Our circle closed in, my hand going into Simon’s and Mimi’s arm going around Ryan’s waist.

“She’s not gonna talk to me, is she?” he asked, his face sad.

I rolled my eyes. “I doubt it.” Our bus pulled up and I tugged on Simon. “Come on, we’ve got to go. We’ll see you at the reception.” I nodded to Mimi, and shot one more look back at Neil over my shoulder as we left.

“Go easy, okay?” Simon said as we walked across the parking lot.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m not kidding. She’s your friend, and I get that, but that’s my friend.” His eyes were warm, but warning.

I saw Sophia walking with Hot Barry, her laughter deliberately loud. “Let’s just enjoy the night?” I whispered to Simon as he guided me onto the bus.

We settled into our seats with the rest of the bridal party, celebrating with the happy couple. And as we maneuvered through the streets of San Francisco toward the bay, watching Jillian and Benjamin kiss every minute or so, I felt very happy that I had my Simon at my side. And very sad for Sophia that she did not have her Neil.

But it was a happy day, and after a few glasses of champagne I was ready for a fancy night on the town.

And with the reception at the Fairmont Hotel? It was guaranteed.

• • •

If the ceremony was simple, the reception was anything but. Elegant was the best word to describe the Fairmont’s Venetian Room, and the reception overall.

If I thought every candle in San Francisco was at the chapel, then every candle in the rest of the entire Bay Area was lit inside this ballroom. Add to that the golden chandeliers, the crystals dripping from every sconce, the mirrors reflecting and dancing back every flicker and twinkle, and the effect was not of this world.

It was of the planet Money. Which was within the galaxy Ridiculous.

But it was still Jillian and Benjamin. Were there floral arrangements taller than I was? Yes, but there were also copies of their high school senior pictures at each place setting. Was there a full orchestra? Yes, but it was playing instrumental versions of Def Leppard, Journey, and U2. And a band called Rush, which every guy was going bananas over.

When we’d arrived with the bride and groom in tow, we made our grand entrance to an applauding crowd. Once seated at the head table, I saw that Jillian had designed the seating so that even though Simon was the best man, he was still seated next to me. As I looked around at all the pomp and sparkle, I saw that Jillian had seated Sophia and Neil at separate tables (hastily adjusted when the breakup went down), but their tables were next to each other. And there was an empty seat next to Neil.

“I don’t get it, I thought you said he was bringing someone?” I whispered to Simon.

“He was, but he changed his mind. He wanted to talk to her tonight, and he decided he’d have a better shot if he was alone,” he whispered back, a told-you-so look on his face.

“Hmm,” I said.

And as I watched their story unfold from up on the dais, their communications were very clear.

First Sophia realized that while they were technically at different tables, her place card put her directly behind Neil’s chair. And when she approached the round table and pulled her chair out herself (way to go, Barry Derry), she made sure to accidentally-on-purpose bump his chair.

Then when Neil rose to shake hands with someone and accidentally (but maybe not on purpose) bumped her chair, I saw Sophia pick up her salad fork and begin to turn, before Mimi removed it from her hand.

By the time the entrees were served, they were both jostling so much it looked like they had ants in their pants. Except that Sophia’s dress was so tight I was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing any. Panties, that is.

“Are you seeing this?” I asked Simon, nodding toward the chair bumpers.

“How could I miss it?”

Just then, Neil turned around and tapped Sophia on the shoulder. Her response was to scoot her chair back as far as she could, stand, and conveniently stomp on his foot with her stiletto as she dragged an unwilling Mimi off to the ladies’ room, leaving Neil to swear quietly into his napkin. When she reached the edge of the ballroom, she whirled, spied me spying on her, and curled her finger at me.

Damn. Powwow in the toilet.

“I’ll be back; don’t let them cut the cake without me.”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to explain to the bride and groom, as well as all these good people here, that they have to wait on cake because of chitchat in the henhouse,” Simon responded drily.

I dropped a kiss on his forehead and headed in.

As I neared the ladies’ lounge, I noticed the women coming out were looking a little shell-shocked. I hurried my pace.

Once inside, I understood. The extremely imaginative blue streak of cursing that was falling out of Sophia’s mouth was enough to make my hair curl. Mimi just sat on the settee, helpless.

I came in on the tail end of “—lousy-no good-motherfucking-dickface-asshole-sonofawhore-fucking f**khead f**k!”

“Who’re we talking about?” I asked brightly. Mimi stifled a snort.

“How much trouble would I get in for stealing the cake knife and castrating him?” she asked, two more women hustling by to get away.

“Lots. Can we talk about this without mentioning castration?”

“Doubtful; right now I want his dick in a hot dog bun.”

Oh, boy.

“If I may interject just the tiniest bit of normal here, you need to settle down, missy,” I began, putting up my finger when she started to interrupt, “because you love Jillian. And no one wants their wedding to be known as the dick-in-a-hot-dog-bun wedding, right?”

“It would make the newspaper.”

I sighed. “No more chair bumping, no more attempted forking. Just go be a polite guest at a wedding, okay?”

“I hate you,” she huffed, smoothing out her dress and checking her lip gloss in the mirror.

“No, you don’t,” I huffed back, then turned to Mimi. “And you, I thought you were going to watch her,” I muttered while Sophia adjusted her boobs.

“I was, but then Ryan had his hand on my leg under the table, and—”

“Save it—we don’t want to miss their first dance,” I replied, glancing in the mirror myself. Damn, I do look good in goldfish.

“Okay, ladies, knockers up: We’re going in. No more drama,” I instructed, and we headed back into the ballroom.

To find that the chair to Neil’s left was no longer unoccupied.