by Lila Monroe
“Uh-oh,” Wes says, immediately frowning. “Everything OK?”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” I shrug, tipping my face up for another kiss. But Wes looks weirdly worried. “Probably a false-eyelash malfunction or something.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, gesturing for me to read the texts. “I mean, something could really be wrong.”
I laugh. “Right. A hair-extension malfunction.” Still, Wes looks freaked out. “You know you’re not the one getting married, right?” I tell him, teasing. “I mean, I appreciate empathy in a man, but I’m pretty sure pre-wedding jitters are generally reserved for the bride and groom.”
“No, I know that,” he says, looking away. “There’s just a lot at stake, that’s all.”
“Like a big promotion for certain studio lawyers?” I tease, but his expression gets tight. “Relax,” I say with a smile. “I’m kidding.”
I call Selena back, but sure enough it’s just a hair emergency that’s got her so wound up. “Did you get the pictures I sent you?” she asks, sounding slightly congested. I can hear the sounds of last-minute wedding prep in the background, a harpist doing a soundcheck while a man with a British accent barks something about a lighting scheme. “I ordered eleven different flower crowns, but now that I’m seeing them all in person, I still can’t decide.” She sneezes loudly. “Also, I’m allergic to at least one of them but I don’t know which.”
“I’m on my way,” I promise, snagging a pancake off the plate as I hang up and turn to Wes. “Duty calls,” I tell him. “Raincheck on the rest of it?”
Wes nods. “Sounds good,” he says, but he still looks uneasy.
“Hey,” I say, tossing a stray blueberry in his direction in the hopes of lightening his mood. “Just for the record, you realize I’m not looking to rush down the aisle anytime soon, right? On the off chance that’s why you look like you’re about to pass out right now?”
“What? No.” Wes’s eyes widen. “That’s not why—I mean , I’m not—”
“What is it then?” I ask. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I mean, I told you about Pee-wee’s Big Adventure. There’s no room for secrets between us now.”
That makes him smile. “No, I know that, of course, it’s just—forget it.” He shakes his head, bends down to kiss me. “I’m fine,” he promises. “I’ll see you over there.”
I’m not entirely convinced, but I’ve got to get dressed and over to the ranch before Selena breaks out in hives from pollen exposure. Besides, I remind myself, Wes and I will have all the time in the world after today. “See you over there,” I echo, and race to go get dressed.
The ranch is already jammed when I arrive, wedding vendors scurrying in every direction like ants at a picnic. Still, the place already looks incredible, with fresh flower bouquets everywhere and gorgeous silk and linens trailing in the wind. I spy Brooke’s sous-chef wheeling an enormous cake in through a side entrance, while a team of catering assistants arrange place settings on dozens of linen-covered tables. Enormous arches made of flowers line the pathways, while more of them bob in huge floating arrangements in the pool—I snap a few quick photos to send to April back in New York, who replies immediately demanding to know who’s doing the florals.
The property is teeming with beefy security guards in dark suits and sunglasses like possibly the president himself is going to be in attendance—which, for all I know, he might be—and I’m wondering if I’m even going to be able to get inside when Suzie calls my name from across the front lawn.
“There you are!” She’s already wearing her skintight bridesmaid dress, and she looks like she might have hit the spray tan booth a little too hard. “I’m so glad you’re here. Selena has turned into a total Bridezilla.”
“She has?” I ask, confused. That doesn’t sound like Selena at all. “I just talked to her and she seemed OK. A little anxious, maybe?” I gaze around for another moment at the ranch’s transformation. “She’s got nothing to worry about, though. This place looks amazing.”
Suzie shrugs. “It’s OK, I guess,” she says. “A little tacky for my personal taste, but to each her own.”
I frown. What is with everyone today? I literally facilitate breakups for a living, but even I can manage to be in a good mood the morning of a wedding. “Where is she?” I ask.
Selena has sequestered herself upstairs in the master suite, which includes a sauna and a dressing room roughly the size of my entire apartment. “Katie!” she calls, jumping up and weaving through the crowd of bridesmaids, assistants, and aestheticians. She flings her arms around me, beaming. “Isn’t this amazeballs!?”
