Wooing the Wedding Planner

by Amber Leigh Williams

  “Mm.” Rubbing her belly, Priscilla jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “Her husband ran off to the Caymans. Apparently, there was some legal trouble. He took the nest egg and hightailed it.”

  “Prig,” Grim said.

  “So we’re down one wedding planner,” Priscilla continued, “and a venue.”

  “Why the venue?” Athena asked.

  “The club’s exclusive to members,” Priscilla explained. “Donatella was our in. With her out of the country for the foreseeable future, we don’t have a venue.”

  “The wedding’s right around the corner,” Byron realized. “Has anyone told Vivi?”

  Priscilla was never not solid. She rarely showed the smallest weakness or fissure. He saw the anxiety lurking beneath the surface and it hit him like a ton of bricks. “I wasn’t able to tell her. Not on the phone.”

  “Let her come,” Athena advised. “Let her get settled. The family should tell her, as one.”

  Priscilla dropped her face into her hand. “Oh, Vivi. Vivi, Vivi.”

  Byron scowled. Vivienne had trusted the planning to the family. Now she was coming home to disappointment. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered low so Athena wouldn’t hear.

  “Athena’s right,” Grim agreed. “We should tell her as a team.”

  “What can Byron do?” Athena asked after a contemplative pause.

  “I’m actually ashamed he hasn’t thought of it already.” At his blank stare, Priscilla rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, By. You’re living with wedding planner extraordinaire Roxie Honeycutt.”

  “The Roxie Honeycutt?” Intrigued, Grim smirked. “Nice.”

  “Hang on,” Byron said. “I’m not living with anybody. And the wedding’s in two weeks. Who says she’s available?”

  “Nobody says that,” Priscilla noted. “That’s why the next time you see her, you’re going to ask her. Sweetly. You might even think about groveling, need be.”

  “Huh.”

  Priscilla narrowed her eyes. “‘Huh’ is guy-speak for ‘yes, sister dear, I’ll take care of it, no problem.’ Right?”

  “He likes her,” Athena noted in an undertone, while taking her time unwrapping a caramel.

  Priscilla’s brows arched high as she homed in on the roll of her brother’s eyes. “Does he?”

  “Quite a lot, I think,” Athena added.

  “Okay, you two,” Byron intruded.

  It was no use. Priscilla asked, “She’s divorced, isn’t she?”

  “He wouldn’t tell me about her,” Athena told her.

  Priscilla’s mouth dropped. “Oh, my God. He does like her.”

  “I’ll do it,” Byron blurted, raising his voice over the ill-fated exchange. “I’ll ask her. But I won’t grovel.”

  “Not even for Vivi?” Priscilla asked, incisive as always.

  Vivi. Byron let his eyes close. Damn that Donatella. He gave Athena’s shoulder a pat, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I won’t grovel,” he decided. He gave his sister’s cheek a pinch on the way out. Much, he thought silently.

  * * *

  “THIS SAUCE WILL make your grandmamma dance the jitterbug,” Olivia said, handing a recipe card over the glass display counter of Belle Brides.

  Roxie read the ingredients and skimmed the instructions. Looked easy enough. She studied the neat, compact handwriting. “Gerald won’t mind me stealing his recipe?” she asked.

  “If you’d asked him first, he would’ve handed it over in a flash himself,” Olivia replied. From the large double stroller she’d pushed up the long wheelchair ramp came a whine. Her attention strayed to the twins snuggled up under plaid blankets. “Shhh,” she soothed, gripping the handle and rocking the stroller back and forth on its all-terrain tires.

  Roxie watched Olivia radiate with maternal strength. Motherhood suited Olivia more than any of them could ever have fathomed. Watching her transition so naturally into parenthood had been a fascination for all. “I can turn the music down,” Roxie murmured, leaning over the counter to get a better look at the young Leightons with their sweet red lips and tiny long-fingered hands.

  “The music’s fine,” Olivia claimed, brushing a fine blond lock under the brim of one of their stocking caps and adjusting it so that it covered the boy’s ears. “It’s Finnian. He gets feisty near feeding time. William would sleep through the day if we let him. But Finnian...he’s a rascal.”

