Curvy girls rule the goddamn world.

“Becks! What’s the haps?” I accept the video call from my favorite redhead and watch as her face blooms across the screen.

“Dude. I’m totally fat now,” Becky announces proudly, holding the phone just far enough away from her body that I can see her growing baby bump. “I swear, Perce. I ordered like, fifty chicken nuggets and a milkshake at dinner tonight, and the waitress just nodded knowingly, like Uh-huh, girl. Been there, done that!”

“God,” I shudder. “Please don’t tell me you dipped the nuggets in the—”

“Milkshake? Oh, you bet your sassy ass I did. This baby is weird, babe. The shit it has me craving, you wouldn’t believe. But…Perce, where the hell are you? Are you seriously clubbing right now? And, uh…I don’t even want to ask, but what’s that sobbing noise?”

Now that Becky mentions it, there is a weird, effeminate wailing that’s really harshing the vibes of the VIP section I’m currently dominating. It makes me roll my damn eyes—some people just don’t know how to handle themselves.

“I think it’s that actor—you know the one. Bergendorf Cuminbatch or whatever. Just broke things off with him…he’s not taking it well, obviously.”

Becky cringes. “Still in the trenches with your official break-up talks, huh?”

I nod, casting a brief glance at the long line of hearts I have yet to break tonight. “It’s, uh. It’s taking a while, yeah.”

I mean, it would take a lot less time if they would stop begging me to take them back, TBH. What the fuck do they think I’m going to do? Break off my engagement for some sloppy dude currently sobbing into my glass of Cristal? Fat fucking chance.

I might not have ever fancied myself the marrying type…but honestly, I’m feeling good about this whole Anton thing. I mean, I’ve started calling him Anton instead of Silver Fox, at least—and I agreed to be his bride and all that shit. It’s progress, is what I’m saying—character development and all that shit!

Breaking up with all my former lovers, spring flings, one night stands, fuck buddies, butt buddies, sugar daddies, paramours, male escorts and reverse harems is just ink on the final page at this point. All that’s standing between me and my new life with my hot new husband is fifty dudes, a wild bachelorette weekend and the minor issue of Anton’s mother’s blessing.

But like, whatever.

I’m mostly concerned with the bachelorette thing at this point.

See, Becky got a wild-ass bachelorette party when she was supposed to get married to this really gross dude. And actually, it ended up fine. We all got totally fucking wasted, Becky caught her husband-to-be getting plowed by a Russian hooker with a strap-on, ends up married to the bastard’s sexy British step-brother instead. Amazing, right?

Especially when, just behind Becky on the video call, her bedroom door flings open and suddenly, there’s Liam in all his naked glory. He’s got the Union Jack tattooed on his chest, his dick in his hand, a smile on his face, and—

“Holy shit, sorry Perce, I need to, uh…” Becky stammers, looking over her shoulder at her nude husband and delicately letting her jaw hit the floor.

“Damn right you do,” I tell her.

The call and Becky’s panties drop at pretty much the exact same time.

I get back into the breakups. I mean, I’ve gotta, right? I make it through two Grammy-winners and the Oakland Raiders defensive line before my phone rings again.

“Sams!” I wink at the camera as my favorite brunette pops up on my screen. “How’s saving the planet?”

“Fucking awesome,” Sammi says, cheers-ing me with a piña colada while the ocean undulates in the background. “Lock shot a poacher with a harpoon gun last week—damn near castrated him! And look!”

Sams turns her head and I catch a glimpse of a wicked scar forming along her jawline.

“Yikes,” I wince. “Another one? At this rate, you’ll be showing up to my wedding in an eye patch.”

“Yarr,” Sammi agrees in pirate-speak. “Not to brag or anything, but babe. You shoulda seen the other guy. Besides…is there still going to be a wedding? I hear Anton’s mom is still holding out on granting him like…permission, or whatever.”

