Chapter Five
Hello, chaos.
Elodie
No need to hire a caterer. Or a bakery. I can handle the food and cake.
Chefly,
Roman Vann
“Are you serious?” I turn to my right, raising an incredulous eyebrow at Chefly Roman, who taps at his phone, possibly scheming more nonsense to send to the nine-person wedding planning email thread I started this morning. “You’re the best man. You don’t have time to be the caterer.”
“I’m excellent at time management, and getting a caterer to deliver food that we know won’t be good as mine is stupid,” he replies, barely glancing at me. “Not to mention a waste of money.”
“As if money is at all even a little bit a problem,” I huff.
Roman,
Thank you for volunteering your services, but I worry you won’t have the time to fulfill such a large job on top of your duties as best man.
If you’d like to be in charge of finding a caterer and a cake provider, though, I trust your recommendations on both fronts and would be happy to hand those jobs over to you.
Regards,
Elodie Sage, Maid of Honor
“I can take over finding the caterer and bakery, yes,” he agrees. “Oh, wow, look at that, I’ve found them! It’s me!”
I groan. “You’re going to have to plan the bachelor party and help on the day of with…
anything we need help with. You won’t have time to be cooking food or decorating cakes.
Plus, Will wants all his DIY stuff, which you’ll have to be involved in as his best friend.
Don’t overbook yourself. The wedding will suffer, and so will you.
Because I will stab you with your fancy chef knife if you make this wedding suffer. ”
Elodie,
I’m happy to take over any and all food-related planning, yes. I can coordinate with Ruby and Will. Consider it taken off your plate.
You’re welcome,
Roman Vann
I blink, gritting my teeth. “Did you just make a pun?” I ask. “While completely disregarding what I said?”
He hums as his phone dings his text tone.
“Will says he wants my artichoke bruschetta at the wedding, and that the many DIY crafting days will cover the bachelor party. See that? I’m taking initiative.
Helping you. Saving all of the wedding guests from subpar food while fulfilling my best friend’s expectations for me as best man. Someone saint me.”
Someone’s going to stab him.
My phone vibrates.
ruby, my bestie 4eva: Are you and Roman fighting via email now?
Elodie: No, we’re disagreeing respectfully via email right now.
Elodie: We’re fighting in real life.
Elodie: Your brother is an obnoxious, know-it-all jerk.
ruby, my bestie 4eva: Do you need a mediator? I can send Will over. It’s not like he’s working.
Elodie: No, no, absolutely not. The bride and groom do not break up respectful email disagreements or real life fights. The bride and groom let their dear, wonderful Elodie handle any stubborn six-foot-four men. It’s in the vows, I’m pretty sure.
ruby, my bestie 4eva: The vows, huh? Somehow, I think you made that one up.
Elodie: *gasp* moi? Concocting falsehoods? How dare you!
ruby, my bestie 4eva: Uh huh. Well, let me know if you change your mind about a mediator. I’d like my brother to make it to the wedding, if you don’t mind. I kind of love him.
Ew. Gross. Loving Roman? My poor friend. It must be so hard dealing with such a confusing emotion.
Miss Sage,
Seeing as catering is handled, I’d like to discuss the crafts and colors (“C however, I highly recommend seeing what it would take to have Build-A-Bear hosted at the reception party.
For more great ideas, email, text, or call.
William Warrick,
Best Man Number Two
(xxx) xxx - xxxx
Uh. “Did the billionaire famous rich person just give us his phone number?” I ask Roman, eyes wide. “This is probably his assistant, right?”
“His assistant is his wife, I thought,” he answers. “And I don’t think that Will and Ruby are the only ones who don’t know what weddings cost. What is this? Who could possibly need that much money for what amounts to a single party?”
I shake my head. “I have no clue. They’re all nuts. When I get married, I’m doing it in a forest somewhere and letting the trees officiate. No way am I paying a trillion dollars for a place to stand while I say I do . I love these guys, but they’re all cuckoo banana pants.”
He nods, auburn brows furrowed. “Rich people are crazy.”
Speaking of crazy…
“I’m going to call this phone number,” I declare, pressing down on the numbers on my screen to bring up the call function.
I put it on speakerphone, and we listen to it ring as Roman hisses, “You can’t just call the crazy rich man!”
“It’s probably not even hi—”
“Warrick,” a low, masculine voice answers, cutting off my words.
I panic, squeak, and throw my phone at Roman, who catches it while shooting laser beams out of his eyeballs at me. Wide-eyed and terrified, I gesture for him to answer the phone, stomach dropping as he tries to give it back to me .
Is he insane ?
I shake my head furiously, pushing it firmly in his direction. It’s all you, man. Tag, you’re it. Godspeed.
“Hello?” Liam asks.
Roman clears his throat, glaring at me. “Yes,” he says. “Sorry, hi. This is Roman. Vann. Ruby’s brother.”
A pause that lasts an eternity, then Liam replies, “Is this about Build-A-Bear?”
Roman grimaces, and I cover my face, sliding off the couch onto the floor, desperately wishing it was a deep, dark void that could swallow me up.
