AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Carrie’s jaw tightened and for a moment Jaclyn thought she’d jump up and physically attack her. Carrie really didn’t like not getting her way. Oh, the poor vendors who were still to come. If she could have warned them away, she would have, but this roller coaster was already going downhill; all she could do was hold on.
Chapter Six
CARRIE STARED STONE-FACED AT THE TABLE BEFORE HER, which was littered with the remnants of samples: cake samples, the remnants of shrimp and scallop kabobs, beef kabobs, lamb kabobs, meatball kabobs. Meatballs. As if she’d ever allow anything so low class at her wedding. They’d been good, as far as that went, but a meatball was still a meatball, no matter how fancy the spices or what kind of meat was used. It could have been an exotic blend of eel and emu, for all she cared; it would still have been a meatball.
“Forget the meatballs,” she said curtly. “I don’t know what you were thinking, bringing them. This isn’t some tacky middle-class wedding where half the women are wearing black hosiery with white shoes.”
“The meatballs are my most requested item,” replied the caterer, a thin, almost masculine-looking woman with short, iron gray hair and a stern face. “But they are the most expensive, because they’re so difficult to make; most people opt for the more economical choices.”
It was all Carrie could do to keep from slapping the bitch. Belatedly she sneaked a glance at the price sheet to make certain the woman wasn’t lying to her, and it was right there in black on heavy cream paper: the meatballs were a third again more expensive than even the shrimp and scallop kabobs. And now she was stuck with the cheap choices, because there was no way she could back down; the only thing she could do was go with something even more expensive, in total, than the meatballs would have been.
“I want three different kinds: the scallops, the lamb, and the beef. That way my guests will have a real choice.”
She wasn’t worried about the money, anyway; Sean’s family was footing most of the bill, because no way could her own parents afford this kind of splash. They were contributing, of course; she refused to let her future mother-in-law think she was a freeloader. For the moment, they were on good terms, and Carrie intended to keep it that way for the time being. Later … who knew?
The caterer didn’t comment on Carrie’s choices, merely made notes, which irritated Carrie even more because the least the woman—and she used the term loosely—could do was say something like Excellent choice. Maybe she should tell the wedding planner to find a different caterer, but, really, Jaclyn was turning difficult about doing as she was told and she’d probably say something about all the really good caterers being booked months in advance.
She wanted to have the wedding of the year; she wanted to have the wedding that every other upcoming bride talked about, enviously, when planning her own wedding. It was frustrating that no one seemed to share her vision of something both stylish and exotic, outlandishly expensive but tasteful enough that no one made fun of her choices, and it was also damned frustrating that so many people seemed determined to let other people shine on the one day when only she was supposed to shine.
Take the bridesmaids’ dresses. Yes, she’d deliberately chosen a style just tacky enough that none of them would come even close to being attractive when posing beside her, but not so tacky that any of them would rebel—well, except for that bitch Taite, but she’d thrown a tantrum because of something else entirely, completely unrelated to the wedding. She would be taken care of when the wedding was over and Carrie had more time; in fact, the first steps of Taite’s comeuppance had already been taken, and Carrie couldn’t be more pleased with the results.
She enjoyed the different reactions she got from people when they found out just what they were up against when dealing with her. Most people were spineless wimps; they simply folded when faced with her greater will, which was fine with her; they were less trouble to deal with. And they amused her, seeing how they got upset, how their feelings were hurt, how they’d scramble to keep from upsetting her again.
The truth was, Carrie was almost never upset, because that would mean she cared. And she didn’t, at least not in any emotional wa
y. She cared about the image she projected, she cared that things were done the way she wanted them done. She wanted what she wanted, when she wanted it, but while her behavior might be over-the-top, inside she was cool and calculating, watching every reaction, judging the best way to get her way.
If Sean’s father won his election to the U.S. Senate, she was set for life. She had the money angle already taken care of, but an entrance to the D.C. social life was almost more than she could have hoped for. Once she was there, and entrenched, she might or might not keep Sean around, depending on the opportunities that came her way, but for right now he was just what she needed. And he was good-natured, which meant he was easy for her to manipulate.
Sean’s mother, Fayre (pronounced “Fair,” and wasn’t that as pretentious as all hell?) Maywell Johnston Dennison, used all four names just often enough to remind people that she was from the Johnston and Maywell families, before marrying Douglas Dennison and working to help his political star rise through local and state governments to now reach the national level. Mrs. Dennison was a calm woman, but Carrie didn’t underestimate her. She was the power behind the throne, the source of the money. Eventually Carrie would have to find a way to neutralize the woman, but for right now she was useful in other ways.
First, though, she had to get through all the annoyances this wedding was throwing at her. The table was too small for all the samples being presented; you’d think this place would be better prepared to accommodate her. The little table had gotten so crowded, she’d moved the wedding planner’s briefcase a while back, shoving it under the table. That briefcase wasn’t the only thing on the floor. Discarded ribbon and fabric samples had been dropped to the side, dismissed, unimportant. It wasn’t as if she was going to clean up the mess.
