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"Mel, the most incredible news. Jason Henley, the owner of the hotel, is having a fabulous new cake brought in just for you. I honestly can't believe it. He's never done anything like this for a bride before, but he's gotten his favorite bakery to make something special ... just for you!” The giddy squeal at the end was as key to the sell as the mandatory just-for-you business, so she put everything she had into it before letting her delighted expression fall into faux concern. “Oh, my God, Mel—” they were like sisters now, “—has something happened?"
Melinda's shellacked lower lip stuck out like a roost for a small bird. “My ... my special day ... it's ruined,” she screeched, burying her face against Laine's bare shoulder, leaving a cold, wet trail of what, God willing, was tears and tears alone. Melinda's words choked off into unintelligible sobs, and suddenly she was just a girl with a lifelong dream on the verge of falling apart.
Laine's mind stopped running in business mode, and her body softened as Melinda quaked against her. Smoothing back the bride's neat curls so they wouldn't be crushed between them, Laine shushed out a long breath. “Come on now,” she soothed. “Hey, it's all going to be fine. We've got the cake taken care of. But some silly cake isn't what's going to make this day special for you. It's the beginning of your happily ever after. You and Ed are going to be man and wife. This is just one big party to celebrate ... love. It can't be ruined."
Melinda sniffed loudly. Her body settled. Her small voice sounded stronger as she spoke over Laine's shoulder. “But ... this is my special day. What will my wedding be without my cake?"
Of course. So much for that. “Okay, honey. The cake will be here and better than ever.” She ticked off her mental to-do list: Dry clean hanky for mother of bride, makeup artist ASAP, order cucumbers for the bags, make sure the bar watered down the groom's drinks, ream florist for the thorn in the bouquet, ream Jason for ... the hell of it. The last thought made her smile. She'd keep a reaming slot open for him—something was bound to come up. She couldn't believe he'd asked her to dinner.
Melinda pulled back, her lips all puffy.
"Oh, stop it this minute, Mel.” Laine pushed Jason from her mind and put on her best grandmother voice. “Nothing is ruined except this makeup, and there's no law against the beautiful bride getting a touchup. Now give me a smile."
Behind them the suite door opened to a chorus of oohs and ahhs. Laine spun around to see Jason smiling at the bridal attendants as though each were the vision they dreamed of being. A natural charmer. Finally, his gaze settled on Melinda, his eyes showing nothing but approval. The man had a game face all right. Pushing through the crowd, he walked up to the splotchy bride and dropped a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Beautiful."
Jason popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and toasted Melinda. He was an operator, but he'd added to the calm of Bridezilla, so she was on his side.
At the risk of looking like she had a tic, Laine offered up another wink. “I'm going to go check on some details. You girls enjoy a glass of champagne, and we'll have everyone ready to walk down the aisle with time to spare.” She had a cake to confirm, a groom to check up on and crystallizing snot to chisel off her shoulder, so she needed to move.
Jason turned to her and offered up a phony smile to top all others. “Ms. Malone, I'll accompany you out. Enjoy the preparations, ladies."
Outside the suite, Laine turned on him. “What gives? Is there a problem with the cake?"
"It'll be here in fifteen minutes.” He extracted a white hanky with a flourish and sopped up the bit of gunk Melinda left behind on Laine's shoulder.
"Thank you."
He nodded, offering an exaggerated wink just to get under her skin. She couldn't help but laugh.
"My pleasure,” he said, guiding her by the elbow down the narrow hall. “How many attendants does the boo-hoo bride have in there?"
"Eleven maids, four juniors and two flower girls."
Jason's brow arched. “Wow, is this the biggest bridal party you've handled?"
She stole a sidelong glance at Mr. Chit-Chat and rolled her eyes. “Yes, professionally, anyway.” Way to add the qualifier. It was an open invitation. She could have slapped herself.
"That's right, you've got a slew of married sisters. Six? What was the biggest bridal party?"
"Sixteen maids."
"Bet your dad wished he'd had some boys in the mix."
Laine knew he was just trying to fill the dead space, but talking about Malone weddings wasn't the most calming experience for her.
Jason glanced over at her. “You must have had a lot of experience with planning pretty early then. That what got you hooked to make a career of it?"
She ignored the question, trying to will it and the image it conjured—a tear-streaked face vanishing down a distant corridor in a flurry of silk and sobs—out of her mind. At the end of the hall, Jason punched the down button at the bank of elevators.
Swallowing hard, she shook off the memory and forced the practiced smile back to her lips.
Jason stared at her, his clear blue eyes curious and intent.
"What?” she snapped, hitting the already illuminated down button a few more times.
"Nothing, just wondering what was behind that sad look you covered with your stock smile."
Her breath hitched in her throat. It was disconcerting to feel like he saw through whatever façade she put up. How was it that Jason, of all people, would be immune to her pretense? Was it that he saw her more clearly than everyone else, or, more likely, that the playboy/professional was so skilled in the art of masking emotions all her old tricks were transparent to him?
