Slightly Irregular (22 page)

If the traditions of marriage were an education, I’d have a PhD by now. This would be my seventh stint as a bridesmaid, albeit my first as a maid of honor. I think I was supposed to like the honor part the best, but I really did love my new shoes and clutch more.

Once we had done a couple of dry runs, we were released until four the next afternoon, when we would all begin to assemble for the five o’clock service. We took the twenty-minute trip back to the hotel in the limo and met up with the other rehearsal dinner invitees.

The Donna Karan knockoff I’d gotten at the Vero Beach outlets might have been my second choice, but judging by the response it got from Liam, it wasn’t such a bad substitution. His eyes instantly went to the front of the deep V, then down over the tonal belts wrapping the nipped-in waist. The sleeveless stretch taffeta with the elegant asymmetrical ruffle hemline
was a little on the revealing side. Especially when seen from the back, where the V was cut even deeper.

I added a splash of color with a pair of Stuart Weitzman studded pumps I’d gotten for nearly nothing because one shoe had several studs missing. I’d taken a quick trip to a craft store and replicated the look perfectly, well
almost
perfectly. At any rate, they added a modern touch to my ensemble.

“You look nice,” he said as he joined me.

He was wearing the same suit as the night before, only this time he’d paired it with a monochrome shirt and tie. He was holding an empty beer bottle, which he deposited on a passing waiter’s tray.

Unlike a traditional rehearsal dinner, this was a fifty-plus-person affair. Including me, there were a dozen attendants on each side with their spouses and/or dates, a ring bearer and a flower girl, and assorted family members who were participating in the service. With Jonathan dead, my mother was going to walk Lisa down the aisle. Nontraditional but completely acceptable, and it did accomplish the task of giving my mother a moment in the spotlight. David’s family included aunts, uncles, and cousins who would be reading scripture or singing or both. Even the pastor and his wife were there, ready to partake in the lavish spread put on by the Huntington-St. Johns.

It was an interesting combination of new American cuisine mixed with some very traditional southern favorites. I had to admit the fried everything looked really good to me. If only they had fried chocolate, my life would be whole.

I lost Liam several times during the evening, but I could usually find him again by listening for a silly, high-pitched
giggle from one of his many female admirers. I rolled my eyes. Could he be in a room with single women and not flirt?

And why not? my conscience challenged. It wasn’t like I had anything to say about it.

After grabbing a fresh glass of wine, I went to the hors d’oeuvres and decided to give the stuffed jalapeños a try. Immediately, it became me versus an obstinate string of jack cheese. I fought gallantly, finally getting some sort of separation from the pepper.

“You have cheese on your face,” Liam said as he appeared and placed his palm against my cheek.

Involuntarily, my lips parted as he ran his thumb roughly across my bottom lip. I watched as his gaze dropped to my mouth, following the movement of his thumb. The pressure of his hand against my face increased as his range expanded to include my upper lip. It was gentle at first, then building. Liam’s thumb worked magic against my lips more sensual than any kiss. My breath stilled in my throat. My pulse was quick, uneven, and racing. Heat from his touch seemed to reach every cell in my body.

“I think I got it,” Liam said. “Would you like more?”

As if I’d answer that one.

Is being a bridesmaid a privilege, practice, or punishment?

The morning of the
wedding I’d offered to go down to the ballroom to see how the transformation was going. The Ritz was opening all three adjoining ballrooms into one enormous room to accommodate the nearly five hundred guests, two dance floors, sitting area, and assorted other spaces that had my head ringing
ka-ching
.

Lisa’s wedding planner hurried over, one hand on the Bluetooth in his ear, the other clutching an iPad.

“Miss Tanner,” he greeted. He was wearing a smartly cut suit, a tie, and leather loafers. He looked more like a wedding guest than the wedding planner, but I guess that’s what you get when you pay fifty grand for planning. Except that he wasn’t a planner. Jeffrey preferred “wedding consultant,” and everyone acquiesced to his desire.

