Ready to Wed (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

At the end of anger management, right before Ron signed off on the course, he’d challenged us to try to befriend someone who’d wronged us. He warned us it wouldn’t be easy, and if we felt violent urges, we’d need to remove ourselves from the situation. Apparently if I got to know Phoebe, I’d be less likely to attribute malicious intent or my problems to her.

Color me doubtful, but I’d made an action item on my to-do list to attempt a decent conversation, and on my way to talk to Tess, I figured I might as well start the process. So when I neared her desk, I propped up the corners of my mouth in a smile and said, “Hi, Phoebe.”

Her eyes widened as she spun her chair around. She scrambled for her phone and held it up like a weapon. “What do you want?”

When she’d acted like she was scared of me all those weeks ago, I’d thought she was putting on a show, but she did appear to be frightened by me now. I couldn’t help get a pinch of satisfaction over that, although it wasn’t exactly helpful on the befriending front. “I was simply saying hi. How’re the Vegas social circles? Spy any cool people lately?”

She lowered her phone a fraction of an inch. “You’ll have to read my column to see.”

“Can’t wait.”

She eyed me like she didn’t trust the niceness, and I forced my lips to lift even further. There’d be no hair braiding, but there wouldn’t be any hair pulling, either—not that I did the catfight thing. I’d spent far too many years hanging out with boys. But Phoebe looked like a hair puller. I figured maybe even this goodwill attempt would keep my name out of her column.

A couple waves and nods to the rest of the people working away at their desks, and then I continued to Tess’s office. I knocked on her open door to announce myself. “Ready for our meeting?”

“Yes, yes. Close the door and have a seat.” Tess held up a large manila envelope, so full the sides were bulging. “Do you know what this is?”

“No idea.”

“It’s letters to the editor.”

“People still write letters?”

“Some do. I get a lot of emails, too. But these”—she tossed the envelope across the desk—“are responses from your column. I printed out the emails and put them in there, too. I thought you should see what people are saying.”

I pinched the corner and lifted it like it might bite me. “I’m not sure I wanna know.”

“Trust me, you do. There were only a couple of mean ones, and I didn’t include them,” Tess said.

How reassuring.

Tess picked up a pen and tapped it against her desk. “You struck a nerve. People relate to breakups, to hurting. To trying to pick themselves back up. I knew it’d be popular, but even I underestimated the response—we got hits from all over the country.”

All over the country? Whoa.

Come to think of it, things had been busier at the Ready to Wed office lately, with lots of referrals calling in. “Thanks for pushing me to do it.” I still wasn’t 100 percent sure I’d enjoyed opening up, but it had been cathartic, even with the “feeling naked and exposed” freak-out. Plus, it was helping me open up with Brendan. Thanks to the VIP clients he’d been doing security for all week, phone conversations and the one dinner we’d snuck in at Terra, the restaurant in Aces, were our only interactions. The clients were set to go home on Saturday, though. I just had to get through the Jones/Taylor wedding and then Brendan and I would both have our entire Sunday free to spend together. I was pretty sure I knew how we were going to spend it, too, and I was counting down the hours.

I hugged the envelope to my chest, thinking I’d read all the letters tonight, Cupid by my side, a cheesy romance movie on in the background. It was scheduled in and everything. Originally I thought I’d cry and feel sorry for myself through romance movies from here on out, but now that my faith in love was restored, I was ready to watch fictional people fall in love. As long as the
M
word wasn’t involved, because I was spending way too much time stressing over it, regardless of telling myself to knock it off.

“I look forward to your next column,” Tess said. “You can keep it fun and light most of the time, but remember the impact of a well-placed one that goes a little deeper. You’re practically famous around these parts, after all.”

I laughed at that, but thanked her anyway.

I was steps away from the bright afternoon sunshine when Phoebe cut me off. “I hear you’re dating one of the security personnel from the new Aces Casino now. Apparently he’s Mr. Maddox’s right-hand man, too?”

My gaze homed in on her iPhone, held at the ready, no doubt recording this. I’d tried to be nice, and now she was taking advantage of that so she could get dirt for her column. Dang Ron and his challenge.

“I decline to comment on my personal life, Phoebe.”

“Guess I’ll just have to dig the old-fashioned way, then. Wonder what I’ll find? What people will say about you two?”

