Diary of a Single Wedding Planner (Tales Behind the Veils Book 1)

by Howe, Violet

  “Yes, she did. Worked her way into upper management and ended up running the entire company. That’s why she comes across so tough. She expects people to do as she commands. You and I both know brides aren’t always in that mindset.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting the part about her marrying the boss’s son? I think that’s an important little detail in her climb to the top,” Chaz said, slinking in through the door frame and leaning against it with a Cheshire-cat grin.

  I swear the man has sonar hearing when it comes to gossip. He loves dirt on anyone, and he has a plethora of Lillian’s dirt since they worked together at the hotel long ago. She brought him on board here as a senior planner when he was laid off about six months ago. Senior planner, my ass. Granted, he knows more about weddings than I did when I started, but not by much. They’re tight, though, him and Lillian. If I didn’t know how incredibly fond he is of men, I would swear they have a cougar thing going on.

  “Oh, Chaz. Stop it!” Laura waved him away. “Yes, she married the owner’s son, but that’s not why she took the company from two properties to a worldwide network of resorts and clubs. So let’s not throw daggers and be petty. She was very good at what she did.”

  “So was he evidently!” Chaz laughed loudly at his own joke. “I heard he was quite talented in pleasing the ladies.” He reached up and grabbed the top of the doorframe, stretching his long, skinny limbs and yawning loudly.

  Laura arched an eyebrow at him and shook her head. “Well, I don’t know if I would necessarily call them ladies, but it’s neither here nor there. We’re not discussing that. I was only trying to help Tyler keep Lillian’s temper in perspective,” she said before turning to me. “Don’t brood over this, Tyler. Lillian’s bark is much worse than her bite. She’s got a heart of gold, and you know she adores you.”

  Adores was probably reaching a bit. Maybe tolerates would be more appropriate. I mean, Lillian must like me somewhat or I wouldn’t still be working here. But I have never felt any warm fuzzies from her. Not even in the beginning, before I was screwing up her events.

  I didn’t have a clue about weddings when Melanie hired me. I honestly didn’t even know event planning was a real job until we met. No one in my tiny little hometown was an event planner. If you had a baby shower or a wedding or something, your aunts and cousins helped plan it. Mostly planned it for you and told you what to do, but they called it helping. Maybe that was one good thing about getting jilted and leaving home never to return. When and if I get married now, I get to do my own planning.

  Laura returned to her office, and I followed Chaz back to his, still thinking about Lillian. “Why did she leave the hotel business if she was so successful?”

  He exhaled sharply and shook his head. “Everyone has a limit to how much they can take. She was the powerhouse building the company up. He was the wealthy playboy who gave her free rein as long as she turned a blind eye to his adventures. When he moved a buxom blonde into the penthouse suite of the downtown tower, Lillian called foul. She thought he’d come in line. Instead, he sued for divorce and tried to fire her from the company. But her attorneys took care of her. She’s not hurting.”

  “Wow.” I couldn’t imagine Lillian in that situation. She’s such a force to be reckoned with. Who would have the balls to cheat on her?

  I bet she probably handled it much better than I did when it happened to me. Then again, I was much younger at the time, and I didn’t have attorneys to fight for me. Which is another good thing, I suppose. At least my college sweetheart was kind enough to dump me and break my heart before we got married. No lawyers needed.

  I was still deep in thought when I heard the salon door open. I knew it was Lillian even before I heard her ask Laura if I was in the office. I cringed and waited for the summons.

  “Tylah, could you come here, please?” Lillian called out.

  I scurried over to her office with the same sick feeling I used to get when my mother found out I’d skipped class.

  “Yes, ma’am?” I said, standing at attention in her doorway. In stark contrast to Laura’s warm and fluffy office, Lillian’s is sleek and modern with a glass desk and two black, straight-back chairs. No pillows. Not a single picture on the walls. Only one lone mirror.

