Page 86 of Kissing for Keeps
I clear my throat, stalling while I think what teams could feasibly be playing right now—and can be trusted to have won their most recent game. Just in case Siena intends to fact check me. “Barcelona.”
I could have named an ice hockey team, though, and she wouldn’t have noticed. She’s barely listening, too focused on whether things are in place, down to the tiniest detail.
I take a look around. The space is unreal, like something out of a fairytale—assuming there are any fairytales that take place where monks once lived.
Gold chairs surround each of the tables, which are draped in cream tablecloths and laid with china, silverware, and an inordinate number of wineglasses. In the middle of each one is a centerpiece like the one Siena just brought over: a tall, thin gold vase with a spray of greenery and pink and white flowers emerging from the top. At the end of the line of creamy stone, vaulted archways is a long, rectangular table full of framed pictures of Madi and Rémy from the last year and a half.
“This is incredible,” I say.
Siena takes in a deep breath, and I resist the urge to put my arm around her and admire her hard work together.
“I’m worried the flowers will wilt in the heat,” she says.
“It’s pretty cool in here with the shade and the stone.”
“True.” She straightens suddenly. “Shoot! I forgot something. I’ll be right back.”
“Let me go get it,” I call out, but she’s already gone.
I try to look at the room with Siena’s critical eye, and I shift a couple of chairs just as Madi walks in.
Her eyes are wide, and her jaw drops open as she looks around. I wish I could capture her face right now; Siena deserves to see it.
“Oh. My. Gosh,” she says, blinking.
“I know.”
“Where’s the mastermind behind all of this?”
“She went to grab something. Apparently, this place isn’t quite magical enough without it.”
Madi laughs. Her hair is wet, and she’s in lounge clothes, which makes it hard to remember this is her wedding day. Or the second of her wedding days, at least.
“What can I do to help?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I move behind her, put a hand on both of her shoulders, and push her toward the exit. “It’s your wedding day. You should be relaxing. Or tying your garter or something.”
She wriggles free of my grasp and laughs as Philippe comes up to us.
“Jack,” he says like we’re childhood friends instead of… whatever we are. “I understand you will be doing the music. Where would you like the equipment for the sound system?”
“Just over there would be great.” I point to the wall opposite the pictures of Madi and Rémy.
He nods. “We have a small stage if you would like. Otherwise, we can set it up on the ground.”
Madi shakes her head. “Oh, there’s no need—”
“A stage would be great,” I say at the same time.
She gives me a funny look.
“A good DJ needs to be able to gauge whether his music is hitting the spot,” I defend.
She rolls her eyes and turns to Philippe. “Thank you for doing this.”
He gives a shallow bow. “You are very welcome, madame. I have also talked to one of our employees, who will be happy to provide translating services during the ceremony and reception.”
“Oh, thank you! That will be so helpful. You guys have been amazing, and I can’t imagine things turning out any better than they have.”
