’t wear any of the outfits she had and had to go buy something new?”
“It was my assistant,” Imogen whined.
Brandy glared at Imogen. “What is wrong with you? You can’t just dictate the guests’ wedding outfits!”
“I want to have nice pictures,” Imogen insisted. “Everyone has to run their wedding attire by me. I’m the bride. Bride’s day, bride’s way.”
“Then I’m on the way out,” Brandy said. “This is insanity. And I’m sending you a bill for the dress I had to buy,” she told Mika. “Your brother better be paying for it.”
“No!” Imogen wailed. “Now I don’t have any pretty bridesmaids left, just Mika.”
I hoped Mika would just throw down the mike and quit right there and then, but she didn’t. “I’m sorry Immie,” she said.
“If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be there stuffing your face.”
Mika set down the c
heese she was eating and nervously picked at her nails.
Imogen’s nostrils flared as she sucked in breaths.
“I don’t have a venue. I don’t have a wedding party. This is a disaster.” She glared at me. “You have to fix it.”
“I’m working on a new venue,” I promised. “I hope to have one by tomorrow.” Dear God, please let Evan come up with something.
“That’s not good enough. You have to be a bridesmaid.”
“Uh—”
“You’re not bad looking. You could pass as one of my bridesmaids.”
“I don’t think the wedding planner should be a bridesmaid,” I said. “It’s not done.”
“This is a crisis situation, Ivy,” my mother admonished. “You need to step up and take some responsibility for what’s happened here.”
Imogen nodded along as she spoke.
“It can’t just be Mika and Evan up there on the bride’s side,” my mother continued. “She has to have bridesmaids, plural.”
“You can fit in Daisy’s dress,” Imogen said.
Mika smiled at me hopefully. I couldn’t leave the poor girl hanging out to dry.
“Sure,” I said faintly. “Sure, I’ll be in your wedding party.”
41
Evan
“Holy shit,” Archer Svensson said when I met with him in his office to explain my wedding venue situation. “You know, I was thinking we should do more weddings at Greyson Hotels. I figured it was easy money, but wowza, was I wrong!”
“I know my half sister is a little…”
“Nuts? Deranged? Cracked?” Archer listed.
“Stressed,” I said finally. “But if you could please find somewhere for us to have this wedding, even if it’s in the basement of one of your hotels, I’d owe you big time.”
“You need to do the ceremony and the reception?” Archer’s COO and half brother, Mike, asked, looking through their booking software.
“If possible.”