No one knew much about our relationship. I supposed Jillian, my dad, and the people Brendan worked with were the most informed, but they wouldn’t talk about it. Then again, I didn’t exactly want Phoebe tailing us in some pathetic attempt to get a scoop that wasn’t there.

“You know what’s really unfair?” Phoebe asked, and I raised my eyebrows, too scared to ask what, but not wanting to break up the nice-fest if it was actually happening. “I thought you’d finally be taken down a notch.”

Guess I don’t need to break out the nice-fest balloons after all.

Phoebe shook her head. “But you just move on like nothing happened. Find another guy like
that
.” She snapped her fingers. I wanted to tell her it involved being nice to people, but then actual tears filled her eyes. “You think I like covering everyone else’s relationships? That I don’t want one of my own? Do you know how hard it is?”

Well, this conversation skipped all the other colors and went right to WTF Fuchsia.
Usually people ramped up to it. I’d never seen a flip quite like this before, but if there was anything I was equipped to deal with, it was a breakdown over love.

This would be the point I hugged my brides, but I thought Phoebe might slap a sexual harassment lawsuit on me or something if I attempted it, so I lightly patted her shoulder. “I know tons of guys who’d love to go out with you.” If she attended any wedding, pretty much anywhere, groomsmen would be on her like white on the rice tossed at the departing couple. “You go to the hottest clubs in the city. Everyone knows who you are. You’re successful.”

“Not as successful as you,” she shot back, then punctuated it with a sniff and chin quiver.

Really? Not just an ounce of niceness while I’m trying to console you?

“Which is probably why Grant chose you,” she added.

Now the conversation was seriously giving me whiplash. “Grant? What does this have to do with him?”

“He and I dated. I thought things were going well, and then he just stopped returning my calls. Next thing I know, he’s with you. When I confronted him in person, he told me that it hadn’t even been an official relationship, and I needed to move on. He even offered to set me up on a pity date, like I couldn’t get my own. So yeah, you win. At work and at love. Congratulations.”

For a moment I could only stare. I didn’t want to think about Phoebe and Grant, or the fact that he’d clearly kept that from me on purpose, but at least she’d made it pretty clear it’d been before he and I got together. Whenever I used to talk about her, I thought he’d just flinched because he knew I was going to go on a rant. I briefly wondered if it would’ve been easier to dump him right away if I’d known, but then I thought it was better that pettiness or who he’d dated in the past weren’t responsible for our parting. It was about knowing he wasn’t right for me, and the fact that he hadn’t been completely honest with me about more than just finding out he might have a son proved it.

Next order of business: figure out what to say to the now-crying Phoebe. Apparently she wasn’t made of stone. “Look, love’s not a competition. Even at work, it’s not like you and I are opponents. There’s no reason to compete with me—you can have it.”

“I don’t want to just have it. I want to
win
it.” She narrowed her eyes and I saw a flash of her usual self. She looked away for a few seconds and when she turned back, her sad, woe-is-me look was back. It didn’t seem false, but more like she didn’t know how to wield it. “You know how well liked I am? My ride didn’t even show to pick me up like she promised. My car’s in the shop, and not only is she thirty minutes late, she won’t even answer my calls.” Phoebe stared for several seconds out the glass door I was dying to walk through, then looked at me. My muscles automatically tensed, bracing for her next comment. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I would appreciate it if you could give me a ride home.”

The urge to tell her I’d rather pay for her cab fare than take her myself was strong, but I took one of those deep, cleansing breaths that were all the rage, telling myself this was progress. “Of course.”

She’d actually been almost decent to me, but it was her statement “I want to win it” that scared me. It felt like more of a challenge. Bitchy Phoebe I could deal with—even control my temper around, thanks in part to anger management classes. But vulnerable Phoebe freaked me the hell out.

As we headed to my car, I said, “I didn’t just find another guy, you know. Like I said in my column, I was hurt when Grant stood me up at the altar. I was planning on waiting to date, but when a good guy comes into your life, you thank your lucky stars, not tell him he has to wait. And we’ve been friends for a long time, too, so it’s not like he’s just some guy I barely met.”

“So is it serious, then? Is he the one?”

Alarms screeched in my head. Regardless of her fragile state, I had to be careful. While just the thought of Brendan was enough to cause ecstatic happiness to tumble through me, I didn’t want him reading that I was talking about us like we were super serious and having him feel the need to run in the other direction. If only I hadn’t agreed so enthusiastically with his stance against relationships that night at the theater, I wouldn’t be so afraid for him to find out how hard I was already falling for him.

