Free Whose Wedding Is It Anyway? by Melissa Senate Page B

“You just smile a lot, basically.”
    He nodded. “Your boss thinks I could be a model. She said so while she was showing me around the offices.”
    “She knows what she’s talking about,” I told him. “She’s the editor in chief. She could hook you up with the agency we use at Wow. ”
    “I’d never sell out like that,” he muttered. “Like I want a bunch of assholes to go buy five-hundred-dollar shirts because of me?”
    “You’d make five hundred dollars just to wear that shirt for an hour,” I pointed out.
    “I’d rather earn my money the hard way.”
    “How do you earn your money?” I asked him.
    “This and that,” was his response.
    This was very likely having sex with wealthy older women and that was probably waiting tables in trendy restaurants to meet them in the first place.
    “This and that is better than smiling for an hour?” I asked.
    “This and that is honest.”
    “I see,” I said.
    “No you don’t,” he responded.
    “No, you’re right. I don’t.”
    The taxi stopped at our destination, and he pulled out his wallet. “Look at that, we agree about something.”
    “Put your money away,” I told him.
    “This and that pays,” he said. “I have money.”
    “It’s on Wow. ”
    He slid his wallet back into his pocket. “In that case…”
    We headed inside the studio and found half the staff of Wow Weddings in room three, where it was summertime in the city. A huge bright blue backdrop with fluffy white clouds, a park bench and even a terrier scampering about a tree was in front of one wall. Philippa and a guy who had to be her brother, both of them dressed in summery whites with pink accents for her and blue for him, stood in front of the backdrop, turning this way and that and fake laughing. Her brother kept throwing back his head and fake laughing, his mouth open wide.
    “Great, Weston!” Devlin said. “Okay, one more big laugh. Yes, that’s it. Move slightly to the left. Philippa, take out a photograph of your fiancé and show it to your brother with a wistful expression.”
    “Ooh, I have soooo many pictures of Parker,” Philippa said. “Which one should I pick?”
    “Just pick a good one,” Devlin told her.
    “As if there could be a bad one,” Weston Wills said, tsktsking Philippa with a wag of his finger.
    Emmett stared at them, clearly waiting for Weston to turn sarcastic. It didn’t happen.
    Philippa selected a photo from her purse album and showed it to her brother. “Just think, Wes, Parker is going to be your brother-in-law!”
    “It’s so exciting,” Weston said. “Nothing is more important than family, and now our family is expanding.”
    Emmett was staring at them as though they were from outer space.
    “Philippa, point at the photo and beam,” Devlin said. “Weston, smile proudly.”
    They beamed and smiled proudly and Devlin clicked and clicked and clicked.
    “Okay, Classic Bride, that’s a wrap,” Devlin said.
    “Excellent, Philippa,” Astrid said. “Simply excellent. I couldn’t be more delighted.”
    Philippa beamed and squeezed her brother into a hug. “Yay for us!” she shouted.
    I tried to remember the last time Emmett and I hugged. Not in years. He wasn’t a hugger; he was more a knuckle-acknowledger, like the Yankees.
    The last time we hugged was at our mother’s funeral. And that had taken some doing on my part.
    Weston was now giving Philippa a piggyback ride around the studio. He looked a lot like Philippa, down to the thick, fine white-blond hair, the dark blue eyes, the perfect complexion, the preppiness. He was as all-American clean-cut as you got.
    “I love you, sis,” Weston said as they piggybacked over to where the Wow crowd was prepping for the Modern Bride’s sibling shots.
    Did people really say that? Sis? Clearly they did.
    “You’re the best, Philly!” Weston added, giving her long blond hair a little yank.
    “No, you’re the best,” Philippa said, slugging him on the shoulder.
    Weston pointed a