The Wedding Game Page 1

Author: Meghan Quinn

Genres: Romance



First things first: this story isn’t about me.

Well . . . technically, it is about me, but it isn’t about me.

It’s about my brother, Alec Baxter. Ever hear of the gorgeous bastard? He’s the top divorce lawyer in New York City.

Cunning, devilishly handsome—just like me—has big hands, and scowls at almost any mention of a hot dog. Not a fan—he doesn’t get it, never will.

He’s my best friend, my partner in crime, the guy I look up to, and my one and only hero . . . despite talking to him maybe every three months, barely seeing him on holidays, and waiting weeks just for a simple response to a text message.

Sounds like a one-sided brother-ship, right? Kind of is, but hey, that’s okay. The man is busy. And he spent most of our childhood making sure I wasn’t completely scarred by our parents and their inability to shield their children from their awful marriage. They really had a habit of airing out their grievances like dirty panties on laundry day.

I can still remember Alec charging into my room whenever our parents started going at it, then leading me down the fire escape of our Park Avenue apartment and taking me to the bakery down the street. We would share a cannoli and just stare at each other, both knowing what was happening a mere block away but never talking about it.

But enough with the sob fest—that’s not what this story is about. No, it’s about the complete and utter betrayal I’ve suffered at the hands of the aforementioned brother. My own kin, my own blood, my hero . . .

He may be my best friend, but he’s betrayed me in every way possible.

Hefty words, right?

Fighting words.

Well, I speak the truth.

What happened? Let me give you a little prelude to the disaster that my life has turned into.

It all started when I found out my beautiful fiancée, Naomi, is pregnant. I had to make some hard decisions, and the wedding of my dreams—yes, my dreams—had to be swapped out for a wedding on a budget. I needed to save for a home, not the event of the century.

It was a tough pill to swallow. I may have hyperventilated into the drawer of my office desk a few times as I tried to come to terms with it all.

But then one day, after a good breathing session into beautifully stained mahogany, I thought of something: freebies.

I’m a corporate-event planner for Golf Galaxy, Manhattan’s premier golf range and party center for executives. For all your corporate-event needs, please contact Thaddeus Baxter.

I rub elbows with the wealthy on a daily basis, and I figured, why not take advantage of that. Ask around, see if I can find any perks from my job.

Unfortunately, all the asses I’ve been kissing for the past few years want nothing to do with me. Can’t possibly see why. I’m charming—slightly dramatic, perhaps—but I can make the best margarita when pressed to, and I’ll even shake my maracas when handing it over. And when I say maracas, I mean my burly balls. Ahem, my nutsac.

An absolute delight of a gentleman. That’s me.

So, once again reduced to a deeply depressed state, I found myself hunched over my computer—leftover margarita from an event in hand, scanning through wedding websites—when I saw it.

The answer to all my prayers.

It was as if God had parted the clouds and, with his lightning-striking finger, booped me on the nose and pointed me in the right direction.

The Wedding Game was casting.

TV’s favorite wedding reality show was looking for couples to take on the challenge of creating a wedding on a budget. Tulle, roses, bunting, tea lights, tuxes—all there, ready to be pulled together into the best wedding ever.

Sign me up.

But being in the spotlight of every bridezilla’s dream wasn’t my main reason for filling out the application.

You can bet your belly button–caressing tits there was a prize.

You’ll never guess what it was. I’m not even going to give you a chance to figure it out.

It wasn’t your typical Sandals destination honeymoon with all-you-can-eat buffets.

Nope. It was a GD penthouse in New York City.


The dream of all dreams.

Before I even read the fine print, I had the application filled out and ready to send.

So what does this have to do with the kind of betrayal that would make the Game of Thrones cast blush?

The number one rule of The Wedding Game: you have to have at least one family member on your team. Given my childhood’s emotional baggage, there was only one person I could rely on.


And that, my friends, is where the betrayal comes in.

Don’t believe my brother could be so coldhearted as to deceitfully ensnare his own flesh and blood?

Guess again.

He did.

Just see for yourself . . .



“Look out, she’s coming in hot . . . with the glue.” I chuckle as I squeeze my glue gun, releasing the smallest dollop of glue before applying a bead to a vest I’ve been working on for the past twenty-four hours.

I’m not normally one to glue-gun beads. I like to sew them in like the proper crafter I am, but when your favorite waiter down at the singing diner begs you to jazz up his vest on short notice for his first solo performance, you break the rules.

“Ouch!” I yelp when the glue singes my already-calloused fingertips. You would think at this point in my life I would have no nerves left in the tips of my fingers, but apparently there are still some in there. “You little beaded bastard,” I whisper to the vest as I sit back to evaluate my work.

Not too shabby for a quick glue job. I still have some gold beads to add around the collar, which I’ll need my special glasses for, but before I snap those on, I need a tiny break.

I lean back in my chair and grin when I see what time it is. Six thirty means only one thing: The Crafty Duo is on.


After locating the remote in record time, I flip the TV on and change the channel from Bravo (my roommate Farrah’s favorite) to the DIY Network. Farrah and I have been best friends since high school. We have one giant thing in common—a passion for expressing our creativity, Farrah being in fashion—but that’s pretty much it. In every other way, we’re polar opposites. I tend to try to bring joy to every aspect of life, while she can be rather aggressive but also outgoing. The great thing about our relationship is we can take my “glass half-full” attitude and mix it with her “glass half-empty” one and offer a full glass of life to the world when we’re together. So when we both decided to move to New York City, we couldn’t think of better roommates than each other.

The show comes on, and the theme song rings through the living room. I shimmy along while I prepare myself for the next round of beads.

I love crafting.

Actually, that’s a lie: I don’t just love it. I live for it.

You know the saying “jack of all trades, master of none”? Well, that’s me, except I’m the jack of all trades, queen of every one.

Need me to crochet, knit, needlepoint, sew? I’m your girl.

Looking for someone to bead, bedazzle, jewel, mold? Call me up.

In search of a seamstress, an embosser, a lettering expert? Hey, right here! Waves

I am multifaceted, talented in every way, and I have creativity spilling out of my pores, begging to be used every day. It’s why I own one of the top Etsy shops in the world, why I’m the first crafter under thirty to win a Webby for my outstanding YouTube channel, why I can afford an apartment in Manhattan, and why I’m highly sought after to bedazzle showtime vests in a matter of twenty-four hours.

I slip on my glasses and, like a grandma, flip over the magnifier that’s attached so I can get a much closer look at the work I’m doing.

This is a typical Friday night for me: hunched over my craft desk, glasses strung around my head, TV on in the background, tea at my side. I don’t get out much, I definitely don’t date much, and I sure as hell can’t remember the last time I saw a naked man, but that’s okay, because I’m thirty, not really flirty, but I’m glittery and thriving.

“Are you getting married in the next few months? Are you crafty? Do you have what it takes to plan a wedding on a ten-thousand-dollar budget in New York City?”

I know that voice.

I crave that voice.

My head pops up from the vest, and I lift my glasses to focus on the TV.

It’s her. The goddess of all crafts.