“Hi, beautiful!” I greet her with a big hug, shooting a quizzical look in Suzie’s direction. She certainly doesn’t look like a Bridezilla to me. “It’s your wedding day!”
“I know!” Selena glows. She’s radiant even in curlers and a silky flowered bathrobe, her eyelashes half-applied. It occurs to me not for the first time that she’s famous for a reason, that she’s got that special ineffable something that draws people in. “I can’t believe it, that’s why I’m having everything immortalized, so I don’t miss a thing!”
I blink as a flashbulb explodes two inches from my face. “Are you guys uploading these to Insta stories?” Selena asks an assistant. “And taking video? I want to make sure the whole day is online in real time.”
“Absolutely!” the assistant chirps, holding her phone up and turning 360 degrees to get the whole room on film. “Which reminds me: did we ever decide on a hashtag?”
“Ryderoffintothesunset!” one of the other bridesmaids reports cheerfully. Suzie rolls her eyes before turning and slinking out of the room.
Thankfully, Selena doesn’t seem to notice. “Make sure to tag everyone, OK?” she asks distractedly, her face barely moving as the makeup artist paints on her eyebrows. “Oh, and make sure you mention Katie’s book!”
“Done,” the assistant assures her, then turns to me: “I already preordered.”
“Me too!” chime in both the makeup artist and hairstylist, and I smile. I’ve been so focused on Selena, I haven’t had a moment to think about my book launch. But hey, that’s two sales secured, at least!
I watch patiently as Selena models all eleven flower crowns before deciding what she really wants is a simple ring of eucalyptus. We’ve just sent one of the other bridesmaids off to find the florist when I notice Selena is looking a little pale. “Are you OK?” I ask her quietly, pulling her over to a corner of the room. “Cold feet?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” She bites her lip. “Honestly?” she confesses. “I’m starving. All I’ve eaten in the last three days is a cup of sprouts, three slices of watermelon, and a boiled chicken breast.”
My eyes widen. “That is . . . quite the pre-wedding diet,” I admit, trying not to sound too alarmed. Holy crap, at this rate we’ll be lucky if she makes it down the aisle without fainting of hunger. “Well, Brooke mentioned she baked a batch of good luck chocolate chip cookies late last night,” I suggest. “Do you want me to go grab some from the kitchen?”
Selena shakes her head, and I think she’s going to object to the calories until she flicks her eyes toward the wedding brigade. “Take a walk with me?” she asks quietly. “I think I could use a little air.”
I nod. “Of course.”
I take her arm—the last thing I need is her fainting and tumbling down the wide double staircase—and we head down into the main part of the house toward the kitchen, dodging a harried-looking woman squawking furiously into a headset and a man with a mohawk carrying an enormous live swan under each arm. Through the windows I can see the acrobats warming up on the lawn, turning casual somersaults in their spandex and tights.
Small and intimate, this is not.
I dig around in the kitchen cupboards before finally coming up with a giant Tupperware full of cookies, prying the lid off and handing a couple to Selena. She sits down at the island and takes a bite, then lets out a sigh that sounds positiv
ely orgasmic.
“That’s better,” she says, leaning in her chair. Her whole body relaxes and the color comes back into her cheeks. Disaster averted. “So,” she says, tilting her head to the side, “you snuck away early last night.”
“I’m sorry,” I say immediately, feeling bad for bailing early on the bachelorette celebrations—even if it was in the name of some truly transcendent sex. “I didn’t mean to be a party pooper.”
“Are you kidding me?” She grins. “Don’t even worry about it. Honestly, I love all those girls, but sometimes I just want to stop sucking my stomach in for a minute, you know?” She shrugs, then looks at me slyly. “Did you go to see Wes?”
I hesitate for a moment, then think screw it and nod.
Selena grins. “I knew there was something happening with you guys!” she crows, clapping her hands with delight. “I have a sense for these things. Candelabra says I have mystical powers, like I was a witch in a past life.”
