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“It’s a tick past the hour.” Davina admires her diamond-encrusted watch. “You’re not late at all. And Isobel gets paid to wait when we are.”
I blink. It seems rather rude.
“Holly, the whole point of a bridal consultant is to take care of all the little details. Their idea of a glitch and yours is very different. I’ve worked with Isobel on several occasions. She’s padded those extra thirty seconds it took you to leave Sweet Caroline’s into her fees along with the ten—make that twenty—minutes late you’ll arrive to the ceremony. She’s a professional. This is her job.”
It’s only after explaining that Davina hurries us into the storefront.
“It feels like a lot for a little wedding,” I whimper.
“I know it’s your big day, but I’m hoping it’s also the only one my son has. I can’t help wanting to do it right for both of you. Little… or big,” she tacks on, hoping I’ve missed the comment.
“But we don’t need anything ostentatious.”
“You don’t know what you want until you see what you can have, now do you? You didn’t know Cary was what you needed.” She points out.
“I’m not marrying Cary for his money.”
“Who said you were? And who said I wasn’t footing the entire bill to make my son happy because you make him happy and that’s whatIneed?”
I swallow. It took a lot to get comfortable when my friends showered me with attention today. This makes me uncomfortable.
We stand in a greeting area surrounded by swaths of beads and crystal chandeliers. It’s all very elegant, but not me by any stretch. I’m out of my element.
About the time I snicker to Laurel that Isobel makes me look punctual, she appears as if gliding on ice. She’s a tad older than Cary’s mom and fuck if her ass doesn’t have southern pedigree branded on it likeXavier Robertsstamped his name on a Cabbage Patch Kid. How do I know? Because I serve the husbands of women like Isobel at the bar.
Isobel takes Davina’s hands in hers, air-kissing her cheeks, and exchanging pleasantries. I’m itching for introductions to be over so we can get the heck out of this place. It’s giving me hives.
My sister shrugs, capturing Isobel’s attention. The wedding planner dismisses me and focuses on Laurel, whose lack of full-body tattoo, a bra that conceals her headlamps, and slightly more conservative appearance today matches the rosewater aura of the office. Though, Isobel’s genial smile slips recognizing Laurel is not a twenty-something coed sporting a flirty ponytail and carrying thousands of social media followers on her cell with the propensity to drive more business her way.
Okay, so late-summer pinup couture isoutalong with my six followers.
I blow out a breath, glancing away. Cary and I could have a backyard wedding? Have it up on stage at Sweet Carolines.In the alley where he first showed me I was more to him?Anywhere but the cliffside this woman wants to punt me from.
“Holly’s our bride-to-be.” Davina acknowledges Isobel’s apprehension in assuming which of us is marrying into the family.
Isobel looks at me like I’m the before image ofSandra BullockinMiss Congeniality.
I may dress differently, but I’m notthatbad. And I’m older than Cary, but I’m notthatold. I don’t like how Isobel has my hackles up, or how my fists scrunch defensively like I want to take a swing at her. However, I won’t embarrass Davina by causing a scene, so I bite my tongue and play nice.
I can tell Cary we don’t suit later. I mean Isobel and me, not him and me.
“Let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? How many guests are you expecting?” Isobel settles us at a round table stacked with thick binders of swatches and samples. There are flutes of champagne and a small bottle open on a sterling silver tray that we are encouraged to take.
“I’m not sure Holly and Cary have gotten that far yet, but they’d like to do something outdoors. A tent large enough for two hundred will be sufficient.” Davina tilts her glass to sip from.
Two-hundred?I mouth to Laurel. “I don’t know that many people.”
“I do, but it also doesn’t matter.” Davina insists.
“Do you have a location in mind?”
“No,” Davina says, not suggesting anything further or asking me for input.
I take it finding potential places is Isobel’s duty.
“And you are positive about February the fourteenth? Colors? While it’s not spring yet, a soft pastel palette is acceptable. There are lovely trends; heart-shaped macaroons in pinks and teals. Perhaps a Parisian theme?”
For once, Davina defers to me.
