My Super-Hot Fake Wedding Date

“Their oven was broken.”

Sienna took a sip of her mimosa. “Apparently, that’s not our mother’s problem. It’s theirs.”

I blew out a deep breath. “She yelled at me, you know. She was really upset about how I acted last night.”

My sister shrugged. “I think she just has a different set of expectations for you. I’ve been carried out of plenty of events.”

“Are you mad at me?”

Sienna waved her hand dismissively. “I was glad you left. You looked way too good in that dress.” She laughed.

“You’re in an awfully good, forgiving mood.”

She grinned a megawatt smile, one that reached all the way to her eyes. “I’m getting married today! I am in a good mood!”

To both of our surprise, I reached over and hugged her, hard.

“What’s that for?” Her voice came out muffled against my hair.

“I’m happy for you. I think you and Tim are going to have a long, happy life together.”

Never at a loss for words, my sister was unusually silent.

I peered at her as I pulled back. Her eyes were filled with tears.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She wiped at her eyes. “Stop being nice—you’ll make me run my mascara and I won’t forgive you for that.”

“How’d it go?” Bob asked on the way back to our table.

“Really well.” I accepted his hand when he offered it, noting that our hand-holding had become comfortable and natural for me over the past twenty-four hours.

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. Sienna usually likes to hold a grudge, but she was fine.” I looked down at our entwined fingers. “I think she’s just…happy.”

He smiled at me. “Happy’s good.”

“Yeah.” I smiled back, acutely aware of the way my heart leapt inside my chest. “Happy is good.”

Bob went and played golf with Tim and the guys. Josie, Claire, and I were subjected to bridesmaid duty. We were sequestered in the bridal suite, where we’d be subjected to spa procedures for hours.

“So much for our epic, fun day,” I groused. I missed Bob already.

Josie grimaced as an esthetician secured false eyelashes on her. “But I’m not even a bridesmaid!”

The esthetician glared. “These are for the pictures, sweetie. Sienna doesn’t trust that you’ll be up to code.”

“What code?” Josie huffed. “I sell makeup for a living. I promise I won’t let my dark circles or zits show and ruin her pictures.”

“I don’t have editorial liberty, hon. I’m just doing what I’m told. So don’t move, or the glue’s gonna go everywhere.” She frowned, and Josie frowned back.

“I hate fake eyelashes.”

The esthetician didn’t blink. “Tough. Bride’s orders. You want to mess with the bride?”

“No.” Josie sounded defeated and maybe a little scared.