Me and my big mouth.

We got into my car, and Phoebe turned to me, clearly expecting a response. “He’s the one for right now,” I slowly answered, measuring every word.

The ride passed in silence, only the music from the radio filling the air. When we got to her house, Phoebe started out of the car, and then abruptly turned around. “Thank you, Dakota.” She gave me an almost-smile and then closed the door.

I stared after her as she climbed the stairs to her condo, feeling a bit like I’d just made a deal with the devil, and wondering if I’d accidentally signed away something I wanted to keep.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Get Ready to Wed
by Dakota Halifax

Playing With Fire

Candles seem to be all the rage these days. And why not? Candles have been linked with romance for centuries. You know what’s the opposite of romantic, though? Seeing your wedding go up in flames. If you choose this route (the candles, not the up-in-flames part), keep a close watch and have plenty of water and fire extinguishers. Also, think about things like curling irons left on, irons you used on your dress or tux, and any other item that might start a potential fire. For fireworks, which are also a big hit at weddings, you’ll need to look into the legality of lighting them off. Sometimes it’s a no-go, and sometimes a send-off with sparklers is a nice, low-key, and low-cost option.

Fires are dangerous, and I’d like you to remember that there are other options, such as battery-operated candles and white lights. No matter what you decide, though, you still need to be prepared. Wedding rule number one—I know, I make every rule number one, but who can keep track of all of them and, honestly, whatever’s going wrong in the moment feels like number one. So, ahem,
Rule Number One
: if it can go wrong, it probably will, so being prepared will make the entire day run smoothly. I’d like to give a shout-out to our local firefighters, who’ve saved me several times with their quick responses.

As for a different kind of playing with fire, I’d like to give a not-so-honorable mention to being stupid at bachelor and bachelorette parties. Do you really think a room full of semi-wasted people can keep a secret?
Really?
Well, spoiler alert, they can’t. That whole “what happens here, stays here” motto has made some of us a bit overly confident in our indiscretions. So I’m here to break the devastating news that it’s a Vegas urban legend, and what happens at those parties can—and often does—follow you around like the Ghost of Strip Clubs Past.

Don’t do anything you wouldn’t want your significant other to see, hear about, or do. It’s been the demise of several cute and loving couples, and it could happen to you. It must not have been meant to be, you might argue, but if you ask me, it’s just playing with fire. You don’t send a drug addict to pick up your prescriptions, so don’t put yourself in a situation you can’t handle, especially while inebriated. A fleeting moment of debauchery while your friends egg you on isn’t worth ruining your future with someone who loves you. So be smart or you might just end up burned.

…

“It’s fitting that she wants three hundred and sixteen candles,” Jillian said, “because her bridesmaids’ dresses look very Sixteen Candles.” She lifted the frothy pink ruffled dress that I’d draped over a bench. It’d taken some extra fabric, innovation, and a lot of swearing from a tailor and me, but hopefully the dress would fit the now-pregnant bridesmaid. Why she’d waited three days before the ceremony to see if it still fit—only to discover it didn’t zip up all the way anymore—I had no idea. Apparently it was all part of trying to keep the first part of her pregnancy secret, although she’d spilled the beans to her friends a few weeks ago.

“
Sixteen Candles
was Kara’s inspiration, actually,” I said. “We even duplicated a floral headpiece from the movie for her flower girl.”

Since Jillian was all set on the catering end, I’d roped her into helping me place candles around the front of the chapel. It should’ve been done yesterday, but the monogramed candles got held up in Saint George, Utah. All three hundred and sixteen of them, one for each day Kara and Jack were together before he popped the question. So I’d left at six in the morning, driven to Saint George, and buzzed back here. All kinds of fun, let me tell you. This wedding was hell-bent on falling apart, just like I was hell-bent on not letting it.

All I’ve got to do is make it to tonight.
Brendan was supposed to be done basically babysitting his VIP clients tonight, and I couldn’t wait to curl up on the couch with him. Or, if either of us had the energy, maybe do something that required less clothing and more cardio.

