Page 36 of Bossy Bride: Emma and Jesse

I’m pretty sure this will be the most exciting day of my life.

Finding the driver after leaving security is easy. He’s a big guy in a black suit and sunglasses holding a digital sign that says ‘Boston Wedding.’

Nice touch, Miles. Nice touch.

Since we don’t have any luggage, we just follow him to the pick-up lane and get in the back of a black Lincoln Navigator. The temperature is perfect, the leather seats are luxuriously butter-soft, and there are two bottles of Fiji water chilling in an ice bucket.

Emma and I look at each other, smiling.

“This is gonna be great,” she says.

“Fuckin’ perfect. I can just tell. Fingers has it all figured out.”

“What do you think he looks like?”

“Fingers? Uh... I imagine he’s missing a few.”

“What?”

“Yeah, like the name? It’s gotta be ironic, right? That’s the only way it works.”

“He sounds like a gangster.” Emma chuckles.

“He so does. But fuckin’ Miles? He’s sorta gangster so that fits.”

“Miles? What are you talking about?”

“You know. His whole seedy Pittsburgh past with that guy called Shoes.”

“What?”

“Yeah. He’s here because of his Mob-nurtured Rain Man abilities.”

“What. The hell. Are you talking about?”

“He never told you about his childhood? Growing up with the Mob?”

Emma guffaws so loud, our driver checks on us in the rearview. “No. This is a joke, right?”

“I don’t think so. Dude told me this whole long story about how he was like an orphan or some shit back in Pittsburgh and got shuffled off to a Mob boss in Chicago and then bought his way out and went to butler school and found your ad on the Modern Butler magazine website and that’s how he got here.”

She’s laughing so hard by the time I stop talking, I can’t help but laugh with her. “What? Was he lying to me?”

“Jesse.” She can’t stop laughing.

“What? It sounded so reasonable.”

“Modern Butler?”

“Everyone needs trade publications. Hell, I used to get a magazine called Douche Yacht High Life when I was younger.”

She’s still laughing.

“They just send it to you when you… never mind.” I huff and look out the window. “So what’s his real story then? If that was all a lie.”

“I don’t know. But it wasn’t that.”

“You don’t know then.” I huff again. “I think he was telling the truth. And look, the wedding planner is called Fingers. It has to be true. Miles showed us that crazy map of how he had to get to the poker tournament tonight, remember?”