Finding the bride curled up next to a toilet changed Elliot’s priorities. A rogue florist and brawling mothers paled next to a sobbing bride. Even having Libby bail last-minute meant nothing compared to this disaster.
Elliot kept her tone soft and light when she approached the bride. “Honey, let’s get you off the floor.”
The bride answered with a muffled sob. She didn’t budge. Elliot said a little prayer for strength, hoping her proximity to a chapel outweighed her distance from a toilet in God’s eyes. Elliot ignored the urge to gag—and her fear of ruining a pair of black slacks—to gingerly kneel beside the young woman.
She barely had time to prepare for the impact as the bride flung herself into Elliot’s arms. They sat in silence for several minutes, rocking back and forth. Elliot held the hysterical woman while she searched for any clues of what might have set off the bride. Unfortunately, her vantage point didn’t offer much.
The bride’s sobs turned into hiccups. Accepting a tissue, she blew her nose and murmured, “I'm late.”
“We have plenty of time.” Using one of the wipes from her wedding emergency kit, Elliot blotted the woman’s tear-streaked face to survey the damage. “We’ll call in the makeup artist and hairstylist to touch you up. You’ll be gorgeous and camera ready with plenty of time to spare.”
“No,” the bride said firmly. “I’m late.”
Elliot nearly repeated her words of comfort when she spotted an open pregnancy test on the counter. Paired with the bride’s sudden and mysterious stomach bug, and the constant stream of tears, she made the connection.
Oh, God. “You're pregnant.”
The bride sniffed. “Maybe. Probably. I haven't checked the test yet.” Her hiccups picked up. “My mother’s going to kill me. She says pregnant brides are tacky.”
She burst into a fresh set of tears. Murmuring comforting words, Elliot craned her neck to read the test results. A smiley face. Did that mean pregnant or not pregnant? She sighed. Of course it meant pregnant.
“Do you want to talk to your fiancé?”
The bride shook her head, sniffing and fighting back hiccups. “It’s bad luck to see him before the wedding.”
Elliot counted to ten before speaking. “A woman makes her own luck.”
“Telling him would only make him nervous,” the bride said. “Maybe I can pretend this is a honeymoon baby . . .”
Elliot knew she should try to talk sense into the woman. The groom was smart enough to do math. Their parents and everyone else would be able to crunch the numbers, too. But facts wouldn’t save the bride’s wedding, or make her feel any better. A fresh coat of waterproof mascara and some hairspray might.
It only took Elliot five more minutes to comfort her client. Still puffy eyed, the bride pulled herself together for another hair and makeup session to repair the damage. Leaving the cosmetologists to their work, Elliot closed the bathroom door and leaned against the frame to draw a breath.
“Crap.”
Much as she would have liked to hide behind a pew in the chapel, Elliot pushed away from the door. She had a wedding to run.
Rounding the corner, she found the TV show’s camera crew following the ongoing battle between the mothers of the bride and groom. She said a silent prayer of thanks they’d missed her situation with the bride. Unless they’d picked it up on her microphone, which was possible.
“Crap. Crap.”
If the bride wanted to convince her family and friends she’d conceived a baby on her honeymoon and not before the wedding, having the truth broadcast on The Marrying Type would undoubtedly blow her cover.
Elliot still couldn’t wrap her brain around how quickly the show had come together. What surprised her most was how fast the network released advertisements for the show. They weren’t even done filming the first episode, but ads were running every hour.
Elliot snagged Claire, her assistant, as the young woman walked by. She needed an update on the florist, who was more than an hour late.
“I haven't heard anything,” Claire said, her attention focused on the fight brewing across the room.
“Get them on the phone. We wanted the bouquets an hour ago.”
“But . . .” Claire gazed longingly toward the more exciting issue at hand.
“I'll handle the moms.” Elliot played with the pearl pendant on her necklace while she considered her various crises. “Call the florist. And grab the bride a bottle of water and some crackers from my emergency stash.”
“Want me to take her some champagne?”
“No champagne.” Claire raised an eyebrow at her terse response. Elliot cleared her throat and plastered a smile on her face. “She’s sensitive to alcohol. One drink, and she’ll be stumbling down the aisle. We need a sober bride for the ceremony.”
Leaving Claire to handle those tasks, Elliot faced the situation brewing in the foyer-turned-boxing ring. Longtime friends and fellow social committee chairwomen, the mothers of the bride and groom hadn’t raised a stink during the entire wedding planning process. Like most mothers, they wanted the wedding to be perfect. They’d oohed and ahhed over bridal magazines, happily planning their children’s storybook future together.
Until today.
Like true Southern Belles, the women went dress shopping together, helping each other choose the perfect outfit for the occasion. Neither wanted to upstage the other—this was their shared day, after all. They even sat next to each other at the beauty salon that morning to have their signature looks perfected.
But when both women arrived at the church wearing the same pair of Louboutin spiked heels, mayhem ensued. How dare the other woman try to spoil the day by stealing her look!
