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

by Denise Wells

  “Hunter,” she starts, pushing her feet back into her heels. “Thank god, we’ve been stuck in this elevator for over half an hour.”

  She moves forward and gives him a hug. Hunter does not return the gesture. Instead, he looks over Tabby’s shoulder at me. I collect my jacket from the floor and hold it in one hand, my camera bags in the other. He looks annoyed, not worried. Just saying, if my girl was half an hour late, I’d be happy to find her okay when all was said and done.

  “You had your shoes off,” he says to Tabby.

  That’s what he’s going with?

  “Uh, yeah,” Tabatha says. “I had to climb on Pa—Matthew's shoulder to try and open the roof hatch. But we couldn’t get it open, I think it’s locked—”

  “Why didn’t you call someone?”

  “We didn’t have service,” Tabatha explains.

  “I have service,” Hunter says, narrowing his eyes.

  “Well, I didn’t.” Tabatha takes a step back from him. “What? Do you think I’m lying?”

  Hunter remains silent.

  Wow. Okay.

  “Uh, I didn’t have service either,” I add, putting my hat back on and tossing the glasses in my camera bag.

  “I don’t need to hear from you,” Hunter says to me. “Who are you anyway? Clearly the hat and hair are fake, so you can take that ridiculous thing off. And what happened to the mustache? Did you shave or was that fake too? Are you even a photographer?”

  “I assure you, I’m—”

  “It’s Pax, Hunter.” Tabby looks down at her feet for a minute, then squares her shoulders and looks back up at him.

  “Pax?” His mouth drops open. “Pax, as in your ex-husband, Pax?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know it was him when you hired him,” she says.

  “You mean when we hired him,” Hunter says.

  “Well, it was mostly you and Liza. I mean, I wasn’t really—” Tabatha starts.

  “Oh, come on, Tabatha. Give me a break.” Hunter sneers. “You expect me to believe that you didn’t know it was him. That you didn’t push for him to take our pictures?”

  “No! I didn’t. In fact, I didn’t even get a say in the matter, Liza is the one—”

  “You’re going to blame Liza for this?” Hunter asks, his expression cold and impassive.

  “I hired Matthew Hanhauser,” Liza pipes in. “I don’t know who this guy is.”

  “Tabatha didn’t know,” I tell Hunter. “I use an alias and a disguise when I work as Matthew Hanhauser. I never told her about it.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” Hunter’s tone is haughty. “That this isn’t some kind of ploy to get—”

  “Yes, I do expect you to believe it,” I interrupt. I don’t know what he was going to say, but I have a feeling it would not have been kind to Tabatha if he continued. And she doesn’t deserve that.

  “Why?” he asks me.

  “Why would I lie about it?”

  He makes a sound, like he doesn’t believe me.

  “Revenge. Okay? My plan was to get the worst pictures possible of her through this whole process,” I admit, being as honest as I possibly can.

  He rears, pulling his arm back.

  He’s going to try and hit me.

  I sidestep and grab his wrist as he throws his punch, wrapping his arm behind his back and yanking it up. “There’s no need for violence, man. No reason why we can’t talk about this like civilized folk. I swear to you, Tabatha is one hundred percent innocent in this. No one knew about the alias except my best friend, Gregor.”

  “Gregor?” he parrots.

  “Yeah, Gregor Stravinsky. He’s the only person who knew I used an alias.”

  “You’re friends with Gregor Stravinsky?” Hunter confirms.

  I just said that, didn’t I?

  “Yes.”

  “Can you get him to come to the wedding?” His voice is excited, the complete opposite of his tone a minute ago.

  “Your wedding? I don’t know. Sure, I guess.” I let his arm go and he turns to face me.

  “Okay, you do that. Find me another photographer today, and I’ll forgive this transgression.”

  Forgive?

  Anger surges through me. Who the fuck is this guy to say he’ll forgive me? Then I see Tabby’s face, she looks distraught. If I’m honest with myself, I don’t want her to suffer because I was a dick. I hold my hand out to him. “Deal.”

