Of course we got them a gift. I signed your name.

Are we bringing it to the wedding?

No, it’s already been sent. I always send them ahead; last thing a bride needs to worry about is making sure her gifts are wrangled during her wedding.

So if someone didn’t send it ahead of time, he shouldn’t bring it?

From an etiquette standpoint, it’s fine to bring it. People always do; I just like to take care of it ahead of time—wait, why are you asking?

Text from Simon to Neil:

Dude, you’re fine, you can bring it with you.

Cool. See you there.

Text from Caroline to Simon:

Hey, mister. Why were you asking me about bringing a gift?

No reason.

Seriously, what’s up?

Neil wanted to know if he should bring his gift with him or not, that’s all.

Tell him to call me, I’ll tell him where his gift can go.

Did I tell you how pretty you look in your bridesmaid dress?

You haven’t even seen me yet . . .

Safe to assume.

You’re good, Wallbanger.

Text from Neil to Sophia:

Hey. Just wanted to say hey. You’re going today, right?

Ah. Still not talking to me, I see.

So anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be glad to see you. I think it’s time we talked. Still can’t believe you hang up every time I call, but I don’t want to get into that today. I’ll just be glad to see you; I’d like a chance to explain.

Sophia?

Soph?

Eat me.

chapter seven

The anteroom at the Swedenborgian Church in Pacific Heights was full to bursting with shades of maple, copper, champagne gold, and cheddar goldfish. Crinolines crackled and swished, nervous giggles spilled from delicately painted lips, and a proud father stood straight and tall.

A bride stepped forward to take his arm as her ladies gathered before her, their hands full of peaches-and-cream dahlias. She was tall and regal, blushing and not at all bashful. Draped in ivory silk and century-old Italian lace, the solitary spot of color was a four-karat canary diamond on the fourth finger of her left hand.

The oaken doors opened.

Her eyes danced.

As a string quartet played, her bridesmaids glided down the aisle, one after another. The church was full, but not overly so. The small chapel, earthy and charming, had a coffered ceiling made of ancient wood accented by the thousands of softly lit cream-colored candles. In the hearth, uncommon in most churches but perfectly suited to this rustic setting, a fire crackled merrily, casting its own fairy-tale light.

Guests smiled, their faces aglow with quiet expectation, turned toward the center aisle. And as I walked down that very aisle before the bride, I saw Benjamin at the end, beaming.

And next to him? My own piece of heaven. I smiled when I saw him, resplendent in a tuxedo that was cut to accentuate his tall and strong frame. His eyes glowed azure in the firelight, his face extraordinary. His grin burst across his face as I neared him. He winked, and I swooned.

As did most of the ladies in the chapel.

Taking my place in line, I watched as Jillian’s maid of honor joined us, the music changing as the bride was about to appear. I turned to see not Jillian, but Benjamin.

Have you ever watched a groom when his bride appears for the first time? All eyes are on her, yes, but the true magic is wherever that groom is. To witness his eyes light up, to see the emotions fall across his face. To be there as he fights to retain control of his feelings, as all men are supposed to do in that situation. But those first few seconds, you see the truth. You can see everything he feels when he sees her that first time.

I didn’t need to actually observe Jillian turn that corner to know when she had entered that chapel. Because I saw it all on Benjamin’s face, the second he saw her.

Surprise.

Longing.

Relief.

Need.

Pure, na**d joy.

Tears sprang to my eyes, as I knew they would. I could feel my grin take over my face, threatening to split it in two. As my gaze swept across to where Jillian was walking toward us, I caught Simon’s eye.

And I’ll be damned if there wasn’t a tear in his eye too.

• • •

The ceremony was short and sweet. Vows were exchanged, tears were shed by most, and under a shower of petals, the newlyweds exited the church into a perfect autumn afternoon.

And who did I see throwing those petals? Mimi and Ryan, of course, Sophia and Barry Derry (who was admittedly hot), and Neil and . . . no one.

He didn’t bring a date after all.

Something that was noticed by Sophia, even though she pretended not to notice him at all.