  “Here,” she said, handing me a purple bouquet in a clear vase. “Tonya wanted you to have her bouquet. I kept it in my fridge last night, so there may be a few broken stems. I think overall it fared well. I understand you had quite the mission to perform in helping her get ready. She was appreciative of your efforts.”

  I took the heavy bouquet from her and blurted out, “Sorry we were late.”

  “Me too,” she said. “It was hot and uncomfortable, but from what I hear, you had cause to be uncomfortable as well.”

  Lillian glanced in the mirror and ran her hand through her short white hair. “Thank you for helping her. Trashy, selfish girl that she is. A mere peasant. This marriage will not last. She is four months pregnant now with what he thinks is his child. I have my doubts.”

  She rubbed her eyes and shook her head with a slight shudder. “They did things on the dance floor no one with any self-respect would ever do. Horrors. But it’s behind us now. Enjoy the flowers.” She waved her hand in dismissal to me and turned on her computer.

  “Um, yes, ma’am,” I nodded and backed out of her office, much like a servant leaving the presence of the queen.

  I stumbled back to my desk in a daze.

  “That’s it? That’s all she said?” Melanie asked as we ate lunch. “I figured she would at least ream you for turning your phone off. I mean, you couldn’t really help the bride being late.”

  “She didn’t even mention the phone. I think my intimate encounter with the bride’s backside earned me some kind of brownie points.”

  “I guess. I can’t believe the girl told Lillian about you putting on her pantyhose. I’m thinking I would have kept that to myself,” Mel said, stuffing a huge bite of salad in her mouth.

  “I just don’t know why I got so worked up. I need to learn to chill,” I said as I munched on my fries. “It’s not like Lillian’s mean. I just feel like I can’t quite do my best around her. Like no matter how much I want to impress her and please her, something always goes wrong.”

  “I think you’re reading too much into things, Tyler. If she thought you were screwing up, she would have told you. It sounds to me like she pretty much said you’d done a good job.”

  “Maybe. I know there is no way in hell Lillian would have been down on her knees risking a hernia to pull pantyhose up over some girl’s butt. At the same time, there is no way I could’ve told her I wasn’t going to do whatever I could to take care of the bride.”

  Melanie nodded in agreement. “You’re right about that. But I guess in the end it’s okay since the bride was happy and Lillian still loves you.”

  “I think love is too strong a word. Scratch that, and let’s say she still likes me. At least enough that I get to keep my job for now.”

  Tuesday, October 8th

  Nice eye candy in the hotel lobby today as we were doing photos. Tall, dark, Italian. Wearing his suit rather well, I must say! He came over to ask how long we would need the staircase and offered to block it off for us. Not a single soul had tried to use the stairs, so I think he was just saying hello. I didn’t mind. He was quite a looker. We stood and talked for a few minutes while the photographer finished up. He offered me his card, “in case the bride and groom need something while they are staying at the hotel.” I offered him mine, “in case the bride and groom can’t reach me or the hotel has a question.”

  Isn’t it funny the dances we go through in this ritual of meeting someone? Why can’t we simply say, “I find you attractive and would like to have another conversation past this one. Call me.” Wouldn’t it make everything simpler? Why can’t we just be straightforward?

  You would think I would be used to the game by now. I should be much better at playing it. Lord knows I’ve gotten en
ough practice.

  Maybe he’ll call. Maybe he won’t. We’ll see.

  The rest of the wedding went well enough, but I had a first today I sincerely hope is a last. We had finished pictures at the hotel and had everyone ready to go at the wedding chapel. The bride was tucked away in the dressing room while we waited for a few straggling guests to arrive and be seated.

  Sondra, the mother of the groom, approached me outside to suggest we put plastic cups in the dressing rooms. I thought she wanted water, so I reminded her the dressing room held a small fridge with water bottles inside.

  Yeah, she didn’t want water.

