You May Kiss the Bridesmaid - Camilla Isley Page 0,2

bit of jealousy, and a boatload of terror. “They’re getting married in three weeks…”

I hope I’ve kept the dread from my voice. I swear I couldn’t be happier for my sister. But her wedding is going to span over a week in order to accommodate most of the groom’s guests, who will fly in from all over the world. For Logan’s friends, it wouldn’t have made sense to travel to the States only for a weekend.

And, normally, a week-long destination wedding in Napa would sound like a dream. I’d be looking forward to a break made of nothing but relaxation, wine tasting, and family time. While the celebration of love would be the cherry on top of my romance-loving cake.

But this wedding, I won’t enjoy. All my ex-friends are invited. People that will stare, judge, and talk behind my back. The thought makes me want to crawl in a dark corner and never come out.

But I can’t. For my sister, I’ll put on a brave face, a fake smile, and trudge Monday through Sunday like a real soldier. Because Winter doesn’t deserve to have my poor choices ruin the most important day of her life.

“Whoa.” The bartender’s smile is wide and genuine as he reacts to the wedding announcement; he hasn’t picked up on my internal turmoil. Guess the past few months have taught me how to pretend well. “Engaged and getting married in less than a year. That was quick,” he says.

“Yeah, Logan is still working in Thailand most of the time, and a late-spring wedding was the only opening in both their schedules.”

“I’m Mark, by the way.” The bartender extends an arm forward. “Nice to meet you.”

“Summer,” I repeat, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“And sorry,” Mark apologizes. “I’ve been monopolizing the conversation. What can I get you?”

I stare at the juicer machine behind him. “You make fresh orange juice?”

“Yes.”

“An OJ, then, and a sandwich if you have any.”

“We do,” Mark says. “Is cheese and ham fine?”

I nod.

He prepares the food and puts the sandwich on the grill to heat. With the push of a few buttons, he sets the timer and moves on to the OJ, selecting two oranges from a metal basket above the machine and feeding them into the juicer.

Two minutes later, he puts a coaster on the counter and serves me my juice. “So,” he says. “What brought you to The Big Apple? Business or pleasure?”

I wince involuntarily. “Neither.”

Mark must notice my expression, because he says, “Sorry, I’m being nosy. It’s a bad habit of mine. Guess it comes with the territory.” He gestures at the bar surrounding us while he gets my sandwich out of the grill.

“No, don’t worry.” I take a sip of OJ. “It’s just that I came to New York for a medical procedure. Something personal.”

Mark frowns. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” The frown deepens. “Are you okay?”

Gosh, I’m such a moron. I mentally swat myself on the forehead. Now he’s going to think I have cancer or something.

“Yes,” I say, taking a bite out of the sandwich. “Totally okay.” I swallow. “It was a voluntary procedure.”

Mark studies my face, probably trying to decide if I had plastic surgery, but obviously bites his tongue and doesn’t ask.

I blush and blurt out, “I had my eggs frozen, all right?”

Mark’s eyes widen. “Oh, what clinic?”

Uh? Not the response I expected. “Why do you want to know? Are you an expert on fertility clinics?”

Mark smirks. “Sort of. My sister is a nurse at FIVET HC.”

“That’s my clinic! I chose it because it was the most recommended on my insurance plan.”

“And I can certify it’s one of the best clinics in the country.”

“What’s your sister’s name?”

“Gwen, Gwen Cooper. Did you meet her?”

The name doesn’t ring a bell. “No, sorry, she wasn’t my nurse.” I twirl a lock of hair around my finger. “You think it’s pathetic?” I ask. “Freezing my eggs?”

“No, it’s smart. If you want a family but are…” He falters in his speech, most likely struggling to find a nicer way to say a spinster. “Not at a moment in your life when that’s… err… possible. Cryopreservation is a wise move to protect your fertility and chances to have a baby for when you’ll be ready.” He flashes me a goofy smile. “You can tell I’m a victim of my sister’s propaganda, uh?”

Despite myself, I smile. I’ve told this guy, this total stranger, my innermost secret, and he’s managed to put me at ease. Not just with