I pictured us cuddling, how we’d exchange details about our days and listen if either one of us needed to vent. There’d be a few jokes in the mix, then his eyes would darken and he’d flash me the seductive smile I couldn’t resist. My pulse skittered as I thought of undoing the buttons he hadn’t gotten to yet, and the way his hands would grip my thighs and pull me closer, and an intoxicating mix of desire and affection flooded my veins.

The crunch of tires on gravel pulled me out of the pleasant scene going on in my head. Doors slammed, and then words carried in on the wind, snippets here and there about getting ready and asking if anyone knew where Elise was. Elise was the pregnant bridesmaid, so I made a mental note to find her if they hadn’t in the next few minutes.

Kara came into the chapel, blond hair in rollers, wearing yoga pants and a tank top with the word
bride
across the chest in rhinestones. She scanned the candles that’d besieged the floor. “You got them! Oh, thank you so much!” The exuberant hug she attacked me with caused me to stumble and knock over a few of the candles near my feet. “I always wanted candles. It’s just like I pictured when I was a little girl!”

A moment ago, I’d been inwardly grumbling about impossible demands, three hours’ worth of driving, and an exact number of candles. But with Kara hugging me, the wonder in her voice, I got that tingly fairy-godmother-granting-wishes sensation. My hope had been slowly working its way back to fighting shape, but I worried I’d never get that excitement for another one of my brides. I was glad it’d shown up for Kara. She’d loved
Sixteen Candles
as a little girl, and she said that Jack was the type of guy she never thought she’d get. He adored her, in addition to being quite wealthy, and said she could have whatever wedding she wanted. She’d chosen low-key in a chapel, her biggest demand candles. And when her bridesmaid had announced she was expecting at Kara’s bridal shower, something I’d seen brides fly off the handle for, Kara had cried tears of joy for her friend.

She pulled back, her eyes glistening. “Can you believe I’m getting married today? For a while there, it seemed like it’d never actually get here.”

“I’m so happy for you,” I said, genuinely meaning it. The rest of her family and bridesmaids came into the chapel, all except the mother-to-be.

“Still no Elise?” Kara asked her maid of honor, who shook her head.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’ll try to get a hold of her. You go start getting ready.”

“Okay. Apparently she spent most of the morning puking—morning sickness. Said she thought it’d be gone by the time we got here. Last I heard she was going to be about ten minutes late, but she’s not answering her phone.” Thanks to the dress debacle, I had all of her numbers, not to mention her address if it came down to it.

Raquel came in, her boxes of hair supplies in hand. I waved at her. “You guys are all set up for hair in the back room. I’ll get the 411 on Elise and let you know what’s going on. Don’t worry.” I gave Kara a reassuring squeeze, along with a smile to match. “Everything’s going to be perfect.”

…

One hour later, I wasn’t so sure it was going to be perfect. Every time a guest came into the chapel, a gust of wind would extinguish several candles. I’d already singed the hair on my arms, along with the hem of my skirt, while reaching and stepping over the sea of lit wicks. It was why I’d suggested battery-powered over open flame, but I could tell from the crestfallen look on Kara’s face that she’d wanted the real thing. So I tiptoed through the burning maze once more, lit the smoking candles again, and hoped no more guests would arrive.

Then there was the fact that Elise was three shades of green and hadn’t stopped puking since she’d arrived. The dress fit though, so…yay?

Jillian had made up ginger tea and Elise was sipping it, hands wrapped around the cup like it was her lifeline. I figured a church was a good place to pray for it all to go off without a hitch. Or you know, without anyone getting puked on.

The mother of the bride strode up to me, her features tight, and a knot formed in my gut. It was an expression that said something’s gone horribly wrong—the grim look on her face said runaway bride, but Kara wasn’t the type, so that couldn’t be it.

“Do you smell smoke? I think I smell smoke.”

After lighting all the candles, I felt like I’d never
not
smell smoke, but now that she mentioned it, it did seem to be stronger. I glanced across the sea of candles but didn’t see any telltale swirls.

“I think it’s coming from the hallway where the groomsmen got ready,” Dianne said, putting her hand on my arm as she glanced in that direction.

The groomsmen were outside—I’d okayed them to get fresh air but not to go far, because I’m bossy like that at weddings. Instead of asking more questions, I scooped up an extinguisher and rushed toward the west wing.

When I got to the door of the guys’ makeshift dressing room, smoke was barreling out from under the door in forbidding dark plumes. I lightly tapped my fingers on the doorknob to test it—scalding hot. I wanted to charge in and use the extinguisher, but I knew a hot doorknob could mean backdrafts and who knew what else. Enough that I knew better, that was for sure.