  “Oh, we saw those, thank you.” Sondra nodded as she smiled. “I’m not sure how to put this delicately, but . . . ” she hesitated and twisted her hands together as she glanced over her shoulder, “that bathroom stall in there is quite narrow. Especially for a bride in a dress with a large train and layers and layers of tulle.”

  She leaned in to whisper. “It is virtually impossible for a bride to hit the toilet without being able to see where she’s going, and you can only get so many people in that tiny stall to hold up the dress. A plastic cup would have come in handy.”

  For a moment, I just stared at her in confusion. I wasn’t sure what a plastic cup had to do with the bride and her dress and peeing. But she cleared it up for me right away.

  “We ended up using the candy dish that was sitting on the dresser. She filled it right up, and then we rinsed it out in the sink afterward and set it upside down to dry. But a plastic cup would have been much easier to maneuver up under her dress, I think.”

  My mouth dropped open as she walked away.

  They used a candy dish?!? For her to pee in???

  It raised way more questions than I had answers for.

  I mean, the circumference of the candy dish—or a plastic cup, for that matter—is much smaller than the opening of the toilet. Was it really that much easier to hit?

  Someone obviously held it for her. Who got that job? I’ve never seen that on a list of maid of honor duties.

  I hope to God it wasn’t the mother of the groom. What a way to start off with your mother-in-law! Normally it’s enough to worry about saying something offensive without being concerned you’re going to splash her with pee.

  How deep was the candy dish? What if there was overflow? Was someone up under the skirt helping her aim and judging capacity? I don’t think I want to know the answers to these questions. And yet, my mind can’t help but ask.

  I recovered my composure enough to tell the poor housekeeper to please wear rubber gloves and dispose of the candy dish. As far as I’m concerned, no amount of “rinsing out” would make it suitable for candy again.

  Wednesday, October 9th

  So tonight was blind date night. Melanie was way more into it than I was. She must have texted me twenty times while I was getting ready, and then when I didn’t text her back quickly enough, she called.

  “Are you excited?” Mel asked.

  “Umm, I’d say more nervous than excited.”

  “Why? This is a good thing.” She sounded so disappointed I almost wanted to pretend to be excited just to make her happy.

  “You know how I feel about blind dates, Mel,” I said.

  “I do, but Christopher’s a nice guy. He’s not going to show up barefooted, I promise.”

  I laughed at Mel and cringed at the memory she referred to. I was probably sixteen at the time, and my mother’s best friend had insisted I go out with her nephew. Doris described Sammy as a “long, tall, good-lookin’ drink of water.” She would drawl out long and tall into pretty much two-syllable words and then rush through good-lookin’ drink of water like she was running out of oxygen.

  He was tall alright, but evidently Doris and I have vastly differing opinions on what constitutes good-lookin’. Of course, it didn’t help that he showed up barefoot to take me out to dinner. I opened the door in my brand-new dress to greet a scrawny giant of a boy wearing a rebel-flag tank top, a pair of cut-off denim shorts, and no shoes.

  He smiled down at me, revealing a large gap of two to three teeth missing on the bottom and a couple of top teeth ready to jump ship at any moment.

  I decided right then and there I’d need to see someone up close and in person before I ever let anyone set me up on a date. Melanie had a lot of faith in Paul’s opinion, though, and I had a lot of faith in Melanie. So much so that I even agreed to let Christopher pick me up at my house and drive me on the date.

  It started out wonderful enough. He arrived on time with a gorgeous bouquet. I was relieved to see Paul actually did have good taste in men. Christopher was tall and muscular, with dark, wavy, tousled brown hair and eyes the color of dark honey. He flashed a gorgeous white smile and kissed me on the cheek as he handed me the flowers.

  The shiny new Porsche in my driveway was another nice surprise. I’ve always been a sucker for a nice ride. This one was black, sleek, and plush. I don’t consider myself a real material girl, but I think a handsome, rich guy in an expensive car is not a bad way to start a date.

