I feel a pang of sympathy for the girl. In an ideal world, her wedding would take place far away from Marcie, and the only cameras around would be the disposable ones on the guest tables to immortalize the night. But if we’re stuck in the middle of this circus production, then at least I can give her some reminders of that night.
“Well, how about we bring some of those memories into the wedding theme?” I suggest. “We could have hot dogs on the menu, and pinball machines at the reception for the guests to play.”
“Really?” Pixie gasps. “That would be awesome. But do you think Marcie would mind?”
“You let me worry about Marcie,” I reassure her. “This is your day. And what Pixie wants, Pixie gets!”
Soon, we reach the turn off for the mansion. The trees are overgrown here, and the road is cracked and sandy as I drive carefully through the shaded canopy. Then the shrubs fall away and the mansion comes into view, sitting in the middle of tangled lawn, waist-high with weeds.
Pixie bites her lip, trying not to make a face. “This place?” she asks, sounding dubious.
“I know it looks like a mess, but I promise, once you see the grounds you’ll love it.”
As we get out of the car, I cross my fingers that I’m right. I always remembered that the place was run down, but the past ten years have left it crumbling and disheveled. Still, there are the bones of an incredible old house buried under all the grasses and dust. It’s a grand, three-story mansion with broken stone columns and big archways where the windows once were. I take it in, excited, as we pick our way through the ruins. Already, I can imagine a dozen possibilities for this beautiful space.
“What do you think?” I ask.
Pixie lets out a shriek, and clings to me as Buster barks. “Was that a snake?” she demands.
“No,” I lie, taking her hand. “Come on, let’s see the back.”
I lead Pixie around to the rear, where the overgrown lawn rolls gently down to the ocean. There was a formal rose garden here once, but now they grow wild, tangling with sea grasses and weeds in the tall grass.
My excitement grows. “Just imagine, we can have the ceremony out here, a gorgeous canopy right by the water. White chairs here,” I say, pointing, “And an aisle picked out in white roses. We would clean up the house a little too, sweep all the dust out and cover the whole ground floor in more roses and little candles. You could set up a dance floor on the lawn with room for a band, celebrate as the sun goes down and party all night.”
I get shivers as I paint the scene. I know this is it, the perfect romantic place.
“Wow.” Pixie looks around, her forehead furrowed. “You really think you can make all that happen?”
“I know I can,” I vow. “Trust me, this will be the most incredible wedding ever.”
“Well.... OK!” Pixie shrugs. Buster is running around, sniffing at the broken-down statues. “Whatever you think!”
I know the point of today was to get the heart of what Pixie really wants, but she doesn’t seem to have an opinion either way. And already, I feel in my bones that this is the place. I can take every hint of an idea she’s given me and turn it into one spectacularly romantic day.
“How would you feel about white and pink for the color theme?” I ask, as we head back to the car. “Would Clyde mind, do you think?”
“He’ll do whatever I want,” Pixie replies sunnily.
“Still, we want him to feel included, too. Maybe if we bring in some classic English food, it’ll represent him in the wedding. Bangers and mash, a traditional roast.”
“OK!”
“And what about the music—” I stop as Pixie lets out a big sigh. “Is everything OK?”
“Yes,” she says slowly. “I didn’t realize there would be so much to plan!”
“It is your wedding,” I say gently.
“I know, but I guess I thought I’d just show up, say ‘I do’, smile for the cameras. You know, like the rest of the show.”
“You never pictured this day? Imagined it at all?”
“Nope.” Pixie shrugs. “Like, I’ve thought about what I’ll wear if I ever win an Oscar, or get some big award. Why, did you?”
I pause. “I mean, I’ve thought about it. What my dress would look like. What music I want playing during our first dance…” I trail off, realizing for the first time that I brought Pixie here because it’s the setting I always imagined for my own wedding. It’s exactly what I pictured all those years ago, daydreaming in class the way romantic teenage girls do. The white roses, the candles…
Luke standing at the top of the aisle.