“Hello, Jeffrey. I can’t believe what you’re doing in here.” I was dumbstruck. At the far right end, the finishing touches
were being put on the seventy tables. “This is amazing,” I said as I walked the length of the room to check things out.

“Since they both swim, we decided to go with a sophisticated sand theme.”

I didn’t have a clue what that meant. “Okay.” I rubbed my hand along the top of one of five hundred sixty chairs. The raw silk fabric added texture as well as repeated the latte and champagne colors Lisa had chosen. Then my eye caught the place setting. Every place had Reed & Barton flatware and Wedgewood chargers. The flatware was monogrammed. “They let you engrave rentals?” I asked Jeffrey.

He smiled. “These aren’t rentals. Except for the centerpieces, everything on the tables belongs to the Huntington-St. John family.”

Geez, other than Palm Beach functions, I’d never seen so much privately owned stuff in my life. “Who has this much flatware?” I asked as I straightened a knife.

“Back in the day, the family patriarch gave each of his six children service for one hundred. They pool their respective resources for large functions.”

“Oh. These are pretty,” I said of the plates. “The pale blue mixed with the beige stuff reminds me of the beach.” The centerpieces were glass vases with river stones in the bottom and also sprinkled around the outer base, around a half-dozen votives. In one corner of the room, a group of ten women were cutting and trimming pale tropical orchids, which I assumed would fill the glass vases.

Waterford crystal stood at attention as well. I guessed the Huntington-St. Johns also cornered the market on drinking vessels.

I turned and pointed. “What’s that?”

“In that corner”—Jeffrey gestured with his iPad-holding hand—“we’ll have a harpist. On the opposite side, a flutist. Center right will be the seventeen-piece swing band with clamshell, and we’re building a dance floor in the center area. Crystals will hang from the chandeliers.”

“They’re replacing the chandeliers?” I asked, truly stunned by the extravagance.

“Of course. The drop crystals will look better with the lighting scheme.”

“Which is?”

He held out his iPad to show me a color mock-up, complete with 360 degree views of the room. Some of the areas were brightly lit, while others had soft, subdued lighting. In the center of the dance floor, a custom flood would highlight a monogram of a D and an L. The sand and beach motif was repeated by using huge panels of white silk, on which different images would be projected during the night. The lives of David and Lisa on handmade Trinitrons.

“We’ll also be showing the video of the service,” Jeffrey said.

“Why?” I asked.

“The chapel holds only one hundred, so four hundred guests will have to watch via digital upstream while sipping champagne and sampling caviar from around the world. We’ll be moving in chairs for the wedding video and closing off the dining area until I call to let them know the bride and groom are on their way.”

“Very high tech.”

Jeffrey leaned in closer to me. “Truth be told, I would have preferred they marry at a venue that could handle all the invitees. It would have saved me a step.”

I touched his arm. “I’ll let Lisa know that everything is coming along perfectly. You’ve created an elegant ocean in the middle of Atlanta.”

“Thank you,” he said, and then reached into his breast pocket. “Here,” he said as he handed me his card.

“I’m from out of state,” I explained when I made no move to take the offering.

“I travel,” he said with a smile.

Out of politeness, I took the card. If I ever did marry Li—Oh God! Did that thought really creep into my brain? If I married anyone, I’d have Liv do the event.

I headed back upstairs, knowing it was about my time to be coiffed and polished by the team of stylists hired to make me—and everyone else—look fantastic.

Faster than I imagined, I was being spirited out the back of the hotel into the waiting Bentley limo. Other limos were lined up behind us, waiting to load the rest of the ladies in the bridal party.

“Lisa!” my mother exclaimed as she instantly grabbed for a hanky from her small purse. “You look like royalty.”

“Thank you,” Lisa said nervously. It was the first time I could remember ever hearing my little sister sound anything other than completely confident.

