How To Ruin Your Ex's Wedding: A Romantic Comedy

by Denise Wells

  “That this isn’t the place for you.”

  “What makes you think this isn’t the place for me?” I protest. “It’s gorgeous.”

  Plus, how would he know?

  “I just can’t picture you here,” he says, ignoring my question.

  “Well, I think it’s perfect,” I lie.

  Matthew’s nod agrees with me, but the look on his face says he thinks I’m lying.

  Fuck him.

  “Excuse me,” I tell him as I move to join Hunter and Liza as she is saying, “I don’t know how we missed this before, but you’ll have to cap it at three hundred for a sit-down dinner.”

  “Oh.” Hunter’s disappointment is clear.

  “That’s okay, isn’t it?” I ask.

  “No,” Liza says. “We’ve got an initial list of over five hundred now.”

  “Five hundred?” I turn to Hunter. “How did that happen? We haven’t even put together a guest list yet.”

  Hunter scratches his jaw and begins to pace. “It’s just a rough estimate that Liza and I put together.”

  “For some reason, I assumed you and I would select the guests for our wedding, how silly of me,” I mumble, frustrated.

  Hunter continues to pace. Liza returns to typing on her phone. How can she always have that much to say?

  “Did you have anyone who you really wanted to attend anyway?” Matthew asks me. “I mean, second marriage and all.”

  I look at him sharply. “Who the hell—”

  “How many do you think you’ll have, my queen?” Hunter interrupts.

  I have to think about it.

  Crap. In a way, Matthew is right. I don’t have a lot of people that I feel close enough to that I want them attending my second wedding. On the other hand, why do I care? People get married again all the time. But this wedding is not as important to me as it is to Hunter. The marriage is. Just not the wedding.

  “Well, how many can I have?” I know I sound petulant, but I don’t stop myself.

  Click.

  I turn to give Matthew a dirty look, then decide against it in case he takes a picture of that as well. I’ve got to not let his comments influence me. Hunter wants him as the photographer and his work speaks for itself. He seems to have this uncanny ability to get inside my head and I don’t like it. At all.

  Click.

  Matthew snaps one of Hunter in thought.

  At least he’s not solely focused on shots of me.

  Hunter ignores Matthew and the camera. “Obviously as many as you’d like, of course.”

  “I’m sure I can keep it at one hundred if I do mostly close associates,” I say.

  Hunter nods at Liza, who in turn begins to type furiously on her phone.

  “Maybe we should sit down later and devise a list together,” I suggest to my fiancé.

  “I just didn’t want to bother you with such things,” Hunter says.

  “Things like the guest list?” I clarify.

  “It sounds kind of silly when you say it out loud,” he says.

  “Yes, I’m sure it does.”

  “You tell ’em, Tabs.” Matthew bumps my shoulder with his.

  Tabs?

  How ironic. The only other person in the world to call me that annoys me just as much as Matthew does. If not more. What are the chances?

  I scoff.

  Wait.

  What are the chances?

  Of the thousands of people I’ve met in my life, only one person before this has ever called me Tabs. And they both happen to be photographers.

  I look at him closely.

  There’s no way.

  The profile is similar if not the same. The hair is all wrong. But he’s the same height, weight, and build. Pax would never have that mustache. Unless it’s fake.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  I’m going to be sick.

  “Hunter, I’ll be right back,” I call. “I need Matthew to grab a photo of something outside.”

  I grab Pax-Matthew’s sleeve and drag him toward the exit.

  10

  Pax

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Tabatha’s face reddens to an unnatural shade I’ve not seen before. Her tiny fingers pinch at my arm as she tugs me in the direction of the exit.

  Ouch!

  “Well, this here is a camera.” I stop, holding it up to show her, pissed about her pinching my arm. “And I use it to take pictures. I know you don’t like the candids, but Mr. Simpcox was real specific—”

  “Oh, cut the shit, I know who you are,” she fumes.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I hedge.

  Her gaze cuts through me. We make it outside and she turns once the doors close.

  “I know it’s you, Pax.” She stomps her foot, making her breasts bounce. It takes every modicum of strength I possess not to look. I may hate the woman, but that doesn’t mean I hate her breasts.

  “I’m not sure about this whole Pax person, but my name is—”

  She reaches up and grabs the corner edge of my fake mustache, pulling down sharply and taking skin along with the piece.

  “Ouch, what the fuck, Tabs?” I touch my fingers to my upper lip and pull them away seeing blood on the tips.

  “I knew it!” she yells. “Oh my god. You are unbelievable. What are you doing here?”

  “That fucking hurt!” I grab a lens cloth from my pocket and hold it against the stinging skin.

  “I knew you were low, Pax. But this is beyond. How could you do this? I can’t believe it.” Her voice grows increasingly shrill.

  “If you could keep your voice down below dog whistle decibels, that’d be great.” I stick a finger in my ear for emphasis.

  “I will not keep my voice down. In fact, I’m going to get Hunter out here right now.”

  “Do you really think that’s the best idea, Tabs?”

  “Quit calling me that!”

  “Think about it, babe. How’s it going to look that you hired your ex to be your wedding photographer without telling the new sucker?”

