The Wedding Contract

Chapter 5





Alone at last, and it’s still half an hour before check-in. I have enough time to shower and get ready for tonight. Sophie is having a special dinner this evening for the wedding party and her closest relatives. It should be a week of fun with a camera strapped to my face—which is fine with me because I love shooting. Sophie and Steven will get married over the weekend and the guests will hang out for a few more days, because who wouldn’t want to stay here? The place is beautiful, minus the demon at reception. Well, I think it’s beautiful, but I bet Mom won’t. We don’t really get along very well.

My mother nearly had a stroke when I told her that I wouldn’t be attending college. My brother and sister, both of whom are at least a decade older than me and perfect in every way, attended college. They were two perfect children, bestowed upon my darling parents from glorious angels above.

Blah, blah, puke. Seriously. You can’t imagine what holidays are like at my parents’ house. According to her, I’m obviously from the ‘other side of heaven’s tracks.’ I love her, but we seriously don’t see eye-to-eye—on anything. It’s like, she got every parent’s dream in kids one and two, so God thought it would be hysterical to throw Baby Oops at them a decade or so later, just to mix things up. Perfection comes in many shapes and sizes, but, to my mother, I’m not even close.

The perfect daughter would have a ring on her finger and be finishing college, while making arrangements for Barbie’s dream summer wedding. I’m not that kid and Hell will have to freeze over before I let some douche put a ring on my finger. I may be mental, but after being up close and personal with the wedding industry for this long, I’ve seen things. Most couples get married because it’s time, not because they’re in love. They might have money issues, parental pressure, or they’re simply tired of being alone—so they pick Mr. Good Enough and tie the knot.

That won’t be me.

I head into the bathroom and turn on the shower, letting the tiny room get good and steamy before I shuck my clothes and get in. I sigh deeply and stand there, letting the water wash my troubles down the drain. If only life were this simple. I’d never leave the bathroom. I’m pretty sure if I put a fridge next to the tub, I could live in here. I’m half water rat, anyway.

My mind drifts to Sophie. I really hope she’s making the right decision. We didn’t get to talk about it. The engagement happened so fast and then she got swept away in planning a wedding. BAM! It got here faster than I thought it would. I wonder if she feels the same way. Rubbing my hands over my face, I sigh deeply and hope she’s happy. Brides have a tendency to freak out. A serene bride is a medicated bride. Not only is a wedding the biggest commitment of someone’s life, it’s also the event with the highest probability of everything going wrong.

Example: the wedding I shot last weekend. The frosting shouldn’t have caught fire like that, but it did. A few misplaced doilies, a strong gust of wind, and poof! Inferno cake. The little couple on top melted into little hunchbacks.

A wedding from earlier this month had an even more horrifying event: while the bride was walking down the aisle, her little flower girl got too close and stepped on her train. The sound of popping stitches filled the church, as a monster hole opened down the back of her gown, revealing the bride’s panties—which were printed with the word BRIDE across her backside in Swarovski crystals. I was amazed when she just hugged the horrified flower girl and let someone staple the dress back together. That wedding continued, when most other brides would have eaten the entire assembly and spit out their bones for something like that. Never step on a bride, not unless you have a death wish.


A noise catches my ear, like someone is yelling down the hallway. I assume it’s Sophie’s younger cousins. After turning off the water, I step out and towel off. I look behind the door for a robe, but there isn’t one. Whatever. I will not have a stroke and I have no plans to call the front desk for assistance, just to have Spawny bring me a robe that’s been defiled. No thanks. I toss my wet towel on the edge of the tub and pad out of the bathroom naked. I head for my suitcase, which is on the bed, so I can grab my dress and make-up kit.

As I step through the bathroom door and into the room, I’m glancing at the dreadfully ugly carpet. It’s like one of the Vegas-style, busy, rugs that hide every stain known to man. Damn, it’s ugly. That’s when I feel the sensation of eyes on me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle at the same time a pair of shiny black shoes enter my field of vision. From there on, everything happens in slow motion. My entire body tenses as I lift my gaze.

