How to Make a Wedding: Twelve Love Stories

Less than a week after their announcement, Crystal and Phillip invited all the bridesmaids and groomsmen to our house for a Saturday afternoon BBQ. As much as I hated to admit it, my jealousy toward Sienna tainted the event for me.

I’d known the buxom blond since childhood. Of course, she wasn’t buxom as a kid. Then again, she wasn’t shapely as a teen, either. The drastic change in Sienna’s physique had only come about recently after a so-called week of vacation in the Caribbean. A week at the plastic surgeon’s office was more like it. Still, I tried not to focus on her Double D’s, though tonight’s ensemble—a bright-pink and lime-green fitted dress with low-cut bodice—made that difficult.

“Suck it up, Buttercup.” Dad’s voice sounded to my right.

I startled to attention and turned to find my father standing next to me, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“I said, ‘Suck it up, Buttercup.’ ” He nudged me with his elbow, then leaned down and whispered, “I know what you’re thinking.”

“You do?”

“Yep. You can’t stand that girl. You’ve hated her ever since she stole your sister’s boyfriend in sixth grade. I never cared much for that Joey O’Shea, anyway.”

“Me either, but hate is a strong word. I just can’t stand that she always draws so much attention to herself.”

“Let’s get real.” My father chuckled. “We both know why the guys can’t look away.”

“I know, I know.” And those Double D’s aren’t even real.

Still, it bugged me. Even Tyler—the socially awkward fourteen-year-old—had been rendered speechless by the effervescent and curvaceous Sienna. Then again, the gawky stare might be Tyler’s norm.

“That’s not the only reason you’re upset, is it?” Dad gave me a sympathetic look. “I see what your sister’s done to you. You and that gangly kid with pimples have been coupled up for this shindig, right?”

“We’re not a couple. Ew.”

“Right, right.” He slung his arm over my shoulder and pulled me into a bear hug. “Well, you get my point. And you have two choices: either you can spend the next four months moaning and groaning about it, or you can suck it up and do the right thing.”

“That’s the point. I always do the right thing, and look where it’s gotten me—standing at the end of the line.”

“At least you’re in the line. Did I ever tell you the story about my older sister eloping and leaving the whole family out of her big day? Broke my mother’s heart. Mine too.” Dad’s carefree expression shifted as his lips curled downward in a frown. “Anyway, I’m just happy Crystal is a family girl. She’s involved all of us in her wedding plans, and I’m grateful. It’s gonna be a wonderful day”—he pursed his lips—“even if the reception is at the River Oaks Country Club at sixty-five dollars a head.”

I started to respond, but something—rather, someone—caught my eye. Walking through the front door was the most gorgeous specimen of a man I’d ever clamped my eyes on. Something about the solidly built, dark-haired fellow looked familiar, but I didn’t know why. The other bridesmaids gathered around him, all giggles and smiles, greeting him like an old friend. Weird. I had met Phillip’s other two friends before, but was I the only one who had never met this one? Sienna practically lunged herself into his arms with a boisterous giggle.

“I don’t believe it.” Dad almost tripped over his own feet as he took a couple of steps away from me. “T-that’s Derrick Richardson.”

“Derrick Richardson?” The name sounded familiar. And the confident stride and broad, white-toothed smile looked familiar too. Wow, this guy would be a shoo-in for toothpaste commercials.

Commercials.

TV.

That’s where I’d seen him before. I felt sure of it. He starred in a television commercial for Accentuate Bank, my employer.



“He’s an actor?” I whispered to my dad.

He snorted. “An actor? Only if you call his work on the ball field acting. He’s the best right fielder the Astros have ever had, kid. You need to get out more. Go see a game or two. Why your mother raised you to love theater instead of sports, I will never understand.”

“Ah, he’s a ballplayer, then. Whatever.” I shrugged, feeling a little less impressed than before. I’d never been much for sports, especially baseball. Who had the patience to sit through all those innings just to watch grown men jog around those little placemat things?

“But he does a TV commercial for Accentuate Bank too?” I asked.

“Now that you mention it, I think he does.”

“I knew it.”

Tyler appeared to spring to life in Derrick’s presence. The gawky teen wedged his way through the crowd of girls and, with a goofy grin on his face, came to a stop directly in front of the guy, then stammered, “D-dude. You’re D-Derrick R-Richardson.”

“I am.” The handsome ballplayer extended his hand in Tyler’s direction. “And you are . . .?”

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