“Well, it’s nice,” Breaker says as we step out of his car and stare up at the rather ornate and grand stone church right in front of us. On an almost vacant street in the heart of Los Angeles is a Catholic church with a tall spire reaching up into the sky and an arched entrance that feels more intimidating than welcoming.
I glance up at the grandiose building and say, “There are gargoyles on the edge of the roof. That doesn’t really scream wedding vibes.”
Breaker puts his arm around me. “Not really, but the reason gargoyles were carved into buildings in the first place was to ward off the evil spirits from entering, so . . . if you look at it that way, then maybe it’s a good thing. There will be no evil spirits lurking in your marriage.”
I glance up at his freshly shaved face—he usually keeps some scruff on it but chose to go clean today. “Are you going to put a positive spin on everything?”
“I will until you tell me you absolutely hate it. At that point, I will jump the positivity ship, but you need to give it a fair shot first. Who knows, maybe the inside of the chapel really captivates you.”
“I’m not religious, Breaker.”
“You don’t need to be religious to appreciate the sanctity of divine architecture. Think about what it took for people to build this building back in the day. All the intricate carvings and details you don’t see on today’s modern aesthetic.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but no Chipotle has gargoyles or intricate carvings, and I still very much enjoy walking into their establishments.”
“Because you’re a whore for lime salt chips, just like Lottie.”
“How do you know that?” I chuckle.
“That’s where Huxley and Lottie were on their first official date, if that’s what you want to call it. It’s where they went over the terms of their fake fiancé contract. Honestly, saying it out loud really doesn’t sound real. Anyway, she took home the chips that Huxley bought when he really wanted them. He bitched about it for days.”
“You guys are billionaires. You can buy your own Chipotle and turn it into a chip factory for your own personal pleasure. Why was he bitching about someone taking his chips?”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” he says just as The Beave steps out of a black sedan parked a few feet away.
The Beave is something else. Lanky legs always on a minimum of four-inch heels, she always wears an unflattering resting bitch face, accompanied by a nude-colored lip. She mimics the royal family by always wearing a jacket that you can’t quite tell is a dress or is actually a jacket—even in the California heat—and she pairs it with a hat when she’s outdoors. The only time she doesn’t wear a hat is when she’s sitting down for a meal. She reminds me of Yzma from The Emperor’s New Groove, but minus the grayish purple skin, saggy tits that touch her belly button, and adherent henchman who cooks a mean spinach puff.
“Ophelia, hello,” she says rather coldly and then turns to Breaker, a smile playing at her lips. “Mr. Cane, what a treat for you to join us today.” She holds out her skeleton-thin hand, and Breaker takes it and offers her a simple shake.
“Please, Breaker is just fine, and I couldn’t miss an opportunity to be the perfect maid of honor for my girl.” He gives me a squeeze.
“Maid of honor?” The Beave asks, glancing at me. “I wasn’t aware that you would be having a man on your side of the altar.”
I hold back my smirk. The Beave wasn’t expecting a wrench in her plans this early in the morning I bet. There’s no doubt she’s a traditionalist and requires the traditional setting of a wedding. The bride has women on her side, the groom has men. Well, welcome to the modern century because that’s not how we’ll work.
“Breaker is my best friend. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Well, maybe we can consider—”
“It won’t be any other way,” Breaker says, cutting in, throwing down my authority.
The shitty thing about this situation is that even though this is my wedding, The Beave is not going to listen to anyone other than herself. The only person, and I mean ONLY person, who could overturn her decision is Breaker. Not me, not her son, no one else, only Breaker, and that’s because she values Breaker more than me and her son. The only reason is because of how thick Breaker’s wallet is.
“I see.” The Beave straightens up. “Well, then, I guess I will make a note of that.” She then looks him up and down and says, “You know, Breaker, I heard the news about your former employee.”
Classic.
God, she’s like clockwork. I saw her mentioning that from a mile away.
Breaker cuts her off at the knees, and now she’s trying to do the same, trying to even the playing field. Little does she know the reason the Cane brothers are so successful is because they see right through social climbers and don’t let them tear them down.
And from the confidence in Breaker’s expression, I know he sees right through The Beave.
“Tragic, isn’t it?” Breaker asks. “That a girl with so little self-worth spreads lies to grab attention. Our lawyers are handling it. There will be an apology once we present the required evidence of the former employee’s inappropriate behavior in the workplace. Then again, I shouldn’t be saying anything because of how confidential it is.”
“Ah, understandable.”
“But thank you for your concern. I’m doing quite fine.”
She offers an even smile and then gestures toward the church. “Now, I believe we have a church to view and a priest to meet.” She turns, and with her assistant, who appears at her side, she starts up the steep stone stairs that lead to the red door entrance.
Hanging back for a moment, I cling on to Breaker’s arm and say, “I’m so sorry she brought that up.”
“Don’t apologize for her. She’s disgustingly transparent. I knew she was going to bring up the lawsuit, and shutting her down was easy.”
“I know, but still, she shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Lia, I’m fine.”
“Okay.” I clutch him tighter. “I’m going to need your help making our way up these stairs. These shoes Brian bought me are a touch too big.”
Breaker glances down at my shoes, examining them. “I was wondering where the hell you got those.”
“You don’t like them?” I ask as I turn my feet to the side. This whole outfit screams Brian. A fluffy, red mini skirt with a black tank top and black four-inch heels that I would never, ever wear, I feel more like a newborn clown than the sophisticated lady about to marry the very sought-after Brian Beaver.
“They’re nice, just not you.”
“What makes you think that? The gold buckle on the toe or the fact that I look like I’m a newbie trying to walk on circus stilts?”
“Maybe a touch of both.” He chuckles.
“Well, at least The Beave didn’t say anything disapproving.”
We head up the stairs, Breaker helping me the whole time. “Way to find the positive. Now, let’s just focus on whether we like this church.”
“I’m going to say no.”
“Do you have a second venue where you want to get married? A counter offer?” Breaker asks as we make our way up the stairs.
“I do, actually, but I know The Beave is going to hate it.”