by Laura Briggs
The Holiday Bride
By Laura Briggs
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2015 Laura Briggs
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Cover Image: “Winter Wedding”. Original art, “Wedding Dresses, bridal gowns, vector” by Beata Kraus. Used with permission. http://www.dreamstime.com/
The Holiday Bride
by
Laura Briggs
Getting fired was the best thing that ever happened to Gwendolen Lynch.
Of course, it hadn’t seemed that way at first. For months after Gwen left the wedding agency known as Perfect Vows, she had struggled to make a name for herself in the event planning world. It was all she could do to pay the rent on her tiny office space, much less the salaries for the assistants she desperately needed.
Gwen was talented, though; all her clients said as much. Word got around, and gradually, all that persistence paid off. She didn’t recognize her life from eight months ago. She had steady work and a job she always dreamed about. And more than that, Gwen was deeply, madly in love.
That was the biggest surprise of all.
Handsome, caring Ryan Miller's crooked smile had stolen Gwen’s heart. A real-life knight, he swept in and rescued her from the drab existence of a mousy, overworked assistant. Except Ryan liked to argue that Gwen had rescued herself the moment she decided to impersonate her wedding planner boss.
“You make it sound so noble,” Gwen told him, blushing at the thought. “As if I didn’t fib my way into planning a wedding I would’ve normally assisted on.” But would’ve done most of the work for anyway, she conceded, remembering Grace Taylor’s habit of relegating all the hard tasks to her assistant.
Ryan shook his head. “You were just trying to help. Anyone who swaps Grace Taylor for Gwendolen Lynch’s skills should count themselves lucky.”
The fact he had been the groom for that event—and unhappily tied to a fiancée who didn’t love him — was something they didn’t often reference in these conversations.
But that was the past, and Gwen was concerned with the future. Namely, hers and Ryan’s, since he proposed to her late one autumn night.
This had been unexpected for Gwen. Even though she had fallen for him mere weeks after they met—and hoped she would marry him mere months into their relationship—she hadn’t expected him to pop the question over a rooftop picnic at his apartment building. But as a cool evening breeze swept over them, he opened the velvet box, a diamond ring winking at her like the stars in the night sky above.
“I know it’s soon,” he began. “Really soon. We’ve known each other less than a year, but it feels a lot longer to me. And I’d like it to go on for a lifetime, if you feel the same.”
She was speechless, completely blown away. If she spoke, she was sure she would cry. So instead, she nodded, letting Ryan slip the ring on her finger, holding her hand in his own afterwards.
They had settled on a Christmas wedding after much debate. “We’ll have vacation time around then, anyway,” Ryan had pointed out. “Besides, it’s the one time we can pretty much guarantee both our families can be there.”
“That makes sense,” Gwen said. Teasing him as she added, “Though you could’ve said it’s because you didn’t want the calendar year to change without making me your wife. ”
“Then I’ll say it now. Gwendolen Lynch, would you like to ring in the New Year as Mrs. Miller? Maybe in a cozy honeymoon spot somewhere far away from office work and demanding clients?”
Laughing, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thanks for asking. I’d love to.”
After that, Gwen had spent her free time making plans for their wedding. A simple ceremony designed to fit her and Ryan’s limited budget — one which wasn’t much compared to most of her clients. But Gwen was determined to make it perfect, her mind changing almost daily on what would make that possible.
Weeks before the big day, she was still hashing out the major details. Cakes and flowers, the perfect gown—these had to be settled before she drove herself crazy with indecision. Even so, she would’ve had enough time if not for the phone call. The one asking her to coordinate the wedding of a lifetime, a job she would have to be crazy to turn down.
The one that could make or break Gwen’s career as a wedding planner, and—as it turned out— her role as a holiday bride.
*****
Before the call came, Erica Hilbourne was a name familiar to Gwen only through newspapers and television, and hot topics trending on social media. A former fashion model and actress, Erica produced her own line of successful cosmetics and anti-aging skin care products. She championed the natural beauty look, with skin care secrets imparted in the form of late night infomercials.
Rumor had it Erica Hilbourne kept the years from piling on with a little nip and tuck, and some Botox on the side. But rumor couldn’t be proved, and the fashion diva's reputation remained as unblemished as her glowing complexion, one belonging to a woman half her age.
"Ms. Lynch, I'm calling on behalf of Erica Hilbourne to arrange an appointment with your agency. Please call me back at your earliest opportunity — personally, if you will. The voice which left this message on Gwen's phone was perky and professional.
Gwen played it twice to be sure she hadn't misheard. The Erica Hilbourne? Was that really her assistant calling to arrange a meeting with her — Gwen's — tiny little event planning service?
She couldn’t imagine how such a high profile figure ever stumbled across her tiny agency—much less, considered hiring it for their up-coming nuptials. It had to be a prank, or at least a mistake.
"Are you sure?" her assistant Therese said. "Your reputation is growing, Gwen. Maybe somebody finally realized that you should be the city's top event planner, and not that snob Grace Taylor." Spoken with the true ire of one who felt the sting of the snobby wedding planner's success.
