Page 80 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

“Coming right up.”

I hand Mrs. Castillo my clipboard. “Stall the vendors. Nobody moves until I say go.”

She nods and rushes off to attempt to slow down wedding prep on the actual wedding day. Thursday weddings are never smooth sailing!

I jog downstairs, grab the emergency bar kit from my Jeep—because of course I have one—pour a shot, steal a lime wedge from the actual bar, and head back up.

I set the tequila shot down. “Tequila is outside the door. You have five minutes,” I say. “Then, I’m breaking this door down with my stiletto.”

I lean against the wall and wait for her to take the bait… in this instance, alcohol. A nervous bride’s best friend.

Three minutes later, the door cracks open.

“I can’t marry him. I can’t get married. What was I thinking?” she whispers. Mascara streaks are clear on her cheeks. “What if it’s a mistake?”

Stepping inside, I close the door gently, and sit on the floor beside her, uncaring of wrinkling my pants. “Every bride thinks that. If you weren’t a little nervous, I’d be nervous.”

“Did you? Think that?” She asks.

Honey, I’ve been married to Chase for almost four years now, and until recently, I pushed him away and tried to make him leave when I’d run… every single day.

I smile faintly. “I married Chase in a Vegas chapel with a busted AC and a drunk Elvis after a few weeks together.”

She blinks. “But you guys are so…”

“Perfect?” I laugh. “Honey, perfection’s a baldfaced lie. Marriage is work. Love is messy. And no one is ever prepared or ready. They think they are, but you aren’t. Until you’re in it, you have no damn idea. But you know what’s worse than making the wrong choice?”

She sniffles. “What?”

“Not making one at all.” I say quietly.

She stares at me for a long beat. Then, she sits up and swipes at her face. “I want to marry him.”

I nod. “Let’s get ready to walk down that aisle.”

Chase shows up an hour later with a tray of shrimp and grits empanadas and a smirk.

“Figured you hadn’t eaten.” He says before he leans down to kiss me.

Groaning, I sag against him. “You’re an angel.”

He kisses my temple. “You’re a warrior.”

I eye the tray. “Are you bribing me with carbs?”

“Carbs and sex are my go-to’s.” He flirts.

I grab two. “It’s working.”

He watches as I practically inhale the food, moaning at how amazing it is between bites. His approval for my vocal appreciation is written on his face. “You’re gonna nail this wedding, babe.”

“I’d better,” I mutter, swiping one more empanada. “I see Danica stalking my Instagram again. Probably hoping I drop the cake.”

Chase chuckles. “Want me to ‘accidentally’ block her?”

“Nah. Let her watch me win.” I laugh.

He grins and slaps my ass. “That’s my girl.”

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