  By the look on Olivia’s face, Finnian could have no finer ambition in life than being a rascal. Roxie shuffled through the remaining cards. “These two are from the girls?”

  “Adrian says the rosemary chicken is easy prep,” Olivia explained, “but it looks and tastes fancy. Cook that one when you want to impress someone. And Briar said you wanted her piecrust.”

  “Oh, yes.” Roxie held the last card close. Nobody baked like Briar. And for some reason, lately Roxie had been craving gold-flaked piecrust with a vengeance. She couldn’t wait for spring when the garden berries at Hanna’s Inn ripened and Briar started turning out delicious home-baked pies by the dozen.

  “Have you heard from Richard?”

  The question sounded more ominous than inquisitive. Roxie licked her lips. “His father reached out to him. He and Lucinda expect him back sooner than later.”

  “Well, that’s something at least,” Olivia said with a shrug. Then she frowned over her own crumbly tone. “If he comes back soon, it’s a sign, I guess, that he’s not willing to let everything fall through the cracks. Right?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Olivia’s expression lightened considerably after a moment. “I hear you and Briar saw Byron in the skinny.”

  The sly remark made Roxie think carefully as she set aside the recipe cards. She dialed back the volume for the speakers, dimming the sound of Charles Trenet’s luscious “Verlaine.” She couldn’t have him parlaying in romantic tones when she thought about Byron. In or out of the skinny. “I’m sure you pried all details from her.”

  “She offered up some.” Olivia’s brows wiggled. “Is it true about the sex lines?”

  “The what?”

  “You know.” Olivia angled her hands at her hips. “They arrow like this, pointing you down to all the hairy goods.”

  Roxie snorted. She pressed her fingers beneath her nose, stopping the noise. She tried not to meet Olivia’s gaze. “Oh, God. I can’t...” She snorted again and broke into shrieks of laughter. “I can’t even.”

  “Who knew Byron looked like a legitimate Perseus under the threads?” Olivia said, eyes widening. “This whole time!”

  “He works out,” Roxie reasoned. Every other day he showed up at her back door in workout clothes that revealed more man muscles. She’d never thought she could be as aware of a man’s deltoids...let alone that they could make her want to sink her teeth into them.

  “And while we’re on the subject of hairy goods—”

  “You really should stop,” Roxie advised.

  Olivia would not be deterred. “He might be Perseus on the streets, but from the sounds of it, he could be Zeus in the sheets. Va-va-voom.”

  So much for not thinking about Byron and romance in the same breath. Roxie tamped down on all the hot, fuzzy feelings she’d had much practice suppressing anytime he appeared from the basement panting and sweat sheened.

  The bells above the entry door clattered musically as it opened. Roxie looked over to greet the customers. In a flash, the flushed feeling left her, and cold and tension locked her up like an underground vault.

  “Roxie,” Georgiana cooed on sight. She was wearing a leopard-print ensemble that was too trim to look overtly tacky. “You’re here!”

  Roxie’s gaze landed on the person who accompanied Georgiana into the shop. The glass door closed at Cassandra’s back and the music died. She took off her dark designer s
hades slowly, matching Roxie stare for stare. She looked smart and polished, as ever, in a black business suit tailored to perfection. The jacket was cut low. Several tiers of pearls spilled into the void. She stood with her feet braced apart, knees straight, hips over center, back perfectly in line, chin high.

  “Oh, brother,” Olivia said, not bothering to lower her voice.

  Roxie darted a glance at her. I’ll handle this, she transmuted silently. Dear God, she hoped she could handle it. She inhaled carefully and said, “What are you doing here?”

  Georgiana answered readily. “Mother sent us. I wanted a peek at the bridesmaids’ dresses. And mine, of course!” She giggled at her own anticipation. “Cassie needs to be fitted again for her gown. But you already know that.”

  Of all the Honeycutt girls, only Georgiana had mastered Marabella’s flair for flippancy. She was silly and sweet. Sweet enough for a toothache. She bypassed Olivia and the stroller and walked to the far side of the display counter that shined with diamonds. “Ooh. Look at this tiara! I like the diamond headpiece I found, but this is so regal! Can I try it on, Roxie? Roxie?”