I roll my eyes and toss what’s left of my glass of Cristal at the telecoms mogul currently crawling across the floor toward me, trying to kiss the toes of my Louboutins.

Ugh. Men.

“Anton’s mom can kiss my curvy ass,” I tell Sammi. “I’m serious, dude. I’m marrying him. We don’t give a shit what his mom will or won’t let us do.”

“Yeah, but Perce,” Sammi levels with me. “Isn’t she like…the Queen?”

“Queen of kissing my ass, maybe,” I say.

Okay, yeah, I guess I should also mention that in addition to being the Queen of kissing my ass, Anton’s mom is also the Queen of Menage—the small, wealthy European country that Anton is like, sort-of-kind-of supposed to become ruler of someday.

Which means that failing to get her blessing kind of means that Anton is sort-of-kind-of disinherited from his title, lands and future resume padding.

But look—this is all completely whatever. Anton knows what he’s getting into, and we love each other. Blessing or no blessing. I don’t need to be queen of fuck-all. I just need to be the queen of his heart, his bed and his dick. Not necessarily in that order.

“I just want you to be happy, babe,” Sammi tells me.

“I’ll be happier when we’re slamming tequila in Amsterdam for my bomb-ass bachelorette party,” I shoot back at her.

See, Sammi got a crazy bachelorette party too. She was supposed to get married to this total control freak—and instead, we got drunk, got lost in Bangkok, pissed off the Thai mafia and made friends with a monkey. It ended up pretty fucking awesome, too. Sammi married this sexy Australian dude instead and now they like, fist-fight shark fishermen together and shit.

“Mmm,” Sammi moans, nodding, and that’s when I realize…

“Sams,” I say, “Has Lock been going down on you for the entire call, or did he just start.”

Sammi giggles. “How did you know?”

Crazy fucking kids.

I’m still laughing about it when I answer my next call—right on cue, Mysti May.

“What’s up, babe?”

When Mysti May’s blonde beauty queen head pops up on my phone screen, her perfectly manicured eyebrows are knitted together in a scowl.

“Percy. Darlin’. How drunk were you when you made this bachelorette party itinerary?” Mysti asks.

I consider it for a second and shrug. “Pretty drunk, probably.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Do you realize the amount of alcohol you’re planning on having us consume tomorrow night? At this rate, you’re not going to end up at the altar on Saturday…you’re going to end up in some European hospital getting your stomach pumped, girl.”

“Come on, Myst,” I tell her. “It’s just a little pre-nuptuial fun. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Mysti gives me that look—the holy shit, you can’t be serious right now look.

“Holy shit,” she says, “You can’t be serious right now. Do you not remember what happened at Becky’s bachelorette party? At Sammi’s?”

“Nope,” I tell her. “None of us do. Because we had a great fucking time, Myst! Look, just because after we go out for a fun night you always end up in bed with someone you don’t mean to…”

“Not this time,” Mysti May warns me. “I’m serious, Perce…I don’t know that this is a good idea. I mean, Becky and Sammi were different, right? They were marrying asshats. You’re marrying a total catch! Are you sure you’re not worried that you’ll do something that will…you know. Mess it up?”

“Mysti May Grace,” I scoff. “When have I ever in my life messed something up? Unheard of! Unspeakable!”

Mysti May rolls her eyes. “How many more dudes do you have to break up with before you grab your flight?”

I eye the line again. “I want to say twenty-five, but I’m not sure what the rule is for twins. Do you have to break up with them separately, or can you knock out both at once?”

“Both at once,” Mysti May says with certainty. “Just…get your ass to Amsterdam, darlin’. And consider what I’m saying here about having a chill night, okay? Becky and Sammi got their happy endings, though, Lord knows how. I just want to make sure that you get yours too.”

And that is what I want, you know? My own happy ending. In a sense, Mysti May is right. The difference this time is that I’m totally in love with Anton. All-in. Unlike my dumb friends, I’m 100% sure I’m marrying a guy who’s completely right for me—and nothing’s going to get in my way.