Page 26 of The Wedding Crush

Except, little does she know, in saying his name, she’s also given me the perfect out.

Snapping my fingers, I play up the dramatics.

“Shoot, Stefano.” I suck my teeth. “I totally forgot to ask you for his cell and email, so we can get started planning your big day!”

“Uh-uh, nope, nope, and nope. Absolutely, not.” Morgan’s tone drips withyou are fooling no one.

Still, I’ve got to play it off.

“What? I need to set up our first ChatVideo meeting, so we can get started planning on Monday.”

The line grows silent for a beat, which tells me she’s debating the truth in my answer. That’s all I need because the second she gives me the information, Ace is suddenly going to need his Mommy, and I’m off the hook.

I bite my tongue to stifle my laugh.

Being a parent is a built-inGet Out of Jail Freecard. Except, it also works for parties, dates, and unwanted conversations with a best friend on a mission to unearth gossip.

“Now, don’t take this as me being ungrateful…”Well, that’s one hell of a preface.“But I’m not giving it to you just yet.”

“Why?” I all but whine.

“Isn’t it the only fair thing that if you want information, I should get some in return?”

A groan claws its way from my throat.

The killer part is, I could wait until Monday. I could go to the Fortemani Vineyard & Winery website, tap over to the ABOUT US page, scroll down to Stefano’s name, call the corporate number, and ask to be connected to him. It’s that simple.

The only problem is that it would require levels of time and patience, which I currently don’t have when I’m working on borrowed time.

If I’m going to schedule this ChatVideo meeting for the four of us on Monday, I need to prepare and send the invite this weekend to show up without my anxiety rioting in my chest.

That’s just how I work.

Order, structure, details—they’re all important for me to function and feel ready to tackle whatever curveballs come up. A fact, which, unfortunately, Morgan is also privy to.

Thus, I bite the bullet.

Kicking off my fluffy slippers, I recline back against my chair, and prop my feet on the edge of my desk.

“What would you like to know in exchange for Stefano’s contact?” I ask.

“Mm-mm, you really thought I was going to let you glaze over that silver-fox comment without checking in later?” She releases a truly wicked laugh.

“You’re so lucky I can’t yell at you right now.”

She all-out cackles.

My friend is diabolical to the greatest power.

“Precisely.” Her laugh tapers off, and I sense the other shoe about to drop. “Dante and I have been talking about this all night. Y’all sitting there, acting like you despise one another while undressing each other with your eyes like we weren’t even there…”

“That is not what happened.”That is exactly what happened.“Whatever, y’all are so underhanded. Instead of Moscato and movies, I wasforced”—I emphasize the word for her benefit—“to endure an ambush dinner with an old-acting, too-serious, jaded man.”

“Who just so happens to fit your type to aT,” Morgan helpfully supplies.

“Shhh…”

My ear is stretched to the living room, where it’s grown too quiet for a six-year-old hopped up on pancake syrup and Disney.

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