I bite the cap of a blue ink Bic pen as I wait at a traffic light a few hours later. It’s old school, the clear plastic ones my grandmother used a million years ago when doing the New York Times crossword puzzle. Yes, she was that good. They’re the only ones I write with, and it’s just one of the many things I picked up from her. A pang in my chest reminds me she won’t be here for the wedding. I say the wedding because there’s no chance in hell there will be one after Eva’s. Not with my track record, and I’m certain Grandma would not approve of that conscious thought. But reality is harsh. It’s why she’s not here right now, and why marriage isn’t even a remote thought in my mind.

I’m waiting for you! Are you on your way?

My phone pings with a text from Eva. My sister. The bride-to-be. Bridezilla, to be more exact. She only got the rock a few days ago, but this planning thing is in full swing. And Christ, if I have to look at one more bridesmaid dress picture, I’m going to start my assault on chocolate. If I gain enough weight, she’ll never keep me in the bridal party. Everything has to be just so - all the girls need to at max be a size 6, hair all has to be worn in an up-do, everyone needs matching manis and pedis. I know I’m a control freak, but really, this is taking things to an extreme, foreign even to me.

But she’s the baby, and she always gets what she wants with a mere wink and a smile. I adore her, as does her fiancé Damon, and even though she’s driving me off a cliff, I’ll do anything to make this the happiest day of her life.

She, unlike me, doesn’t carry her baggage. It’s all unpacked, unfolded, laundered, and put away neatly in the walk-in closet of her heart. It’s why she found an amazing guy and fell in love with him, and why she is so excited to become his wife. Good for her. In lieu of all the therapy it took her to get to this point, they could have put a nice down payment on a house in Calabasas Hills.

I ease up on the gas and swing my car into a parking spot on Robertson Boulevard, a block away from the bridal boutique. I’m kind of amazed she found a new one we hadn’t actually visited since she started sporting that ring…only days earlier. I grab a tall clear plastic cup from Teavana from the holder and slide out of the driver’s seat.

I rub the back of my neck and yawn. The crick has only intensified, and the lack of sleep isn’t helping. I need to dive into my bed and doze off for a few hours, dreaming of Jeff Whatever The Hell His Last Name Is, but duty calls. A shiver runs down my spine, despite the heat of the late morning sun. This whole run-in has my head spinning in too many directions to count, but that’s why I have Ollie. He’s the brains behind this whole operation, and I take care of the execution. Our arrangement is anything but traditional, but it’s been this way for years. And nobody gets inside; nobody, not even that god-like specimen of a man, will jeopardize our plans.

My heels click on the concrete as I walk toward the bridal salon, but as much as I try to erase the images of him naked on my bed, they still haunt me in glaring detail. Dammit. I grit my teeth, suck in a deep breath, and pull open the door. Chimes ring as I step inside the boutique. A middle-aged saleswoman dressed from head to bright red polished toe, who is donning a blush-colored Chanel suit, saunters over to me. “You must be Ariana. Your sister is waiting in the back. Would you like some champagne, or are you good with…” Her nose scrunches the slightest bit. “…that?”

I flash a tight smile. It’s going to be one of those shopping experiences. “Yes, thank you, and no. I’m good with this.” I hurry into the back of the boutique and let out a little gasp as Eva sails out of the fitting area in a puff of white tulle and silk, a long, ornately beaded white train trailing behind her.

“E, you look un-fucking-believable!” I squeal and gather her into my arms. She’s all bright and bleached-white blinding smiles until she pulls back with a critical eye. “Dirty skank,” she hisses. “You didn’t go home last night, did you?”

“Ew! Why would you say that?” I recoil, even though she’s one hundred and fifty percent right.

“You smell like guy’s cologne.” Her lips curl upward. “It’s yummy. Was he?”

