Make Me Sin (33 page)

Exasperated, I throw my hands in the air. “I didn’t before!”

“Sorry.” She’s chagrined for a moment, then brightens. “Why don’t you take my gun?”

I stare at her in disbelief. “I didn’t just hear you say that.”

“Seriously, it’s small enough to fit in your purse. I carry it in my purse all the time. I’ve got it here now.”

I shout, “You bring a
gun
to work? Why?”

She looks at me as if I’m dense. “Because,
duh
, your ex is a cop who went cray-cray and beat you up and got his dumb ass fired from the force because of it. That’s a disaster waiting to happen right there! I’m not gonna crouch under the desk like some sitting duck if he decides to come in here, guns blazing; I’m taking his ass
out
!” She smiles. “Then I’ll probably get my own reality show.”

Closing my eyes, I massage my temples at the same time I draw a deep breath into my lungs. When I’ve calmed down enough to speak, I tell her, “Trina, I’m not taking your gun. And I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t bring it to work anymore, okay?”

She looks insulted. “Dude, I have a CCW.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

She rolls her eyes. “A concealed carry license. It’s totally legit if I carry a weapon.”

I’m dumbfounded by this information. “
Why
would you
need
a license to carry a concealed
weapon
?”

“You think you’re the only girl who ever got smacked around by a crazy ex?”

She says this deadpan. It’s not even a question, really, it’s just one of those rhetorical things you already know the answer to.

“No, of course not. But a gun?”

Trina’s expression hardens. For a moment I see the Venice gang girl of her youth, all razor blade eyes and rough edges. “You know the old saying, ‘Don’t show up to a gun fight with a knife’? Well, my ex loves guns. So now, so do I. Because if he decides to come after me again, I have to fight fire with fire.”

I don’t even know where to go with this conversation. “Okay, for the moment let’s forget about firepower and focus on what we need to do today. We’ll continue this some other time.” I hustle into my office and start checking all my lists.

Within a few hours, the entire staff is in, everything is loaded into the vans, and we set off for the Hotel Bel-Air.

Eric’s badge is still in my purse, burning a hole through the fabric.

A
t the hotel, it’s smooth sailing. The load-in is a pain in the butt because the ballroom is on the opposite side of the property from the loading dock, which means we have to take all the flowers through the guts of the hotel, winding through narrow, overcrowded back hallways, carefully avoiding in-room dining carts, ceiling-high stacks of crated glassware and banquet chairs, and all the housekeeping, restaurant, banquet, and kitchen staff who are scurrying around like oversized, uniformed rats.

Other than taking longer than necessary to load in due to the hotel setup, there’s not a hitch. The lighting crew has already set up the pin spots for the dining tables and the gobos for the walls that will give the room that gorgeous, warm glow. The stage is set for the swing band—Bad Habit is supposed to jump in and play a song or two if they’re not too drunk—and the videographers and photographers have arrived. Jennifer, the wedding coordinator, is having a meltdown in the corner of the ballroom and is screaming at the banquet captain about security, which means everything is right on schedule.

It’s not a wedding until someone has a meltdown. I’m just happy it isn’t me.

Yet.

When I’m sure all of Fleuret’s setup has been completed, I put Trina in charge and head up to Kat’s suite to get dressed.

When I knock on the door, I hear the pulse of electronica music and shrieks of laughter. Over the music someone shouts, “Come in!”

I walk inside the honeymoon suite and find myself face-to-face with a male stripper. He’s young, overly tan, and is wearing a black thong and nothing else.

He’s holding Kenji over his head.

“Best wedding present
ever
!” Kenji screams, throwing his arms in the air like he’s flying . . . which he sort of is because Tan Stripper Boy has started to speed walk around the room.

Grace, Kat, and three girls in black shirts and trousers, who I assume are the hair and makeup team, are across the suite. Four director’s chairs are set up in front of the open balcony doors, and in them sit Kat and Grace in white robes, sipping champagne, while the other girls fuss around with hot rollers and makeup kits.