  The afternoon’s heavy rains had subsided, but water still filled the potholes along the road. Christopher swerved to miss one and ended up splashing into the water running along the curb. All conversation stopped. His mood changed immediately. He stopped at the next parking lot entrance, got out of the car without a word, and grabbed a white towel from behind the driver’s seat. After drying every single drop of water from the right front fender, he got back in and continued our drive.

  After the third time, I asked if he’d recently washed his car.

  “No,” he replied. “I don’t want street water ruining my finish.”

  Now I don’t know a lot about cars, but I don’t think they could charge as much as they do for a Porsche if splashing in a puddle would ruin it. My admiration for the car quickly soured as I sat and waited for him to dry it off every few minutes.

  My annoyance lifted somewhat when we pulled into the most sought-after restaurant in Orlando. Reservations were usually booked up months in advance, but Christopher whipped right into valet like he owned the place. I felt a little like Cinderella at the ball when the valet opened the car door and my handsome prince-for-the-night extended his hand to escort me up the steep stairs at the entrance.

  The hostess greeted Christopher by name and with a fond smile. She led us to a small table for two set against a curve in the back windows. I gazed out at the incredible view of the lake, wondering if this was his regular table and how often he brought dates here.

  He smiled and thanked the hostess as she replaced my white linen napkin with a black one. I glanced around at the other diners and hoped my little black dress was up to par.

  After a few questions about what I liked and disliked, Christopher asked if he could order for me. I was hesitant to say yes at first, especially since I hadn’t even seen the menu, but I decided what the hell. I’ll go with it.

  I had no need to worry. He started with an amazing antipasto platter and a bottle of wine, followed by soup so good I wanted to sop my bread in it. I didn’t, but I sure wanted to. (You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take all the country out of the girl.)

  Christopher behaved as a perfect gentleman throughout the entire meal. Asking me questions, actually listening to the answers, and being extremely attentive to my comfort and needs. I was thinking I could definitely get used to that kind of treatment.

  The wine coaxed me into a warm and fuzzy haze as soft jazz played in the background and Christopher wooed me with tales of his exotic travel escapades. It seemed there was nowhere this man had not been. Frolicking with penguins in Antarctica, camping with the aborigine in Australia, backpacking across Europe, and sleeping under the stars on safari in Africa. I felt like I was in an episode on the Travel Channel. Definitely a far cry from that sixteen-year-old country girl and barefoot Sammy.

  As we shared a decadent slice of chocolate-lava cake for dessert, I felt cert
ain Paul and Melanie had stumbled upon the most wonderful man on the planet. I was mesmerized. I could certainly overlook an obsession with water droplets on fenders.

  He casually reached his hand across the table with palm outstretched. I placed my hand in his with a giddy schoolgirl giggle. I couldn’t tell if my stomach flipping was from butterflies or a result of too much rich food and a third glass of wine. It didn’t matter. I was having a fantastic time. Truly enjoying his company. I didn’t want the night to end.

  Evidently, neither did he. As he stroked the back of my hand with his fingers and sent slight shivers down my spine, he leaned toward me above the low candle in the center of the table and whispered, “I want to bathe you.”

  Thinking the wine had messed up my hearing, I cocked my head to one side and said, “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I want to bathe you. I want to put you in a tub of warm, soapy suds, and bathe you from head to toe.”

  I shook my head slightly to clear the wine fuzz and try to understand what my gorgeous, perfect date was telling me. I pulled my hand from his and leaned closer.

  “I’m sorry, it sounded like you said you wanted to bathe me?”

  He nodded in what I am sure he meant as a seductive manner, licking his bottom lip ever so slowly.

  I shuddered, but not in the giggly, shivers-down-my-spine way I’d felt a few minutes before.

  He leaned toward me and spoke low, his voice husky with desire. “I want to take you back to your apartment, undress you, pick you up in my arms and put you in the tub to bathe every last inch of you.”

  He blew a kiss in the air as he purred out the last part. I cracked up laughing. Hard. Loud. Like other people around us staring at me loud.