Wooing the Wedding Planner

by Amber Leigh Williams

  “Sure,” Roxie said. “Briar and her husband were married in the garden. It was a beautiful affair, very intimate.”

  “But the guest list,” Vera said as she took a leaf of paper out of the binder. “There’s two hundred names on here.”

  “And they’ve already received invitations,” Priscilla added. “Two hundred isn’t what I’d call intimate.”

  “I was thinking the lawn itself,” Roxie said, gesturing to the grass outside. “We can bring in a tent and space heaters to keep everyone warm but still have it open, inviting the outdoors in. We can bring in greenery to enhance the natural aesthetic. Flora will provide the flowers. And the owner of Tavern of the Graces has offered to provide you with one of her professional bartenders and a custom bar for the reception.”

  “Sounds like a package,” Vivienne said, brightening once more.

  “We call it the Bridal Suite.” Roxie grinned. “And, yes, it does come with the actual honeymoon suite here at Hanna’s, which is nothing short of dazzling. If you’re open to it, Briar has arranged for a tour of the house and gardens.”

  “Yes, yes.” Vivienne nodded. “I want to see the suite.”

  “The stairs,” Priscilla said, glancing quickly to Vivienne. “There’s no elevator.”

  “Sid!” Vivienne burst forth. “He’s having drinks with By and Toby at the tavern. He could carry me up. I have to see the suite, ’Cilla. And it’ll be good practice.” She winked. “For the wedding night.”

  “He needs practice?”

  “I’ll call him,” Vera said, pulling her phone from her purse. She began to dial.

  Vivienne spoke to Roxie in an undertone. “You’re sure the guest list won’t be a problem?”

  “Olivia, who owns the tavern, and Briar have both informed me that we’ll be able to accommodate all two hundred,” Roxie assured her with confidence.

  “I tried to cut out most of the Delacroixes, but they hold grudges like nobody else.”

  “I’m sorry, who are the Delacroixes?” Roxie asked.

  “Ma’s family,” Vivienne said, rolling her eyes much in the way Vera had. “Wait till you meet them. They’re a hoot.”

  Priscilla cut in. “What she means to say is they’re a bunch of pious bigmouths who hate our father.”

  “Hate him?” Roxie said, taken aback. “Who could possibly hate Constantine?”

  “The Delacroixes,” Vivienne and Priscilla said as one. Priscilla continued, “They think he stole Ma away from them.”

  Vera finished the call. “Sidney’s rushing over. And I mean rushing. And your father did steal me away from the Delacroixes. Thank heaven.” As the girls giggled, Vera explained to Roxie, “Con and I eloped. My family was nothing short of scandalized.”

  “Ma,” Priscilla said, “I’m not sure it was so much that you ran away with him as the fact that when you made it to the altar, you were as big as me. You were barefoot on a beach in Jamaica and the ceremony was presided over by a Buddhist monk.”

  “I can’t help that I looked as far along as you are. Your brother sat completely out in front, nearly broke my back. As for the monk, it was better than the family priest who informed me and your father in dire tones that our child would be born both a bastard and a heathen.”

  “Byron is a bastard,” Priscilla opined. “He pushed me out of a tree once, and I hold as good a grudge as any Delacroix.”

  The sound of running feet brought their heads around. Vivienne’s lit up like a theme park and Roxie turned to get her first impression of the groom. Panting, charmingly rumpled, Sidney responded in kind, grinning broadly as he crossed in a wide gait to his bride. “I came as fast as I could. Your brothers are trying to get me trashed.”

  “You know you didn’t actually have to run,” Priscilla drawled. She couldn’t quite manage a disparaging tone as Vivienne reached up in a loving habit to finger-comb Sidney’s curly mop. “She’s not going anywhere.”

  “He’s running from Byron and Tobias,” Vera surmised. “They’re hell-bent on some sort of primitive initiation rite. If they tell you to do oyster shooters, don’t.”

  “Fair warning,” Priscilla chimed in, “or you’ll wind up in a shipping container bound back for Mozambique.”

