Page 2 of The Wedding Crush

“Conversation skills are important.” Johnny’s voice weaves into my headspace. It’s like he’s talking directly to me, as if he all but whispers,Stefano Fortemani you’ve got to learn how to talk to women again.

Which just feels rude.

A voiceover sound effect punctuates his point with,I’m listening, honey,and Johnny’s groan bleeds into a laugh.

“All women want to do is talk. It’s how they show they care, which means you need to learn how to actively listen and hold an engaging conversation. Period,” he advises.

A pang of nostalgia settles in the pit of my stomach, remembering how Carina wanted to download about everything from the meals she ate to the man who cut her off on the freeway.

She’s probably telling everything to Mr. Instagram now.

“Yes, looks matter, too. No woman wants a guy who needs a relationship with a barber more than he needs one with her. Get some new threads and some cologne, too. This is permission to spend money on yourself.” I let my gaze drift over my pale gray, starched suit and burgundy tie, feeling vindicated about my tailored suit wardrobe before he clears his throat edging toward seriousness. “At the end of the day, though, it comes down to mental and emotional strength. It’s nonnegotiable. Your confidence has been knocked, but you’ve got a decision. Do you want to win her back or do you want to explore sexual and romantic relationships with—”

“Jesus Christ—”

The Lord’s name dies on my tongue as I swivel around to my window, blinking slowly.

It’s not my brothers, Dante or Marcello, rapping on the glass. Nor is it Mother or my sister, Chiara. Instead, they’ve sent Dante’s live-in girlfriend Morgan’s overprotective best friend, Avery Ellis, to summon me.

You can’t be serious.

“Hi there!” She beams, tossing me a small wave as the inflection in her voice rises cheerily, expectantly.

She’s waiting for me to return the greeting or at the least, acknowledge her. Which, now, I’m incapable of doing. I’m frozen, still clutching my chest, and futilely trying to make sense of a woman who is the human equivalent of a Rubik’s cube—colorful, marketed for youthful fun, but mind-boggling.

Why is she here?

I’m just about to ask why she’s snooping around the circular drive when the party is on the main lawn, right as Johnny doubles down.

“Don’t wait to get back out there. Date, have sex… Lots of sex.”

Panic streaks through me as I watch Avery’s sparkly brown eyes widen with amusement.

Heat swarms my skin as I jolt around, reaching for my phone to stop the podcast.

Except, when I tap the button to pause it, I hit it too many times and it repeats, impossibly loud like a commandment.

“Date, have sex…Loooottttssss of sexxxx!”

Embarrassment coils around. I feel like my ribs are closing in on my heart when I turn back in time to see her lips twitching.

“Uh…that was just, um…” I stammer, but Avery, the saint that she is, finishes my sentence.

“Some grade-A messaging you’ve got there.” She giggles, and the infectious sound… Dear sweet Lord, it’s like gasoline on fire, burning me up from the inside.

My skin tightens and flames singe my eyes and cheeks.

The thing about this woman is that she’s insufferable.

Oh, Avery “sunshine all the time” Ellis is nice. Too nice, as in Pollyanna, traipsing through the meadow to solve all the world’s problems. For her, life is literally a party. She’s an event planner. Weddings, anniversaries,quinceañeras, any excuse for a celebration. In fact, high tea is her brainchild, which she pulled off in less than three weeks after Mother canned her Bermuda trip.

Avery to the rescue!

Deep down, I know she’s one of those perky people who, at the end of an interview when asked about what she thinks her weaknesses are, gives a glaringly false negative.I’m too detail-oriented. I’ve got checklists for everything. I always forget when the workday is over.

Give me a break.

Miss punctual, professional, beautiful, gets along with everyone, and she’s fiercely loyal.

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