I snap back. “But it’s fine that you haven’t,” I reassure her. “It’s great that you’re staying so relaxed about it all. After all, it’s not just the wedding that matters; it’s what comes after. I bet you can’t wait to be married to Clyde, and spend the rest of your lives together.”
Pixie makes a face. “Sure. I guess?”
My cell phone buzzes with a text, interrupting us. Marcie. “They need us back on set,” I tell her. “Good to go?”
“As long as we stop for ice cream first.” Pixie is all smiles again. “Do you think they do fat-free fro-yo? Marcie says I need to lose ten pounds for the wedding.”
“I don’t think Eddie would know fro-yo if it slapped him in the face,” I laugh. “But I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Chapter Ten
I’m expecting Marcie to put up a fight over the mansion. Have her big TV wedding in a demolition zone? But to my surprise, she loves the idea. Or rather, she loves the idea of Pixie and Clyde getting dirty, helping sweep floors, paint, and clean up the place for the big day. “Ratings gold!” she exclaims happily. “I could kiss you right now.”
“Hold that thought.” I back away carefully. “We still need to get permission from the town.”
“Easy,” Marcie grins. “I’ve been greasing palms, just like I told you.”
I can’t believe any Pelican Key council members would take bribes, but I guess Marcie learns quick, because I hear the next day that the church is getting a new roof – and we’re getting permits to film the wedding at the mansion. There’s still a ton of work to do, but Marcie’s got that under control, too. She’s raving about a local construction crew she’s brought in to help with the job.
That should have been my first warning, but I’m too busy with wedding plans to pay much attention – until I pull up at the mansion a couple of days later and find Luke’s blue truck parked with the rest of the vehicles out front. He’s pulling some plans from the flatbed, which is stacked with tools and equipment.
My chest tightens. Of course the local crew is his company. I should have guessed.
I get out of my car, and force myself to go over. “Hey,” I wave.
He looks up. “Hey. How’s it going?”
“Great.” My voice comes out sounding fake and loud. Dial it back, Ginny! “I mean the plans are coming together. I’m really happy they signed off on using the mansion. It’s going to be beautiful. Thanks for lending a hand.”
“No problem. My guys love the overtime.” He smiles, and puts his hand over his eyes to shade them from the sun as he looks over at the building’s crumbling façade. “To tell the truth, I’d do this one for free. I always loved this place, thought about maybe trying to buy it one of these days and fix it up. Restore it to its former glory.”
“You should,” I tell him.
He chuckles. “My finance guys say otherwise. This place is the definition of ‘money pit’. You could pump thousands into it, just getting the foundations right and those walls stable again. Still…” he trails off, and I can see the itch in his expression. He can see the potential too, just like when I toured with Pixie.
“If anyone can do it, you can.”
Luke looks over; he seems surprised. “You suddenly get some faith in me, Gin?”
His old nickname spreads through my body, warm as molasses. “I always had faith,” I say quietly. “You were the
one who never dreamed big.”
“I had dreams, all right.” Luke’s expression twists. “You and me, a house, a couple of kids. I guess it just wasn’t as grand as your big future.”
His words hit me like a bolt. I open my mouth to reply, but he’s already waving at someone across the site. “See you,” he says casually, and strolls away.
I try to catch my breath. Is that what he believes, that I didn’t think he was good enough for me? It wasn’t like that, not at all. He was the best thing in my life back then, the only thing at all. And that’s what pushed me on, piling my bags into the truck that night with tears flowing down my cheeks. Knowing at eighteen that my life needed to be bigger than one boy if I was going to make anything of myself at all.
The construction site continues around me, oblivious to the pain whirling in my chest. The whole production crew is here, plus Luke’s guys, all doing their best to whip the mansion into half-presentable shape within a couple of weeks. Across the courtyard, Nick and Neil are filming the happy couple swinging some hammers, trying to knock down a wall. Pixie’s wearing a bright pink protective mask, and I can hear her shrieks every time a piece of concrete flies up in her direction.