  Neither Cassandra nor Roxie moved for a minute. Then two. Georgiana looked around at the silence. Her nervous giggle filled the air. “Cassie, put your bag down and go change. And, Roxie, could you brew a pot of tea? We might be here for a while. Might as well get comfy. Right, Cassie?”

  “I need to speak to Roxie,” Cassandra said. She winged a pointed glance at Olivia. “Privately.”

  Olivia’s frown mirrored the one Roxie felt. Drawing her mouth into a deep downhill slant, she looked to Roxie, questioning. Roxie nodded silently and again when Olivia’s frown deepened.

  Olivia gripped the handle of the stroller. “I guess I’ll take Finny and Shooks downstairs to see Auntie Adrian. Holler if you need us,” she added.

  Roxie brushed her fingers across William’s cheek as the stroller rolled past. She wished she could gather some serenity from his sleeping face. “Thanks for the recipes.”

  Olivia wheeled the stroller to the door and bumped it open with the front wheel. “Don’t worry, Angelina,” she drawled to Cassandra close to the entrance. “Mama’s on the door.” She rolled her eyes back at Roxie before making her way out onto the landing and pushing the stroller down the ramp out of sight.

  Minutes later, the two sisters left Georgiana in front of a mirror with an assortment of gems. Feeling suddenly claustrophobic, Roxie sought the outdoors. The February wind was still bracing. There were clouds, but they trapped a bit of warmth between earth and ozone, heating things enough for Roxie to seek the refuge of the inn garden. She spotted the gazebo Cole had built for Briar after the last busy season ended. Wrapping her cardigan against her, she lowered to the bench inside as Cassandra mounted the steps.

  Cassandra was the tallest of the Honeycutt girls. She, Julianna and Carolina had several inches in leg on the others. Cassandra moved like a giraffe, rod backed and oddly at ease with her height and bearing. She and Roxie shared the same hair and eyes but not much else to speak of.

  Except Richard. Roxie chewed over the bitter thought then turned her mind elsewhere.

  Leverett Honeycutt had only ever shown polite interest in his five daughters. Then Cassandra had expressed interest and acumen for the business world and he’d taken great care in grooming her for it. An executive in the Mobile shipping company that had been passed to Leverett from his father and grandfather, Cassandra was poised to inherit a great deal of the Honeycutt trust. Roxie had spent most of her life envying more than just her eldest sister’s looks. She’d envied Cassandra’s close bond with the father who’d managed to attend every milestone in his eldest daughter’s life—to the point that there was little left for the rest of them.

  Folding her arms over her middle, Roxie waited for Cassandra to circle the deck, her expensive ankle boots tapping against the wooden planks. Her sister went to the rail and stood, looking out at the white chop off the gray bay. Her dark hair blew back from a rigid jaw as she put her sunglasses back on. “Mother thinks you and I should bury the hatchet,” she said finally.

  Roxie said nothing. A sailboat cut across the water, racing the wind.

  A cheerless smile galvanized Cassandra’s mouth. “In her head, I think she still sees us as girls and all I’m guilty of is stealing your pageant sash again.” When once more Roxie said nothing, Cassandra’s chest rose on a long sigh. “If you’re just going to listen, I might as well start from the beginning.”

  Roxie shook her head. “I don’t want—”

  “You can rake me over the coals however much you want,” Cassandra interrupted, “but first I’d like to explain.” Their mother had played her hand. There would be no more avoidance or withholding, for either of them.

  It took a moment but Cassandra spoke with decisive care. “Three years ago, I found out Jefferson had been having a little fling on the side.”

  Roxie’s brows crowded inward.

  Acid dripped from every syllable out of Cassandra’s mouth. “We started therapy a lot sooner than everyone thinks we did. Through it, he admitted that he’d had the affair because he thought I’d grown too hard. And Trudie... That was the tart’s name. Trudie. He sought Trudie’s company because he needed a ‘softer touch.’”

  Roxie struggled with what to do with the new, torrid wave of information. It gathered at the apex of her mind. A headache began to thump behind it. She tucked the hair behind her ears. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

  Cassandra’s head snatched her way. “No, I don’t expect pity. Not from you.”

