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She’d spent the past two hours in the Plaza’s gilded, crystal-chandeliered grand ballroom having a high-maintenance tête-àtête with Bridezilla Melanie Waverton and her helicopter mother, Leanora. The formidable duo were determined to complete the Cinderella-themed wedding—to be held here in a week—by having the groom, a.k.a. Prince Charming, ride up to the altar on a white horse, while Melanie and her parents would arrive in a pumpkin-shaped, horse-drawn carriage that carried them to meet the bridegroom.
All they imagined was the sheer romance and extravagance of it all.
All Gia imagined—not counting the gazillion health and safety code violations and the hotel’s refusal to accommodate them—were the horses breaking free, knocking guests off their chairs, pausing only to defecate on the polished wooden floors.
The magnificently planned wedding would become a freak show.
Biting her tongue, Gia had just strolled with her clients through the Plaza’s gilded, crystal-chandeliered ballroom, smiling and using all her skill to convince the ladies that there was a much more memorable and breath-catching way of accomplishing their goal—a way that would keep all eyes on the bride and groom, showcasing them like Hollywood celebrities.
Seeing Melanie’s eyes light up, Gia had let her mind fly and her mouth ad lib. The bride and her parents would make their grand entrance escorted by two authentically dressed groomsmen. Prior to their grand appearance, the ring bearer—Melanie’s eight-year-old cousin—would walk down the aisle carrying the prearranged royal-purple velvet cushion. Only now, it would brandish a glass replica of the bride’s custom-made Louboutin-styled crystal shoes, inside of which would be the gold and diamond wedding bands. He’d present them to the groom in a flourish, and the entire room would ooh and ahh.
As for the groom, Gia would arrange to add dashing, thematic touches to his tuxedo: a gold jacquard sash and, on each shoulder, a regal ornamental shoulder piece called an epaulet. Gold cufflinks would simulate the prince’s gold cuffs, all of which would create the imperial look of Prince Charming.
The incomparable total package would result in their domination of social media platforms for weeks.
Goal accomplished.
Gia had wrapped up the meeting by promising her clients that she’d handle all the details and be in touch with them tomorrow. Bidding them good-bye—at least until the next text or phone call—she’d promptly retired to the hotel’s Champagne Bar, where she treated herself to a glass of wine and some downtime.
Sipping her Chardonnay, Gia had pointedly ignored the admiring glance of the Brooks Brothers-looking guy at the opposite end of the bar. She was in no mood for a pickup. She felt as if she’d just run a marathon. Three straight days of these last-minute, over-the-top meetings was a lot, even for her. But it was almost June. And, no matter how you sliced it, the romantic wish to be a June bride was still very much alive.
She’d handled just one uncomplicated wedding this past month—surprising, given that it began with a phone call from a frantic bride whose event was less than a month away. But the planning had gone off like clockwork. Plus, it had bound together two gracious, truly-in-love people, Marc and Madeline Devereaux. They’d been a delight to work with. Madeline’s mother? Not so much. She’d been the reason for the last-minute SOS. But Gia had gotten her under control. And she’d truly relished being instrumental in making Marc and Madeline’s day the joyous one they wanted.
But now she had other, not-so-easy brides to deal with.
Setting down her glass, Gia left the bar and the hotel. She headed down Fifth Avenue, zigzagging her way through the crowd of pedestrians who were either striding professionals, window-shopping consumers, or ambling tourists who seemed oblivious to the fact that they were about to be mowed down by the commuters who were determined to get out of the city before rush hour got worse.
Gia was one of those commuters. She scanned the traffic-crammed street, walking to the curb and simultaneously raising her arm to hail a taxi. She wasn’t up for the subway today. Nor for the marathon walk. She’d grab a cab to Grand Central Terminal, where she’d hop a train to her suburban townhouse in Rye.
She’d made eye contact with one driver who began veering his way through pre-rush-hour traffic in her direction, when a breathless female voice beside her said, “Danielle! What are you doing in the Big Apple? Is there some kind of veterinary conference going on? Or do you have another interview at that prestigious animal clinic? And I love your hair! Did you get extensions? Did you have it done here?”
Startled, Gia turned around. The woman was about her age—late twenties—with wispy bangs, a Midwest twang, and smiling eyes. The rest of her was swallowed up by the slew of Bergdorf Goodman bags she carried. She’d obviously done some serious shopping.
“Pardon me?” Gia replied.
“It’s me—Sarah.” The young woman lowered her bags to the curb, letting Gia see all of her, as if that would reveal her identity. “Sorry. I just took a week’s vacation and promised myself all the wonders of the Big Apple, including a spa day, theater tickets, and shopping, shopping, shopping. I fly home on Monday. Do you have time for a drink or dinner, or are you tied up in animal-speak all weekend?”
Gia shook her head in confusion. “I’m so sorry. You have me confused with someone else.”
Sarah’s brows arched. “Very funny.”
“I’m not being funny. I have no idea who Danielle is, but I’m not her.” Gia frowned as her taxi pulled away.
“I don’t understand.” Sarah was peering at her closely, inspecting every feature. “I’ve known Dani for twelve years. And you’re the spitting image of her—except for your hair.” A pause. “And your accent. Kind of like a New Yorker, but not.”
“New York suburbs by way of Montana.” Gia smiled faintly. This Sarah was nice and clearly puzzled by the mistaken identity. But she herself was beat. She wanted to go home, grab some Chinese, and be a couch potato. She had three weddings this weekend—two tomorrow and one on Sunday. She needed to soak in a hot tub and zone out.
“How weird.” Sarah pulled out her cell phone and quickly scrolled through some photos. “Here,” she said, holding out the phone. “That’s Dani and me at our ten-year high school reunion. It was taken just last week.”
Politely, Gia took the phone and glanced down at the picture. There were two young women posing at a catering hall, raising their glasses to the camera. Sarah and… Gia’s eyes widened as she focused on the other girl, and she almost dropped the phone. Small as the photo was, the smiling girl with short dark hair—rather than her own stylishly highlighted shoulder-length cut—was a dead ringer for her.
“Wow.” She held the phone closer, turning it horizontally and stretching the picture to make “Danielle’s” face larger and clearer. It was uncanny. The woman even had the same dimple in her right cheek. And the shape of her eyes… the curve of her mouth… The resemblance was startling and kind of creepy.
“No wonder you didn’t believe me when I said I wasn’t her.” Gia couldn’t stop staring at the phone. Her curiosity was beyond piqued. “Danielle what? From where? And you said she’s a veterinarian?”
“Yes.” For a moment, Sarah looked uneasy about giving out information on her friend. Then she seemed to realize the extenuating circumstances, as well as the general nature of Gia’s questions. Plus, as a veterinarian, Danielle’s photo and bio would be posted on the practice’s website. So anonymity wasn’t exactly an issue. “It’s Danielle Murano, and she’s a vet in Minneapolis.”
“You’re good friends?”
