Page 101 of The Wedding Crush

I pull in a long whiff of warm, savory spices.

“It does smell good.” I resist the urge to rub my belly, just as Monica, dramatic as ever, enters stage right.

Like a new-age Vanna Black in a sequin blush-colored dress straining to cover her thighs, she fans out her arm toward her kitchen, and announces, “Presenting, your team…”

Under her command, a bare-chested army of stupid-hot men in black slacks and bow ties file into the room holding trays of champagne, hors d’oeuvres, and…Are those paint supplies?

What is happening?

As if answering our many questions, finally, the sergeant of this army enters, his arms loaded up with folding trays.

In quick succession, they move assembly-style. Sergeant sets up the trays, and one by one, the rest dole out glasses, an assortment of fruits, meats, and cheeses, pours champagne, and sets up easels and a pre-filled palette with brushes and water cups.

“How did you—” I break off, scanning the room as I watch what’s unfolding in front of us.

When a microphone crackles to life in the corner near the television, I take one look at the girl power lyrics cued up on the screen, and it hits me exactly what Monica’s up to.

Well, most of it.

“Our sister deserves everything her heart desires. Wouldn’t you agree?” she asks.

The rest of the Sister Circle hum our agreement as she proceeds to explain why she had Chiara cancel our Bramoso reservation. As it turns out, while I’ve been juggling work and a blooming love for Stefano Fortemani—and dropping the ball on an amazeballs bachelorette party—single-handedly, THE Monica Mathers has teamed up with Chiara, pulling out all the stops for Morgan.

The list we whittled down to dinner and karaoke?

They found a way to ramp it back up to everything she dreamed of.

We’re performing a Beyoncé-oke (all-Beyoncé karaoke) playlist concert while being treated to a massage and foot soak at the deft hands of a beautiful army. We’ll be feasting on fine Italian cuisine courtesy of Chef Rossi on the ones and twos (burners). We’re tasting four seasonal wines while we paint.

Our subject?

That’s the part I couldn’t have foreseen.

He is a true, delectable work of art wearing a truly eye-catching birthday suit that makes us all feel like celebrating.Truly.

It’s not cheating without touching, right?

But that’s not all, folks.

After we’ve sung our hearts out, sowed our creative oats, and enjoyed a lovely fare, we’ll be glamping at chez Monica and playing a Clue-themed murder mystery game supplied by her new Instagram friends, Harper and Nadia from Love & Games.

In other words, Monica saved the day.

And I’ve been an underwhelming wedding planner and maid of honor.

“Avery?”

At first, I’m confused when my girls rush to my side. Until I register the worry etched on their faces.

I’m crying.

In and of itself, this is not anything new. I cry. I’m a crier. Empath and all.

But not streaming waterworks.

“It’s just so amazing that you’ve done all of this for Morgan.” I shift my attention to Monica as she swipes under my eyes. “I’m so sorry I didn’t help you with all of this.”

“Shhh…” She blows a soft breath over my eyes. “You think I didn’t want to do all of this? I realize planning is your job, but we all want to celebrate Morgan.”

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