"I can't believe it's real, honestly," said Gwen. "I think it must be a mistake." She couldn’t let herself believe it. She set her groceries on the conveyor belt in the quick checkout line, pausing as she caught sight of a tabloid magazine cover across from it, one with Erica Hilbourne’s picture on it. The face in the photo was familiar, but not from the glam commercials and magazine ads which Gwen barely paid attention to whenever she glanced at one.
It was familiar from someplace else: the charity fashion show. That was the reason Erica Hilbourne's assistant was calling her.
People of Gwen’s social status were seldom invited to such exclusive, upper crust affairs. But she happened to know an up-and-coming designer whose work was being showcased. Their gift of two tickets had found her and Ryan in their best formal wear, mingling with the city elite. After an hour or so, Gwen had stepped into the powder room to find a woman frantically inspecting a stain on her formal dress.
The woman and gown were both stunning, the rich scarlet fabric complimenting her flawless skin and shimmering auburn hair. A smile that seemed almost angelic greeted Gwen, as she said, “Isn’t it a crime? This dress has never been worn before tonight, and already it’s ruined. Even the best dry cleaners can’t remove day old wine stains, in my experience.”
“Not if the stains are allowed to set,” Gwen agreed. “But if they’re treated right away—” She broke off, digging through her handbag for the emergency stain removal supply she always carried. Pulling out the one for white
wine spills, she said, “This might help. If you feel like chancing it,” she added, knowing the formula was hit or miss.
“Why not?” the woman replied. Shrugging out of the dress to reveal a slip only slightly less extravagant than the evening gown had been. In fifteen minutes, they had removed all traces of the stain, washing out the solution and drying the fabric beneath the powder room’s luxury hand driers.
“I can’t tell it was ever there. You’re a miracle-worker!” the woman exclaimed.
Gwen had laughed. “Hardly. My fiancé would say I’m just obsessed with minor details. But when you run an event planning agency, you have to be ready for these little emergencies.”
“Really?” The woman had looked interested. “Do you plan weddings?”
She had taken a business card from Gwen, her cell phone ringing before she could introduce herself. Now Gwen knew it had been Erica Hilbourne she helped that night, an event that would set in motion the phone call hiring Gwen’s agency to coordinate the year’s biggest celebrity wedding.
The details had been brief and delivered by Ms. Hilbourne’s personal assistant when Gwen phoned back personally, as requested. With three weeks until the wedding—and the first planner being dismissed due to unforeseen circumstances—the couple needed a skilled organizer. A detail-oriented professional who would prove reliable in a crisis.
“You come personally recommended by Ms. Hilbourne,” the assistant had noted, “and since your agency passed our qualifying background check, you’re first in line for the job.”
Would she meet the couple this Friday to go over the rest of the job details? She, personally, with Ms. Hilbourne — no underlings allowed. "Yes, of course," Gwen answered, still wondering if they had the wrong number.
When she told Ryan about it, he wasn’t surprised or shocked by this news.
“I knew this would happen someday,” he grinned, sweeping Gwen in his arms for a congratulatory hug. “Your big break—it was just a matter of time. Now you’ll get the recognition you deserve.”
With a blush, Gwen protested, “I don’t know, Ryan. It’s not my usual birthday or anniversary type event. Do you think I can handle something this complicated?” She considered the recent headline concerning Erica’s six thousand dollar wedding cake. Did such a thing exist? What similar extravagant measures might pass through her hands if she took this job?
As Grace Taylor's mousy little underling, she'd handled expenses and extravagances that dramatic every day — but not as Gwendolen Lynch, independent event planner. Her solo career had been one of Bat Mitzvahs and office parties, cozy baby showers and weddings for guests usually numbering well under one hundred. Could she actually go back to crystal and catering after days spent baking whole-wheat doggie treats for a pet birthday bash?
“You’ll do great,” Ryan soothed.
“What about my other assignments, though? I’m already planning one wedding for the Christmas season. Or have you forgotten?” she asked, waving the diamond band beneath his face.
“Not for a second,” Ryan promised, kissing the hand that wore it. “But don’t walk away from the job of a lifetime because you think it’ll cramp our wedding plans. Because this groom isn’t expecting a perfect ceremony—just a perfect bride.”
“Ryan, I’m serious—”
“So am I.” His face softened with the words. “Gwen, you can’t turn this down. It’s the chance you’ve been waiting for. All your hard work is finally paying off.”
She knew he was right—and that she had to do this. If she didn’t try, she would always regret it. A fact she couldn’t deny, as Ryan pulled her close again, their lips meeting in a warm, tender kiss.
*****
To celebrate, Gwen took her staff to lunch at Chez Allard, a posh restaurant that was far outside the company’s usual budget. Under the circumstances, something special was called for, and Gwen had been dying to try their acclaimed Boeuf bourguignon dish.
The restaurant didn’t disappoint, with elegant interior, appetizing menu, and excellent staff. It could only be more perfect if Ryan had joined them. But her fiancé had business meetings all week, and as he jokingly told her, “You know how techie nerds are out of their element with four star dinning.” A gross exaggeration, since Ryan was polished and gentlemanly enough for any occasion, in Gwen's opinion.