When she sees me, Grace shouts, “Because she didn’t get a stripper for her birthday, right?” and throws back her head and laughs.

“It looks to me like he’s more for Kenji than Kat,” I reply, watching
Grace’s wedding present bench press Kenji in front of a mirror by the
wet bar. Every time the stripper presses up, Kenji shrieks, “Again, bitch!”

Clearly the party has started without me.

“C’mere, Lo, and give me a hug.” I cross the room and set my garment bag and purse on the sofa, then hug Kat, noting the excited sparkle in her eye, the flush in her cheeks.

“You’re looking happy, kiddo,” I say softly. “Nervous?”

“Pshaw! I’m marrying the love of my life, what’s there to be nervous about?”

A pang of pain shoots through my chest, and my smile falters.

Opera music was the love of her life.

I wonder how long it will take before not everything anyone says reminds me of A.J.

“Hey. Forget about me, are
you
okay?”

Kat peers at me with suspicious eyes, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to put a damper on the happiest day of her life. I shove all thoughts of A.J. and my worries about Eric aside. “I’m great! It looks amazing downstairs, I know you’re going to love it.”

My grin must be convincing, because Kat grins back, all suspicion gone. “Really? How does the gazebo look?”

“Like a fairy tale. I even captured a unicorn for you. He’s a little high maintenance, though, so we’re going to release him at the end of the ceremony along with the doves.”

Kat sighs in happiness. “When do I see my bouquet?”

“Trina will bring it up as soon as I text her we’re ready. When does the photographer get here?”

“Forty-five minutes. He’ll shoot the girls first, then get the guys by the lake before the ceremony.”

The guys. My heart starts to beat faster, knowing that in a short while, I’ll be in the same room with A.J., seeing him for the first time since he ripped my heart out with a claw hammer.

My thoughts must show on my face, because Grace insists, “It’ll be fine, Chloe. Kat and I are going to get you through this.”

“I’m good you guys, honestly. Don’t worry about me. Today’s all about
you
, Kat.”

Behind us, Kenji squeals. The stripper is doing splits in the middle of the floor, and Kenji is standing over him, clapping. I turn back to Kat. “Okay, maybe it’s not
all
about you.”

She shakes her head, downs the rest of her champagne, then eyes my bust. “Just out of curiosity, honey, are you sure you’re still going to fit into your dress? You’re looking a little fuller up top.”

I look down at the cleavage swelling from the V neck of my shirt. Though I’m slightly fuller through my tummy, too, I haven’t really started to show. My boobs have gotten a jump start on all other parts of my body.

And, of course, I haven’t tried on my bridesmaid’s gown since the day I bought it.

I mutter, “Shit.” Instantly, Kat and Grace break out into hoots of laughter.

It’s only a matter of seconds before I join them.

A
n hour later, the stripper sent packing, we’re all set.

Our makeup is perfect. Our hair is flawless. We’re dressed and ready to go. I had a moment’s terror when I zipped up my gown, but fortunately for me I must have lost weight from all the puking before I started to gain it back; the dress still fits. I think it even looks better than before, because now my B-cups are probably closer to a C, and for the first time in my life I have cleavage.

I text Trina to bring up the bouquets. When they arrive and I hand Kat her flowers, she tries valiantly not to cry. Her eyes get all huge and watery, and she looks at me with her lips pulled between her teeth.

“Don’t cry!” I admonish, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “Not yet, anyway, you’re supposed to save that for the vows.”

She sniffles, staring at her bridal bouquet. In a small voice, she says, “It’s so beautiful, Lo. It’s just so beautiful.”

Two photographers hover in the background, snapping pictures. I hear another sniffle from behind me, and turn to see Kenji staring down at his own flower bouquet that Trina’s just handed him. He’s wearing a pair of slim-fit silk pants in the same pale celadon-green as our dresses, but over it he’s got a Saint Laurent couture tunic embroidered with gold peonies. His neck is swathed in a scarf trimmed with peacock feathers dyed a translucent green. On his feet are a pair of beaded gold Moroccan slippers with the curled toes. He looks amazing, like a character from the Wizard of Oz.

