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“Take whatever you need,” Larry insists. “Courtesy of the happy couple, of course.”
Well, in that case…
Larry leaves me to browse the racks, while I try to pick someone vaguely appropriate for the dinner tonight – and, you know, my non-celebrity body. Avery was right earlier about the way I dress: I may design elaborate sets, but I prefer to keep my own clothing simple, especially when I’m on the job. Black jeans, black T-shirt, a black bomber jacket when things get chilly… I like to blend into the background and let my work speak for itself, but that doesn’t look like a choice for me now. It’s all wisps of designer silk mini dresses and bold-print parachute pants, but I manage to find a few tasteful silk sets, in chic shades of navy and cream.
I’m just heading back to my room again, when I notice a couple of the Danish minions setting up for the welcome cocktails, assembling a floral backdrop by the pool.
Ablackfloral backdrop.
I panic. “Excuse me!” I call, dropping my shopping bags and detouring across the pool deck. “Did you run those colors past the bride? Because there seems to be a teeny-tiny mistake. Well, a big one.” I grab the nearest bouquet, hoping it’s just a trick of the light, and they’re really dark violet, or midnight sky, perhaps…
But nope. They’re black. Goth black.Addams Familyblack.
Black like the scowl of fury Avery is going to be sending in my direction if she ever lays eyes on this morbid display.
“This is the design,” the minion says, scowling. “I’m under orders.”
He grabs the bouquet back. “Well, there’s been a change of plan,” I insist, holding on tight in our floral tug-of-way. “So let’s just take these down and?—"
“Hey, it’s you.”
A Tennessee twang from behind me makes me startle. I whirl around, yelping in surprise when I find myself face-to-face with…
Him.
It’s the man from the airport. Mr. Not-So-Wrong… looking awfully right in jeans and a casual white T-shirt; his dark hair tousled, and two-day stubble on his sharp, gorgeous jaw.
Here. At the wedding.
“So, did you manage to find those butterflies?” he asks, giving me a warm, teasing grin that makes my mind go blank.
“I…. how… huh?” I manage to blurt. Then, suddenly, the minion releases his hold on the bouquet.
Off-balance, I stumble back…
…Right onto a wet, slippery patch of tile.
I slip. I skid. My arms slice the air in a desperate pinwheel. But it’s no use. Gravity takes over, pulling me down, right towards the edge of the pool.
SPLASH!
3
HAZEL
There’sno elegant way to try not to drown.
“Umph! Bleugh! Aiiii!” I splash, and huff, and kick around wildly, flailing for dear life – until my feet hit the ground, and I realize I’m in four feet of water, and can easily stand.
Sheepishly, I break the surface, praying that Mr. Not-So-Wrong didn’t catch my humiliating plunge.Maybe he was struck blind. Maybe he was so transfixed by the morbid florals that my humiliating swim escaped him?—
“You need a hand?”
Nope. When I wipe water from my eyes, I see he’s leaning out over the edge of the pool, looking like he’s about to dive in and save me.
“Thanks! I’m good!” I force a bright smile, wading slowly to the steps. “It’s refreshing, actually. Nice and cool!”
I haul myself out of the water, drenched and dripping.
