“Don’t worry,” Peter said, sitting up, “I think the mood has been seriously compromised.”
“Good. Consider this my metaphorical banana peel, cheater. We’re even now.”
CHAPTER FIVE
I was sitting at my desk, thoroughly entrenched in revision suggestions to Love Me Tender, when my phone’s notifications alerted me to a text from Elle.
Elle: I just took a DNA test.
Me: Turns out you’re 100% that bitch?
Elle: What?
Me: NVM
Elle: Oh, a Lizzo reference. Very Nice. I’ll allow it this time.
Me: Right? When else would I have been able to break that one out?
Elle: I had reservations at first, but I had to do it. I can’t live my life not knowing the truth about Mark Damsky, especially if I have the chance to get to know my real father. Or any father for that matter.
Me: I agree. How long until the results come back?
Elle: A couple weeks or so.
Me: So…good luck, I guess?
Elle: I guess so. I’m not sure what you would say in this situation.
Me: I’ll bet Hallmark knows. They know what to say in every situation.
Elle: Along those lines, can we plan on meeting up at La Bella’s the next time you’re in town? I want to start checking items off my to do list.
Me: Great, and I’ll get to meet Kirsten and Petunia, because you know how much I enjoy meeting new people.
Elle: It’s Violet, not Petunia.
Me: Close enough.
After completing my revisions, I emailed them to Cassandra Willis, the author of Love Me Tender, and noticed that it was six-thirty—well past five. No wonder it had been so quiet. Gathering my things, I walked out of my office into the darkened suite, which would have been even darker if not for the light coming from Phineas’s office. A quick peek inside confirmed what I’d already more or less expected. He was still in there, his back turned to the door, working diligently as always.
“You’re aware you’re allowed to go home every once in a while, right?” I leaned against the doorframe, smiling when he appeared to jump slightly upon hearing my voice.
“You know,” he replied, turning his chair around to face me, “I would be more inclined to take that suggestion to heart if not for the fact that you’re still here, too.”
“I lost track of time.”
“As did I.”
“Except I don’t lose track of it every night.”
“You got me there.”
“It sucks being a success, doesn’t it?”
He chuckled. “I guess that’s one way to look at it, but on nights such as this, and all the others, I remind myself how lucky I am that I even have projects to work on, people to market, and staff members to concern myself with.”
“That is a very Phineas Drake response. Just remember to take care of yourself, too. Go out occasionally, give yourself a break, bask in your success.”
“I’ll keep that in mind … some other night.”
I rolled my eyes. “Goodnight, Phineas.”
“Oh, Mena,” he called out to me after I’d already taken a few steps down the hall.
I backed up until I was in his doorway again. “Yes?”
“I was wondering whether you would accompany me to the premiere of Soldiers of Atlantis? I was given two tickets with my invitation and, quite frankly, I have no idea what I’m going to do with the second one.”
“S-Sure, but that’s like five months from now. Surely, you could scrounge up someone to take before then.”
“As you’ve so perceptively noted, I clearly don’t have a life, and I don’t anticipate that will change much by March. Besides, even if I did manage to scrounge someone up before then, I wouldn’t feel right taking someone I just met to an event like this over someone who puts in almost as much time as I do into making sure we’re even invited to these things at all.”
“That’s very generous of you. Of course I’ll go. But you do realize who you’re asking to attend this hoity toity event, right? I mean, I’m still me no matter where I’m at.”
“That’s one of the things I like about you.”
*****
“Let me see if I’m understanding this,” Elle took a sip from the complimentary, small tulip glass of champagne we were served at La Bella’s while we waited for her other bridesmaids to arrive, “you’re going to be walking the red carpet at an actual movie premiere with not only Kira Capucci but Preston Paul?” She shook her head in disbelief, her hand gesturing wildly, practically spilling her champagne in the process. “My God, what is your life?”
“It could be your life, too, if you would finish the book you started.”
“I write poetry. You don’t see many movies based on haikus and sonnets.”
“And that’s a crying shame, because some of Shel Silverstein’s works would make for one hell of a show, or one hell of an acid trip, depending upon your perspective.”
“Shel Silverstein is literally the only poet you can name right now, isn’t he?”
“Why do you have to personally attack me like that?”
“That’s okay, I know plenty of people who couldn’t even name one.” Sighing, she sat back against the cushioned settee.
“Hey,” I said, grabbing her attention, “just because I or a few other people aren’t that well read in the poetry genre doesn’t mean you should abandon your dream. You’re talented, Elle. I’ve read some of your stuff; mainly while I was drunk, but even sober, it’s apparent you have serious talent.”
“High praise.” She smiled, clinking her glass against mine. “Thanks, Mena.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve reached my pep talk limit for the day, so don’t expect anything else uplifting to come out of me.”
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t. You know what? Maybe I will take up writing again. I mean, what do I have to lose, right? And I know just the editor to send it to.”
“Sure. I charge two hundred an hour and am booked for the next four to six months.”
“Wait, what?”
“I’m kidding. Sort of.”
