My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,89

quick thinking when she grabs me around the shoulders. It probably looks friendly, but she’s hissing in my ear. “Don’t you fucking dare, Abs. Fix. Your. Face! You can read every murderous thought you’re having like a neon sign.”

I try. I’m not known for my resting bitch face. That’s Courtney. I’m usually the Andrews who always has a sunny smile for everyone, but Meredith irks the shit out of me. She pushes buttons I never even knew I had.

“Masquerade theme,” Meredith draws out as though teaching the words to kindergarteners who don’t speak English.

Wait, is masquerade even English? I have no idea, and why am I thinking of it now?

“Not Mardi Gras, for heaven’s sake! Remove the beads.” As she barks orders, she grabs the offending strands of beads from the middle of the table and forces them into the hand of the nearest worker. “The last thing we need is the press getting photos of the bride and groom with ‘show your tits’ beads draped around their necks.”

I stifle a laugh that Meredith Wildeman even knows the word tits, much less said it aloud. I’m not the only one fighting the laugh either, because suddenly, everyone is face-down or giving Meredith their back as we bustle around to get things up to her standards without getting called out for laughing at her.

I try to imagine Meredith at a New Orleans Mardi Gras celebration, riding down Bourbon Street on a big float, and just can’t do it. She looks out of place enough in this ballroom with its luxury masquerade décor.

“Flower girl, the sweetheart table . . . fix it.”

“On it,” I say, not correcting her. She’s stressed to the nth degree. I can see that and understand it, but seriously, does it take that much to simply call me Abi? Hell, I’d take one of those bitchy ‘Miss Andrews’ sneers at this point.

I putz with the sweetheart table, not fixing anything because nothing is actually wrong with the beautiful setup, and then the doors open.

Claire and Cole come in, looking happy, tan, and beaming with love. Claire has on a white gauzy dress with tiny seed pearls along the bodice that give it a vintage and romantic vibe. Cole has on a khaki linen suit with an untucked white button-up shirt beneath. Both are barefoot. For some reason, that’s what makes the whole image perfect. Like they’re more real with no shoes on.

Claire exclaims as they come into the ballroom. “Oh, my gosh! It’s gorgeous!” Her hands cover her wide-open mouth and a second later, she’s tearing up. “It’s everything I imagined.”

That moment right there is why I love what I do. I soak it up, letting it erase all the craziness of today. Hell, of the whole week. Claire’s happy tears simply wash it all away.

“Wildeman’s orders,” Janey says as she hands me a black mask. It’s Zorro style, just large enough to cover my eye sockets but still let me see.

I look around to find all the staff wearing black masks to go with their black head to toe uniforms. Typically, the dark clothing helps us disappear into the background, as staff isn’t meant to be seen at an event like this. But the masks make us even more anonymous.

I see Claire and Cole donning white masks and the guests putting on various colors and laughing along with Claire’s fun masquerade idea. It does actually change the mood to one that seems more mysterious and exciting.

Standing off to the side out of the way, I watch as everyone mingles and finds their seats. And then dinner begins.

But this isn’t any old dinner. Not for this crowd.

The door to the kitchen opens, and I expect to see the waiters beginning service. And they do, except the whole line of servers is following a woman in a full ball-gown dress of purple and pink with a painted face and a feathery mask, who’s twirling sticks with lit sparklers on the ends.

The crowd gasps in delight and applauds the woman’s exciting spectacle. The photographer runs in front of the sweetheart table as the firework-twirling woman stands behind Claire and Cole to take photos.

At the end of the line of waiters, Lorenzo comes out, looking sharp and suave in full black with a mask of his own. Even his chef jacket is black tonight. There might be major hoopla happening in the ballroom, like literal fire, but Lorenzo is still what draws my eye. He’s captivating, and I’m not the only