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My heart is in my throat as we approach the mansion. I keep most of my focus on making sure my dress doesn’t drag on the ground, and Elliot carries my other bag. Just looking at it makes my chest tighten. I have to hide the hard drive and the safe cracker in it once I’m clear of the billiard room.
At the front door, we’re greeted by an older woman with deep brown skin and black curls that brush the tops of her shoulders. She gives us a warm yet practiced smile that doesn’t reach her brown eyes. It’s almost identical to the one Aubrey uses when she’s in front of Ludo. “You must be Wren,” she says as she ushers us inside, eyeing Elliot. “And . . .one of your partners?”
“Elliot Hayes.” He shakes hands with her.
“Marceline Stallard,” she replies. “Aubrey’s mother. It’s so nice to finally be able to put faces to your names. Aubrey was quite insistent on adding you to her bridal party, Wren.”
“We hit it off quickly,” I say with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m honored to be here.”
Elliot slips my bag off his shoulder before handing it to me. When he leans in and kisses my cheek, I inhale deeply, letting the familiar smell of sandalwood and oranges wash over me. It soothes something deep inside me, and I exhale slowly.
“I’ll see you in a few hours, love.” His fingers brush against mine. “And just text us if you need us to grab anything for you.”
“Thanks. I love you.”
His breath catches, but then he smiles. I don’t think either of us are used to saying it to each other, let alone hearing it. “I love you, too, Wren. Have fun.”
My chest deflates as the front door closes behind him. I’ve gotten used to the safety that comes with always having one of the guys by my side, and I feel unsteady on my own.
Marceline clears her throat. “I can show you where you girls will be getting ready. You’re the first to arrive, although I’m sure the others won’t be long.”
“Thank you.”
Marceline’s strides are long and quick, like she has important things to get to. I wonder if it’s because today is her daughter’s wedding or if she’s always like this.
As she leads me through the mansion, I try to match up the layout with the images of the blueprints that are burned into my mind. It’s different in real life than it is on paper, but I’m able to gain my bearings within a minute.
Marceline takes me through the ballroom, which is all set up with a large dance floor, a bridal party table that’s front and center, and a bar in one corner. There are a couple people who seem to be working on final touches, and Marceline gives them cordial nods as we pass through.
Just as we’re halfway through the room, a few people come in carrying large floral arrangements. They’re beautifully done, a mixture of light pink peonies, eucalyptus, and other flowers I don’t recognize. Light pink ribbon is wrapped around the vases and tied off in neat little bows.
Marceline stops short. “What are these?”
“The table centerpieces, ma’am,” a woman replies as she sets the arrangement in the middle of one of the dining tables.
“But they’repink.”
“Yes, ma’am. The bride requested pink peonies specifically.”
“Oh, for the love of god,” Marceline mutters before marching toward the other end of the ballroom.
I rush to keep up, only stopping once Marceline has led me into a side room. Inside, there are a few couches, a table laid out with pastries and drinks, and a vanity with a large mirror attached to it.
When Aubrey sees me, she immediately gets up from her spot on one of the couches. Tossing her phone on the table, she throws her arms around me. “I’m so glad you’re here. Thanks for keeping an eye out, Mom.”
“Aubrey,” Marceline says before I can get a word in. “The table centerpieces.”
“Oh, I know! Aren’t they gorgeous? They turned out even better than I thought they would.”
“We talked about this, dear. You need to be careful with the pink.”
Aubrey rolls her eyes at me like she’s heard that phrase a thousand times before. “I like pink.”
“You have to think about yourreputation,”Marceline says in an almost scolding tone. “Pink doesn’t convey power. It doesn’t demonstrate professionalism or trustworthiness or strength.”
“Mom! This is my wedding, not a work event. Seriously?”
“Our clients will be here. Our partners, too. I thought we agreed that your wedding would be the start of a new era for you. One of maturity and respectability. Pink is a beautiful color, but you have to think about how people will perceive you. Our potential clients don’t want a sweet girl who loves frills and champagne; they want a fierce woman who’ll fight for them and take their problems seriously.”