Overall, she was unhappy with everything, but the dress situation ate at her. When she’d first visualized the colors, pink sashes on the gray dresses had seemed so cool and stylish, but now she thought pink was more froufrou than sophisticated, and the line of gray just seemed dull. Bishop Delaney, the floral designer, hadn’t helped; he’d shrugged and said that his personal choice would have been dark gray dresses with bloodred flowers, but the pink sashes prevented that particular combination and now that the wretched dressmaker had simply quit, there was no way to get anyone else lined up in time to get the color of the sashes changed to teal, or even gray to match the dresses. Why couldn’t he have said something about the gray and red combination at the very beginning? Now she was stuck with the pink, and that made her so angry she wanted to take scissors and slash something, preferably Wretched Gretchen, the seamstress, but if Jaclyn didn’t fall in line soon she might make an acceptable substitute.
If she’d been in a better mood she might have enjoyed the spectacle of all these people gathered to try to please her, but the situation with the dresses had soured the day for her. She had to deal with the veil-maker and the pastry chef, choose the band’s set list, and everyone was saying she had to make her selections now because time was running out and they had other obligations that would prevent them from doing so and so, blah blah blah, all these endless excuses for not doing things her way.
After the wedding, she’d start dropping comments about how incompetent they all had been. Let them see how they liked it when their business fell off. And the one she would talk the most about would be Premier. Everyone had said Premier had the most cachet of any event planner in the area, and of course their Buckhead location made them even more desirable, but Jaclyn Wilde had turned out to be a real pain in the ass, because she kept taking the side of the nitwits who said they couldn’t do what Carrie wanted. Jaclyn was supposed to make it all happen, and not take any excuses; instead she’d been a complete failure at helping make this wedding the vision it should be.
The veil-maker, a short, plump Hispanic woman named Estefani, laid out her book with photographs of the headpieces, ranging from simple bands to ornate tiaras, along with fabric samples. Who knew there were so many options for veils, ranging from net to gossamer film that was so light it almost floated? “All of these are boring,” she said pushing the book away. “Don’t you have something with flair? Black, maybe?” Her wedding dress had a thin black ribbon running just under the bustline, so black wasn’t completely out of the ballpark, but of course she’d never go with a black veil. Watching the woman’s eyes round with horror, watching her try to control her expression, was amusing enough that she might let the idea run for a while, just to keep things stirred up, before settling on something more classic. She wasn’t joking, however, about the tiaras. They all looked like beauty-pageant fare, and what she had in mind was more European royalty.
“Black?” Estefani said, her voice faltering. “With the white dress?”
“Yes, with the white dress,” Carrie snarled, rejoicing inside because Estefani had risen to the bait. At least now she had a target. “Are all of you people so simpleminded that you can’t see beyond what you’ve always done?”
To her surprise, Estefani’s shoulders stiffened, and her brown eyes flashed. “I am not simpleminded. I have good taste.”
“Meaning I don’t?” Carrie demanded, hardening her tone and narrowing her eyes. Before she could launch into a more blistering attack, though, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number display, intending to let the phone ring, but she saw it was Sean and she held up one finger for Estefani to wait. She took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her face, and answered in a sweet voice.
“Hi, honey.”
Sean was cute, rich, and gullible. What more could a woman ask for in a husband? For now, she let him have his way in almost everything, but that would change after the wedding. Once she walked down the aisle, she’d be in the driver’s seat. Actually, she already was; getting Sean to propose had been the first big step, but just yesterday she’d taken the second step, the money step. Things were working out just as she’d planned.
Sean was planning the honeymoon. It kept him busy, and out of her hair, and he was excited about being in charge and giving her the perfect honeymoon. Thank goodness he took her hints to heart. He was taking care of the last details today, and wanted her opinion. She simply agreed with everything he said, smiling the whole time because the smile was part of the persona she’d created to catch and keep Sean. Physically smiling changed the tone of her voice, kept it light and sweet.
She glanced up to find the wedding planner and the veil-maker staring at her as if she’d sprouted another head. Piss on ’em. Soon she wouldn’t have any need of them. She listened to Sean’s plans, laughed as if he were saying things that were either witty or amusing, told him how wonderful he was and how much she loved him, all the usual bullshit.
As she and Sean talked, she watched Jaclyn and Estefani move across the room, where they huddled with Bishop Delaney and Audrey Whisenant, the pastry chef. The caterer, Irena, stood off to the side making notes and didn’t join them, but the reception hall manager—Melissa somebody—walked over to add her two cents’ worth of nonsense. Carrie couldn’t hear what they were saying; she had to concentrate on Sean, who kept rattling on even though he’d already covered the reasons why he’d called, but from the look Estefani threw at her Carrie knew they were talking about her. Jaclyn’s tone was soothing, which meant she was probably telling them she’d deflect Carrie’s complaints.