What was I thinking ? Of course that was his number, Elodie, you freaking idiot. It was right under his name!
“Uh. No. We were just checking to see if this was actually your number,” Roman says into the phone, and my heart stops.
I jerk my head up, frantically shaking it at him. Don’t tell him the truth , dummy!
Roman ignores me, standing and turning his back to me. “Better to make sure now than to need it later and have the wrong one, you know?”
Oh. That’s… that’s pretty clever, actually. It almost makes this moronic impulse decision seem smart. No, we’re not clicking things on a whim, we’re planning ahead . Obviously.
I sit up, abandoning my dreams of an empty void, and scramble to my feet. By the time I make it around the coffee table to stand in front of Roman, he’s wrapping up the encounter and hitting End Call .
Arctic blue eyes lock on me, sparking fire. “What were you thinking ?” he asks, shoving my phone at me. “Have you lost your mind? You can’t just call William Warrick. That guy owns skyscrapers , Elodie. Skyscrapers .”
I take my phone, too relieved by his quick save to even be mad at his tone. “This is the only time I’m ever going to say this,” I warn him. “So soak it in. You, Roman Cameron Vann, are a genius .”
Mouth opening to retort, he inhales, then stops. Snaps his jaw shut. Blinks. “What?”
“You can do the catering and the cake,” I tell him. “Totally. Whatever you want. So long as you don’t slack on your best man duties, though it seems like you’re going to be able to split those anyway.”
Studying my face, he responds slowly, dragging the words out in uncertainty, “You’re… sure?”
I nod. “Definitely. Consider it making us even.”
Visibly lost, he agrees. Kind of. At the very least, he doesn’t disagree , which I take as its own sort of agreement.
I step away to bring us back to our regularly scheduled programming.
“And you’re not getting paid past cost for your time, Mr. Volunteer .
Ruby and Will might be insane, but I’m not.
I’ll save them this money so they can put it toward retirement.
” My eyes stray to the ceiling as my head tilts.
“Or a pool. With a lazy river. And a slide.” Mmm, yep.
That one. Me and Ruby floating around her backyard oasis in the middle of summer, not a care in the world? Sign me right up.
Roman’s mouth opens, closes, then opens again. “I’ll need to pay catering staff,” he says finally.
I wave that away. “Obviously. We’re not stiffing service workers. They’re kin. Brethren. One with us.”
He stares at me for several long, long moments, then his head falls back, and his chest heaves with a sigh.
His hands land on his hips. “It’s fine,” he mutters to the ceiling.
“This is compromise. You’re going to take the compromise, and you’re going to not say a single word about the fact that you are a service worker, and her convictions about how they should be treated clearly do not transfer that far.
You will not argue. You will be the bigger person.
” He groans, and his head drops to face at the floor instead, one hand reaching up to run over his short-cropped hair.
“You are the bigger person,” he tells the floor. “Just be it.”
What a freaking drama queen—and when I was being nice!
“Are you done?” I huff. “Because I have other things I need to be doing.”
His head lifts, blue eyes flashing with barely controlled annoyance. “I’m done,” he answers. “And I’m going to make dinner. Stay out of the kitchen. Unless it’s to drop a tip off. You know, should your convictions change.”
“My convictions are firmly in place,” I assure him, stretching my mouth into a semblance of a smile. Sure, it’s got a lot of tooth going on, but it’s not my fault if his caveman brain takes that as a threat, is it?
He glares at my mouth for a solid ten seconds, grunts, then sweeps past me to the kitchen. “Just stay out,” he grumbles.
I shrug. Can do. It’s not like I want to be in there with him.
Returning to my spot on the couch, I pull a soft, supremely comfortable green throw blanket over me and get cozy while I send out one last email.
For everyone,
Thank you guys for your cooperation in the chaos here! I’ll contact the vendors I need to and send out an update next week, letting you all know when you’re needed and where.
So far I’ve got Ruby on DJ, Liam and Brian on C&C, and Roman on food.
I’m so excited to be celebrating Ruby and Will with you all, and I look forward to meeting some of you in person! Please let me know if you have any questions or need anything at all. I’m just an email away!
Thrilled!!
Elodie Sage, The One and Only Maid of Honor
Several people respond, ranging from a thumbs-up emoji to a heartfelt ten-paragraph monologue about the different types of cubby systems used in a mailroom.
Roman replies to clarify what “food” means.
Will sends a series of emojis that I think are meant to depict a nursery rhyme about getting married and having babies.
Ruby sends an eye-roll emoji, quickly followed by a heart.
A sense of accomplishment tingles in my chest, spreading slow and sweet through my veins until I’m filled with it. It’s cold, like a winter morning, breathing fresh air into my lungs and making me wonder if I’ve ever truly breathed before. Never as victoriously as this, I’m sure.
I did it. I successfully began the planning of my best friend’s wedding, with only a minor Roman-shaped snag. Two months, schmoo months. I’m doing this. I can do this.
The frigid taste of my achievement coats my tongue, and I smile.
I can do this.