  “They wouldn’t,” Vivienne said offhandedly, though Sidney didn’t look entirely convinced himself.

  As for the tour, it went off without a hitch with both Adrian and Olivia joining in to detail how their sides of the Bridal Suite worked. And before it was over, Vivienne and Sidney happily agreed to a wedding on the lawn in front of the inn, welcoming the collaboration of the Savitts, Belle Brides, Flora and Tavern of the Graces.

  They saved the viewing of the honeymoon suite for last. Roxie trailed behind as Sidney lifted Vivienne from her wheelchair and carried her up the stairs. They took a peek into the room and master bath. On the private balcony, Briar served mimosas and they all sipped their drinks, watching night fall over the Eastern Shore.

  It wasn’t until after Sidney went to bring the car around to the entrance that Roxie began to see fatigue wavering on the fringes of Vivienne’s smile.

  “I’m glad I have you alone for a minute,” Vivienne said. “There’s one more thing you should know before the ceremony. I’ve been working with a physical therapist. He’s a friend. One of the best in the field. He’s part of our team. Sidney’s the builder. He builds hospitals and easy access points to schools and homes for the disabled. I’m the speaker. I try to motivate those who’re disadvantaged and educate their families, friends and communities on their significance. Ike does PT, helping the children, especially, gain strength. He even helps some of them walk again, on their own or with the aid of prosthetics.”

  “It’s incredible what you’re doing,” Roxie said. “And very brave.”

  “The people we serve are just like me,” Vivienne said modestly. “Every single one of them is vital and strong. They just need someone in their corner to shine a light on them, to help and encourage.” She shrugged. “Anyway, Ike and I started working together on the QT after Sid proposed. All the doctors here said I’d never walk again. But if Byron, ’Cilla and I have anything in common, it’s that we’re stubborn. With Ike’s help, in three months I was standing and in a handful of others I took my first steps again.”

  Roxie’s lips parted. “Vivi, that’s fantastic!”

  “Shh,” Vivienne said, lifting a finger to her lips. “No one knows. Not yet. When I walk down the aisle, I want it to be a surprise.”

  “It’ll be the highlight of the night,” Roxie told her. “I’m just happy to be a part of it. Thank you so much for taking me on, and the others, too.”

  “No. Thank you. I think it was fate that brought us all together.” Vivienne narrowed her eyes. “Do you believe in things like that? Fate and destiny? Byron and ’Cilla think I’m fanciful.”

  “I...I used to,” Roxie admitted. “Either way, we’re going to make this every bit the wedding of your dreams.”

  Vivienne lifted what remained of her mimosa. “Cheers to that.” She clinked her flute to Roxie’s as her grin turned mischievous. “Now. What do you really think of my brother?”

  Roxie laughed freely. “I think he’s lucky to have a sister like you.”

  Vivienne’s expression changed. Reflective, she breathed the briny air and gazed over the water. “I’m luckier.”

  * * *

  “WE CAN MOVE this inside,” Roxie offered. She hoped the offer didn’t sound too plaintive.

  How were they supposed to focus as a group here on the front porch of the Victorian with the men over there playing a spirited bout of basketball on the driveway?

  “Give him the elbow, Gerald!” Olivia hollered as Gerald came up on the wrong end of a foul from James. “Bless him. He’s too British for basketball.”

  “Whoop!” Viv
ienne shrieked, clapping her hands when Sidney intercepted the ball. “You go, hon... Oh.” She pressed a hand to the lower half of her face, fighting a laugh when her intended went down under a defensive play from Byron and Cole that won them the ball. “Oh, shoot. That was dirty.”

  “Byron, stop hogging the damn ball!” Priscilla instructed. She shook her head when her brother answered by charging the goal for an impressive jump shot. “Shouldn’t count. Tobias was wide open.”

  Answer: we aren’t supposed to focus. Roxie cleared her throat. “Briar. Do you have the menu? We can go over that now.”

  Even Briar, smooth and businesslike, kept one eye on the game as she shuffled through her papers. Heaven’s sake, Roxie thought. The wedding was in a week.

