10. Cherise
Chapter ten
Cherise
Ishut the bathroom door behind me with a satisfying click, grinning as if I’d won an Oscar for the best Boner Burn.
Okay, but… was I hallucinating?
Because Derrick 2.0 was packing some serious heat. And that body. In what alternate universe did a plumber have abs like that? I wasn’t trying to look, but hello? I’m human. With eyes, and a very vivid imagination that now had an R-rated highlight reel I couldn’t unsee.
Focus, Cherise. You are a woman on a mission.
I turned to the mirror and exhaled dramatically. Then I draped my curve-hugging, “try me if you want to get humbled” black number dress on the hook and set my toiletry bag on the marble counter.
Lashes. Lotion. Lip gloss now littered the bathroom counter.
This wasn’t just lunch. This was the first bridal party lunch, aka the Savannah showdown, aka Cherise’s personal redemption and soft launch as a trophy girlfriend. Or ex-girlfriend. Or ex of the twin’s doppelganger. Details were fuzzy.
I showered, then popped open my makeup bag and pulled out my travel-sized glow-up arsenal. “Let’s do this,” I whispered to my reflection.
I plugged in my curling wand and muttered under my breath, “Savannah better hope she still got that neck support from high school cheerleading, because it’s about to get snapped.”
I wasn’t bitter. I was just… appropriately vengeful.
Look, there’s history, okay. The kind that deserves its own Lifetime movie. Grace, Savannah, and I used to be the trio—ride or die, until one of us decided she was better than the rest. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t Grace or me.
Savannah always had to one-up us. Got her braces off first. Got voted best smile senior year. Got a fake nose and a rich boyfriend by twenty-two. Now she was bringing her perfect husband to the wedding, in an attempt to rub in how perfect her life had turned out.
But tonight? Tonight, I was bringing Leo. Even if he was the plumber version of Derrick. Even if he thought Axe body spray was cologne. Or mistook sea bass for a type of jazz instrument. He was mine. For now, at least. More importantly, he looked hella fine now.
I had trained him so well that the man was practically leaking big dick energy at this point. Or maybe it wasn’t just energy. Judging by the way that towel was fighting for it’s life.
Leo fixed and packed pipe. If I’m being honest? I kind of hoped gravity would do me a solid and drop his towel…And that I’d just so happen to trip ass first right on top of him.
Girl.
What the actual fuck, Cherise? Not today. There will be no spontaneous panty evaporation.
Get your head in the game.
I spritzed on setting spray, misting away all traces of sweat, self-doubt, and the completely deranged thought of banging my ex-boyfriend’s twin brother. Then I slipped into my dress, tugged it over my hips, and turned sideways in the mirror. Damn. “Savannah who?” I said out loud.
If I timed my entrance just right, I could descend those villa stairs with class. Shoulders back, cheekbones high, and absolutely no trace of the girl who once cried in the school bathroom because Savannah said her heels looked “Payless.”
Tonight, wasn’t about revenge. Okay, maybe it was a little about revenge. But mostly? It was about me reclaiming my damn narrative.
***
I opened the bathroom door as if I hadn’t just spent ten minutes trying not to hump the air over Leo’s towel situation. My makeup? Flawless. My dress? Fitted. My libido? Feral, but masked with a smirk.
Leo was mid-sip of something when I stepped out, and he promptly choked on it.
His eyes did a slow scan down my body.
His jaw ticked.
His nostrils flared.
For a second, I swear the man looked pained.
Was it the heels? The perfume? The perfectly snatched waistline?
Or just the soul-crushing realization that he’d agreed to fake-date the woman now responsible for his blood pressure spike?
“You alright there, Leo?” I asked smug, resting a hand on my hip. “You need a moment?”
He blinked. Once. Twice. Jaw slack.
“Damn,” he whispered. “You look…”
“Say anything corny, and I swear I’ll trip over this hem just to take you down with me,” I warned, even as heat crawled up my neck.
He smirked. “I was gonna say dangerous. In the best way.”
That shut me up for a second.
I glanced down, suddenly too aware of how naked my shoulders felt, and gave a little shrug. “Thanks. You clean up nice, too. Definitely giving less ‘plumber’ and more… ‘I own the plumbing company and drive a luxury truck with heated seats.’”
Leo chuckled, smoothing down the front of his shirt as if he wasn’t used to being complimented. “So… ready to go knock Savannah’s veneers loose?”
He lifted his arm like we were going to prom.
“If we don’t cause at least one insecure bathroom cry tonight, we didn’t do it right.”
“So full villain era?”
“Full villain era. Let’s ruin someone’s wine,” I said as I looped my arm around his, and we strutted out the door.
***
The restaurant was obnoxiously perfect.
