Ready to Wed (Entangled Select)

by Cindi Madsen

  Things are complicated, far more than one paragraph in a paper can cover with a couple of condescending lines.

  I swirled my wine in my glass and glanced at Brendan. “What would you do if you found out you had a kid you never knew about?”

  Brendan froze, his glass barely touching his lips, and then slowly lowered it. “Uh, I don’t know. Why?”

  “I mean, would it freak you out?”

  “Hell yeah.” He tilted his head, looking like he expected more explanation, but I wasn’t ready to drag out all my dirty laundry—or more accurately Grant’s—for him to see. As comfortable as I was with Brendan, I wanted to keep everything happening with Grant separate right now. Each aspect of my life in its own space, just like I was dreaming of doing to that pile of mail scattered on Brendan’s counter. Apples and oranges were just scattered on the counter, too, no nice bowl to hold them.

  I took another drink of wine, draining my glass, and then stared out the patio doors. “Cupid would love to run around that yard.” I glanced at Brendan. “Cupid’s my dog. My last apartment had one tiny strip of grass for the entire complex, and it was hard for him to be cooped up all the time.”

  Brendan joined me at the patio door. “What kind of dog?”

  “Black Lab. He’s with my ex now, until I get my own place.” So much for avoiding talk of Grant. Our merged lives made it so damn inescapable.

  “That sucks. You can’t have him where you are?”

  I shook my head. “Like I said, I’m sleeping on a couch right now, so there’s very little room, not to mention Jillian’s complex doesn’t take big dogs.”

  “Well, if you want to keep him here, you can. I’ve got plenty of space, and I run in the mornings…”

  I bet you do, I thought as I checked out his physique. For the second time tonight. Then I felt weird, because this was Brendan. But, like, Brendan 2.0.

  “…take him with me,” Brendan continued. “Then you can visit anytime. Really, it’d be nice for me.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. I’d give you a key so you could come by whenever to see him.”

  “You’re offering me a key to your house? Just like that? What if I come in and trash the place while you’re gone?” More likely I’d find myself cleaning and organizing, but there was no way he could know that.

  The beginning of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “Are you going to come in and trash the place?”

  I shook my head.

  “My instincts said as much. I know in some ways we just met, but it doesn’t seem like that much has changed. Except for the clothes and job, and…” He looked me up and down as if he was assessing the differences, and I fought the urge to squirm. Was he thinking of me the way I’d just thought about him, or had I had too much wine? “Okay, maybe a lot of things.” He leaned against the doorframe and shrugged. “But not who we are. I know you better than you think, D.J. Halifax. After all, how many times did we sleep over at each other’s houses growing up?”

  “Every weekend we could get our parents to agree to. Until you proposed, and my dad totally freaked out.”

  Brendan’s eyes lit up—the same brown eyes that used to say so much with just a look. Go long. Sneak out of the bushes on three. We’ll ditch these guys in a few. “That’s right. After that, I was banished from slumber parties.”

  “I tried to explain to him that we were the kind of engaged where there was no kissing, but I think it was the first time he realized I might actually kiss a boy someday.” An image from my ninth birthday popped into my head. Brendan and me sitting up in the olive tree in my backyard. He asked me if I’d marry him when we were “old, like twenty or something,” and I told him sure, but that in order to be properly engaged, I’d need a ring—I’d been quite proud of my knowledge of the subject. Brendan took a grape Life Saver out of the roll he’d had in his pocket and tried to shove it on my finger. Since the hole was too small, he sucked on the candy, checking it every few minutes until it fit. And that was how I’d become engaged at nine, only to have my dad promptly remove the sticky, dirt-coated “ring” as soon as I informed him of my betrothal, and tell Brendan that he was no longer allowed in my room and couldn’t sleep over anymore. Over the next four years Brendan had sneaked back to my room now and then, when my dad was at practice. He and I had never kissed, though, and I found my gaze drifting to his lips now.