Elliot had to act fast if she wanted to keep the women from actually ruining the day for their children—or embarrassing themselves on national TV. Her stomach lurched.
“Ladies.” Her voice oozed politeness and class, both learned from her mother years ago. “Have I told you how beautiful you are? I’m halfway worried you’re going to outshine the bride and her bridesmaids in the photographs.”
Her words stopped the women. Flattery usually worked with vanity when reason and good manners failed.
“Oh my goodness—your shoes. You ladies took care of everything. What a great idea.”
“Great idea?” the bride’s mother asked cautiously.
“This is amazing—matching shoes for the mothers of the bride and groom.” Elliot let out a sigh, hoping she exuded admiration rather than frustration. “People are always obsessed about having identical shoes for the bridesmaids, but you ladies took this to another level.”
“We took this to another level,” the mother of the groom repeated.
“Absolutely. I have never seen two women manage details like you. Do you miss anything?”
The women glanced between their shoes and returned their gaze to her. She’d piqued their interest at the very least.
Chase, the cameraman and Marissa’s husband, leaned in for a closer inspection of the shoes. His ears turned red. Was he trying not to laugh? She darted an annoyed glance at Marissa. At the same time, Elliot adjusted her stance and straightened her back slightly, hoping the effort made her thinner on camera as she schmoozed the moms.
“I bet everyone will take one look at those shoes, which are fabulous by the way, and want to have their moms match shoes for their weddings.”
“Do you think we’ll be featured in the newspaper’s style section?” the groom’s mother asked. She rubbed her lips together, nearly salivating at the idea.
“Oh, absolutely. I bet this will be the next big rage for summer.”
Both women grinned. The vision of being industry trendsetters far outweighed their earlier annoyance. Relieved to smooth over the argument, but mind focused on the other issues at hand, Elliot pressed forward.
“Ladies, can you come over here? I want the photographer to snap a picture for your wedding albums and my portfolio.” Elliot guided them to a more picturesque part of the chapel. “I confess I’m dying to have a photo of the two of you. I want to be able to show people you were the first.”
She doubted matching mom shoes would become a leading wedding trend, but it wasn’t impossible. Frankly, she didn't care. She would’ve claimed Vera Wang featured the style on her showroom floor if the lie made the women stop creating a spectacle. The mothers followed her lead, and Elliot motioned the photographer over. She gave a quick direction and turned to Claire, who had the florist on the line. Taking the phone and stepping away, she switched gears again.
“Where are you?” Elliot’s teeth clenched together. “You said you’d be here hours ago.”
“I wanted to check the reception site again,” the florist said. “It’s perfect. The arrangements are going to blow people away. You’ll probably want to send photos to one of the regional wedding magazines.”
Elliot waited for him to quit singing his own praises. “I have a photographer here who needs pictures of the bride and her bridesmaids, and they don’t have bouquets.”
“No problem,” the florist said. “They can take their photos after the wedding.”
“They can, and they will, but your contract states you would have the bouquets here and in their hands two hours ago. The wedding is in less than an hour. If you aren’t here in five minutes, I will advise the bride and groom to contest the contract for a refund. I’ll also encourage my future clients to use a different vendor. Are we clear?”
The phone fell silent for a beat. “I apologize for any inconvenience, Ms. Lynch. I’ll be right there.”
Elliot hung up the phone much more satisfied than she’d been earlier. Marissa let out a breath. Elliot blinked dumbly. Oh no. Had the crew been watching the whole time?
“Wow. Business Elliot is scary.”
Smoothing out her jacket, Elliot straightened her posture. Smile in place, she faced Marissa, who stood behind Chase’s shoulder.
“Usually my sister handles the calls with our vendors. Unfortunately, she won’t be here tonight. But we’ll do anything to ensure our couples have the wedding of their dreams.”
Before Marissa asked a follow-up question, Claire reappeared at her side.
“Do you want me to go help the bride now?” she asked.
Elliot shook her head. “Go meet the florist at the side door. I don’t want the mothers to catch him showing up this late.”
A flurry of hacking and gagging drew her attention. Marissa was fumbling for a tissue and trying in vain to cover her mouth. Chase frowned as he tried to save the shot.
Elliot dug into her bag and removed a bottle of water and cough drops. “Here you go.”
Marissa gratefully accepted both. Her cousin complained about allergies year-round, but a little attention and doting usually healed her up nicely. A lifetime of interrupted choir concerts and family portraits taught Elliot how to handle this latest outbreak with minimal interruption to the wedding.
Giving Marissa a moment to compose herself, Elliot sipped from the extra bottle of water she always carried. Spring and summer were around the corner, and the only way she’d survive wedding season intact was if she stayed good and hydrated.
Once she’d managed to overcome the worst of her coughing fit, Marissa was back in producer mode.
“What’s up with the bride?”
Elliot wished the camera crew hadn’t noticed the extra tension coming from the bridal suite. Hoping to play it down, she feigned ignorance. “What do you mean?”