The sound brings me back to myself. I’m already running late, so I hurry in to find Marcie. She’s set up mission control in trailer at the back of the mansion. She’s got a couple of laptops, two scared-looking interns, and three different phones running as she plays traffic cop to the chaos.
“There you are.” She grabs my arm, exiting. “Walk with me, I’ve only got five minutes.”
“OK.” I pull out my planning book. Theo and I have been working overtime, figuring out the design for the big day. “I’ve figured out the sketches for the main ceremony space—”
“What about flowers?” Marcie demands, not even looking.
“I told you, white roses. It’ll smell amazing.”
Marcie curls her lip. “White’ll wash out the shots,” she says. “We need pops of color. And those balloons won’t work,” she adds, grabbing my book and flipping the pages. “Let me check with the network who the latest sponsors are. They’ll want their logos in a prominent position if they’re footing some of the bill.”
I try to take a deep breath. I’m used to picky brides, but Marcie’s micromanaging is going way over the top. She’s second-guessing every decision I try to make, and I’m not used to having a boss with such firm opinions.
“OK,” I bite back my reply and smile. “Whatever you need.”
Suddenly, a chunk of plaster crashes down just inches away. “Sorry!” one of the construction guys yells down. “Might want to take this further away,” he adds. “There’s going to be plaster dust flying.”
Marcie rolls her eyes and steers me out the back to the lawns. It’s a pretty impressive sight: dozens of people cleaning rocks and rubble, attacking the weeds with mowers, and replanting the flower beds. Pixie and Clyde have moved on to mowing. They’re being filmed on the ride-on, cutting a path through the undergrowth.
“Do you ever look around sometimes and wonder what the hell you did to wind up here?” Marcie’s voice comes suddenly. I turn. She’s watching the chaos and slowly shaking her head.
“All the time,” I say quietly. My gaze goes to the man striding across the back lawn with a tool-belt. Even with his face turned away from me, I know that gait by heart. Luke. Now I’m back, it seems I can’t get away from him.
Marcie follows my gaze, and brightens. “That’s the developer, right? Hello… What’s his story?”
“Umm, I don’t know,” I say, cautious. “What do you want to know?”
“Is he single?” she demands. “Or does he have his high-school sweetheart waiting back at home with dinner and two kids?”
“No, he doesn’t,” I say quietly, still watching him. “Definitely not.”
“Perfect!” Marcie thrusts my folder back at me, fluffs up her hair, and sashays over. “Luke?” she calls, honey-sweet. “Can I have a moment?”
I watch her flirt, leaning in to point out something in the plans, and running her hand up his arm. I feel a bolt of jealousy that doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t belong to me; he hasn’t for years. And looking like that, there’s no way he’s spent the past decade single. There have probably been tons of women. Mega-tons of them, all lined up around the block for a guy like him.
Luke laughs at something Marcie says. He’s smiling, all easy charm as she steers him across the lawn.
Does he like her, too?
I realize I’m gripping my folder hard enough to leave nail marks. There’s no way I can stand around here and watch them flirt all day, so I check my to-do list. ‘CAKE!!’ is circled in red with big arrows, so I figure I better make myself useful, and get something done instead of staring at Luke looking like a cold drink of water on a hot summer’s day.
Cake it is.
It’s part of my job to be able to track down the best florists, bakers, and string quartets within a hundred miles of any given wedding location. Pelican Key Cove isn’t exactly the home of haute cuisine, but I need a wedding cake baker who can not only whip up an amazing centerpiece for the big day, but manage desserts for the rehearsal dinner and take-home party favors, all with Nick and Neil filming their every move. Theo’s been researching places nearby and drew me up a shortlist. First on the list is a cake shop out in Key West that’s been getting rave reviews, so I program in the address and hit the highway again.
