Page 7 of The Wedding Situation Romance

“Where are you going?” he asks, nodding up in my direction.

“Wherever youaren’t,” I call back and keep walking.

I make it as far as the other side of the garden, purposely standing near a group of people in the hopes that he won’t spot me. Unfortunately, when your bridesmaid’s dress is the color of over-ripened watermelon, it’s hard to hide, even in a crowded garden.

And when I hear the all too familiar sound of his measured stride (of course he has that kind of stride. He’s a fucking lawyer. Even their walk is an intimidation tactic), I have no choice but to try to blend into hibiscus plants.

“Are you avoiding me?” he asks.

“Are youstalkingme?”

“No. I just prefer your company over anyone else’s.”

“Oh, really?” I ask, not buying the charm.

Reid’s eyes flash to mine. “Don’t flatter yourself. The bar here is quite low. We haven’t even had the cake yet, and one of the groomsmen is already drinking directly out of one of the beer taps.”

I laugh at that. He might be an arrogant, smooth-talking jerk, but he is funny. I’ll give him that.

“You really enjoy all this?” he asks, and my gaze bears down again.

“Of course I do,” I say. “Believe or not, most people think weddings are a good time.”

“Sure, they’re a good time. Free food, booze, a place where you can let loose with no consequences. Well, unless it ends up on social media,” he says.

“They’re more than that,” I argue. “It’s the beginning of a love story. The beginning of something great,” I smile, doing my best to enjoy the view of the garden.

I can’t deny that it’s hard with him standing there though, and not just because his shoulders are so broad; he is blocking half my view.

He’s wearing a very light, silver-gray suit, and the contrast against the overflow of pink around us is actually very stunning. But it also contrasts his salt and pepper hair and blue eyes too. Not to mention it was definitely fitted for him. Any tighter and I bet I could count his abs through the fabric.

My money is on eight.

“Yeah. A fat paycheck for me in the future,” he says cynically as he takes a sip of his whiskey.

“Is that all you think about?”

Reid smirks and I have to will myself not to focus on the heat rising in my downstairs simply at the way those lips crawl.

“Sure. I mean, Justin’s one of my best friends. Who do you think he’s going to choose when he needs a divorce lawyer?”

And despite all the pink, I am seeing red. “No one. Because he’s not going to need one. Because they aren’t getting divorced,” I snap before walking through the trees in an attempt to get away.

Of course, it doesn’t work. The gala garden is set up like the gardens of Pemberley, and the shrubs and flowers aremanicured into a mini maze. But like a cockroach in the pantry, Reid finds a way, and before I know it, he’s standing next to me again.

“Have I upset you?” he asks.

“Oh, not at all. You’ve only insinuated that my friend’s marriage is destined to fail and when it does, you’re going to prosecute her into the ground,” I hiss.

“How about we start over?” he says.

“How about we pretend we never met?”

“That would be such a shame,” he says. “Your witty conversation is the only thing getting me through this hell.”

“And your conversation is the only reason a wedding that would put Cinderella’s to shame feels likeI amin hell,” I say.

I am red in the face, but Reid just smiles, though this time it’s softer. Like he’s revealing just the corner of a white flag.