  We shake on it.

  “Good,” Hunter says. He turns to Liza. “You make sure to get the contact information from him for the new photographer. I expect them to start immediately. Same terms as before.” She nods in response.

  He turns back to me. “I presume getting the rights to the photos you’ve taken thus far will not be an issue.”

  I wave a hand at him. “You got it, man. No problem.”

  And finally, he turns to Tabatha. “We will discuss this later. I’ll see you at home.”

  “Hunter,” Tabatha starts.

  “I need some time to myself, Tabatha. Please.”

  She nods and gives him a small smile. He turns to leave, and Liza follows after him, prattling off questions.

  “Apparently, he only needs time from me, not anyone else,” Tabby says sourly.

  “Sorry, Tabs.”

  “It’s fine.” She sighs. “It’s not your fault. It’s just one of those weird things.”

  “Actually, part of it is my fault,” I say.

  She looks up at me. “Ohmigod, you’re right. You lied, you jerk!” She pokes me in the chest with her fingernail. I back up as she moves forward. “An alias? Seriously? Who does that? I can’t believe you!” She continues to poke at me with each sentence, until finally I grab her finger to stop her.

  “Okay, I get it. No need to continue bruising me. I’m a delicate flower.”

  “Delicate flower, my ass,” she mutters.

  “Hey,” I say, really wanting to know. “You going to be okay with all this? Him and stuff?”

  “Oh yeah,” she says with a wave of her hand. “It will be fine. He’s upset. I get it. But nothing happened, other than us getting stuck in an elevator.”

  “And me lying about my identity,” I add.

  “Yeah, but that’s really something more for me to be upset about, not him.”

  I nod. “Did you still want to take a look around before leaving?” I don’t know why I’m asking, it’s not like I own the joint or have any control over her schedule.

  She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I’m probably just going to go.” She sounds subdued. I hope she’s being honest with me when she says it will all be okay.

  We make our way back to the parking lot in comfortable silence.

  She turns when she reaches her car. “Thanks for standing up for me back there.”

  “Of course,” I say. “I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea, that wouldn’t be fair.”

  “True.”

  I nod in agreement. She opens her car door and tosses her purse in.

  I don’t want her to leave.

  “Yeah. Um, hey, you wanna go grab a drink or something?” I ask.

  Her lips curve slightly. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. Do you?”

  “Eh, probably not. Never hurts to ask.” I throw a half-smile in her direction.

  “See you around, Pax.” She gets in her car and shuts the door. I stand there next to my Jeep and watch her until she’s out of the parking lot completely. Then I give it another two minutes before I get in my car to leave. The last thing I need is for the two of us to be next to each other again, whether in traffic, in line, or on the ferry. I’ll wait hours for the next one if I have to.

  “So you told him I would go to the wedding?” Gregor confirms.

  “Yeah, G. I had to, man.”

  I met Gregor at one of his pubs after leaving the Cascadian House. One, because I had to tell him he’s going to the wedding. And two, because I had to tell him Matthew Hanhauser had been found out. Lucky for me all
this shit in my life is going down in the offseason and he’s more available than he would be ordinarily.

  “You couldn’t just offer a custom jersey or a signed ball? Something easy?”

  “Nah. Offering up you was the only thing that was going to save Tabby at that point. Dimplecock was pissed. And, to be honest, I’m still not real sure why.”

  “To save Tabby, huh?” He grins. “Not to save you from a jealous fiancé?”

  “Pfftt. No. That guy has no upper arm strength whatsoever. He came in for a punch, and I grabbed him by the wrist and had him twisted with his arm up behind his back before he could even follow through on the hit.”

  Gregor chuckles. “I love that he was going to hit you. That shit is funny.”

  “Glad I could entertain,” I mumble.

  “When is it?”

  “The wedding?”

  “Yeah, man. When is the wedding?”