“Oh, there’s Kirsten.” Elle handed me her glass of champagne and leapt up from the settee to greet the cute, tall, blonde woman who’d just entered the store. At the rate this was going, I was going to need to stand on a step stool for the wedding photos.
I looked around the boutique while Elle and Kirsten exchanged pleasantries, draining my glass of champagne and setting it down on a glass coffee table. Whoever the designer of this place was really—and I mean really—appreciated the color peach. Its varying hues were found in pretty much everything, from the striations in the marble flooring to the wallpaper. Accents were even embedded in the chandelier above the—surprise, surprise—peach settee I was sitting on. With Elle and Kirsten still chatting it up, I stood up to stretch my legs, taking a prolonged sip from Elle’s champagne. The dresses at La Bella’s were arranged in a color coordinated manner, which formed somewhat of a rainbow around the store.
“Mena.” Elle’s voice startled me, but not as much as the sight that met me when I turned around.
“Holy crap, she multiplied,” I observed, taking in not one, but two statuesque blondes.
Kirsten giggled. “Elle told us you had a strange sense of humor.”
I eyed Elle, who just shrugged as if challenging me to find something wrong contained within that statement.
“Oh, then you must be Daffodil.”
“It’s Violet,” the other Sweet Valley High twin replied. Behind her, Elle glared at me, shaking her head.
“My mistake.”
“Do you have my champagne?” Elle asked, noticing that the only glass in my possession was the one presently touching my lips.
“Yeah, about that.”
“Seriously?” she muttered. “I could use that more than you right now.”
“I truly doubt that.”
“Well hello, ladies,” an older, stately woman approached us after
noticing that Elle’s wedding party was finally all present and accounted for. “I’m Agnes, and I’ll be showing you dresses and assisting with the fittings and alterations. Elle told me she’s going with citrus hues for her wedding theme, and I must say, I pulled some things together that I think you’ll find look absolutely stunning.”
We followed Agnes to the back of the store, finding ourselves having to pick up the pace to keep up with her. She led us to an area of the store that was partially walled off to provide more of a private fitting location. It was a relatively bare space, with floor-length mirrors adhered to one of the walls, a table stacked with bridal magazines, and a lone couch that was oddly tan, not peach. Agnes motioned for us to take a seat on the couch while she flitted about, looking for something that obviously wasn’t there.
“Oh my,” she sighed. “The dresses I selected were supposed to have been brought back here already. I’ll have to go see what they’ve done with them. Are you all comfortable? Can I get you anything?”
“A bottle of that champagne would be great,” I offered when I noticed no one else was going to say anything.
“Wait, they serve alcohol here?” Kirsten asked, legitimately gobsmacked at even the thought.
I held up Elle’s empty glass. “Sure do.”
“Then we’ll take two bottles, please.”
“You’re good people, Kirsten.”
Agnes nodded. “I’ll be right back with the dresses and the bubbly.” Before she even finished her sentence, she had already scurried away behind the wall, her heels clicking furiously against the marble floor.
“If I had half her energy … oh, who am I kidding, I’d probably still be in bed sleeping,” I observed.
“You’re too young to be that tired,” Hydrangea replied. “Perhaps, you need to up your B12 intake.”
“Perhaps, I do, Iris. Perhaps, I do.”
Kirsten quietly chuckled next to me.
“Well, I don’t know about you ladies,” Elle chimed in, “but I’ve been super excited about this all week, and I’m not even much for dressing up. There’s just something about weddings that brings it out in me.”
“What kind of style did you select?” Chrysanthemum asked.
“You know, I really haven’t decided much beyond the color scheme. I figure we’ll try on different styles and fits, and see which ones work with your individual body types.”
“Oh, that’s such a relief.” Kirsten placed her hand on her chest. “I was worried about the dress being cut too low in the front. I’m a little insecure about the girls. They seem to take center stage wherever they go, and it makes me so self-conscious.”
I nodded, encouragingly. “Funny, I have that problem, too.”
“Really?” she asked, taking a none-too-discreet look at my boob-deficient chest.
“Like all the time.” I nodded.
Kirsten eyed me, perplexed, until it finally dawned on her that I was beyond kidding. “That’s a good one,” she laughed, elbowing me.
“I’m here all afternoon.”
“I’m back, ladies.” Agnes reappeared, pushing a rack full of dresses. Another woman followed her, toting two bottles of champagne and more glasses.
“Let’s get this party started,” Elle proclaimed.
“I’m no wedding expert, but aren’t there supposed to be wedding dresses for you to try on, too?” I gestured at the rack Agnes had just brought in—the one that was obviously lacking anything white.
“I pretty much already picked out my dress the day Luke proposed to me.” Elle poured herself a glass of champagne and made herself comfortable on the couch. “At least, I have it narrowed down to two choices. They’re going to be brought here in a couple weeks. If you can be available on FaceTime, I’ll call you so that you can help me decide.”
“Of course, I’ll be available. I’m all in on your wedding, and when I go all in on something, I don’t half-ass it. You’ll be getting my whole ass for the next seven months.”
