It wasn’t white. It was bright red. Blood red.

Not that I’d expected Fiona to do anything traditional, but I wasn’t quite expecting that. Sure, red could signify love, passion or romance, but this shade was angry. It was almost like a declaration of war.

“Just because we’re not all over each other, spouting about true love everywhere like you and Rowan, doesn’t mean we don’t love each other,” Fiona huffed, running her fingers through her hair.

“No, it doesn’t,” I agreed. “But you don’t even seem to like the guy. And this is really fast.” I looked to my still full champagne glass, considering the reasons why my best friend and Rowan’s best friend would need to be married so quickly and so out of the blue. “Are you pregnant?”

Fiona looked at me, genuinely horrified. “No, I’m not fucking pregnant,” she hissed. “And even if I were, the last thing I’d do is have a shotgun wedding with the guy who knocked me up. Come on, babe, you know me better than that.”

“I thought I did,” I countered. “But you didn’t even tell me anything was going on with Kip until the two of you were engaged.” I tried to hide my hurt, because despite it being the truth, it was her wedding day, and I needed to support her.

Fiona’s face softened and she turned around, placing her now empty glass next to mine before taking my hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said genuinely. “I didn’t mean to hide anything from you. I wouldn’t dream of it. This all just happened so fast and… Fuck, I didn’t think we’d actually go through with it. I don’t even know if he’s going to be there waiting for me.” She waved toward the doors leading outside.

Fiona had planned on the ceremony happening at city hall, wanting as little fanfare as possible. But she was my best friend, and although she didn’t technically ask me, I was her maid of honor. Therefore, there was going to be fanfare, despite how shocked I had been about the whole thing.

Fiona wasn’t someone I’d expected to turn into bridezilla, but she’d proven difficult with every single location I’d shown her.

So, we were doing it at the bakery. The only place she hadn’t vetoed.

We’d turned my office into a dressing room, my desk cluttered with makeup and beauty products. The cakes were out in the kitchen. I’d gone a little overboard with the catering. Fiona loved anything and everything chocolate, so I made three different kinds of chocolate cake. Kip liked vanilla, so I made a plain vanilla cake with bourbon frosting and a Victorian sponge cake with my homemade jam. Not to mention all the little party favors… cupcakes, cake pops, homemade candies.

Fiona was most worried about the booze.

“He’s going to be out there,” I assured her, frowning toward the seating area we’d turned into a wedding venue. “He’s not stupid. And he knows I’ll track him down and skin him alive if he hurts my best friend.”