Page 59 of The Wedding Crush
But then Marcello, my loudest, most opinionated—craves the center of attention—younger brother shoots me a quick glance before tearing his focus away.
Now, I’ve seen thisyou’ve done it this timeexpression too many times. It’s his best and worst quality because his face tells on him.
So, when Dante obnoxiously announces, “Let the Champagne Sip begin!” I amble down the right side of the table, muttering hellos, and squeeze Marcello’s shoulder before I settle in between him and Avery.
Only, this time, he wordlessly tips his chin to me.
My face contorts.
Whatever is bothering him, it’s much worse than I initially thought.
Naturally, it’s this moment that Dante throws his head back, laughing loudly, at the other end of the table.
When I turn, Avery nudges my shoulder with hers. Reluctantly, I hazard a look at her.
“Hey. Good to see you,” she whispers.
“You too. You too,” I repeat, nervously as her eyes rake appreciatively over me. “I tell you, parking in this city is brutal.” I flash her a small smile, still wary how we’re going to get this runaway lust train back on the track after that tongue tango.
But this is a great start.
Suffice to say, I’m hoping for an easy, casual,slowgetting to know each other period. Even if, unbidden, images of Avery in my arms, my lips pressed to hers, insist on filling my head.
I scratch at my beard scruff.
“Oh, I meant to tell you, we got the magazine feature.” She squeals.
Excitement zips through me.
“Wow, that’s amazing.”
“Yeah,Vines + Vineyardsis going to do a full-page spread.” She nods. “Blissful BrideandNorthern Livingagreed to list it in their spring issues next year, too.”
At her side, Morgan elbows her.
“Oh, one sec,” she says.
As soon as she turns away, though, I steal another quick glance at Marcello. But I don’t get the chance to lean in and chat. No, because this is an Avery Ellis event.
On cue, she clinks her water glass with a fork to stop the chatter.
“Now, that everyone is here, I’m thrilled to kick off The Fortemani-Forster Champagne Sip.” Immediately, she deep-dives into the night’s agenda. Of course, there’s a structured plan for how this evening is going to go.
I suppress a laugh.
Over the next ten minutes, she outlines the plan. First, we’ll enjoy a variety of champagne (graciously, she’s requested the Fortemani brand sparkling wine) and light fare (flatbreads, cheese, and meat charcuterie boards). Responsibly, she pauses to highlight the availability of local rideshare options afterward for safe driving. Then she bullet points mixing and music in breakout pairs, giving us a chance to introduce ourselves, discuss wedding attire and theme, as well as—and I suspect this is the ulterior motive—the ceremony entrance dances.
“Now, Stefano and I’ve got this in the bag…” She giggles. “But we welcome your best efforts in this dance-off.”
Laughter lifts the room.
“We’ll see about that.” Chiara elbows Jameson.
My sister was on dance teams from elementary to college. Their “team” is likely our biggest competition, so I know she’ll be gunning for us.
“Nothing like starting off a life together with a little competitive spirit,” Seneca quips.
As I glance over to Dante to see his reaction, I’m surprised he isn’t laughing.
