Nope, the girl with the raven-black hair and dark eyes is my competition.

“Here you go, Master. Added some cream and sugar and something extra special.” She winks, and I inwardly cringe, wondering what that “extra-special” thing could be. “Is there anything else you would like me to get you, Your Majesty?” Wow, she doesn’t hold back at all, which only makes the situation worse as four pairs of eyes stare at me, the most intimidating being her brother’s.

“Uhh . . . ,” I say, at a loss for words.

“Because if you need something else, you’ll need to make your demands now before we start filming. I can’t possibly do two things at once, despite what you might think. So, any more requests?” Hands on her hips, she taps her foot.

At the challenge in her gaze, I attempt to laugh it off with a joke that falls completely flat. “Homemade doughnuts tomorrow morning, delivered straight to me, hot and fresh from the fryer. Thanks.” Her eyes narrow, and with a whip of her head, she grabs Cohen’s and Declan’s hands and drags them away.

Yeah, probably not the best thing to say to an already-angry girl, someone I’ll be seeing every weekend for the next two months. Apparently she doesn’t quite get my humor.

“Why the hell did you piss her off?” Thad asks, smacking my arm again once they’re out of earshot. “She doesn’t seem like someone you should piss off. She actually looks like she could see straight through your soul and use it to take you down.” He looks off toward the group, clustered around a workbench and clearly talking about me—they keep glancing over their shoulders in my direction. “And I don’t know about you, but I would rather be friends with the competition, not enemies. Did you see the muscles on Cohen? What if we need him to lift something? And Declan, he looked like he knew his numbers. He tried to be modest, but I bet you anything that dude knows how to budget, down to the last penny. That was really stupid of you, Alec. Really fucking stupid. You put us at a disadvantage already. And why ask her for coffee? Clearly she’s not a PA.”

I drag my hand down my face. “Shut the fuck up, Thad.”

“I think this is it,” a female voice says from behind us. “Are you one of the families competing in The Wedding Game?” I turn to find three women standing side by side: two girls in their late twenties, one blonde with deep-blue eyes, one brunette with deep-brown eyes, and an older woman who looks just like the taller blonde.

Oh hell.

A lesbian couple.

We’re toast.

Team Hernandez

Contestants: Luciana, Amanda, and Helen—the overbearing mother with an unbelievably loud opinion on pretty much everything (shoes, workstations, lighting, the nose on the cameraman). You name it, she has an opinion.

Experience: Amanda is a personal trainer. Luciana owns and operates her own doggy day spa. Helen is skilled in telling everyone how things should be.

Notes: Nauseatingly kind, always smiling, and have admitted more than once to wearing matching pajamas to bed . . . because they can.

Team Rossi

Contestants: Cohen, Declan, and Luna—the scowling sister who has a hard time laughing off an awkward encounter.

Experience: Declan is a public schoolteacher with secret budgeting skills (hearsay), Cohen is a carpenter with a well-honed death glare, and Luna is a jack of all trades, master of everything (at least that’s what she said in her intro).

Notes: There is no doubt in anyone’s mind who’s going to win. Not just from experience but from the terrifying look of determination and competitiveness in Luna Rossi’s midnight eyes.

Team Baxter

Contestants: Thad, Naomi, and Alec—the saddest-looking trio.

Experience: Zero. (Unless bullshitting about being the next Martha Stewart and having a “keen sense” of what’s trending counts.)

Notes: What kind of lies were transcribed on the application in order to be picked to participate? Team has a penchant for mistaking fellow contestants as coffee runners and hides gummy worms in pockets.

“And cut. Great intros, everyone. Thank you. Take five, and then we’ll get started with the first challenge,” the director, Diane DeBoss, says. I look up from my notes on the competition as Diane removes her headphones and grabs Mary DIY, the host who is also one of the judges. The teams are at their respective workbenches, and four sets of cameras move around, setting up for the next take while Diane and Mary DIY make their way to their respective chairs to go over the script.

