Page 44 of The Great Dating Fake Off
“And we wanted to,” I add.
“Well, the Mazzellis sure didn’t,” she grumbles.
I scan the hall. It appears that the Ferraros have somewhat responded to the call, but I cannot find a single Mazzelli dressed in anything other than black or white.
“Maybe that’s just how my family dressed in the”—Enzo freezes at the look on Ro’s face—“anyway, welcome. Grunge, eh?”
Benji’s bitter eyes turn on me.“Yes. Her idea.”
I choose not to look at his expression to avoid bursting into laughter. Benji’s costume consists of ripped jeans, a ratty band tee, and an unbuttoned flannel shirt that swallows his already large frame.
He’ll never forget to give me a schedule of events again.
He’ll also never agree to go with me anywhere ever again, but still.
Meanwhile, I’m paying homage to Clueless in my Cher Horowitz costume: plaid mini skirt, preppy collared shirt, choker necklace, and knee-high white socks.
Ro gestures next to her. “Nora, this is my maid of honor, Gia. She just got in this afternoon.”
Gia is arrestingly hot with a milky complexion and pinup girl curves shown off by a paisley dress. Her gingery red hair is teased to perfection and her lips are painted a dark shade of pink. “Nice to meet you, Nora. And long time no see, Brother Bear. Glad you got your head out of your ass and decided to make your sister’s wedding a priority.”
“Hello, Gia.” Benji looks and sounds wholly unbothered by her verbal lashing, like this is normal for them. “Participate in any hit-and-runs lately?”
“That was one time like ten years ago, and I went back after I finished crying.” Her gaze turns to me. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t a person.”
Sebastian and Alessia close in on the table. They’re wearing normal dinner outfits for this decade other than the white piece of printer paper taped to each of their shirts. He gets her chair for her and proceeds to take the seat directly next to me. His cologne smells like wood and spice and everything nice.
“What’s with the papers on your chests?” Enzo asks in lieu of hello.
Sebastian gestures at his shirt. “We’re the Teletubbies.”
Enzo snorts. “No, you’re two people wearing Office Max’s finest bright white copy paper taped to your front.”
Alessia tuts. “Have you no vision? I’m Po. Sebastian is also Po because we both had red shirts. We are the epitome of nineties culture.” Her gaze turns to a tan man with tight curls and a gold chain seated next to Enzo. “Hello, Sergio. I see you’re…here.”
Sergio looks like a dramatized version of Saved by the Bell’s AC Slater, right down to his hairstyle. The muscles displayed by his tight white T-shirt are a lot, giving him the sort of blown-up look that makes me inherently anxious. I worry he may deflate if he catches a sharp corner.
Enzo points at the man seated next to him. “For anyone who doesn’t know, this is my cousin Sergio. The best man.”
“Everyone calls me Serge,” he corrects. “Like an adrenaline surge.”
Enzo tents his hands beneath his chin, regarding him with a flat stare. “Who calls you Serge?”
Sergio gestures at nothing and no one. “Most people.”
“Really? Even at work?” Benji asks with the levity of a court stenographer who missed half of someone’s testimony.
“Nah.” His teeth are a bright white. “They mostly call me a miracle worker.”
Gia crosses her arms. “Oh yeah? Are you in the medical field?”
“I’m building a wellness empire—”
“He’s a personal trainer,” Enzo completes.
Sergio points at the man by my side. “Rossi, is that you? Where the hell have you been all these years? I never see you around.”
“Busy.” Sebastian’s voice is butter smooth as he pulls a carafe of table wine toward the space between our empty glasses.