Standing in front of me is Nick Ferro, ass-hat extraordinaire, with a huge smile on his face. “Don’t tell me—you’re the slutty bridesmaid.”

I don’t answer. I scream and try to cover up at least a little, so he can’t see everything, but he already has. And the jerk is just standing there, with that amused grin on his face.

“Get out!” I scream the phrase over and over again, trying to hide both girls and wishing for a loincloth to magically appear in the proper place. Every time I grab one boob, the other falls out of my grip. They’re too big to hold with one hand, but his eyes are all over me, and I don’t want him looking. My hands move around spastically between my crotch and my chest, so I look like I’m landing a plane. For a second, I think about turning and running back into the bathroom, but then he’d see my butt, and since that’s the one piece of me he hasn’t seen, I refuse to turn around. Logic isn’t one of my strong suits. Don’t judge me until it happens to you. It makes sense. Sorta.

Nick steps back as I hurl the tissue box at him, and stumble backward into the bathroom. Nick says pleasantly, “This is my room. You get out.”

“It’s not your room, it’s mine! I’m going to call the cops!” I bump into the sink and try to shove the door closed with my foot. It’s an uberly uncoordinated effort that lands me on my ass. My ankle catches the door, closing it, as I not so gracefully fall backwards. I let loose a few expletives before a loud SLAM.

He rushes to the door. “And tell them what? That the guy you came on to didn’t want you? I didn’t say that, by the way.” He’s quiet for a second, and adds, “Are you all right?”

“No!” I’m not all right. Why is he here? Why is he in my room? This is the person responsible for singlehandedly destroying my business. Amy thinks I’m paranoid, but what the hell is he doing here, then? He shouldn’t be here. I’m sitting with my back against the tub when the door cracks open. I kick it closed. “Oh my God! What kind of deviant are you? I didn’t say come in!” My voice is at least an octave higher by the time I finish yelling at him.

“You said you weren’t all right.”

“I’m fine! Go away!”

“I can’t. This is my room and I have a wedding to shoot this week, so if you don’t mind—”

What? Scrambling to my feet, I grab the shower curtain and pull it off the rod. As I march out, the little plastic rings drag on the floor. Yanking the door open, I rush through and slam into his chest. I swear to God, my entire body made that dong sound that happens when you run into a metal pole. Not that I’ve done that. Recently. Oh holy hell, his body is hard. Why does he have to be so infuriatingly sexy? And he smells good, too. Meanwhile, I’m wet, sporting a rat’s nest on my head, and styling the latest fashion in hotel shower curtains, which is that white plastic crap that sticks like tape to my damp skin.

I step back, but Nick steadies me, or I would have fallen over again. I don’t say thank you. I want to bite his head off. “What wedding? No you don’t!”

He speaks way too calmly. “Yes, I do. Mr. Stevens hired me.”

What a liar. “He did not!”

Nick gives me that magical crooked smirk again and reaches into his gear bag, producing a wedding contract for photography services. I snatch it out of his hands and scan the thing. How could Sophie do this to me? I glance at him from the corner of my eyes, grinding my teeth. I’m very feminine when I’m pissed. I know. I flip to the last page and see a signature from Steven’s Dad. “I’m sorry, Miss Thompson, but this is my wedding. You’ll have to leave. Unless, I was right about my first guess and you’re in the wedding.”

“I’m not the slutty bridesmaid!” I smack the contract into his chest and stomp over to my bag, ripping out my contract with Sophie. I thrust it at him, spewing, “See! I’m the photographer and my contract says the same damn thing yours does!”

He reads it over and his jaw tightens, before he looks up at me with those annoyingly beautiful eyes again. Where the hell did they come from? Those blue eyes sparkle so much it looks like dwarves mined them or something. “I guess it does.” He shrugs. “Apparently, we were both hired to photograph the same event, and we were both given the same room—the photographer’s room.”

“Over my dead body.”