“Mine too,” Tulip chimed in. “As the cousin of the groom, I’ve made it my personal mission to make sure your and Luke’s wedding is as beautiful as your love for each other.”
“You should get that printed on T-shirts for us to wear at their wedding reception.”
Her eyes widened. “Yes! I should!”
I stared at her, waiting for her to laugh it off. When she didn’t, I turned to Elle, mouthing “What the fuck,” without making it too obvious.
She shrugged, refilling her already empty glass of champagne.
“Now, Ms. Mena. You’re Mena, right?” Agnes asked, approaching me.
“I’m Mena.”
“I’m thinking with your dark hair and your coloring—you’re slightly darker complexioned than the other two girls—these bright yellow dresses will look the best on you.” Agnes handed me the dresses, three in total. “Now, Violet and Kirsten, you both look so similar you could be sisters, so I really don’t think the color is going to matter so much as the style.”
“We’re just going to drop trou here, then?” I asked inspecting each of the dresses Agnes handed to me.
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Elle called from the couch.
“Have another one back there,” I replied over my shoulder.
“We have private dressing rooms, if you’d be more comfortable changing in there,” Agnes answered, reassuringly.
“No, no, that’s fine. I just didn’t want to start stripping and make things all awkward in here.”
“Okay, well, you ladies change, and I’ll stand just outside the wall here and wait for you.” Agnes pointed needlessly to the half-wall as though we didn’t already know it was there.
The three of us nodded and began stripping down to our underwear. It was in times such as these that I was grateful for always making it a point to wear something cute and matching whenever I left the house. Kirsten and Geranium apparently adhered to that philosophy, too.
“Looking good, ladies,” Elle cat-called from the couch.
“What are we? Pieces of meat to you?”
“That’s it,” Kirsten groaned, catching a glimpse of her half-naked body in the mirror, “I’m going to need a glass of that champagne.
“I feel you.” I inspected the three dresses I’d hung on a hook next to the mirror. Each were their own distinct style, all were chiffon.
“Why don’t you each put on the first dress, and we can all decide together?” Elle suggested.
“Did your planner tell you to say that?” I looked behind my back at her as she flipped through the pages in the spiral notebook.
“No,” she replied, quickly closing it in her lap. “Carry on.”
“Shouldn’t you be a pro at this wedding planning business by now? It’s like your second one.” I smiled coyly at Elle, who attempted to discreetly flip me off by holding her middle finger flush against her champagne glass as she took a sip.
Elle’s first husband was, long story short, asshole squared, and their marriage was, for lack of a better word, rushed, due to an unexpected pregnancy that ended in a miscarriage. Many people wouldn’t have gone through with the marriage after losing the baby, especially considering there had been just about zero chemistry between the two, but at that point in her life, Elle had been under the mistaken impression that mediocre was all she deserved. It hadn’t been until Luke’s sudden reappearance back in her life that she realized just how much she was worth—and how much she had allowed her insecurities to cost her.
“I’m ready,” Kirsten announced, striking a pose in her tangerine chiffon creation, bearing a front slit that revealed more than I already knew she was going to be comfortable with showing.
“Well, shit, Kirsten won,” I said, throwing my hands up. “I guess there’s no reason for the rest of us to continue on. I’m not a second-place kind of girl.”
“Just put the damn dress on,” Elle groaned.
“Would you look at who’s becoming a bridezilla already?” I grabbed the first d
ress from the hook and carefully slid it over my head, down the curves of my body. It was a tad loose and entirely too long, like I was modeling a tent. I looked over to see Lilac also clearly uncomfortable in her floor-length, orange halter number, which hugged her body like shrink wrap. She tugged at the fabric every few seconds as though it was impeding her ability to breathe.
“Let’s see what we have here,” Agnes reappeared from behind the wall. “Oh, my.” Her eyes ran up and down each of our bodies, disapproval washing over her. “On a positive note, we now know which styles and fits aren’t going to work.”
Zinnia nodded like one of those annoying kids in class who always acted as if they were just about to make the same observation as the professor. “I completely agree, Agnes. Elle’s wedding deserves better than this.”
I shot a look at Elle, who just shrugged as if to say, “That’s Peony for you.”
Collectively, the three of us turned back around, stripped our dresses off, and selected the next dress in line. In my case, my next dress was short, much shorter than I would have expected a bridesmaid dress to be, with a plunging neckline. Without holding out much hope for a different outcome, I slipped on the new dress, gasping when I saw my reflection in the mirror.
“Would you look at that, I have legs, after all,” I gloated, turning to face Elle. With the way her face lit up, I knew this dress met with her most utmost of approvals.
“Holy crap, I’ll say you do.”
“Looks like we have a keeper here.” Agnes inspected me up and down. “Shorter dresses have a way of making shorter legs appear longer. Pair that with a pair of stilettos and you’ll look downright leggy.”
“Did you hear that, Elle? Someone called me leggy.”
“Hell most certainly has frozen over.”
It was my turn to flash her a discreet middle finger.
“How does it feel?” Agnes asked.
“Like I’m walking on air and all that other fairy tale nonsense.”
When Stars Collide Page 10