  “Mm,” Briar muttered. “Must’ve left it in the car.”

  “I’ll get it,” Roxie said, rising from the fold-out table where she and the girls had laid out their lists and some refreshments. “Olivia, go over the wine list while I’m gone. Please.”

  Olivia bit a baby carrot in half. “He’s too polite,” she mused, still watching Gerald with intent. “That’s his problem.”

  Roxie sighed. She made sure to give the men a rigid glare as she passed by the makeshift court. From what she’d been able to discern as she led the girls through a review of the wedding plans thus far, what had started out as a friendly game of horse had progressed into bragging and trash-talking. Even Constantine had chosen to partake in the contest.

  She quickly retrieved the menu from the passenger seat of the truck Briar and Cole had arrived in. Glancing over Briar’s notations, she clacked back to the house, making mental notes of her own...

  “Heads up, Roxie!” someone shouted from the porch.

  The alarm brought her head up just in time to take a blinding sideswipe from a sweaty-T-shirt-clad player.

  Down she went tumbling, or crumbling, to the lawn. The weight knocked the breath out of her as he landed solidly on top.

  A torrent of running feet beat down on them. Byron’s voice thundered down from the melee. “Pop!”

  “I’m all right, I’m all right,” Constantine said, waving them away as he crawled off Roxie and hunkered in the grass on hands and knees. He eyed Roxie. “You okay, Ms. Honeycutt?”

  “I’m fine,” Roxie wheezed, peeling herself off the lawn. She brushed the grass from the heels of her hands.

  Byron cursed. “Clumsy old man.” Then he swooped, scooping her up like something small and fragile.

  “I...” Roxie began. Then, “O-oh.”

  “Is she all right?” Vera asked as she and the girls jogged toward them, Priscilla holding her swollen baby bump firmly in place.

  “Out of the way,” Byron said, curt, as he cut a swath through them. He wasn’t slowing. If anything, he sped up. She could feel the strength in his arms, cupping her shoulders and under her knees. Belatedly, she reached with conservative effort for the hem of her business skirt, smoothing it flush against the back of her thigh. Behind them, she could hear Vera tearing verbal rifts into Constantine and the rest of the players.

  Vivienne called out to them, concerned, from her seat on the porch as Byron mounted the steps. He didn’t answer and all but kicked the door in to carry Roxie over the threshold.

  It was only after the warmth of the Victorian made her realize how overheated she was that Roxie found her voice again. “Put me down?” she suggested.

  “Yeah,” he said. But, of course, he didn’t. He carried her to the back of the house to her purple settee in the den. He set her there like a vintage dolly, splaying a hand firmly over her middle and taking a good look.

  She blinked under the survey. She meant to push his hand away but wound up cupping the back of it instead. Just as she had in the kitchen a week ago.

  “What hurts?” he asked, eyes scanning her face, looking for breaks in the skin.

  “Nothing,” she said truthfully, for she felt nothing. She might’ve been floating. She couldn’t quite say. “Nothing hurts.”

  “What hurts?” he asked, persistent.

  “Nothing!”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying,” she said with a touch of affront. She swallowed. Her mouth was dry as dust. Still, he looked unconvinced. “I don’t. Lie.”

  His free hand wrapped gently beneath her chin and tilted her head back so he could scan her more closely, homing in on the eyes.

  She went very still. All except her pulse. It careened wildly, out of control, very aware of his proximity. She knew what it was like to have him close. She’d tried very hard not to think about what it was like over the last seven days. Out of respect for the house. Out of respect for his sister whose wedding she should be focusing on. But here he was leaning over her, looking her over, so close she could feel the heat and concern pouring off him, and she wanted him to be closer. So much so that she was afraid her gaze whispered exactly that back to his.

  Closer. A little closer.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in a voice that sounded almost choked.

  He blinked. Finally. “Checking for concussion.”

  She tried swallowing again. Was she dehydrated? Where was her saliva? “Are...are you sure?”

  He blinked again. She saw that there was a red tinge to the skin of his neck again. It rouged when he was angry, she noticed. But he wasn’t angry now...