I nearly choke on my cookie. “Wow. That’s . . . wow.”
“But we’re not talking about Salem, I want to hear about you two! When did it happen? How is it going?” she demands.
“It’s still pretty new,” I admit. “Well, old, but new.”
“Sure, sure.” Selena smiles. “I’ve seen you guys making eyes at each other when you think nobody is looking,” she says. “I’ll make sure to throw you the bouquet later today.”
I reach for another cookie, feeling myself blush a little. “I don’t think we’re quite there yet,” I reassure her, thinking of the way Wes blanched this morning amidst all the wedding talk. “But . . . I’m happy.”
“You deserve it,” Selena says, wide-eyed. “You helped bring Ryder and me back together. I’ll always owe you for that.”
We’re about to head back upstairs when Wes himself saunters in.
“Hey!” I greet him with a smile. He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored navy-blue suit, plus soft-looking leather lace-ups and a tie I immediately want to yank off him. “You look nice.”
“Hey, yourself.” He smiles at Selena. “Congratulations, bride-to be.”
She grins at him, dropping into a goofy little curtsy in her robe and curlers. “Have you seen Ryder?” she asks. “He said he was going to get ready in the pool house, but he’s not responding to any of my texts.”
“Uh, yeah,” Wes says, and there’s that weird look again, the same faintly shifty expression from this morning ghosting across his features. What is going on with this guy? “I think he was just, uh, getting some last-minute alterations done on his suit.”
“Oh, good,” Selena says. “The pants were way too baggy. He’s got the cutest little apple tush! I wanted him to show it off.”
“Well, yeah,” Wes says. “He is . . . definitely doing that.”
“I should go over there to make sure they’re taking it in enough,” Selena says, turning to me. “Like, I really want to make sure you can see how it’s like—” She breaks off, gesturing in a way I assume is meant to evoke the particular roundness of Ryder’s hind end. She heads towards the back door when Wes suddenly blurts:
“You can’t!”
I turn to stare.
“I mean, isn’t that bad luck?” he adds. “For the bride and groom to see each other before the ceremony?”
“I’d rather bad luck than a bad photo,” Selena says airily, cinching her robe tighter around her tiny waist and marching out in the direction of the pool house.
“Wait!” Wes calls, then follows her out.
What is going on? Is this some weird wedding mojo stuff, or . . . something else?
I grab a cookie and trail after them.
“Selena,” he’s calling, hurrying across the pool deck. “Hang on a sec, OK? I just really, really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to—wait!”
But it’s too late. Selena pulls open the door to the pool house—and lets out a shriek that makes me think she might have a successful career ahead of her as the nubile young victim in cult horror flicks. I catch up and let out a B-movie gasp of my own. Because there, on the sofa, are Suzie and Ryder rolling around.
Together.
Like, together.
Her bridesmaid dress is hiked up around her waist. He’s naked except for a silky blue bow tie. And I have to admit, even through my haze of total horror: he does have a nice, apple-shaped bottom.
“What are you doing?!” Selena shrieks before bursting into tears. She turns and flees across the property, as Ryder fumbles to pull out.
“Fuck! Babe! Wait!” He takes off after Selena—still completely bare-assed—and then Suzie takes off after Ryder.
But Wes?
Wes doesn’t move at all. And that’s when I realize.
He knew.
20
Katie
“You knew,” I say accusingly, the words catching in my throat. Like I could choke on them if I’m not careful. “Ryder and Suzie. This wasn’t some one-time, wedding-jitters, cold-feet lapse of judgement. It’s been going on this whole time. And you knew.”
Even as I’m saying it, I send a desperate prayer up to the universe that I’ve got it all wrong, that I’m somehow misreading the guilty, pained expression on his face. But Wes only looks away.
“I can explain,” he says weakly, and that’s what I know for sure that everything is ruined.
“Don’t bother,” I say coldly, grabbing the hem of my bridesmaid dress so I don’t trip. “I have to go to work.”