Although I was required by wedding party law to accompany Jillian everywhere she went (and yes, this included the ladies’ room, where I can now say I’ve helped my boss pee), I managed to sneak in a little time with my friends before getting onto the very inelegant but very necessary party bus.

Simon and I were separated by our “bridal order,” since the best man was always photographed officially with the maid of honor, but once the photographer was done I was able to sneak a kiss or two.

“I knew you’d look pretty in your bridesmaid dress.” He spun me to take in the full skirt, his eyes widening when he saw it flare up and reveal a little extra leg.

“You cleaned up very nicely yourself,” I answered, taking a moment to admire the treat that was Wallbanger in a tux.

“So now what happens?”

“Now we get on the bus and drink champagne with the rest of the wedding party, take pictures over at Baker Beach with the bridge in the background, then off to the reception. Where you can get me drunk, if you like.”

“I like. I also liked that ceremony back there. They seemed really happy, didn’t they?”

“They did.” I smiled, gazing up into those sapphire eyes, which looked over my shoulder and clouded over.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Maybe nothing.” He grimaced, and I turned. Sophia and Barry Derry talking with Mimi and Ryan, with Neil walking toward them.

“Oh boy,” I muttered, and we headed in.

“So I said, no way, Barry—not here; anyone could see us!” Sophia cried, grasping the guy who had no idea what he was in for. I looked over at Mimi, who was struggling to keep a straight face, while Ryan just frowned.

“Hey everyone, wasn’t it a beautiful ceremony?” I asked, pulling Simon into the ring just as Neil reached the group.

Mimi took the cue, responding loudly, “It really was! Sophia, did you get a look at those roses by the altar? We should go get some pictures before they—”

“Hi, Sophia,” Neil said from behind Sophia, and her eyes blazed.

I looked at Simon, Simon looked at Ryan, Ryan looked at Neil. Neil looked at the back of Sophia’s hair, while Barry Derry looked at his fingernails.

Finally Simon walked over to Neil and clapped him on the back in that man-clappy way.

“Hey, man, did you see Benjamin yet? I think he’s still doing that receival line or whatever it’s called. I’ll walk you over.” Simon nodded at Ryan, who crossed over as well. That left Mimi, Sophia, and me on one side of the circle, and the boys on the other. Mr. Derry was still in the middle, clueless. But still way hot.

“Sophia, come on, baby, are you going to ignore me all night?” Neil asked, and her spine stiffened.

“Baby? You’re gonna call me baby?” she hissed, spinning on her heel. A Come Fuck Me heel, I might add; the girl was fierce. Her hair was waved back in perfect curls, makeup was flawless, body with its newly added breakup pounds was poured into a slinky black dress. And her boobs? Shit. I was even a little curious.

But Neil? He was astonished. Dumbstruck. Clotheslined. The linebacker stared at the cellist, eyes like saucers. Hungry saucers—this boy was still stupid in love.

But she was so very angry. And I couldn’t blame her. Because no one can hurt you quite like someone who says he loves you.

“You don’t get to call me baby,” she snapped, hands on her hips, chest thrust forward; she knew how to use what she had. Grabbing Barry by the tie, she led him toward the parking lot.

Our circle closed in, my hand going into Simon’s and Mimi’s arm going around Ryan’s waist.

“She’s not gonna talk to me, is she?” he asked, his face sad.

I rolled my eyes. “I doubt it.” Our bus pulled up and I tugged on Simon. “Come on, we’ve got to go. We’ll see you at the reception.” I nodded to Mimi, and shot one more look back at Neil over my shoulder as we left.

“Go easy, okay?” Simon said as we walked across the parking lot.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m not kidding. She’s your friend, and I get that, but that’s my friend.” His eyes were warm, but warning.

I saw Sophia walking with Hot Barry, her laughter deliberately loud. “Let’s just enjoy the night?” I whispered to Simon as he guided me onto the bus.

We settled into our seats with the rest of the bridal party, celebrating with the happy couple. And as we maneuvered through the streets of San Francisco toward the bay, watching Jillian and Benjamin kiss every minute or so, I felt very happy that I had my Simon at my side. And very sad for Sophia that she did not have her Neil.