As it was, only Therese and Alan were there, since Mindy, her third assistant planner, was away on vacation. Bad timing, Gwen realized, since her other two employees were now overloaded with a lot of the little jobs that Gwen wouldn’t have time for in the shadow of the Hilbourne wedding.
They didn’t seem to mind, excited by the possibilities it presented for their future careers at Creative Coordination. “Do you think we’ll be on TV?” Therese had asked, scooping up a forkful of pasta. “Or in the newspaper, at least? They had a feature on Erica’s dress designer this morning.”
Alan scoffed at this idea. “No way they’ll interview any of us,” he said, reaching for another roll. “We’re totally behind the scenes stuff. Who interviews the producer if they can talk to the actor instead?”
Gwen knew this was partly true, but their agency would benefit in other ways. Word would spread to other members of Erica’s circle in need of event planners, and hopefully, a glowing recommendation would come from the spokeswoman herself.
This fantasy was tempered by a heavy dose of nervousness. What if she made a terrible impression and ruined her agency’s reputation instead? What if they hired her only to find she was terribly inadequate compared to their first planner?
Ryan might believe in her, but these were very prominent people, with standards above anything she had encountered in her clientele for Creative Coordination. Gwendolen Lynch, with her simple training and limited experience might not measure up to the expectations of the rich and famous.
A voice broke through these speculations. A bitter, sarcastic one. “Well, well. This place used to be exclusive, but I may have to take my business elsewhere if they start letting just anyone in.”
Grace Taylor was pausing by their table, her elegance and power unmistakable in an executive business suit and mink coat. The sneer on her face the same one Gwen remembered from years of running errands and shouldering half the workload without any of the credit.
Even now, that voice still caused Gwen to jump, the same way it did every other assistant who had ever slaved for the eminent Taylor firm. Repressing a shiver, Gwen tilted her chin up. "Hello, Grace," she answered. No need for 'Ms. Taylor' anymore, she reminded herself forcefully. They were equals now, at least in everything but the profit books.
Grace glanced at Gwen's employees. “Thank goodness I’ve already finished my meal, or my appetite would have been ruined. Is this the best you can do — really?" She looked at Gwen now, a mocking expression of disappointment in those cold, steely eyes.
“Do you mind?” Therese spoke up, her voice lacking the tremor of one of Grace's ex-employees. “We’re celebrating a very important business deal.”
The change in Ms. Taylor’s demeanor was instant. From haughty calm to contempt in a second’s time. “So the rumors are true," she said, glancing shrewdly at Gwen. "Until now, I chalked it up to idle gossip, the kind you find in the trash tabloids. But you really are in charge of the Hilbourne affair.” A touch of menace entered her voice.
Gwen wished this hadn’t come up. Not here, not in the middle of celebrating this landmark occasion. She forced a smile. “I don’t feel it’s appropriate to discuss ongoing business deals," she answered. "I think that's one thing I learned from your firm in my years of working there." Slaving's more like it, she added, mentally.
“Drop the act,” Grace Taylor hissed. “Whatever dirty trick you pulled to land the Hilbourne wedding is never going to last. I wonder if your new client knows how your little agency sprang into being? The stunt you pulled to land that job in my absence—and the groom in the bargain?"
Gwen froze. You've got nothing to be ashamed of, she rem
inded herself. But that wasn't entirely true, given the lie she had let her first — and Grace's former — clients believe. What if Grace Taylor told that story to Erica Hilbourne?
Before Gwen could answer, her old boss had added, “Oh, wait. She doesn't know. No one knows. Because I haven’t told them yet.”
Gwen’s heart hammered, a combination of anger and fear spiking her pulse. She summoned a casual tone, replying, “How good of you not to spread gossip about your rivals.”
This was met with a snort. “You’re hardly a rival. But if some twist of fate has landed you with such prestigious clientele, they deserve to know exactly what they’re getting.”
Grace could blackball Gwen effectively among the city's upper crust simply by spreading the story of Gwen's supposed betrayal — and by threatening to cut off any client who so much as breathed an interest in hiring Gwen's little firm for any event, even one as minor as a dog's birthday party. A personal word from Grace Taylor to Erica Hilbourne would be worth a lot. It would mean this meeting with a wealthy client would be the last for Gwen's firm.
The smile that followed those words chilled Gwen to the bone. Be strong, she told herself. Don’t stoop to her level.
Taking a sip from her water glass, she said, “I guess some people can’t take a little competition. Not without resorting to cheap tricks and slander to make themselves look better," she added.
“It would be the truth,” Ms. Taylor said. “The only reason I haven't told your story to everyone is because I've expected your firm to crumble to pieces long before it ever lands a paying client worth having. And because I would rather not have you remembered as a former employee of Perfect Vows.”
Grace Taylor would definitely paint her in an unflattering light, Gwen knew: as the conniving employee looking for the first chance to betray her loyal and accomplished boss.