  “Then why are you telling me this?”

  “Because it’s the same thing I told Richard,” Cassandra claimed. “We bumped into each other in Galveston when I was there on business and he was at a conference. We had drinks. Just drinks. It was all innocent. But we talked. It was the first time I told anybody, other than the damn therapist, about Trudie and Jefferson. He was kind. I never really understood your pull toward Richard. He always seemed so... I don’t know, vanilla. He was so kind, though. He helped me talk it out better than the therapist had. We started texting. Again, innocent. He would check in to make sure Jefferson and I were doing okay. I would make sure you and Mother weren’t driving him too crazy with wedding plans...”

  Roxie didn’t want to hear any more. She really didn’t want to hear any more.

  But Cassandra was on a roll now. “Then...somehow it happened. I was frustrated because therapy had taken a bad turn, because Jefferson and I were fighting again... We rowed like we’d never rowed before and I walked out. And the first person I thought of going to was Richard. I expected you to be there and that was okay. I just needed to vent, just to get it out. You know?”

  “But I wasn’t,” Roxie muttered. “I wasn’t there.”

  Cassandra hesitated a long time, as if choosing her words with consideration. “I don’t know how it happened, exactly. That’s such a cliché thing to say in situations like this, but that’s just the way it was. One minute I was talking and pacing. I think I might have been crying.” She said crying like it was distasteful. Roxie had never seen Cassandra cry and had often wondered if she knew how. “He stopped me, tried to calm me down and...” She trailed off.

  Roxie was very glad that she’d come to the end of the confessional. “I’ve heard enough,” she said, fingers biting into the edge of the bench on either side of her.

  “We felt terrible,” Cassandra said. “Immediately after, we stopped.”

  “Well, I should hardly expect you to finish,” Roxie said and it was the first jab she’d taken.

  “I meant we stopped whatever was happening between us,” Cassandra clarified. “No texts. No calls. Nothing. I know less about his whereabouts than you do and, frankly, I think it’s better. For him, for you, for me and Jefferson—especially since we’re back in therapy.”
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br />   “Why?” Roxie asked. “Why are you and Jefferson still fighting for each other? You’ve both been unfaithful. You apparently make each other miserable—”

  “Why do you want to patch things up with Richard?” Cassandra asked. She lifted a shoulder. “Because you love him?”

  Roxie licked her lips. They’d gone dry from the wind. Passing a hand over her brow, she went forward again with the safe nonreply.

  “We weren’t always miserable,” Cassandra admitted. “Before there was a Trudie or Richard, there was love. There was tenderness. I fell in love with Jefferson because I thought he made me a softer person. And I’ve never quit anything in my life. Marriage certainly isn’t going to be the first.”

  Cassandra’s reasoning was sounding more and more like Roxie’s own. “I don’t know what’s worse,” Roxie said quietly, “the whole thing being revenge sex...or more.”

  “Why would you want it to be more?”

  “Because then at least it meant something,” Roxie said, coming quickly to her feet. “Then at least it would’ve mattered. You threw away my marriage along with, potentially, your own without an ounce of feeling? What kind of bullshit is that, Cassandra?”

  Cassandra lifted a brow over the edge of her shades. She looked more impressed than critical.

  Roxie came to the rail, too, and scowled out over the bay. “Knowing your excuses doesn’t make it any easier to forgive you.”

  “Did I ask for forgiveness?”

  “Did you ever figure Jefferson’s right?” Roxie asked experimentally. “That maybe you have grown hard?”

  “You’ve always seen everything in black-and-white,” Cassandra accused. “Mother told me to bury the hatchet. I don’t have a hatchet to bury with you. Mine’s with Jefferson and Trudie, the cheap masseuse from Beaumont. If you want to keep carrying your own hatchet, that’s fine. Maybe things will change when Richard gets back.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a card. “Here. This is the number for the new therapist Jefferson and I are seeing, the one we’re actually making progress with. Believe me when I say that I hope it works out for the best.” She took out a cigarette and a lighter and turned out of the wind. “And I am not hard.”