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With the mansion set up for a magical, woodsy wedding ceremony and reception, I make my way to the restroom to change into my dress. It’s a simple black spaghetti strap dress that I pair with comfortable flats. I style my hair and do my makeup in a professional yet glamorous way. I want to blend in with the wedding so as not to ruin any pictures, should I accidentally get caught in one. As per the contract, I will stay until after the ceremony to ensure the reception is perfect when the bride and groom enter for their first dance. Then, I’ll return at the end of the night to break down the room.
I exit the restroom, and Will is walking with one of my crates.
“Wow,” he says, his hands full, yet he stops in his tracks at the sight of me. “You clean up nice.”
“That expression always confuses me. Was I dirty before?”
A wicked gleam appears in his eyes. “Not touching that one. I want to make a joke, but since you’re my boss, saying it out loud might get me fired.”
I laugh. “Then, you’d better keep your jokes to yourself, mister.” I place my bag on a crate. “I’m going upstairs to get the bridal party. Can you put the rest of the bins in the truck?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
For the next hour, I walk the bride thorough the venue and show her the finished product. She gushes and almost ruins her makeup. I stand her in the lobby and bring the photographer to do a first-look session. The groom waits at the altar as the bride enters. When he turns around, his face has everyone in the room tearing up. I offer Will a tissue, which he refuses with a grunt and then takes it when he thinks I’m not looking.
While the bridal party takes pictures, Will grabs my hand and insists it’s our job to make sure the photo booth is running properly by getting our pictures taken in the most ridiculous poses—me putting him in a headlock, two of us with pouty faces, and him making a muscle and me looking unimpressed.
“One nice one. For the kids,” he insists.
With his hands on my waist, he takes his place behind me. I’m about to crack a joke about how we look like a prom photo gone wrong when he adjusts himself so he’s holding me with both hands, pulling me close, intimate. I rest my head against his chest and become lost in the scent of him and my eyes flutter as the picture is taken.
“I blinked.”
He looks at the preview screen. “You look like you’re a mixture of sniffing me and falling asleep.”
“Shut up, Bronson, and give me your best smolder.”
I hit retake, and the picture we take is frame-worthy.
The ceremony is about to begin when I notice the bride’s train is wrinkled in the back. It’s not my job as a designer, but I’d be a terrible wedding specialist if I didn’t fix the matter. At the same time, a waiter mentions the band has moved the cake table because it was in the way of an amplifier. Not only is the cake table part of the decor, but it’s also holding a three-thousand-dollar designer cake on it.
My heart races at the two small emergencies happening.
Will places a hand on my arm. “Where’s the steamer?”
“In the suitcase of tricks, but that’s a menial task. Just bring the suitcase upstairs. I’ll be up there in a few.”
After some painful negotiations with the wedding band, I’ve settled the floor plan issue and rush to the bridal suite to rescue Will. To my surprise, he is on his knee, carefully steaming the bride’s dress with the assistance of her bridesmaids, who hold up the fabric for him. He’s telling them about how his brother-in-law spilled red wine on his sister’s wedding dress.
“That wasn’t even the worst part of the day. That was when the groom thought it would be funny to sayI don’tinstead of sayingI do.”
“And she still married him?” one of the bridesmaids asks.
“Nine years and four kids later, and they’re really happy. And he hasn’t changed a bit.” He grins and continues his tales as he slowly steams the dress so perfectly that you would think he worked at the dry cleaners.
The wedding is only delayed by fifteen minutes. Will and I stand in the back of the atrium as the couple exchanges their wedding vows. I take some video from my phone to post on social media. I might even get a couple of Will because, well, everyone loves some eye candy.
By the time the bride and groom have their first dance, I’m exhausted and in need of fresh air, which I find on the cobblestone path of the mansion’s courtyard. The stars are luminous with the dark evening sky clear of clouds on this cool autumn night.
I run my hands over my arms and inhale the country air.
“You’re cold,” Will says from the doorway.
“Wasn’t expecting the temperature to drop so much.”
“Here,” he says, taking a step toward me. He doesn’t have a coat to offer. All he has are his hands, which are large, warm, and soothing as he places them on my arms, rubbing them up and down to warm me.
“Thank you.”