But it was a happy day, and after a few glasses of champagne I was ready for a fancy night on the town.

And with the reception at the Fairmont Hotel? It was guaranteed.

• • •

If the ceremony was simple, the reception was anything but. Elegant was the best word to describe the Fairmont’s Venetian Room, and the reception overall.

If I thought every candle in San Francisco was at the chapel, then every candle in the rest of the entire Bay Area was lit inside this ballroom. Add to that the golden chandeliers, the crystals dripping from every sconce, the mirrors reflecting and dancing back every flicker and twinkle, and the effect was not of this world.

It was of the planet Money. Which was within the galaxy Ridiculous.

But it was still Jillian and Benjamin. Were there floral arrangements taller than I was? Yes, but there were also copies of their high school senior pictures at each place setting. Was there a full orchestra? Yes, but it was playing instrumental versions of Def Leppard, Journey, and U2. And a band called Rush, which every guy was going bananas over.

When we’d arrived with the bride and groom in tow, we made our grand entrance to an applauding crowd. Once seated at the head table, I saw that Jillian had designed the seating so that even though Simon was the best man, he was still seated next to me. As I looked around at all the pomp and sparkle, I saw that Jillian had seated Sophia and Neil at separate tables (hastily adjusted when the breakup went down), but their tables were next to each other. And there was an empty seat next to Neil.

“I don’t get it, I thought you said he was bringing someone?” I whispered to Simon.

“He was, but he changed his mind. He wanted to talk to her tonight, and he decided he’d have a better shot if he was alone,” he whispered back, a told-you-so look on his face.

“Hmm,” I said.

And as I watched their story unfold from up on the dais, their communications were very clear.

First Sophia realized that while they were technically at different tables, her place card put her directly behind Neil’s chair. And when she approached the round table and pulled her chair out herself (way to go, Barry Derry), she made sure to accidentally-on-purpose bump his chair.

Then when Neil rose to shake hands with someone and accidentally (but maybe not on purpose) bumped her chair, I saw Sophia pick up her salad fork and begin to turn, before Mimi removed it from her hand.

By the time the entrees were served, they were both jostling so much it looked like they had ants in their pants. Except that Sophia’s dress was so tight I was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing any. Panties, that is.

“Are you seeing this?” I asked Simon, nodding toward the chair bumpers.

“How could I miss it?”

Just then, Neil turned around and tapped Sophia on the shoulder. Her response was to scoot her chair back as far as she could, stand, and conveniently stomp on his foot with her stiletto as she dragged an unwilling Mimi off to the ladies’ room, leaving Neil to swear quietly into his napkin. When she reached the edge of the ballroom, she whirled, spied me spying on her, and curled her finger at me.

Damn. Powwow in the toilet.

“I’ll be back; don’t let them cut the cake without me.”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to explain to the bride and groom, as well as all these good people here, that they have to wait on cake because of chitchat in the henhouse,” Simon responded drily.

I dropped a kiss on his forehead and headed in.

As I neared the ladies’ lounge, I noticed the women coming out were looking a little shell-shocked. I hurried my pace.

Once inside, I understood. The extremely imaginative blue streak of cursing that was falling out of Sophia’s mouth was enough to make my hair curl. Mimi just sat on the settee, helpless.

I came in on the tail end of “—lousy-no good-motherfucking-dickface-asshole-sonofawhore-fucking fuckhead fuck!”

“Who’re we talking about?” I asked brightly. Mimi stifled a snort.

“How much trouble would I get in for stealing the cake knife and castrating him?” she asked, two more women hustling by to get away.

“Lots. Can we talk about this without mentioning castration?”

“Doubtful; right now I want his dick in a hot dog bun.”

Oh, boy.

“If I may interject just the tiniest bit of normal here, you need to settle down, missy,” I began, putting up my finger when she started to interrupt, “because you love Jillian. And no one wants their wedding to be known as the dick-in-a-hot-dog-bun wedding, right?”