Stella opened the pantry and moved a jar of kalamata olives, looking for some pita bread. After unpacking the last of her beauty supplies and “Dress Tops III,” reclaimed from Lola’s room, she’d crept out of her room to scavenge for food. She found Andie and Lola in the kitchen, sitting at the round table in the atrium, whispering secretively, as though they were plotting to nick a Van Gogh from the Met.
“That’s brilliant, Andie!” Lola cried, scribbling something down on a pad of paper.
Stella looked at them curiously. They had gone from wanting to kill each other to being best mates in less than four hours. She, however, intended to never speak to Cate again.
And if their parents really were splitting up, maybe she wouldn’t have to.
Stella pulled a pita from the plastic wrap and took a bite, the flour dusting her lips. Even if Cate had been a nitwit, Stella kept thinking about her mum’s swollen eyes. When her mom had walked into the den earlier, Stella’s head had spun—she’d felt like she was back in her kitchen in London last year, the day her mom and dad had told her about the divorce. Stella had just stared at the grandfather clock against the wall, tears welling in her eyes. But everything had changed when her mum met Winston—she’d stopped disappearing into her room whenever “Kick It” came on the radio; she’d stopped spending hours sitting at the dining room table, looking through old family photos from holidays in Nice and Morocco.
Lola sat back in her chair and squealed. “We can buy streamers and pick flowers from Central Park!”
Stella took another bite of her pita and walked toward the foyer, curious.
“We could probably get the Ashton band to play,” Andie said. “And maybe you could play Pachelbel’s Canon on your viola.”
Stella stopped in the doorway. It sounded like Andie and Lola were planning a party. A really, really lame party. Stella hadn’t seen a streamer since Lola’s ninth birthday, and even then they weren’t cool. “What are you doing?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at the girls.
“Um…” Andie muttered. “We just—we want to do something for my dad and your mom. We were thinking of having a wedding for them…in the garden?” She waited for Stella to laugh, but Stella just tilted her head to the side, thinking.
“Hmph.” Stella did want to do something for her mum, but a garden wedding seemed like a sad consolation prize—especially one planned by two clueless twelve-year-olds. They’d have the guests playing Twister and eating pizza and Twizzlers. Stella looked out the glass wall at the wide brick patio, which was lit up by one small lamp. She eyed the latticework archway in the corner, which had been practically devoured by ivy. A garden wedding would be hard to plan in one day, but the space had potential.
Lola pressed her hands to her cheeks. “We’re going to make a cake!”
Stella shook her head and sat down next to them at the round cherry table. “No—definitely not. We should call Greene Street Bakery and get something simple, elegant, and ready-made. Mum loved the buttercream frosting.” Stella stood and paced in front of the table. “And then we have to find a caterer and a photographer.” Lola diligently scribbled each of Stella’s instructions on the pad. “We’ll need the numbers of everyone on the guest list, though….” Stella trailed off.
Lola stopped writing and looked up, staring at something behind Stella. Stella turned to see Cate leaning against the door frame in her ballet-slipper pink J. Crew nightgown, her arms crossed over her chest. She’d clearly overheard everything. The last thing Stella needed was Cate telling her how daft she was for encouraging Andie and Lola to plan an impromptu wedding. Nowhere—not even the kitchen, at ten at night—was safe from Cate Sloane.
Cate ran her tongue over her teeth and walked into the atrium, snatching a raspberry folder off the granite island on her way. She pushed past Stella and sat down at the table next to Andie.
“If we’re going to plan a wedding—this is our bible,” Cate said, dropping it on the table. “Gloria gave it to Dad and Emma. It has the guest list, the numbers for the photographer and the florist—everything.”
Lola slowly nodded at Cate, like she wasn’t sure if it was actually Cate talking or some nicer Cate imposter. “We should definitely get flowers from Anne Bruno—they’re around the corner, and they could probably do some quick, simple centerpieces.”
“It should just be family and close friends,” Stella continued, tugging on her golden blond curls. “We could call them tomorrow morning. And Andie wanted to use the Ashton band.” Stella winced.
“No way!” Cate let out a little laugh and poked Andie in the arm. “No one wants to dance to a flute solo of ‘Hey Ya.’”
“That’s what I thought too,” Stella said, looking at Cate. For the first time all day, she didn’t cringe when she looked into Cate’s deep blue eyes.
“Well, now that we have the band’s number, I can just tell them to come here, instead of the boathouse,” Andie offered.
“We’re going to plan a wedding!” Lola suddenly cried.