Call me old-fashioned, but women and men aren’t friends. If they are, it’s only because one of them wants more and the other doesn’t.

Georgia made no sense to me…

For the life of me, I couldn’t understand it—Rosalee had asked me to be her maid of honor (obviously), and I could understand having Tinsley as a bridesmaid too. Tinsley was Rosalee’s only cousin and Tinsley’s family had taken her in after the tragic loss of her parents. Me and Tinsley—we made sense. And Tinsley had at least proven herself to be useful, covering most of the party costs on her own. But why did Rosalee have to ask Bri and Georgia to be bridesmaids too?

I’d had no choice but to invite the other two bridesmaids to the bachelorette party… and then Rosalee had also insisted we ask Elizabeth, the matriarch of the Beakes, with her poufy white hair and long nose, perfect to look down on you with.

Frankly, my best friend was being way too nice. The party was supposed to be about her, for her—not a way to kiss up to her future in-laws and her husband’s female ‘bestie’. If I’d had it my way, we would have invited our closest acquaintances from our college days and had a wild shindig, stress-free.

But Rosalee wanted this, and as the party thrower, it was my job to meet her demands.

I was determined to make this bachelorette party not only a weekend to remember, but the best fucking weekend of Rosalee’s life.

My best friend is getting married, and she deserves this. She deserves to feel celebrated.

I just wished she would have chosen some kinder participants…

Rosalee looked so awkward and unsure of herself standing in that group of women; I just wanted to squeeze her up and dropkick those bitches around her. Especially Georgia.

“Ladies!” I launched my bag toward their inner circle and slid my owlish sunglasses down my nose. “Who’s ready for the best fucking weekend of their life?”

Elizabeth’s mouth fell open and Bri narrowed her eyes at me. And I didn’t even bother looking at Georgia. Lord knows I’d studied her enough on the Gram already.

“Elizabeth and Bri! So lovely to finally meet Asher’s family in person!” I squealed with mock delight.

Elizabeth offered me a matronly hand; her wedding ring sparkled like a firecracker, gaudy yet wonderful. I hated her for it. Ignoring the hand, I reached for my best friend’s future mother-in-law, and squeezed her perfectly narrowed waistline so hard she let out a small ‘umph’. As much as it killed me to admit it, Elizabeth Beake was hot for an old lady. She dressed to impress in sharp clothes and expensive jewels, putting out old money vibes without even trying to.