Lisa had selected a Vera Wang ivory tissue organza ballroom gown with zibeline trim, a front bow, and a back bustle. Well, Lisa probably hadn’t selected the gown herself. Too girly and too froufrou. Left to her own devices, she’d most likely have preferred to get married in white scrubs. My dress was a strapless satin ball gown in latte with a pickup and a champagne sash.
The other bridesmaids had the same dress, though theirs were all champagne.

My mother had gone, predictably, with Chanel. Her silk gown was the exact color of my own, though it had cap sleeves and a bead-encrusted bodice. “Finley,” she acknowledged as she looked me up and down. “Do you have any bronzer?”

“No, why?”

“You’re just so washed out in that dress. Oh well, too late now. You should have gotten some sun. Something to put color on your skin.”

“And let’s not forget the potential for developing melanoma,” I muttered.

“I think she looks perfect,” Lisa insisted, some of her jitters calmed by mediating our mother and me.

I was sitting across from my sister, legs crossed so I could peek at my Jimmy Choos for the short trip. I mean, I was glad she was getting married, but that came a close second to my new shoes.

The small family chapel was a lovely stone building with pretty stained glass and beautifully milled woodwork framing the art.

I could hear the organist playing subdued music as we were sent into an anteroom. Jeffrey was there, as well as the videographer. Well, he was more than a videographer, and he wasn’t alone. It felt like being filmed for a Hollywood blockbuster. One guy held a big boom mike over the crowd, and another aimed a bright light wherever instructed by the guy with the gigantic camera. Oh, and there was a regular photographer clicking away, capturing my sister lifting her bouquet of specially flown-in orchids and magnolia leaves; another one of
the two of us looking at each other. The special moment when Lisa pinned the orchid corsage to my mother’s dress. Which, as it turned out, was just for the purpose of the photograph. Jeffrey didn’t like the placement, so he repinned it a bit higher on her shoulder.

As if he was a master sergeant and we were his minions, Jeffrey inspected each of us, often telling a stylist to touch up some makeup or lacquer uncooperative hairs. I got away with a one-word critique. “Fantastic.” I glanced at my mother, making sure she’d heard the praise. She’d never back down, but I derived great pleasure just knowing she’d had to sit in silence as a pro complimented me.

For some reason I had butterflies in my stomach. It made no sense. This was my seventh—no, my
eighth
—time as a bridesmaid. True, it was my first stint as maid of honor, but it wasn’t like that job came along with daunting duties. I think the butterflies had something to do with knowing Liam was in the audience. There was something freakishly odd about having a guy you were hot for watching you walk down the aisle.

“Get Liam off your brain,” I chastised softly.

“Pardon me?” my mother asked.

“I said Lisa’s dress has a pretty train.” It was true. The custom-made gown included a ten-foot train that had the same D and L monogram I’d seen on the dance floor.

Once we all passed Jeffrey’s inspection, we lined up and, via cordless microphone, Jeffrey cued the organist. Wagner’s Bridal Chorus, aka “Here Comes the Bride,” vibrated through the centuries-old church. At the last second, I was handed a bouquet of magnolia blossoms.

“Elbows bent, flowers at the waist, please!” Jeffrey instructed. “And go,” he told the first bridesmaid.

It took a while for my turn to come around. I was ready. Or at least I thought I was until I saw Liam in the back row. He didn’t just look at me. He stared with an intensity that made my blood boil. The sensation didn’t last long. Only until I saw the pretty brunette sitting pressed up against him.

He’d been the toast of the rehearsal dinner, and now he was probably arranging for a hookup while I was trapped in a sea of satin.

Once I had taken my place at the altar, my mother and sister appeared at the double doors, and the entire audience got to its feet. I half expected my mother to do that screwing-in-a-lightbulb, Queen of England wave at the audience. Even I had to admit that she looked radiant as she escorted a now-veiled Lisa.