“What’s wrong, Kenji?”

He looks up at me. “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride,” he says, then sweeps his arm overhead as if he’s waving farewell to a crowd. “But fuck it. I know one day my prince will come!”

Grace says fondly, “Probably all over your face.”

Jennifer bursts into the room. “Girls! Are we ready? We’ve got to get down to the gazebo
now
for the photos if we’re going to keep on schedule!”

The four of us look at each other. “Showtime,” I say to Kat.

She takes a deep breath. “Okay. Here we go.”

And we’re off.

R
ight up until the second I set eyes on A.J., I’m pretty calm.

The groomsmen have taken their pictures separately from the bridesmaids, in keeping with the tradition that the groom not see the bride before she walks down the aisle. The guests have been seated in the garden, the string quartet from the philharmonic has started playing. The distant whir of helicopters is only slightly distracting; Nico has arranged for a no-fly zone directly over the hotel, so paparazzi and news choppers hover off in the distance. Security is crazy tight; even the streets around the hotel are blocked off, so that no one who doesn’t live in this uber-exclusive area of Bel Air can get in.

I’m breathing a little easier because of that. Trina’s question about Eric coming to the wedding spooked me this morning, but judging by the amount of cops and private security personnel lurking discreetly in corners, I doubt even the President could get in if he wanted to.

We’re waiting in a small banquet room adjacent to the garden for the cue from Jennifer to start down the aisle. As the best man and maid of honor, A.J. and I should be walking down together after the rest of the bridal party, but for obvious reasons that won’t be happening. Brody and I will walk together. We’ll be followed by Grace and A.J., then Ethan and Chris, Bad Habit’s keyboardist and bassist, will escort Kenji between them. Nico comes after, then Kat.

When Jennifer calls my name, my heart starts thumping, but I’m still holding it together. It isn’t until I walk out of the room and onto the shaded brick walkway where the groomsmen are waiting that I fall apart.

Because there he is, standing a little apart from the others beneath the spreading boughs of a weeping willow tree.

I’d almost forgotten how gorgeous he is. How fundamentally
male
.

Like the other groomsmen, he’s wearing a white button-down dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, a tight black vest (no coat), a skinny black tie, black slacks, and black leather shoes. He has a wide leather cuff on one wrist that for some reason manages to make him look even hotter, sexier, and more dangerous than usual. His hair is shorter, just above his shoulders, a tousled golden mess.

He looks at least twenty pounds thinner than the last time I saw him. That shocks me, but not as much as the other thing that shocks me.

As if he’s been watching the door, waiting for me to walk through it, he’s staring right at me, piercing me through with those beautiful amber eyes.

And I just die all over again. All the scabs are ripped off. All the progress I thought I’d made is reversed with one giant bitch slap to my face. I start to tremble. My eyes water. My throat closes up.

I still love him as much as I ever did. I still want him just as badly. I’m still just a lonely, lovesick fool.

Thank God for Brody, because I wouldn’t be able to tear my eyes from A.J. without his help.

“Here we go,” he murmurs, firmly taking my arm and turning me away toward the path leading to the gazebo. “I’ve got you.”

I almost groan with the excruciating pain those three words evoke. They’re exactly what A.J. said to me the night Eric put me in the hospital.

But Brody’s just being kind. He links his arm through mine, steadying me, and guides me out of the shade of the trees and over the little grassy rise to the ceremony area. When Jennifer cues us, we start walking slowly down the aisle. I barely notice the guests, the music, the flowers. I can only see A.J.’s face. His eyes. The way he looked at me . . .

How much weight he’s lost.

Halfway down the aisle, after I’ve recovered the ability to speak, I ask, “Why is he so thin?”

Brody is smiling, staring straight ahead at the gazebo where a pastor robed in white awaits. “I don’t know. We’ve barely seen him over the last two months. He hasn’t been coming to sessions.”