The Wedding Contract

The Wedding Contract By H.M. Ward
The Contract 1

A Ferro Family Novel


FOREWORD




By

Michael Ward



Weddings are rife with stories. Before Holly became H.M. Ward, author extraordinaire, the two of us owned a photography studio that focused on weddings. And, somehow, that led to our buying a bridal shop at some point. (It made perfect sense at the time.) For years, we lived and breathed weddings.

Weddings are crazy – and the crazy is contagious. But, the stories! The stories almost make it all worthwhile. Sometimes they’re sweet. There were the high school sweethearts that drifted apart, made some wrong turns, and battled through the years, only to rediscover each other in their golden years and tie the knot with their grandkids in the wedding party. And then there were the laughable, crazy stories that no one would believe if they hadn’t revolved around a wedding.

I’ve never had anyone doubt a crazy wedding story, because everyone knows that anything is possible at a wedding. When you take two families that are practically strangers to one another, put them together for a day that revolves around the childhood dreams of a girl, the hopes every parent has for their children, and a bill that looks like it could be a mortgage, people can get kinda nuts. And that kind of nuttiness makes for great stories – writing one that’s entirely fiction would almost seem like cheating.

So, as you read The Wedding Contract, know that Holly did her research on this one! I always see a little bit of Holly and me in her stories. Avery’s “spray-start” car? I took Holly out on a lot of dates in that car (I know, I really knew how to woo a girl.) But, The Wedding Contract? The boob flashing bridesmaid never paid me any attention… Holly had all the luck.





The Wedding Contract





CHAPTER 1





I can hear Amy’s voice through the front wall of the little shop, talking to a potential client about photography for their wedding. I’m in the back, putting away props from this morning’s shoot. After stowing the box on a shelf in the back, I walk across the open space, and duck out through the curtain that covers the doorway to the front.

“Well, congratulations, and thank you for considering Bella Chicks Studio. Best of luck to you both.” Amy smiles as she sets the phone back into the cradle. Her light brown hair is pin straight and tied back into a style that looks perfect on her. When I try it, my curls just look tangled.

Folding my arms over my chest, I breathe in slowly. It’s stupid to think that this was his doing. Amy hasn’t even told me yet, but the skin on my arms prickles like a big fat omen. I know it was him. It’s always him. “So, I take it the Gettys hired someone else?”

Amy smiles at me. It’s the facial expression that begs, ‘Don’t kill the messenger!’ I’m not mad at Amy; I’m upset about the situation. We can’t keep losing clients like this. She nods slowly. “Yeah, they went with Bella Clicks.”

My lips smash together and I try not to yell. I try so hard not to overreact, but this is the third client that Nick Ferro has stolen from me this month. The bastard has been making my eye twitch for weeks. It seems like every time I figure out how to get a step ahead of him, he one-ups me, and then does it better and cheaper. God, I hate him.

The worst part is, if things continue like this, I can’t afford to stay in my little shop. Babylon Village is cute, but the rent is a bitch. And I know Mr. Copycat doesn’t have that issue because his daddy owns the damn shopping center. Why didn’t I get a non-compete clause in my lease contract?

Amy can tell that my blood is boiling. “Uh, Sky. You haven’t blinked in like, five minutes. Don’t go all Medusa on me.” Amy is a mythology buff and works Greek gods into anything and everything. Half the time I don’t even know what she’s talking about.

The ringing in my ears should be my cue to go scream in the back room like a normal small business owner. Instead, I knot my tightly folded arms and shove through the glass front door. My feet pound the parking lot, hard and fast, leaving Amy and her don’t-do-its behind.

This has to stop. I was doing fine until Nick showed up. God knows there are enough people trying to make a living in New York, but none of them, aside from this ass-hat, camped out on my doorstep stealing my clients.

I never do stuff like this. I never chew anyone out. I always smile and look for the bright side of things. Screw that. I’ll be out of business if I don’t fight back, so I shove into his store, my fists up and fangs bared.

“Get out of here, you sorry excuse for a man!” I’m standing in his perfect lobby, which is just as posh as mine, but instead of rich red accents, his are blue. He has his consultation table in the same spot as mine, with huge pictures of brides in Time Square and by Saint Pat’s Cathedral, just like I do. I notice the new floral arrangements with peacock feathers, and I’m ready to explode. When did he copy those?

My eyes drift over to the little table he has set up with albums on it. Last month, I met a new vendor that provides these beautiful albums for my boudoir clients. The albums have sequins, supple leather, and feel perfect under your fingertips. I see one glinting from behind a wedding album on his table. Wide-eyed, I step toward it and lift the little book with shaking hands.

Nick appears from the back and shakes his head slowly. “Sky Thompson, what can I do for you?” Nick has dark, perfectly tousled hair that falls over his forehead, right above gem-colored blue eyes. Today, he’s wearing a designer white button-down shirt with jeans. There’s a chunky watch on his wrist that cost more than my net worth. He’s beautiful, cocky, and rich. His voice is like a siren’s song, and he completely and totally sucks rabid monkeys—a spoiled brat to the core.

Anger surges through me, as I look up at him. “What’d you do to land the Getty wedding? Offer to pose with her in the boudoir pictures?” Oh my god. Nick has the audacity to smile while I’m ranting. He tries to hide it, but I can see the amusement in his eyes. I shove a finger into his chest and continue raving. “Because there’s no way you could get that client on your own, you pampered ass!”

Nick looks like he’s biting the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing. I’m right in front of him and seriously consider kicking his shins. Every muscle in my body is strung so tight that I’m ready to explode. I’m practically vibrating—until I see Beverly Getty emerge from the back room, followed by her daughter and husband. Awh, suck.

I deflate as I see the livid look on Beverly’s face. She told me that she’d be sending a check today, but she’s in Nick’s studio instead. I don’t get it, and from the look on her face, she doesn’t plan to elaborate. “What did you say about my daughter? Or was your crass comment directed at me, Miss Thompson?”

What the f*ckery? Seriously, I never blow off steam! I never tell anyone that they suck and the one time I do, it bites me on the ass. My lips tug into a nervous smile and I have that weird feeling where I don’t know what to do with my hands. I grab my pointer finger and try to patch things up, like I didn’t just eat my foot. No, I swallowed my whole damn leg and half my ass. There’s no way to make this right. “Mrs. Getty, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“You didn’t imply anything, dear. And if you must know, we found Nick to be much more easygoing. A wedding is stressful enough and I didn’t want anything else to make my Tiffany anxious. I see I chose well and I’ll make sure that everyone knows how you really behave.”


Nick glances between us before putting a hand on Beverly’s shoulder. “Sky wouldn’t have ruined your daughter’s wedding. She’s a very capable photographer. The truth is, she only gets twitchy like this when she forgets her meds. It could happen to anyone.” Beverly Getty gives me a second look, like she can now see my obvious mental defect.

“Go back and grab a chai tea from the Keurig. I’ll get those new albums I mentioned.” He looks up at me and grins. “On your way, Sky. Or would you prefer I call Amy to fetch you?” He says it so sweetly, as if he’s helping me.

Not meaning to, I clutch my hands tightly and growl before I turn on my heel and storm out. As the door closes behind me, I hear Nick saying to the Gettys, “Don’t worry, she’s not dangerous.”