“Katie—” he starts. “Just wait a minute, please. Let me explain—”
But I’m already walking away.
I bite back my tears as I follow the trail of discarded hot rollers across the lawn. I want to break down, to cry over the fact that I was all wrong about Wes, but I know it’s not the time. There’s somebody else’s heart on the line, and it’s just been stomped into the dirt even worse than mine.
“Selena?” I call, searching the gardens. “Selena?”
Eventually, I find her hidden away in one of the guest bathrooms in the south wing of the main house. “Go away, Ryder!” she hollers when I knock gently on the door, her voice a wet, ragged sob. “Or I’m going to tell every paparazzo out there that you still sleep with a blankie!”
I knock again. “It’s me, Katie.”
A moment later I hear the lock turn. I step inside, and find Selena is sprawled on the marble tile, all her carefully applied makeup streaking down her face, and a roll of toilet paper unraveling all around her. She doesn’t look like a movie star, or a fresh-faced ingenue, or next month’s cover model.
She looks like a heartbroken kid.
My heart aches for her broken dreams, as well as my own. “Hey,” I say softly, plunking down on the floor beside her. I almost ask her if she’s OK until I realize how utterly ridiculous that would sound. “What can I do for you right now?” I ask instead.
Selena sniffles, scrubbing at her face with a wad of damp Charmin. “You were right,” she says miserably. “You tried to warn me, and I wouldn’t listen. People don’t change. Once a dirtbag, always a dirtbag, right?”
I think of Wes outside the pool house a moment ago, the shame on his face and the way his shoulders sagged. He might as well have been wearing a T-shirt that read I’m an Untrustworthy Liar and Always Have Been. And I should have taken my own advice. “Once a dirtbag, always a dirtbag,” I echo, then I push him out of my mind.
“I feel like such an idiot,” she says, but I hold up a hand to stop her.
“You followed your heart, remember? You knew the risks, but you decided to be brave. That’s never wrong.”
Even if you feel like a fool.
“What am I going to do?” she wails. “This place is crawling with cameras. Six hundred people are supposed to show up in less than an hour. I can’t believe he would do this to me. I’m so humiliated!”
“You don’t have anything to be humiliated by,” I insist. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And I’m going to get you through this. I’
m the Breakup Artist, remember? You hired me for a reason: I’m the best in the business.”
Selena offers me a watery smile. “Is this the part where I tell you all Ryder’s real flaws?” she asks. “The ones I kept secret from everyone?”
I manage a smile, for her sake. “I mean, the blankie is probably a good place to start,” I say wryly, and she chuckles through her tears.
“Oh, the blankie is nothing,” she says, and though her voice wobbles a little bit, her words are clear. “Wait until I tell you about how bad he was in bed.”
I spend the next twenty minutes doing the same thing I’ve been doing for years now—listening to my client, asking strategic questions, offering gentle encouragement and advice while she looks around at the rubble of what she thought was the most important relationship in her life and tries to figure out how she’s going to move forward.
In sum: I help her break up, once and for all.
“So,” I say finally, once she’s run out of steam—once we’ve covered Ryder’s inability to find the clitoris and how he still calls his mother “Mommy,” once she’s laughed at his dream of reaching crossover stardom as a white rapper and cried over Suzie’s betrayal. “What do you want to do next?”
Selena sighs, leaning her head back against the edge of the tub. “I can’t face all those people,” she says, sounding a little bit helpless. “I know we’re going to have to figure out a way to spin this, to try and use it to promote the movie somehow. And I’ll do that, I promise. I’ll bounce back; I’ll put on a brave face. But I just . . . can’t right now. Not yet.”
“I think that’s more than fair,” I say, reaching for her hand and squeezing. “So, let’s get you out of here.”
“Yes, please,” Selena says, sounding grateful. “How, though?”
I think for a moment, then reach down into my dress and yank my cell phone out of my bra where I stored it for safekeeping, scrolling through my list of contacts until I get to Brooke’s name. “I think I might have an idea,” I tell her. “Do you trust me?”
