Milo and Max were sitting in their seats at the table, drinking wine, pretending everything was peachy as shit, and I was about to not only rain on their parade, but shoot thunder and lightning out of my ass.
Okay, maybe not my ass.
Too far.
So I’d been under a lot of emotional stress—it ended tonight. And I was going to put her through—I looked down at my watch—about twelve hours of the same type of hell she’d put me through.
Then I’d kiss her again.
Marry her.
Lock her in her room and think of about a million different ways I could punish her—as well as make her remember that she wasn’t anyone’s but mine.
“So.” I rubbed my hands together and cleared my throat to get everyone’s attention. “I would just love to hear how you two got together.”
“Who?” Mrs. Caro looked around the room in confusion.
“Max and Milo.”
“What?” Milo coughed.
Max grinned. “You see, it really is a funny story.”
“Max . . .” Milo warned.
“Really?” I crossed my arms. “I’d love to hear it.”
Max’s chest pumped up a bit and then his eyes narrowed in my direction. Shit, he knew. He knew that I knew.
“I sang a song.” He stared right through me, and then broke eye contact as he addressed the table and stood. “You see, I love to do charity.”
“No he doesn’t.” Milo laughed, trying to get Max to sit down. “He hates charity, really, just . . . hates . . . helping people.” Her voice died at the end a bit as she stared into her wine, most likely wishing she were drunk already.
“My little love muffin’s so humble.” Max patted her head, then pinched her cheek. She hated being pinched. Pinching Milo was the equivalent of attaching a piece of raw steak to your ass and running full blast toward a tiger.
Needless to say, it wouldn’t end well.
Unless you were the tiger.
“That’s so sweet.” One of the bridesmaids leaned over the table, her cleavage almost dipping into her chocolate cake.
“That’s me—sweet.” Max winked. “Anyways, as I was putting on this concert for charity, inspiration hit.”
“I’d like to hit something,” Milo muttered.
“Why not propose onstage?”
The girls giggled.
Max returned their grin and shrugged. “I invited her onstage, played the song I wrote for her, and got down on bended knee. It really was romantic, I—”
“I wanna hear it,” I shouted.
“What?” Max covered his choke with a cough. “Hear what? The proposal?”
“The song.” I grinned. “I want to hear this . . . romantic song. I mean, shouldn’t we all get a chance to share this special moment?” I looked around the room.
Mr. and Mrs. Caro sighed into each other’s arms, the bridesmaids all but swooned out of their chairs, and Milo killed me with her eyes.
I blew her a kiss.
Her cheeks stained red. “Um, guys, Max is probably tired from . . . earlier today, and it’s getting late. We don’t want to miss the bachelorette and bachelor parties.”
“We have time!” Jason said from behind me.
I loved that man. No, seriously. Loved him.
“See?” I clapped. “No problem.”
“Great,” Max said through clenched teeth. He walked toward the middle of the dining room and then paused. “You know, I, uh, noticed you don’t have a piano, and it’s really difficult without the proper, um, notes.”
“Oh.” I walked up to him and patted his back. “No worries, man, you just sing from the heart. A cappella is fine. Right, everyone?” I started chanting, “Max! Max! Max! Max!”
With each shout Milo sank lower and lower into her chair.
When the noise died down, Max cleared his throat and looked heavenward. Yeah, both he and Milo deserved what was coming.
“Milo,” he crooned in a voice that wasn’t at all terrible, damn it! “My special girl! I want you to know, if I could, I’d give you the world.” He paused dramatically, then fell to his knees.
No freaking way.
“My heart and soul are yours alone my special, pretty, pretty”—he paused again—“lady. So promise me now you’ll forever be my baby.”
He ended on a high note that I’m pretty sure no man can reach unless he’s been castrated. Then he got up from his knees and bowed.
Bastard.
Milo was the first on her feet, clapping wildly. “It’s even better than before.”
It was on. They had no idea of the war they’d just started. They might have won one tiny battle—but I was going to be the ultimate victor.
So without thinking, without really even realizing I was talking out of my ass, I said, “When did you propose?”
“A few months ago.”
“What day?”
Max grinned. “Tuesday.”
“What Tuesday?”
“March fifth.”
“Was a Wednesday.”
“How do you even know that?” Milo snapped.
“Whoa there!” Jason reined me in for a hug. “Sorry, he’s been hitting the bottle.”
Just kidding. I hated Jason.
“Bachelor party?” He pinched my neck so hard I was going to have bruises.
“Yeah.” Defeated, I started to walk away, but stopped. “Hey, Max, you should come too!”