  “In, like, seven weeks.”

  “Seven weeks exactly? From today? Or . . . ?”

  “I don’t know, maybe seven weeks from Saturday then. They just kept saying two months and that was, like, a week ago.”

  “Well, how were you going to know when to show to take the pictures?”

  “Someone was sure to tell me at some point. I don’t have much else going on.”

  “Some of us do have other shit going on, man. I need a date and a time.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll get it for you. But once I do, you can’t say that you’re busy or some shit like that.”

  “Hmmph.” Gregor grunts, then switches topics. “So, you’re not the photographer anymore?”

  “Nah. I passed it off to Toby Benson. He’s a local, and totally pumped to get the referral.”

  “Great, so now you can be my plus-one,” Gregor says, a villainous smile on his face.

  “Oh no. No way. I am not going to that wedding. Besides, Wimpycock would have a fit, and Tabby would be the one who would suffer.”

  “He won’t even know you’re there. Didn’t you say they’ve got, like, seven hundred people coming?”

  “I said that venue could hold up to that many. I don’t know how many they’ll invite. I think it’s going to depend on where they have it.”

  “So, what do I have to do when I’m there?”

  “None of that came up. I think he just wants to know you’re going to be there. He idolizes you or some shit. You should have seen his face light up when I said your name. Go figure.”

  “Shut up, man. I’m important to people. I’m like a fucking figurehead.”

  We both laugh at that.

  “Leslie,” Gregor calls out to his bartender. “Aren’t I important?”

  “Yes, sir,” she replies. “The most important. Mr. VIP is what you are.”

  Gregor looks at me as if to say, see?

  “You sign her paychecks; her opinion doesn’t count.”

  I finish off my beer and hold my empty pint glass up toward him. “Another round? My treat?”

  He waves his hand dismissively in my direction and picks up his beer to finish it off. “Your treat? That’s funny. Like you ever pay for anything here.”

  “It’s the thought that counts, man.”

  “Okay.” He motions to Leslie for another round. “One more, then I gotta get back to work,” he says. “I’ve got a ton of paperwork back there to finish up.”

  Leslie sets fresh pints in front of us. “Thanks, Les,” Gregor says.

  “No sweat, boss man,” she says before, heading to the other end of the bar to help other patrons.

  “Maybe you should date Leslie,” Gregor suggests.

  “I’m not going to date Leslie,” I reply.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, for one, I’m pretty sure she has a girlfriend. Two, I’m not attracted to her. And three, if she does have a girlfriend, then she’s definitely not attracted to me. Be fighting a losing battle.”

  “You forgot reason number four,” he says.

  “What’s number four?”

  “You’re still hung up on Tabby.”

  “I’m not still hung up on her.”

  “You are, man. It’s the only reason why you, as Matthew, agreed to be the photographer.”

  “We’ve been over this, G. I agreed to be the photographer so I could ruin the wedding photos, not because I’m still in love with her.”

  “Which means you still care.”

  “How does that figure?”

  “Otherwise, ruining the wedding would be a non-issue in your life.”

  “So, you’re saying because I wanted revenge, I still care about her?”

  “Care, love, hung up on, yeah. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “No. No way, man. I moved on long ago.”

  “Really? With who?”

  “Lots of chicks.”

  “You jumped to her defense today with Nipplecock, according to you.”

  “So?”

  “So, you also sacrificed me in the process.”

  “And?”

  “And it means you still want her.”

  “It does not.”

  “Okay, riddle me this: how’d you and Tabby leave things earlier?”

  “What do you mean? We said goodbye and we both left.”

  “Were you okay with that? Or did you want to keep hanging out with her?”

  I think back to how I felt when we said goodbye in the parking lot. I can either be honest with Gregor and own up to how he thinks I feel, or I can save face and deny everything.

  “I’m not answering that, G. It’s a stupid question.”

  “Twenty bucks says you asked her to go for dinner or drinks and she said no.”

  “I’m not taking that bet either.”