  She pauses and takes a deep breath through her nose, letting it out slowly through her mouth. “I didn’t hire you, Liza did. And I’m sure once I explain the situation, she’ll understand.”

  “Uh-huh. Yeah. I’m sure she will.” I keep my tone purposefully skeptical. I’m stalling. I haven’t quite come up with why she should keep me on, and not tell the others, but I’m hoping to soon. I don’t want to get fired. That much I know. The reasons why are what I’m not willing to examine too closely.

  “You did this on purpose, you deliberately tricked us into hiring you.” She jabs me in the chest with her finger, the nail biting into my skin through my t-shirt.

  Fuck, that hurts too.

  Stop being a fucking pussy, Pax.

  And it occurs to me.

  “Come on, Tabs. You don’t really think they’re going to believe you didn’t know I had an alias?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Matthew Hanhauser has been around for quite a while.”

  “That doesn’t mean I knew about him.”

  “Are you sure about that? We’ve known one another for how long now? I’m pretty sure I told you early on in our marriage that I had a false name that I worked under. I mean, you had to have recognized it when you heard it.”

  “Why would I?” She narrows her eyes.

  “It’s my middle name and my mother’s maiden name. Pretty easy. And, of course my wife would have known both of those things.”

  Her face pales. “I didn’t—”

  “I’m sure you didn’t.” My voice drips sarcasm. “And I’m sure they’ll believe you too.”

  I see it on her face, the moment she realizes she’s going to have to go through with this. She closes her eyes and drops her head.

  I win!

  “What do you get out of this, Pax?” she asks after a moment, looking up at me.

  “What do I get? Are you kidding? This is the best.
For one, your next Mr. Sucker over there is going to pay me a fuck-ton of money.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “Two, I’ve always enjoyed wedding photography.”

  “You’ve never liked it,” she says.

  She’s right. I decide to give her that one.

  “True,” I say. “It pays great but it’s boring as fuck and a little beneath me, to be honest—”

  “Good to see your ego is still intact,” she interrupts. “Unjust though it may be.”

  “Which leads me to the biggest reason why I’m doing this.” I pause for effect. “Revenge, baby. It would behoove you to be nicer to me. I’m in total control of how you’re going to look on your big day. Memories are fleeting, but pictures are forever.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she gasps.

  “I would, I am, and I will.”

  “Pax, please don’t do this. Just let it go. Walk away.”

  “You begging me, Tabs?”

  “Would it work?” She looks up from under her lashes, her eyes pleading and her face soft. A long-practiced look I’ve seen her use many a time before. She’s playing me. Problem is, it’s damn effective.

  Must stay strong.

  I shake my head in response, not trusting myself to speak.

  She looks down at her shoes and shuffles her feet.

  I watch her, waiting to see what she’ll pull out of her magic hat next. I need to be prepared. She knows all the ways to get to me.

  “I just . . .” She pauses and wipes at her nose with her finger, while sniffling.

  Oh, she’s good.

  Rarely can I handle crying. Fake or otherwise.

  “You know, you and I never had a wedding. I always felt like I missed out on something big. Something important. And this is my chance. I know it’s silly, with it being a second marriage and all. But I’m excited about wearing a dress and going through all the pomp and circumstance. And I want beautiful pictures to capture the day, you know?”

  She keeps her gaze down.

  I tilt her chin up with my fingers, half-expecting to see tears in her eyes, even knowing all the while this is a ploy. The look she gives me confirms my theory.

  She’s faking it.

  “That was almost convincing, Tabs.”

  “Fuck off, Pax.” She turns to head back into the venue.

  I grab her hand and pull her back to me. She stumbles into my chest.

  “Must you?” she asks.

  “Must I what? Be so irresistible? Used to be a time you liked your body pressed up against mine.”

  “Hardly.” She scoffs.

  “You aren’t that good an actress, babe.”

  “Don’t call me babe.”

  “Got it.”

  “And don’t call me Tabs.”

  “Yup.”

  She pushes at me, I let her go. “I hate you,” she seethes.

  “Feeling’s mutual, darlin’.”

  “Don’t call me that either!”

  “That?”

  “Yes!”

  “Or darlin’? I’m making a list but it’s hard to keep track.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Hey, I’m just trying to be clear on what I can and can’t say.”

  If she were a cartoon character, this would be the time when steam blew out her ears and her face turned bright red. “You know my name, use that.” She turns and walks away.

  “Tabatha?”

  Her feet stop moving, but she keeps her back to me.

  “Can I have my mustache back so I can return to work?”

  She holds her hand out to the side and drops the mustache on the ground, then smashes it with her shoe, her sole rotating back and forth on it until it starts to come apart beneath her foot.

  “Aw, come on, Tabs. That’s my only mustache,” I call after her.

  She walks into the building, flipping me off as she goes.

  Gregor laughs for a good thirty seconds before slapping his knee and pausing to drink his beer. “Oh god, that’s a good one, Pax. Holy shit.” He wipes at his watering eyes. “Really, she did you a favor. That mustache was not a good look on you, man.”

