dumping half and half into his coffee. The look the drummer
gave him in response made Phillip wonder if a wedding would
indeed take place.
“I spent the night-- at her request, I’ll have you know—in
Bret’s room. Some nonsensical superstition about not seeing her
before the wedding. No big deal, I’m a reasonable man. So I get
about two hours of sleep since I have to listen to the dulcet tones of Bret vomiting every half hour. Then at five a.m., the texts start rolling in.”
“You could have stayed with us, David. Saffron’s quite a
fan of your cute little bum.” Nathan flicked his ashes, and Phillip chuckled.
“Shut the hell up, Nathan. He’s on a roll.” Scot leaned for-
ward in his seat in anticipation. Phillip bit back a smile. He knew Scot was right; when David was on a rant, it was a rare and en-206
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thralling event.
“So the first said…,” David began scrolling back, his eyes
looking crazed. Phillip mused that David looked as at home with
his smart phone as he did twirling drumsticks. Considering his
choice of wife, it was probably good that he’d become one with
his phone. “…’I can’t marry you. I’m hideous.’”
“Oh for the love of God, can you keep your voice down?”
Bret held his temples.
“Can you stay sober for the day?” David shot back, then
continued, “The next one says…’I broke a nail and ripped my
panty hose.’”
“Who wears panty hose in this heat?” Bret scoffed and all
eyes slowly turned on him.
“Well, now we know why your wife left you.” Nathan
jabbed. Even Bret laughed at that.
“And this last one…this last one takes the cake.” David
laughed a hysterical laugh. “‘I sent Pilar to get tampons. I just got my period. Our honeymoon is ruined!’”
The entire band erupted in a fit of laughter.
“Well, at least you know she’s not pregnant.” Nathan
brushed his red bangs out of his eyes.
“So much for a white wedding.” Bret agreed, sipping his
coffee and grimacing in disgust.
“I can still call for the getaway boat.” Nathan held up his
cell phone hopefully.
Steph dressed in silky green capris and a matching tunic
style top. She skipped the heels and opted for flats. She knew
she’d be contorting into awkward positions for the remainder of
the day to get good angles, and she wanted to have some strength left for Phillip tonight. After arriving at the bride’s bungalow, 207
TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE
she spent an hour convincing Yara that she looked amazing and
that any tiny flaws would be handled with touch ups. Steph as-
sured her could work miracles in a darkroom. She hadn’t had to
sell herself or her skills since she was twelve years old, but the future Mrs. David Evans had her actually doubting herself by the time she was done with her. She’d never taken wedding pictures
for anyone, and she vowed never to do it again, not even for the royal family.
Yara’s insecurity was laughable. The way her dark hair and
olive skin contrasted with her stark white gown made the quality of the wedding shoot a no-brainer. It wouldn’t take Stephanie
Brier to pull it off. Yara was a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition cover girl, and her soon-to be-husband was one of the most
photographable celebrities in the world. Liam could get good
pictures of them with any old disposable camera.
She made sure to get lots of traditional pictures: the bride’s
dad putting on her garter belt and her mother adjusting her hair and fussing with her bouquet. The bridesmaids were not pleased
with their attire; they looked like wenches in a fairytale tavern, their breasts compressed behind tight bodices made of peach-colored material. She did her damndest to shoot Pilar (Saffron’s
‘fat’ bridesmaid) away from all the other bridesmaids—
Cheyenne included. Pilar was the maid of honor, so Steph had a
legitimate reason. Frankly, Steph wanted her to look as lovely as possible. Pilar was a cool girl, open and down to earth. She was also a busty, but very attractive woman, but what normal girl
wants to be shot standing next to a bunch of rail-thin profession-al models?
After getting a text from David that the groomsmen were
dressed and ready, she left the female contingent and headed
outside to the pool. When she rounded the corner and saw Fury,
she nearly dropped her camera.
With the exception of David, who looked ravishing in a
shocking white tux, the other band members wore billowy poet
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style shirts and dark pantaloons with knee high boots. By the
time she was done laughing, she was hoarse, and her throat hurt.
“You all look like extras in a gay porno version of the Pi-
rates of Penzance.”
“My, aren’t we witty today? Still have an endorphin high
from last night’s antics?” Nathan purred, looking particularly
ridiculous in his wedding garb. Steph placed a hand on her hip
and gave Phillip as suspicious glance.
Phillip shrugged, looking like a rakish devil. Steph ran her
eyes from his boots to his disheveled hair. She raised her eye-
brows and bit the inside of her lip. She planned to have some
role playing fun with Blue Beard later.
David sighed, looking up from his phone. His shoulders
slumped visibly. “Bret, Yara wants you to pull her hair back for the wedding.”
Bret scoffed. “She can toss off. I’m wearing my hair down.”
“But it’s all frizzy,” Nathan complained.
“Nathan, why don’t you go be a girl somewhere else?”
Steph interjected. Phillip and Scot laughed.
“At least put some product into it.” Nathan mumbled.
“You guys look pretty hot.” Steph raised her camera, then
put it down. “I don’t even know where to start. Your future wife is a cruel bitch, DJ Dave.”
“Let’s just get this shit over with.” Scot begged, tugging at
the frilly sleeves of his shirt.
As she lined them up in front of the view of the bay, Steph
called out “Okay, everyone. Say ‘ride me, Captain Sparrow!’”
As she snapped the first photo, they all flipped her off in
unison.
“I think that needs to be the cover for Rage.”
“I think not.” David frowned.
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
An unexpected downpour delayed the ceremony for an
hour. It took another 45 minutes for the staff to dry off all the chairs and for Pilar to redo Yara’s smeared