Reclaimed wood walls and twinkle lights kind of perfect. The kind of place that served everything on a slab of slate and called it “elevated rustic fusion.”
Leo held the door open for me, and I caught a glimpse of us in the reflective glass. Him in that black button-down that made me want to forget the little morals I still had left, and me in the dress that could talk its way into VIP and out of a speeding ticket.
“Deep breaths,” I muttered to myself. Leo leaned in. “If she attacks, I’ll distract her with my plumbing knowledge. No one survives a back-flow valve explanation.”
“Please don’t say backflow during lunch,” I groaned. “Better yet, don’t ever say back-flow again.”
The hostess led us through a jungle of string lights and linen covered tables to the back, where the bridal party lunch was already in full swing.
Laughter, clinking glasses, and someone telling a story about their kid walking in on their sex escapades filled the air. I was ninety percent sure it was Tessa.
As we neared the table, I held my chin up and slipped into my most confident strut. Heels clicking, hips swaying, arm linked with Leo’s.
It’s showtime, bitch.
We rounded the corner, and there they were. The entire bridal party sprawled across a massive table.
My eyes swept across the table and landed on Grace and Logan, sitting center stage. The king and queen of the “we’re in love and can’t stop smiling about it” committee. She had that signature glow she always wore around Logan, and I loved that he made her so happy.
I glanced over at Chelsea, who threw us a wink. Then Layla, who gave me a head-to-toe look that screamed, “I see you, bitch.” Savannah… well, Savannah looked as though she had already drafted at least six insults and was waiting to launch the right one.
Grace leaped up and wrapped her arms around me.
“You look gorgeous,” she whispered in my ear.
“Right back at you, boo,” I said, motioning her to spin around so I could admire her outfit.
She twirled with a grin, laughter spilling from her lips as I held up an imaginary camera and mimed snapping photos. “Work it,” I whispered, channeling full paparazzi energy. As she sashayed back to her seat, she gave Leo a quick once-over and, with a warm smile, she nodded. “Derrick.”
Leo smiled. “You look stunning, Grace.” He gestured with a slight bow of his head.
That was it. Simple. Perfect. No holes in the plot yet.
I cleared my throat as the table’s attention turned our way.
I flashed my best pageant smile. “Everyone, this is Derrick—” I tugged Leo a little closer, “—my boyfriend.”
I motioned around the table. “Derrick, you already know my ride or die sis Chelsea and my bestie Grace. This man right here is her future hubby,” I said, gesturing to Logan. “The infamous Grammy award-winning—”
“It’s just Logan,” he cut me off with a grin, standing to extend his hand to Leo.
Leo shook it. “Love your music, man. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I appreciate it. I’m so glad you and Cherise were able to join us this week. It means a lot to both of us,” Logan said, glancing at Grace.
“No problem at all. Thank you for inviting us,” Leo answered with a smile.
Logan nodded and sat back down.
“Next up is Layla,” I said, pointing to the stunning woman sipping something pink and probably toxic to anyone with an average tolerance. “She’s Grace’s soon-to-be sister-in-law, sarcasm connoisseur, and my backup alibi should I need one.”
Layla raised her glass. “Always happy to help hide a body.”
“That’s Tessa,” I said, pointing to the far end of the table, “professional baby grower, chaos wrangler, and CEO of bedtime routines.”
“And I’m the baby daddy,” said the man beside her with a wink.
“Doctor Miles,” I added. “Pediatrician, former Navy SEAL, and the reason half the moms in Rockwell fake their child’s cough to get a checkup.”
“And this,” I said, already regretting it as I hit the final stop on the tour, “is—”
“Savannah,” she cut in with a glint in her eyes, sliding her hand into Leo’s before I could finish. “This is my husband, Greg. He owns gyms. Multiple.” She gave a sharp smile as if she expected applause.
Greg stood and gave Derrick a handshake that nearly cracked bones, all while scanning him as if he was sizing him for a protein shake endorsement. “Nice to meet you, man,” he said, flashing veneers that were probably insured.
“The pleasure is mine,” Leo replied as he pulled out my chair. Total gentleman. Clearly raised right. He tucked my chair in, took his seat beside me, and joined the hum of bridal party chatter already in progress.
The waiter dropped off menus and promised to be back with more drinks. Immediately, Chelsea raised her hand as if she were bidding at an auction. “I’ll have the strongest margarita you've got. No salt. No regrets.”
Layla snorted. “Make that two.”
“No, four,” Tessa chimed in. “I have twins. That qualifies me for double shots.”
Leo gave a concerned look as if he’d realized he just stumbled into a coven.
We ordered appetizers: flatbreads, calamari, and shrimp cocktail. Everything was going great… until it wasn’t.