  Then I came to my senses. That was just a weird, random thought, brought on by the fact that this was the first good night I’d had since…well, pretty much since my wedding fell through. Did it mean I should give up a perfectly good offer that’d allow me to see my dog whenever I wanted without having to also see my ex? Honestly, it seemed like the perfect solution until I could find a more permanent one.

  “Are you sure having my dog here wouldn’t be too much trouble? He’s fully trained and pretty low maintenance. I mean, he sheds a bit, but he also licks up anything that’s spilled, so I consider it a wash.”

  “No trouble at all. I get a furry companion to hang out with, and it means seeing you more, too. Sounds like a win all around.”

  A lightness filled my chest. Usually I liked my plans followed to the letter, and this had definitely come from left field, but I had a feeling this slight detour was going to make my life easier.

  “Come on,” Brendan said. “Let’s go watch a movie or play video games. I’ve got the new 007, and with the updated graphics, I bet you won’t be constantly stuck in a corner.”

  “Ugh, I swear the wall always closed in on me when I took a turn. Then I just got dizzy as the bricks spun around until someone came from behind, shot me, and my screen went red.”

  Brendan laughed, picked up the wine bottle, and gestured me toward the living room. As I followed, I thought not only was this new arrangement with Brendan and Cupid going to make my life easier, but it was also going to make it a lot more fun.

  Part Two

  Temperamental Tangerine – High

  (High risk of tears, panic, rapid breathing, and the urge to bolt or pass out)

  “The prudence of the best heads is often defeated by the tenderness of the best hearts.”

  —Henry Fielding

  Chapter Seven

  “Where the hell are my doves?” I asked into my Bluetooth earpiece, though it probably looked like I was talking to myself. I wished I was talking to a real live person, but all I’d gotten was a generic voicemail greeting. The first couple of messages I’d left were nicer: Hey, can I get an ETA on the doves type messages, but by number four, my patience was gone.

  Jillian stepped out of the large tent where the reception was going to be held. Her staff was bustling around, setting up the catering tables and food warmers. “Any luck?” she asked.

  “He’s still not answering. I’d better go check on the bride. If you see a guy with a big truck full of birds, give me a call.” I strode toward the set-up aisle and chairs, twisting one of the floral-draped columns a few inches to the right on my way.

  Ten months of work all coming together, all except for the damn doves. The wedding ring had been forgotten, but I’d already sent the groom’s father to get it, and he was due back in five. Erika had a minor meltdown about the zit that showed up on her chin this morning, but after cold tea bag compresses, a toothpaste plaster spot treatment, Visine, and the magic of good concealer and powder, her face looked flawless, if a bit heavier on the makeup than usual. Last I’d seen her, her mood was more on the bubbly than stressed side. But the magical moment the groom was told he could kiss the bride as doves were released wasn’t going to happen if my birds, along with their wrangler, didn’t get here soon. And knowing Erika like I now did, there’d be tears if her oft dreamed-of moment fell through.

  The whole dove thing was surprisingly popular. I’d never understood wanting the risk of extra crap at your wedding. While a bird pooping on you was supposed to be lucky, no one would be thinking, Yay, so glad this happened! as they scrubbed the luck from their h
air or skin. Not to mention the unappealing effect on wedding photos.

  At least they hired Louie. If anyone does get crapped on, he’ll Photoshop it out. That is, if the doves ever get their feathered butts here.

  I lifted my phone, silently urging it to ring. When it didn’t, I slid it into my bra, so I’d be sure to feel it vibrate, even if I didn’t hear it, and headed to see if the wedding party were dressed and ready to take their places. Animals were seriously going to be the death of me. A few months ago, I had to deal with horses. My bride had one that, as she put it, simply had to be in the wedding or her family wouldn’t be complete. Five minutes into pictures, the horse decided the flowers looked delicious, bit into the bride’s bouquet, and ran, red tulips hanging from its mouth. Without fully thinking things through, I sprinted after the stupid beast, heels and all, no idea what I’d do if I actually caught up with it.

  A groomsman came to my aid and we managed to corner the horse. He grabbed the bridle, and I pried the mangled red tulip bouquet out of its mouth. After taking flowers from the bridesmaids and centerpieces, I managed to come up with a presentable bouquet for the rest of the sans-horse photos.