Mary DIY made quite the entrance when she arrived on set: dropping her robe to the floor, fluffing her blonde locks, and cinching her hands at her waist while adjusting the belt of her dress.

I have to admit, she’s gorgeous, but not very welcoming. In my opinion, a good host would have come up to each team, introduced herself, and then gotten to know us—or at least our names. But Mary walked on set right before we began, plastered on a smile, and introduced each team to the cameras. Now she’s wearing the aforementioned robe that she haphazardly tossed to the ground, and she’s getting her hands rubbed down while Diane talks to her about her perfect angle.

Christ, it’s not like she’s a movie star. It’s a crafty wedding show, for fuck’s sake.

“Stare longer. Maybe you won’t look as creepy,” Thad says next to me.

“She’s a diva,” I say, pulling my gaze away.

“A diva with beautiful hair,” Naomi cuts in. “Do you think she has extensions?”

“Easily,” Thad says. “I spend enough time with executives’ wives to know what extensions look like, and she has them.”

“Wow, a talent you should have listed in our intro—might have boosted our self-esteem a little more,” I say sarcastically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Thad asks.

I lower my voice. “Look around. We’re clearly the underdogs, with no chance of winning.”

“What?” Thad actually looks shocked. “That’s not true. We have a strong team. A very strong team. If you’d accepted my invite to dinner last night, you would have marveled at the talents we were able to write down on paper, and you would have taken part in our wedding action plan. But you missed out, and now you’re questioning me?” He points to his chest and shakes his head. “Participation in all activities is key, Alec. But if I must reiterate, we are quick, we’re fierce, and we have a fourth member.” Thad rubs Naomi’s belly. “Baby Baxter is on duty.”

“Ah yes, I heard fetuses are experts at wielding a glue gun.” I drag my hand over my face in exasperation.

Thad’s face falls. “You’re in a bad mood.” Wow, he’s a regular old Sherlock Holmes. “Is this because of the coffee miscommunication? Are you uncomfortable because she keeps staring daggers at you?”

I glance toward Luna, whose head is down as she draws something on a piece of paper. “No.”

“I don’t believe you.” Thad nudges me toward the middle of the floor. “Go apologize.”

I hold my ground. “I’m not apologizing.”

“You really should apologize. We don’t want bad blood with the other contestants.” He nudges me again.

“I’m not fucking apologizing.”

Nudge.

Nudge.

“Go on.”

“Stop pushing me.”

Nudge.

“Don’t be scared.” Nudge. “She’s a little thing—she won’t bite.”

“The little things are usually what bite.”

Thad glances over my shoulder. “She doesn’t look like she has sharp teeth. She won’t break skin. Now go.”

Nudge.

“Stop, Thad. I’m not—”

“Hey, Luna,” Thad calls out, pushing me to the other side of the aisle, where I stumble against Team Rossi’s workbench. “Alec wants to apologize.”

Repair your relationship with your brother.

It will be great.

It will bring you closer together.

Family is everything.

Do it for the baby . . . the baby you want a relationship with.

Bullshit . . . it’s all bullshit. My feelings for my brother are shifting from annoyed to hateful.

“He’s very sensitive. Likes his hair stroked for reassurance,” Thad adds with a smile.

Scratch that, I’m not starting to have hateful feelings. I have them. Hateful, hateful feelings.

Because I have no other option, I turn toward Luna, who quickly sweeps the paper she was drawing on behind her back and scowls at me—a look I’m becoming very familiar with.

“Hiding secrets behind your back?” I ask, straightening up. Cohen and Declan both take off toward the bathroom, leaving me alone with Luna and the heaping pile of disdain sitting between us.

“Mind your own business,” she shoots back.

“You’re friendly,” I say sarcastically.

Her brows raise. “Are you kidding right now? Kind of the pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?”

“No. I’m a nice guy.” A nice guy who’s living in his own personal hell surrounded by crafts and mushy love.

“Is that your opinion? Or do other people actually think that, because I can say I’m a unicorn until I’m blue in the face, but it isn’t true until someone else validates it.”