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The wedding colors were cream and a delicate, pale mauve. Even the chairs set out in front of the flower-festooned altar by the lake had mauve frames with circular backs with interesting swirls built in and cream covered seats.
Temporary decking beyond what was already out there had been erected so there was plenty of room to stand and chat without sinking into dirt. There were also some tables and chairs set up where folks could sit, and high tops where they could stand or set down their drinks. I spied two bars already operating, and from what I could tell by the booze stock behind them, they’d make pretty much anything you wanted. But I knew they were featuring the day’s signature drink: a pink lady.
There was even more decking where the ceremony would take place. Leading to it was a walkway replete with mauve planters erupting with poofs of cream and mauve flowers lining the length.
Another walkway led farther afield, where a massive, gossamer mauve overhang was beautifully draped and swagged over where the reception was to be held. It, too, was heavily decorated in flowers (as were the round tables set up under it).
And even though the sun was shining, you could see the charm and romance of the expertly placed fairy lights and lighting features that had already been lit to decorate the reception space and all around the trees that lined the clearing.
There weren’t that many people invited, I’d been surprised to learn. Just two hundred and fifty. Partly because Chloe and Judge wanted it kept a secret, and the more people invited, the less likely that would be. But also, because they wanted it intimate and didn’t want to feel like they were hosting a state dinner. They wanted to be able to really share their day with the people who were closest to their hearts.
I knew this because Chloe told me herself last night at the rehearsal dinner.
I wandered to the edge of the decking in my high-heeled, blue sandals, grateful I got the dress right: not casual, not formal, not evening—something five steps up from casual, but one step down from formal that was just perfect.
It was a striking pattern of navy and lapis flowers and fronds printed on a cream background with a crisscross bodice that led into a halter neck which left a demure cutaway between my breasts. It sported a statement tie belt in the same fabric and tiers of feminine, flirty ruffles making up the long skirt.
My shoulders were bare, and it was May in the mountains, so it was a little chilly. But those mountains were in Arizona, so it wasn’t uncomfortable, and I saw the cleverly disguised heating implements that they’d be firing up when the sun went down.
I sipped champagne and looked around, noting many famous faces, including Teddy Mankowitz, celebrated actress Fiona Remington, and sought-after stylist to the stars, Wyn Gastineau with her extortionately handsome husband, the award-winning architect, Remy.
It wasn’t a workday for me, but that didn’t mean I could turn my mind off about it, and I was going to introduce myself to Wyn. She’d be an amazing interview, considering how she’d put her career on pause to raise their kids, then went back, and now was slaying it, arguably the top in her field.
However, one of those famous faces wasn’t Hale’s, because he was a groomsman, so he was somewhere with Judge.
Taking it all in, I tried to imagine what the budget was for this shindig. Just the flowers had to cost more than what Dad and Mom had socked away for me. A lot more.
One of the official photographers came up to me and requested, “Photo, please.”
I tucked my bag under my arm and blew the camera a kiss.
The photographer smiled when the snap was taken, and then she wandered away.
I didn’t really know anyone, but I didn’t mind. I could people watch forever. It was my superpower.
But eventually, the dulcet tones of some tinkly chimes sounded, alerting the crowd it was close to time for the festivities to begin, so folks started gravitating toward the mauve seats by the lake. I took the final sip of champagne, set the glass aside and headed that way.
Duncan’s ridiculously good-looking sons, Sullivan and Gage, were acting as ushers, and Gage was at the top of the aisle when I arrived.
“I think I’m Chloe’s side,” I noted, taking hold of his arm.
“I know where you go,” he replied.
“I hope you don’t have allergies,” I quipped as we walked down the aisle that had a planter bursting with flowers at the end of each row, not to mention, the altar had eight plinths, four on each side, each topped with massive urns sporting huge bouquets.
And then there was the square arch that was so thick with flowers, it was a miracle of construction.
“Coco went loco. She also went local. The florist is one of my bud’s moms. She said she can retire now and buy the boat she always wanted,” Gage joked in return.
I was laughing as he walked me right up to the very front, and motioned to a chair four seats from the aisle.
I looked anxiously at him. “Gage, I don’t—”
“Coco’s decree, and hear me now, thank me later, you don’t go against Coco.”
I nodded dazedly at him and sat, my hands trembling a little bit because of what my placement said.
It wasn’t about the people sitting there watching me being seated in the family section.