  By being resourceful with whatever I had to work with, I could make do in most cases. Unfortunately, I didn’t know how to fake doves. Maybe I’d arm some of the younger kids with slingshots and see if they could at least scare up some regular birds. Nothing says romance like pigeons and crows.

  “Hey,” a deep male voice said as soon as I stepped inside the blessedly cool office that housed the dressing rooms. One of the groomsmen walked up and put a hand on my shoulder—he was the one who didn’t show up for rehearsal last night, so he was already on my blacklist. “You’re the wedding planner, right?” He smirked as his eyes ran me up and down, and I had a feeling a lot of women had fallen prey to that cocky smile. I’d seen his type before—they thought they’d score with all the single chicks at the wedding because they’d be oh so desperate to be with someone. “I’m Clark. The groom’s best man.” He ran his fingers down my arm. “Save me a dance, why don’t ya?”

  Not only was I not impressed, I didn’t have time to deal with his lame pickup lines. “Clark?”

  He quirked one eyebrow, obviously thinking he was a regular Casanova. “Yeah, baby?”

  I leaned in close, until my lips were a few inches from his ear. “Your zipper is down. You might want to fix that before the ceremony.” I removed his hand from my arm, shot him a tight smile, and went to check on the female half of the wedding party.

  On my way down the hall, I realized that dating again would mean dealing with guys like Clark. Was I supposed to swoon at comments like that? No, I’d never be able to do that, but I didn’t even remember how to flirt anymore. Guess I’ll have to add a few extra goals to that section of my life plan if I end up deciding to date.

  I was just about to knock on the door to the bridal room when my boobs vibrated. I pushed the answer button on my earpiece. “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” the gruff voice informed me.

  “Me who?”

  “It’s Ed. I’ve got the doves here and ready to go.”

  I blew out my breath. Halle-frickin-lujah. With another canceled client—got that special voicemail message late last night—and Phoebe determined to make me look incompetent, I felt more pressure than I ever had to make sure this wedding went off without a hitch. “Set up right behind the altar, behind the draped columns. I’ll be around in a few to talk timing.” As soon as I hung up, my phone buzzed again.

  “The dove guy’s here,” Jillian said. “Dude, the birds are totally crapping as he’s pulling them out. It’s a good thing the food’s in the tent.”

  “Amen, sister. I just talked to the guy, but if he heads anywhere but the staging area behind the altar, point him the right way, will you? I’ve got to check on the bride, and the ceremony’s due to start in ten. Reception should be about forty.”

  “Everything’s on schedule for the food,” Jillian said, “and I’ll keep an eye on the bird man.” She was as much of a perfectionist as I was, thank goodness. When she catered, I knew that not only was the food taken care of, but that she’d also help me out on the little things, which was why I strongly recommended her to all my clients.

  I knocked and entered the bridal room. Erika was in her Krikor Jabotian gown, surrounded by her bridesmaids, a blur of white and cream contrasted with coral and lime. This wedding was one of my bigger budget events, although the Maddox/Beecham wedding made it look small in comparison. After losing a few clients, I needed every event to go smoothly, but Valentina’s was always weighing on my mind, thanks to the added news coverage that could make or break me.

  As long as it went off without a hitch, I’d be okay, and I’d kill myself to make sure it would. But with it still being several months away, that thought wasn’t comforting enough for me to think I could afford to rent the beautiful, prime location two-bedroom condo I’d found online last night. My salary was always unpredictable, huge influxes followed by tiny paychecks, and I just couldn’t commit to spreading my finances that thin right now.

  “Dakota!” Erika shouted when she saw me. “Can you believe the big day is finally here?”

  Every bride I’d ever had asked me the same question, or a variation of it, right before the ceremony. I’d asked it to my reflection the morning I was supposed to get married.