  He held her by the chin, under his gaze, until the others rushed as one into the room, a whole wave of them. Even then, he didn’t leave her. He folded to the couch next to her. Someone pushed a cool glass of water into her hands. Someone brought her a damp cloth for the potential head injury she hadn’t experienced.

  Or had she? She felt woozy. Breathless, woozy... Still floating.

  “Back off,” Byron bit out, waving them away. “Don’t hound her. Let the woman breathe.”

  “You’re the one who needs to breathe,” Priscilla suggested, eyeing him with a great deal of interest. “Here, you ninny.” She took the cloth from Roxie’s hand and pushed it at him. “You need this more than she does.”

  He pushed it back. “Do not.”

  Vivienne rolled into the scene with Sidney behind her at the handles of her wheelchair. She craned her neck to get a look at her brother and tried to stifle a smile. She failed. “Look. Look how worried he is. Isn’t he cute?”

  Byron grew rigid next to her. Roxie reached out and placed a hand on his knee. The edge in him had been born out of concern for her. It was quickly warping into irritation—and anger was surely close behind. “It’s okay. I’m okay,” she announced to the general audience. Everyone was crowded into her living room. The space had never felt so small. Airless. She looked around and found Constantine, leaning on Vera and cradling his ribs. “Did I break any of the fall?” she asked, trying for humor.

  The man smiled, chuckled. “Why do you think I’m still standing?” He tilted his head. “More than we can say for my son.”

  “Okay,” Byron said. He rose to his feet, letting her touch slide from his leg. “You’ve all had your fun?” Turning to her, his eyes circled her features again. He raised his brows. “You sure you’re okay?”

  No, she thought, fighting her reaction to him—to what worry had done to him. His face was cloaked in perspiration, and not just from the game. Are you going to be? she wanted to ask. Knowing the question would irritate him further, she simply nodded. When he offered her his hand, she took it and let him bring her to her feet once more. She saw it as a personal victory when she didn’t waver there next to him. Brushing her hand along the outer seam of her blouse, she felt a tear in her sleeve. “Oh, no,” she said, twisting her arm around to see the damage.

  “Can you fix it?” he asked.

  Why was his head bent down so close to hers in front of everyone else? Especially when they were b
oth doing their best to convince the lot that there was no spectacle to see here?

  “It’s a lost cause, I’m afraid,” she answered. Her eyes rose halfway to his then fell. She stepped back. “Excuse me,” she said to the ladies. “I’ll throw something else on. Then we can finish.”

  “We’ll go with you,” Olivia said on her heels, with Adrian and Briar behind her.

  Roxie moved quickly up to her room, leaving the door open for them. She went into her closet, riffling through the blouses hanging to the left. Scrupulously organized. She wasn’t sure she saw even one.

  Briar entered and laid a hand on her arm. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Roxie smiled breezily then all but tore a midnight blue number off the hanger. She realized too late the significance behind the color then went against her code by abandoning it on the closet floor. “Constantine might be tall. But he’s hardly a linebacker.”

  “And Byron?” Briar asked.

  Roxie heard more than curiosity behind the query. She chose a Kerry-green option this time. She shrugged it on and buttoned it quickly up the front. “I’m sure he’ll be all right, too.”

  “You did see him,” Briar noted. “Didn’t you?”

  How could she stop seeing him? She’d asked the question of herself a number of times since Valentine’s Day. She hadn’t seen him before that point—not like this. Now she couldn’t stop seeing him.

  It was adding to her confusion. If she truly loved Richard, would she be thinking about someone else this way? Was she angry enough, desperate enough, to want to be close to Byron because she could still feel the hand of betrayal?

  Or did she want Byron simply because he was Byron? Moody, peevish, lovely, wonderful Byron?

  As always, she fell back to the standard stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about him. “The menu,” she said as she and Briar reemerged from the closet to join the others. “Let’s get on with things and go over the menu.”

  Briar paused before taking the discarded piece of paper from the pocket of her slacks. “The menu, then.” She gave the others a pointed glance before joining Roxie in the trek back down the stairs.