Out here, there’s only one way to get around: the Overseas Highway running the length of the keys, stringing together the tiny islands in a long chain. When I was growing up, I hated that there was only two destinations: north towards the tip of Florida, or south until the pale asphalt ran out in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. Luke would always laugh at how stir-crazy I got. “Where else do you need to go?” he’d tease, but the answer was, everywhere. I loved the idea of getting in my car and driving in a dozen different directions, to a hundred new possibilities. It made sense that I’d make my home in New York City in the end, the place of a hundred different cultures, where every block is like visiting a new town.
I wonder if Luke ever traveled, or if he stayed put in Pelican Key Cove this whole time.
I make a noise of frustration and turn the radio up, trying to drown out the thoughts of him. I was fine back home in the city, I barely thought of him at all. Well, except those late nights, all alone in bed. Or whenever a particularly cute couple came to me, brimming over with excitement about their wedding plans…
Fine, he crossed my mind occasionally, but it was always some vague figment, a memory of him at eighteen, not this flesh-and-blood grown man who keeps standing in front of me these days – looking so damn good, reminding me of everything I walked away from all those years ago.
I just have to make it through this wedding, I tell myself. Just a couple more weeks, and then I’ll be gone for good.
Again.
Somehow, that thought isn’t a comfort. Luckily, I’m nearing my destination. I look around as I cruise through town, noticing the laid-back Florida vibe: tourists and their beach gear, a whole cluster of stores selling Tiki lamps, pool inflatables, and big straw hats.
Rock n Roll Cakes is situated down a cute side street, lined with palm trees and candy-colored storefronts. I pull over in front of the brightest on the block: decorated in a fondant yellow paint with a bright white trim. The window is full of delicious-looking cakes, and my stomach rumbles. I realize I haven’t eaten anything since morning. It’s a good thing cake tasting is all part of the job!
Inside, a bell dings as I step through the door. I look around. The shop has a retro flair: black and white chequerboard tile on the floor and vintage red leather booths along one wall. The display cabinet takes up the whole back of the shop, and my mouth is watering by the time I get close enough to look.
Powder-dusted lemon cakes, three-layer chocolate gateaux, and cupcakes as far as the eye can see: red velvet, vanilla, coconut and
more. This place is perfect! I already know Marcie will love it. And who knows, maybe the baker will be willing to let them film here, too. I know Pixie and Clyde would have a blast trying to bake their own cake.
“Be right with you!” A woman’s voice comes from the back. “I just need to get this soufflé in the oven.” There’s a pause, and then the doors swing open and a woman backs into the show, carrying a tray of cupcakes. “You’ve got to be careful, or those things never rise. And we all know limp is never a good look. Now, what can I get you?”
The woman turns, and her smile fades. “Ginny?”
I can’t believe it. It’s like I’m staring at a ghost. “Jules?”
My old partner in crime. My former best friend. But right now, she’s looking anything but friendly.
“Oh my god!” I exclaim, “I can’t believe it! I read about this place online, and I only came by out of chance, but look at you! You’re Rock n Roll cakes? Of course,” I laugh. “Rockwell. This is amazing, how have you been?”
“Fine,” Jules answers coolly. Her dark hair is longer now, pulled up in a messy bun. She’s wearing a retro polka-dot apron and red lipstick. She busies herself transferring the cake into the display case. “Would you like anything to taste?”
I pause, thrown. “Umm, sure. I’m actually looking for a wedding cake baker. Do you do those?”
“I can.” Jules is still giving me that wary look. “Depends on the client, and if I have enough prep time.”
“This is going to be a tight one,” I tell her. “We need it in two weeks. But it’s for Pixie Dalton-Ross and Clyde Kincaid.”
Jules’s cold expression drops for a minute. “Park Avenue Princesses?” she yelps. “No freaking way!”
“Yes freaking way.” I smile, glad to have melted the ice. “I’m planning their wedding. It’s a big TV show thing back home in Pelican Key Cove. It’s crazy, but I promise they’ll pay well. Plus, it’ll be a ton of great promotion for the store.”
Beach Wedding Page 8