  “It was a disguise. It’s not supposed to be a good look.” I finish my beer and signal the bartender for another. I met Gregor at one of his pubs for a beer after I left Tabatha at the venue. I sent Liza a text expressing my sincerest apologies, but I had an emergency that would take me away for the remainder of the afternoon. I don’t see where getting pictures of Tabs and Pimplecock at the place they aren’t going to be married at really matters anyway.

  “If there is one thing I ever liked about that girl, it was her temper. And she could keep you in line. Never a boring moment with that one.”

  “Okay, but have you seen my upper lip? It hurts, man.” After leaving the venue, and before joining Gregor, I stopped at a drugstore for some ointment to treat the now tender skin under my nose.

  “Don’t be a pussy,” he scolds.

  I reach over and pull hard on his beard.

  “Ow, man. What the fuck?”

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, but that’s because it’s a real beard growing out of my actual face. Not just something glued on temporarily.”

  “I have sensitive skin,” I mumble.

  “You’ve got a sensitive something.” He scoffs.

  I flip him off. He blows me a kiss.

  “What happens now?” Gregor asks. “Since Tabatha knows it’s you.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think she’ll tell the coordinator or the fiancé since it will reflect badly on her. I think we just continue to pretend I’m someone else. And I keep taking terrible pictures of her.”

  “Show me that one again.” Gregor laughs. “Where she’s got her eyes half-shut and her mouth wide open, shoveling in cake.”

  I pull up the proof on my phone and we cackle like old ladies over how bad she looks in that one as well as a few others.

  “So, what do you got going on tonight?” I ask him once our mirth dies down.

  “I have a date.” He puffs his chest out and smiles big.

  “Really?”

  “Yep. New rep for one of my beverage suppliers. And she asked me out.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Hey, you want to go with us? I can see if she’s got a friend.” He pulls out his phone and starts typing.

  “Last time you did that, I ended up with a stage five clinger who wouldn’t leave the next morning.”

  “You must just be that irresistible, my friend.” He smirks.

  “Doubtful.”

  “I told you not to sleep with her.”

  “I’m not the romantic that you are, G. I don’t want to wait until I have feelings for someone to sleep with them. I like my one and done.”

  He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Look here, she’s got a friend. And she wants a picture of you for the friend.” Gregor points his phone at me as though to take a photo.

  “Don’t take one with your phone!” I hold my hand out in front of the lens, blocking his shot. “Just send her something of the two of us. What about the one from the Seabirds mixer last month?” I purposely suggest a photo where I already know I look good.

  Because, yes, I can be that vain. What of it?

  Gregor finds the photo and sends it, then waits for a response. I don’t know why I’m agreeing to this. Although, technically I haven’t agreed yet. But I also haven’t disagreed, so there’s that.

  “Is she sending a photo of her friend?”

  “I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”

  “Well, tit for tat, brother. Get that pic.” Ordinarily, I would never even entertain the idea of a last-minute, blind double-date. But for some reason, I don’t want to go home tonight. At least not yet. I don’t know if it’s the weirdness I’m feeling after dealing with Tabatha today—because I’ve definitely got shit swirling in my head, I just don’t want to decipher it all yet—or if I’m just bor
ed.

  I’m not ignorant, I know that I will always love Tabatha. She’s my first love, first wife, first a lot of things, really. And there are bound to be emotional issues that creep up over her remarrying when I’m still single. Especially when I’ve chosen to entangle myself so directly in her wedding planning process; and now with her knowing that it’s me. Maybe it’s time for me to get serious about dating. Perhaps I’ll find someone else I want to marry. No reason why I can’t begin that process tonight.

  Gregor shows me a picture with two women. One hot, one not.

  “Is mine the one on the left?” I ask hopefully.

  “Nope. That’s Becky. She’s my date. You get the other one.”

  “Oh.”

  “Becky said that she’s really nice.”

  “Of course she did.”

  “Dude, don’t be a dick.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry, man. I’m just feeling weird is all.”

  “Do you need a hug?”

  I laugh when Gregor asks that. But he’s serious. For such a big, almost menacing looking guy, he’s a sensitive teddy bear who is totally in touch with his emotions. Including that he’s a big hugger and he wants to have feelings for a woman before he sleeps with her. Both boggle my mind.

  “No, I’m good.” I’m not opposed to hugs; I just don’t need them as often as Gregor likes to offer them. “So, where are we going?”

  “Bowling.” Gregor smiles at that and pats me on the back. Hard. He’s happy about it because he’s in a league and a great bowler.

  I suck at it. In a really big way. Like, no way am I impressing this girl tonight. I should really find these things out before I agree to tag along.

  “Fine.” I sigh. “What time and where?”

  11

  Tabatha

  I’m still pissed about Pax and his little ruse hours later. I haven’t told Hunter, and I’m not planning to. Pax is right, it would be weird if people knew we hired him. And there’s no way I’ll be able to prove I didn’t know about his alias. And I just don’t see the need to make Hunter feel uncomfortable unnecessarily.

  I pour myself a large glass of chardonnay, pop an antacid pill, grab my cell phone, and head out to the balcony to call Crystal. She had to cancel drinks in person, the kids were acting up too much. Instead, we are drinking virtually over the phone.