  “Oh, man. You did, didn’t you?”

  He’s such an asshole.

  “Yeah.” I hang my head and make condensation circles on the bar top with my glass.

  “So, the question is, what are you gonna do about it?”

  “Do about it? Nothing, man. She’s getting married.”

  “Uh-huh,” he says.

  “Subject change,” I say. It’s like our personal conversation safe word. If one of us can no longer handle a particular topic, we can say subject change and the other person has to honor it. Which Gregor does.

  Leaving us to talk about nonsense for the rest of our beer. Or at least the rest of Gregor’s beer, since he finishes his way before I finish mine.

  “You gonna be okay if I leave you to yourself?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask.

  “No reason,” Gregor say, a little mysteriously.

  “Okay, then. I’m just going to finish my beer, hang out with my pal Leslie, and I’ll be out.”

  “Les, keep an eye on him, will ya?” Gregor calls to her.

  “Sure thing, boss man,” she says to Gregor and then turns to me and says, “How goes it, Paximus?” She likes to make word play with my name, same as I do with Skimpycock.

  “It’s going, Les. How about you?”

  “Can’t complain. I hear you’re still hung up on your ex?”

  “What? Where’d you hear that?”

  “Boss man said you’re stalking her and messing up her wedding photos.”

  “That’s a bit of a stretch. I’m doing no such thing. Don’t believe anything he says. I turned it over to another photographer today. And even if I hadn’t, it doesn’t mean I’m still hung up on her.”

  “Whatever you say, Paxidermy.”

  Pfft. Whatever.

  I can’t be still hung up on Tabby. That would be about the worst idea ever. No way in hell that’s the case.

  Right?

  17

  Tabatha

  My phone ringing wakes me at eight o’clock in the morning. I grope around on the nightstand until I feel it, then bring it close to my face to see who it is.

  Angela. My agent.

  “Hey, Ang,” I answer.

  “Tabatha, are you sitting down?”
/>
  “Technically, I’m lying down, why?”

  “I’ve got you a part. It’s the part to beat all parts.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Ang—”

  “Well, I do. And this is not one to pass up.”

  “What is it?”

  I barely get the question out before Angela jumps in excitedly and starts describing the project and the role. And she’s right. It’s not one I want to pass on. Even though acting isn’t a top priority any longer, it’s the kind of role that could bring me back into the fold if I wanted it to. And, since my name is in the news due to the engagement, it’s the perfect time to capitalize on the free publicity I’m already getting.

  The role is in a three-part, mini-series based on the first book in a (so far) seventeen book series. So, the potential to continue the role in future projects is good. I’d be playing a Seattle cop-turned-private investigator after she botches a high-profile kidnapping case and is asked to leave the force. In her free time she continues to look into the kidnapping, trying to solve it, and is convinced she’s been set up.

  Angela’s already emailed me the script and sent me a link to the e-book that it’s based on, and says that hard copies of both will be delivered by messenger later this morning. She then informs me that I have to let her know by this afternoon if I’m interested, and disconnects the call. It seems like a stupid question—whether I’m interested—since I already know I am. Why wouldn’t I be? It’s a six-week shooting schedule—wrapped just in time for the wedding—and since Hunter and Liza are taking care of the bulk of the details anyway, it should be fine if I’m not available all the time.

  I almost email her immediately and tell her I’ll take it, but then decide to get some coffee, wake up a bit, and peruse the script before deciding for certain.

  Hunter’s side of the bed is cold, so I know he’s been up for a while. And if my guess is correct, he’s long gone to his office downtown. I’d thought when we got home last night that we would discuss the whole Pax thing, but he didn’t bring it up. When I tried to, he told me it was over and done with, to leave the past in the past. So, I am. But I still worry I’ve hurt him somehow and that is definitely not my intention.

  I dress in yoga pants, tank top, and a hoodie, pad to the kitchen for coffee and then sit in my favorite chair on the balcony to take a look at the script.