Page 3 of The Other Plan

“But have you tried them?” Lydia asked. “They are to die for. And well worth the extra hour of yoga I’m going to have to do tomorrow. A moment on the lips, forever on the hips... unless you have a personal trainer to drag you out of bed and force those calories to take a hike.” She slid a hand over her narrow hips, and her classic pink lips pulled into a smirk.

“I don’t bend like that anymore.” Aunt Tilly shrugged. “They’re going on my hips, and they’re staying there.”

Laughing, I shook my head. “They are well worth every extra calorie.”

Aunt Tilly leaned in. “You’re welcome to have some in the hors d’oeuvres speakeasy. Just don’t tell anyone else.”

“I’m taking you up on that.”

I grinned, and she returned it and slid an arm around my waist.

“When are we going to be having your wedding, Jenna? Promise me when it’s time that I get to be part of it.”

Ugh. The question. The one that a single wedding planner gets asked over, and over, and over. When is it my turn?

The answer to that question is never.

My dad had run out on my mom when I was a kid, and then I’d gotten cheated on in college and had my heart decimated into a billion pieces. After all that trauma, I’d decided my life was better off planning other people’s weddings than my own. I was a smart girl and learned quickly, and setting myself up for impending heartbreak again just wasn’t something I’d ever be interested in. But instead of that answer, I smiled and gave her the answer I gave every client who asked.

“Someday. I think my husband-to-be is stuck in traffic.”

The two ladies giggled, then gave me that sympathetic smile that always followed my answer. Like being single was some disease I needed to be cured of. But to me, it wasn’t a disease or a curse. It was a blessing. I was happy single. My life was full without a man in it, and I enjoyed the freedom. Love didn’t interest me. Sure, I planned beautiful weddings and told all my couples that they were meant to be, and I knew they were going to live happily ever after.

In reality? I knew half of them would end up divorced. The guy would sleep with his secretary when he got bored, or the woman would take up with her tennis instructor.

Was I bitter? Jaded? Maybe.

Okay, yeah. Definitely. But just because I was jaded from a shithead of a father and a college fling that had obliterated my heart, it didn’t make it any less true that love usually preceded heartache. And I wasn’t willing to climb back on that train.

Ever.

Me and my bulldog, Arnold, were just fine by ourselves. Instead of love being the driving factor in my life, my career took center stage. A career that was flourishing and one that needed my attention right now.

“Are you sure you won’t let me set you up with one of our guests? We’ll have lots of eligible bachelors here,” Aunt Tilly said.

She tried this at every event, and I couldn’t begin to count the number of men she’d shoved at me in the most obvious manner possible. But I always used my long list of preparations needed to run the wedding to break me free from every awkward encounter. Despite past history, I still knew at some point this week I’d most certainly be enduring an awkward conversation with a would-be-suitor sicced on me by one of the Bronson ladies.

“Thank you for the offer, Aunt Tilly, but you know I’m just too busy with wedding planning this week to focus on anything else right now. You need me at full power to make sure we dazzle. And speaking of, I’d better go put the finishing touches on everything, ladies. Guests will be here soon.”

I gave them each a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried off before they could grill me any more about my non-existent boyfriend. My job was my life, and right now, this welcome party needed all my attention. I couldn’t control love, but I could control everything else... starting with that vase of flowers on the cocktail table that wasn’t quite centered.

CHAPTER TWO

JENNA

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After making sure all the centerpieces were dead center, I recited the checklist in my head as I walked across the lush, green lawn lacking even a single bare spot. I went over every little detail one last time and ensured I had it all done.

Perfect. Everything was in order and ready for the guests to arrive.

“Hey, sis!” Jo called, and I turned to see her walking around the house with her fiancé, Matt, on her arm. Her dark brown hair was twisted up into a formal bun, and her usual ripped jeans and casual attire had been replaced with black pants and a black button-down. Perfect for serving tonight. And knowing Jo, she’d grumbled about the forced attire incessantly while getting ready.

We may have looked like we could be twins with our long dark hair, chocolate eyes, and olive skin, but that’s where the similarities stopped. Jo drove a beat-up Jeep, couldn’t pronounce most designer names, and grumbled if she needed to wear something other than t-shirts and jeans.

Me? I lived for fashion. High heels. Couture purses. Smokey makeup. Expensive sheets. I loved getting dressed up, and stilettos made me feel powerful where they made her want to gag.

But we loved each other despite our vast differences, and I couldn’t be happier to see her here since she’d agreed to bail me out of a potential disaster.