for the cake cutting, the grand exit, and the various candid family shots with the bride and groom that were always popular gifts for family members.
“Excuse me?” an elderly man said, tapping me on the shoulder. “I was wondering if there were any more snacks from the reception left?”
I turned and lowered my camera.
“My apologies, my dear!” the dapper elderly man exclaimed.
“Horace!” his wife hissed from a nearby table. “Horace, stop bothering the photographer!”
“I thought she was part of the caterers,” he said in a stage whisper. “I’m starving, and my brother loves to talk.” He motioned to the front of the room, where another elderly man was on minute ten of a very long but heartfelt speech.
“Sit down!” Horace’s wife insisted.
“It’s all right!” I said, smiling. “I’m good friends with the caterer. I’ll fetch you something.”
“Thank you!” He beamed at me.
I begged a plate of the cocktail-hour snacks from Elsie and snuck it back to the reception. I bent down and slid the plate on the table.
“You’re doing the Lord’s work,” the man said, thanking me.
I stood up to find another angle of the stage and slammed into a broad muscular chest.
“Excuse me,” I mumbled, trying to duck out of the way. Then I peered into the darkness.
“Chris.”
12
Chris
I don’t like weddings—the pageantry, the crying, the long boring speeches. It was a waste of time and money. Unfortunately, I seemed to be at that life stage where all my friends from high school and college were getting married in droves. I had a wedding practically every other weekend.
I always pep-talked myself that it was a networking opportunity. And it was. These were high-society weddings. I had gone to the best private schools and Ivy League colleges and graduate programs. We were all from the same social class, and I wasn’t the only billionaire in attendance.
I had just been fetching a drink for Horace, one of my late grandfather’s friends, listening to the world’s most boring wedding speech, and musing on how I was going to convince Grace not to take me to the cleaners when, like a bad dream, there she was.
I cursed as the drink sloshed in my hand.
“Watch your mouth!” Horace chastised me. “There are ladies present. Your grandfather taught you better than that!”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I drawled, sliding the drink on the table.
Horace sipped it appreciatively while I grabbed Grace by the arm.
“Can we talk?”
“I’m working,” she hissed at me.
“That’s Horace’s brother,” I said, jerking my head to the stage. “He doesn’t talk less than thirty minutes at a time. There are only so many pictures of bored faces you can take.”
“Are you stalking me?” she demanded when I had led her off to a side hallway at the fancy Connecticut country club. “First you accuse me of trying to scam you out of a cheeseburger and fries, and now you’re showing up where I work.”
“I’m a guest here, first of all,” I told her, striking a pose in my tux. “Second, you didn’t just order fries and a cheeseburger. You had like half a cake and a bottle of five-hundred-dollar champagne.”
She went wide-eyed.
“That champagne was five hundred dollars?” she squeaked. “Shit, shit, shit!” She fumbled in her pockets for her phone.
“Relax,” I told her, “I already called the hotel and had them put it on my card.”
It had been a stroke of genius. Really, was it any surprise I was a billionaire?
Unfortunately, Grace was immediately suspicious. “What do you want? Why are you paying for my stuff?”
“I think that’s my line,” I said dryly. “I just want us to be on good terms, you know, since we’re married and all.”
“Oh, we’re past that,” she retorted. “I’m taking you for all you’re worth.”
I tried not to vomit. I knew it.
Grace burst into laughter and doubled over. “You should see your face!” She slapped her leg.
“That was mean,” I said around her laughter, “and unnecessary. You don’t know me. What if I had a heart condition?”
“Guess I’ll have to make sure not to cause you any erections. Don’t want you to pass out!”
“This is a serious situation.”
“Yes,” Grace said, eyes narrowing. “So no funny business from you, mister. You’re not stealing my company. I will cut you! My friend is a chef and has several very sharp imported Japanese knives.”
I opened my mouth, shut it, then opened it again.
“You think I’m going to steal from you?”
“Yes,” she said stubbornly. “Hell, for all I know, this is like You’ve Got Mail, and you’re trying to run my wedding planning