Ugh. I should have spritzed myself, but I figured the powerful scent of that jackass at the club would have faded by now. “No, regrettably not.” I run a hand through my hair. “And just an fyi, he tried climbing me at the afterparty, but I shook him off my branches. He didn’t try again. And even though I haven’t showered, I didn’t unlock my chastity belt.”

I grin as she rolls her eyes. “I would have preferred it if you’d told me you had hot, sweaty, nasty sex all night long with some random stranger. How long has it been?”

I sigh and take a long drag from the straw. “Long enough where I’m probably going to need to re-stock my fancy underwear drawer.” Her eyes pop open wide, making me giggle. “Relax. I’m kidding. I think I still have a few G-stings left over from college.” I’m lying, of course, but the look on her face is worth a million bucks.

“Ari, do we need to make a pit stop at La Perla today?” She peeks behind me and swats my ass. “Let’s see. No panty lines, whore. So either you’re going commando, or you like giving me heart palpitations for kicks.”

“E, since when is my lingerie drawer your big concern? Shouldn’t you be focused on wedding cake flavors? Or the shade of pink you want for your French manicure? Or the kind of potpourri you need in the bathrooms at the reception?”

She purses her lips and twirls away from me, heading straight toward the cocktail table holding a single crystal flute of champagne. It’s at her lips within a millisecond, and she regards me with a critical eye as she guzzles the bubbly liquid. “I know I’m being a little crazy about the wedding. I think I’m overcompensating. I just want everything to be perfect.”

“He’s already getting perfection, sweetie.” I graze her arm. “The perceived success of the day isn’t going to impact the success of your marriage. You know that.”

Eva nods, a tendril of blonde hair falling over her eye. I can see the wistful look, and it makes my stomach clench. “Yeah, I just thought…I don’t know.” She flops into a plush leather chair, the glass still firmly in her grip. “Starting off with a good bang can’t be a bad thing, right?”

I kneel in front of her. “There’s only one bang you need to be concerned with, and it has nothing to do with a popcorn and cotton candy cart at the Vienese hour.”

“That I can handle. My undergarments aren’t the ones in question.” She giggles.

“Eva, Damon is crazy about you. He lights you up, and worships the ground you walk on. Your marriage will be perfect because of the love you have for each other. This other crap isn’t going to convince him you’re the woman for him because he already knows it.” I sit back on my heels. “Perfection is overrated. Just be real and true to yourself and to Damon. That’s my best advice for you. Forget the other bullshit. None of it matters. When you wake up the morning after, you’ll have a clear path toward your future laid out in front of you, and I guarantee it won’t be cluttered with table centerpieces, rose petals, or cake toppers.”

“All really pretty,” she offers with a watery smile.

“Yes, but insignificant in the long run.” I squeeze her hand. “Forget the past, E. I know you’ve been a master at burying it, but it’s okay to let it go. You’re going to have a wonderful life because you found a man who loves you unconditionally. You’ll butt heads and have issues, but you’ll deal with them because you’re both in this for the long haul.”

Her eyes sparkle with tears, the tip of her nose bright pink. “Is this the kind of pep talk you give your clients? Because I suddenly understand why you charge such outrageous rates.”

“It’s all in the spin, cupcake.” I pull her out of the chair and twirl her around, watching the tulle flow around her and settle perfectly as she slows. “Although in your case, I actually believe everything I just told you. And I also know that your fiancé isn’t the type to go out and get shitfaced with swizzle stick models, too stupid to hide from the paparazzi, while you’re playing house at your palatial estate. You don’t need my ridiculously overpriced services. You just need to let go of the past and focus on the future. Look at it this way, at least you have enough faith in love to get on the path.” Unlike me, who flat out refuses to entertain the possibility that my future could include a plus one.

Yet, as cautious as I am, I can’t stop obsessing about the delicious-yet-arrogant prick who, in the span of about an hour, threatened me, lied about his identity, tried to poach my tech boy genius for God only knows what kind of scheme, and belittled my job. He’s an asshole, but I want him. Badly.

Maybe I’m more fucked up than I realize.