“Call 911,” I said to Dianne, who’d followed me. “Tell them to send the fire trucks.”

…

“Cigarette fire,” Larry told me when he, Antonio, and the other two firemen came out of the chapel. “Lots of smoke, not much flame.”

“Thank goodness,” I said. Then I glanced at the wedding guests, all dressed up and waiting on the lawn as the sun dipped low in the sky, making the clouds purple and pink with a few orange stripes of sunlight still trying to fight through the impending dark. The bride was around back so that the groom wouldn’t see her, although they’d been on the phone most of the time, checking in on each other. I’d already been a fan of Jack, but he won me over even more when he’d reassured Kara that no matter what, they’d find a way to get married because he couldn’t wait to call her his wife.

The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint him or Kara. “How’s the smoke in the chapel?”

“Not bad. It’s safe if you want to continue with the wedding.”

“I’ll double-check, but I think it’ll be a go.”

Larry slapped me on the back, teammate style as usual. “You know, the boys down at the station are starting to make bets on when you’ll need us next.”

Stellar.
Just add “fire hazard” to my public profile.
“Well then, how about you save me the trouble of having to call again and just stick around, because my bride wants three hundred and sixteen lit candles, and she’s getting them. I could use a little standby assurance besides my extinguishers, though.”

His gray mustache twitched in a way I was pretty sure meant he was smiling underneath it. “Anything for you.”

“Thanks, Larry. And tell the rest of the boys I appreciate them, too. You all are gonna get wedding cake at the station. Like, till you’re sick of it.”

I confirmed with Kara that she wanted the show to go on, and when she said she did, I ran around the hazy part of the chapel throwing open the windows. I even found a fan to help blow the smoke out of the window in the room where the fire had been. Within thirty minutes, everyone was reseated, the candles were relit—thanks to extra help from Larry and Antonio—and the “Wedding March” was filling the air.

I quickly fluffed out the train of Kara’s dress so it’d be fully displayed as she walked down the aisle, but not so full it’d catch any candles, then left her to her father.

The muscles in my neck ached, the pain radiating down to my shoulder blades, and my feet were sore from all the extra running around in heels. Giving myself a quick shake to keep myself going, I squeezed into the narrow gap between the wall and the seats so I could head up front and keep an eye on everything.

Even under the veil, I could see Kara’s brilliant smile as she came down the aisle. If it’d been most any other bride, she’d be flustered or possibly even blaming me. Instead, she wore the dreamlike expression of someone who was more concerned with the love she had for her groom than anything else in the world.

My hope bank filled up just a little higher, and I found myself wrapping my fingers around my phone, wanting to call Brendan and tell him how much he meant to me. Only I worried that was the wedding buzz in the air talking and that I needed to press on the brakes before I scared him.

I’ve gotta go slower this time.
I considered the plans I’d had earlier tonight, and thought maybe I should slow those down, too.

No, I definitely was ready for that next step. Right?
Crap, now I’m messing myself up again, making problems that aren’t there.

I shook my head.
Just focus on the love, focus on the love.
Jack and Kara faced each other in front of the preacher, both wide-eyed and wearing grins like they couldn’t believe their luck. I was so wrapped up in it, I almost missed it—one of the candles was shooting its flame several inches higher than the rest. It licked at the ribbon on Elise’s bouquet, taking a taste and looking like it wanted more. I waved, trying to get her attention—on the bright side, her skin was back to her normal color and she didn’t look like she was going to hurl—but she was focused on Kara and Jack as well, unmoved by my subtle gesture.

Can this wedding please just give me a break already?
There was no way to completely hide myself, but I figured being seen was better than having a second fire. People might start to talk about hellfire and the union being unsanctioned or something, and that was
not
happening on my watch.

I sneaked behind Elise and nudged up the arms holding the bouquet, whispering, “Hold it higher. It’s hitting one of the candles.”

Her eyes widened and then she nodded, holding it even higher than needed.

The vows ended, the bride and groom kissed, and I did an internal happy dance celebrating the lack of fire hoses for the ceremony. But then the flower girl kicked over a candle on her way down the aisle. One of the groomsmen stepped forward with a canister in hand, extinguished it with a burst, and the entire place cheered.