  I’d been doing so well all day, focused on tasks and problems—totally back in my element. But it was that question that punched me in the gut. Suddenly all the tiny details stood out. How each of the floral pieces on her bodice had been laid on just so, giving the gown an antique yet modern look. How the layers of her voluminous cream skirt were puffed to perfection. The flawless makeup, the golden curls pinned with pearl bobby pins. The happiness and hope radiating off her.

  This was different from witnessing happy couples during planning meetings. This was the magic day. A love story ending, yet only beginning. And for the first time since I’d been planning weddings, I didn’t feel the hope and happiness. Not for her, not for me. I didn’t feel bitterness, either, thank goodness—I sincerely wanted her wedding to be perfect. Mostly, I just felt empty. Lost. Which made no sense. I had a fab new hairdo. I had a color-coded life plan. Despite losing a few clients, I had enough to keep me plenty busy.

  So why did I still feel like a failure? I told myself to stop it, but my emotions weren’t listening. But like with the flirty groomsman, I didn’t have time for whatever crisis I was having. I forced the corners of my mouth into a smile. “I can’t believe it! And you look amazing, but no surprise there.” I looked over the bridesmaids. “You all look amazing.”

  Lime and coral together was a bold color choice, much like risking dove poop and the couture gown that might overwhelm the wrong person. But Erika was a risky bride, and I admired her for it.

  “Is there anything you need?” It was a dangerous question, often answered with last-minute, impossible requests, but it came out of my mouth every time. I couldn’t help it—even when I was going through a personal crisis, apparently.

  “I was wondering if we could get a couple of bottled waters. They sent up the cheap stuff, and I simply can’t drink it.”

  “I double-checked they’d serve only the Fiji kind at the reception, and I can definitely get you a bottle, but you might want to stop liquids soon. Not to the point of dehydration, obviously, but you don’t know how many times brides have gotten partway through the ceremony, needed the bathroom, and have to spend the ceremony wiggling around.” So it had only happened once that I knew of. I needed to get down to the dove man and not have to worry about certain brands of bottled water.

  “You think of everything,” Erika said, hugging me. “I’m so glad I have you.”

  Now I felt even worse for not getting all hopeful and sentimental. What if every wedding I did from here on out left me this hollow?

  No, I’ll get my groove back. I have to. I noticed one bridesmaid squirming a
round in the corner, a panicked look on her face. “Do you have tissues handy in case you cry?” I asked Erika.

  “I’ll get them,” the maid of honor said, and Erika’s attention turned to her, which gave me enough time to go check on the wide-eyed bridesmaid.

  “Is everything okay?” I whispered to the short redhead. For some reason, her name wouldn’t come to me—with all the weddings and after a couple weeks away from the job, there was too much other information crammed in there. Okay, I had a system. She was the shortest. Her name started with Sh. Shauna? Not quite right. Sharon?

  Yes, it was definitely Sharon. Between her hair and the lime dress, she looked even more perfectly color coordinated with the wedding.

  “I’m afraid that I…well, look for yourself.” She turned around, and I thought it was going to be a zipper problem—wax took care of that, and I had a sewing kit in my bag, so I was sure it wouldn’t be a big deal.

  Only then she lifted her shoe, and I noticed the heel dangling. “I went to step and it just snapped.”

  “No worries.”

  “And then when I fell forward, my skirt caught.” She twisted to show me the rip in the fabric.

  Shit. “We got this.” I just wasn’t sure how I was going to get to the dove guy in time. I glanced at my watch. Five minutes till Go Time.

  I took out superglue, reattached the heel, and handed it to Sharon. “Hold it tight. Be careful not to get it on your skin.” She nodded, her expression all-business, which was much better than a flighty bridesmaid. I threaded the needle and stitched up the tear as fast as humanly possible. I was just finishing when Erika turned to see what was going on.

  Sharon tested the shoe and relief filled her features. “I think it’ll hold,” she whispered.

  “Walk lightly if you can, and when you stand up front, weight on the solid shoe, ’kay?” I straightened, readjusted Erika’s veil on the way out of the room, and then hauled butt to the bird man.

  …

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the preacher said. “You may now kiss the bride.”