“She seems to have lost her breakfast. And she won’t stop crying,” Marissa said. “Not unusual for a woman with a bun in the oven.”
Great. Marissa had obviously figured out the bride’s secret. The morning sickness made it pretty obvious, but she wished the woman wasn’t this thrilled with the premium gossip. This may be the twenty-first century, but an unexpected pregnancy still mattered to some people. Recalling the guest list she’d scanned that morning, Elliot realized the gossip would matter to most of the people set to arrive any minute.
Not to mention everyone who caught the reveal whenever this episode aired.
“Can you please keep that quiet until they’re ready to go public? They have more than enough going on right now without having to worry about their wedding planners blabbing the news to everyone in South Carolina.”
“I suppose we have enough drama in this wedding without having to reveal the baby.” Marissa scribbled a few comments on her notebook. “We’ll chalk the bride’s behavior up to nerves. Unless the couple confirms the pregnancy. Poor girl. It must be awful to feel this sick on your wedding day. She won’t have much fun.”
Marissa’s quick sympathy soothed Elliot’s irritation.
“We’ll make sure she does.” Finishing the water, Elliot screwed on the lid and tossed the empty bottle in her bag. Catching Claire on her return from leading the florist to the bridal party’s dressing room, Elliot pulled her aside.
“I brought a couple bottles of non-alcoholic champagne in my emergency bag. Can you get them for the bride’s table? She’s . . . still not feeling well, and alcohol will only make it worse.”
“She threw up in the back of the limo on the way here.” Claire wrinkled her nose.
“The last thing we need is for the bride to throw up on the minister’s shoes,” Marissa said, slightly out of breath from running to catch up with the two of them. Shrinking under Elliot’s glare, Marissa made a production of pretending to lock her mouth shut.
Elliot couldn’t help but laugh when Marissa pretended to toss away the key. After twenty-seven years of shared history, Marissa still found new ways to crack Elliot up. And at least in this instance she promised to keep her mouth shut. Who’d have imagined the girl who blabbed to the whole seventh grade the day Elliot had her first period would ever keep a lid on any gossip?
“Saving the house is worth this,” she whispered to herself.
The florist arrived, snapping Elliot into action. God willing, the rest of the wedding and reception went off without any more unwanted surprises.
Hours later, Elliot sat in the middle of a different kind of chaos. Books, magazines, poster boards, fake flowers, and tulle littered the floor of her bedroom. Her laptop poked out from under a pile of paint swatches.
She’d told her father she would put together plans to improve business, and she didn’t take that promise lightly.
Her plan was highly focused. If they wanted to survive in today’s market, Engagements had to have a better web presence. The central, and seemingly most daunting, task to drive more business to Engagements would be a major upheaval of the company’s website. Engagements had done little to update its site since buying the domain years earlier.
The site would have to be modernized and innovated. Minimally, it meant photo albums, videos, and a blog. They needed those changes fast.
In time, they’d expand and make the website and accompanying app more interactive. Potential clients would have more than a reference for their event planning needs. They’d get an experience—one they came back for even after they said “I do.”
The new, modern presence wouldn’t stop with a web redesign. They had to reconfigure their social media presence. Most of their future clients were young brides and grooms. Engagements had to cater to them.
The best part about expanding online: most changes were cheap or free. Some money would have to be spent. Elliot had enough experience to update a webpage, but not enough to write the code needed to complete the redesign the way she wanted.
Chase, Marissa’s husband, did some computer programming in addition to his camera work. She’d hoped he would give them a deal on website development. But after almost blowing her cover with the moms at the wedding, he’d promised to pay Elliot back if she needed help. This would be the perfect opportunity to cash in that favor.
She spent the next few hours after the wedding cutting out pictures from magazines and gluing them on the poster board under headings carefully written with puff paint. She added ribbons, tulle, flowers, and glitter to draw even more attention.
Ignoring her sticky fingers, Elliot stepped away from the boards to survey the results of her labor. The presentation looked like something an overzealous high school student would have put together for spirit week. The low-tech presentation was ridiculous in light of its focus on digital media, but it would speak to her father.
Checking the clock, she realized she only had a few hours left to sleep before the day would begin again. She picked up the mess and changed into a pair of sweatpants and an old baseball T-shirt. She pulled her hair into a messy bun on top of her head and crawled into bed. She willed herself to fall asleep, but she was still too wired from the excitement of her project.
Instead of sleeping, Elliot remembered the man who gave her the T-shirt. He was the first and only man she’d ever loved, at least in a romantic sense. When they’d broken up, it left a gaping hole in her heart. Years had passed since the last time they’d met, but the memories were still fresh.
Tonight’s all-nighter reminded her of one they’d pulled together in college. She’d promised to help him write an English paper. An hour into their study date, they’d been more focused on each other than analyzing the cultural significance of Charles Dickens. They’d had to rush the final two pages in the hour before class, and he’d nearly missed his deadline.
He’d assured her a docked grade would’ve been worth it. The night had been . . . spectacular. She fell asleep with a smile on her lips.