“That was quite a view, wasn’t it?”
His voice carried a hint of amusement.
“Spectacular,” I replied dryly. “I especially enjoyed the back of that gentleman’s head in row eight. Very photogenic.”
He laughed, a genuine sound that made something in my chest loosen slightly.
“I’m Julian, and I’m guessing from your prime seating assignment that you’re either someone’s least favorite relative or you insulted the wedding planner.”
“Elizabeth. And I’m the bride’s sister, actually.”
His eyebrows rose, surprise crossing his features.
“Her sister and they put you back here.”
“Apparently, I’m not part of the wedding aesthetic.”
Julian studied me for a moment, and I had the distinct impression he was seeing far more than my bitter humor.
“Well, that’s their loss. The cocktail hour is about to start, and I have a feeling it’s going to be just as awkward as the ceremony. What do you say we face it together?”
“You don’t have to pity me. I’m fine.”
“It’s not pity. It’s strategic alliance. I’m here as a plus-one for my business associate who couldn’t make it, which means I know exactly three people at this wedding, and two of them are the couple who just got married and won’t remember I exist. So really, you’d be doing me a favor.”
There was something genuine in his offer, something that made me want to say yes despite my wounded pride.
Before I could respond, he extended his arm in an old-fashioned gesture.
“Shall we?”
I hesitated for only a moment before linking my arm through his. Together, we walked toward the cocktail hour, and for the first time since arriving at this wedding, I didn’t feel completely alone.
The cocktail hour was held in a spacious pavilion overlooking the lake. Round tables were scattered throughout, each topped with more flowers and candles. A bar dominated one wall, and servers circulated with trays of appetizers that looked almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. As a pastry chef, I had strong feelings about food as art, and whoever had catered this event knew their craft.
Julian stayed close as we navigated through the crowd. People clustered in small groups, conversations buzzing with the pleasant energy that comes with free-flowing champagne and the happiness of a wedding celebration.
Several guests glanced our way with curiosity, probably wondering who the handsome stranger was and why he’d attached himself to the bride’s invisible sister.
We found a quiet table near the edge of the pavilion. Julian returned from the bar with two glasses of wine and a plate of appetizers he’d somehow convinced a server to compile for us.
“So,” he said, settling into the chair across from me, “tell me about your sister. What’s she like when she’s not starring in the wedding of the century?”
I took a sip of wine, considering how to answer. The truth felt too raw, too revealing. But something about Julian’s steady gaze made me want to be honest.
“Victoria is perfect. Or at least she’s always worked very hard to appear perfect. Good grades, good career, good relationships. She’s the daughter every parent dreams of having.”
“And you’re not.”
“I’m the daughter who became a pastry chef instead of a doctor or lawyer. Who lives in a small apartment instead of a house with a mortgage. Who dates occasionally instead of landing a pharmaceutical director with excellent prospects. I’m the disappointment. The one who didn’t follow the script.”
Julian selected a crab cake from the plate and considered my words.
“Being a pastry chef sounds creative and challenging. Not everyone can master that craft.”
“Try telling my mother that. She still introduces me as ‘Elizabeth, who works with food,’ like I’m flipping burgers at a fast food chain.”
“Family dynamics can be complicated.”
“That’s a diplomatic way of saying my family is dysfunctional.”
I grabbed a stuffed mushroom, suddenly ravenous. I’d been too nervous to eat earlier.
“What about you? What do you do that landed you an invitation to this event?”
“I work in renewable energy consulting. My company helps businesses transition to sustainable practices. Boring technical stuff that makes people’s eyes glaze over at parties.”
“That doesn’t sound boring at all. It sounds important.”
“Thanks. Most people just want to know if I can get them a deal on solar panels.”
He smiled, but there was something guarded in his expression.
“I was supposed to be here with my colleague Dominic. He’s the one who actually knows the groom through some business connection, but he came down with pneumonia last week and I got volunteered.”
“So we’re both wedding crashers in our own way.”
“Survivors of inadequate seating arrangements, at least.”
Leave a Comment