I peek under the lid of the huge pot in the kitchen, checking on the boiling lobsters, pleased to see them turning a bright and shiny red. Grinning, I lower the lid and turn towards the oven, wanting to peek at the steaks finishing up in there as well. Because nothing says wedding feast like surf and turf, if you ask me.
“I still can’t believe you’re cooking your own wedding dinner, Bambs,” Frankie says next to me, laughing and shaking his head as he concentrates on slicing the gorgeous baguettes we picked out this morning.
“What,” I say, glancing at him with a little smirk as I crouch down by the oven, peeking in. “Want me to let Nico do it?”
“Above all things,” Frankie replies, laughing under his breath. “Do not let Nico in this kitchen. He has his own expertise, and food and wine is
