A Summer Wedding at Cross Creek Inn

by Cheryl Holt

  She and Crystal had hurled a few snarky insults, but the exchange had been stupid and pointless. Sharon had merely embarrassed herself, and Crystal had gaped smugly at Sharon as if she was a fool who didn’t know how to play in the big leagues.

  After that humiliating encounter, she’d arranged her life so she never saw Dennis or Crystal again. She never bought tabloids or went out on the web, just so she’d never be confronted by a picture of them parading around together.

  It was a juvenile attitude, and she should have been more mature about all of it, but she hadn’t ever truly recovered from the terrible ordeal. Her furious reaction had meant there were never any family gatherings, no shared Christmases or blended-family Thanksgiving dinners. No intermingling at all really, which had suited Sharon just fine.

  Eric had been fifteen when Dennis had announced the divorce, and Alex had been ten. Eric had demanded to stay in Brentwood with his dad, and Alex had come to Malibu with her. Eric was now a youthful, handsomer version of his dad, possessed of the same low morals and exalted view of himself and his place in the world.

  Alex was more like Sharon: kind, helpful, courteous, ethically inclined.

  She and Alex had never picked up the pieces after the divorce, but Eric hadn’t minded what had happened and had seemed to revel in the situation. His blasé opinion about his father’s conduct had made it hard for them to get along, and it had grown to be a wedge between them. She rarely had any contact with him.

  Dennis had thrived afterward. His production company was more prominent than ever, and whenever he pointed a finger, money flowed in his direction. If he’d ever suffered a minute of doubt over his treatment of Sharon or their two boys, she’d never witnessed any evidence of it.

  The doors on the lead SUV opened, and Crystal stepped out. Her daughter, Lindsey, followed. Lindsey was nineteen, born before Crystal ever met Dennis, so Dennis was her stepfather. It was the first time Sharon had ever seen her, the first time in fifteen years that she’d laid eyes on Crystal.

  They were a couple of uber-slender, arresting, blond goddesses, and Crystal looked exactly as she had at age twenty-three. She was thin, glamorous, and striking—and so annoyingly fit and healthy that she might have been Lindsey’s big sister rather than her mother.

  Sharon’s petty jealousies and insecurities surged to the fore, but she tamped them down. She was determined not to reveal any of her angst, determined to only show that she was a mature and contented woman who wasn’t bothered in the slightest by Crystal’s presence at her son’s wedding.

  Sharon and Dennis had been divorced for fifteen years. It was ridiculous to still be livid and aghast.

  She forced a smile, then went outside to greet them. She was the groom’s mother, and Crystal and Lindsey were Dennis’s wife and stepdaughter. During the festivities, they would be thrust into constant contact, and prior to arriving, Sharon had resolved that there would be no displays of rancor.

  Sharon was over it and, as Crystal had proved that day in the driveway in Brentwood, she had no shame. She’d been delighted to have snagged Dennis and broken up Sharon’s marriage. Why exhibit any lingering rage? It would bounce off Crystal like a dull arrow.

  Sharon dawdled by the Inn’s front doors, observing as the pair exited the car a dozen times, the photographers wanting a perfect shot so they looked casual, as if they’d been caught in a private moment.

  Finally, Crystal seemed to notice the Inn. She pushed back her sunglasses and frowned up at it. She had no comment, but Lindsey muttered, “What a monstrosity.”

  “Hush,” Crystal snapped.

  “The rooms better be as spectacular as you claimed.”

  “They will be.”

  The daughter grimaced at the mother, blatantly indicating she wasn’t happy to have travelled to the country, and it was obvious a quarrel was about to erupt. Sharon decided she might be able to prevent an explosion.

  “Crystal!” she said as she started toward them. “How nice to see you. And Lindsey! It’s lovely to meet you in person. Welcome to Cross Creek Inn.”

  The stunning duo turned to Sharon, gaping at her as if they’d never heard a human speak before, as if they were incensed that a lowly mortal would address them without permission. From how haughtily they were staring, they might have been a queen and a princess.

  Crystal studied her, her arrogant gaze doing a fleet assessment and deeming her to be of no consequence. Clearly, she didn’t recognize Sharon!

  After all the time Sharon had fumed over and pondered the other woman who’d ruined her life, she’d had such a paltry impact on Crystal’s existence that Crystal didn’t know who she was.

  The discovery would have been laughable if it hadn’t been quite so pathetic.

  “Would you have a bellman take care of my bags?” Crystal said to Sharon, evidently assuming she was the hotel concierge. “Have him deliver them as quickly as he can. Our trip was a nightmare, and I’m exhausted.”

  Then she swept on by. Lindsey swept by too. The photographers traipsed after them, their cameras whirring and clicking.

  Sharon stood on the steps, peering out at the mountains and wondering how she’d survive the next four days.

  “Did you realize who that was?”

  “Who do you mean?”

  “The woman who greeted us at the front door.”

  Crystal glared at Lindsey and said, “No. Who was she?”

  “I think it was Sharon Benjamin-Kildare.”

  “How would you know what Sharon looks like?”

  “Dennis has some pictures in a photo album.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve snooped at them.”

  “Of course I have. I was curious to see how a normal family would appear.”

  “Very funny.”

  They were in Crystal’s suite, watching as a bellman lifted her bags off the cart he’d brought upstairs. They were staying five days, but she’d hauled along enough luggage for a year. There were numerous nuptial events to attend, plus the rehearsal dinner and the wedding itself. She would have to change clothes a thousand times, and she could never settle on exactly the appropriate outfit. It took her forever to prepare for any occasion.

  There were four suites at the Inn. She and Dennis had one. Jennifer, her dad, and siblings had one too. Eric would share one with his friend, Josh, and Dennis had insisted Crystal assign the fourth one to Sharon. It galled her to have her nemesis given a room that was equal to Crystal’s, but then, Sharon was the groom’s mother. It was impossible to keep her from being singled out.

  “Are you sure it was Sharon?” she asked. “I only met her once, and it was years ago.”

  “It was definitely her, and you were a total bitch. Way to go, Crystal!”

  “Well, so much for getting off on the right foot.”

  “When did you ever hope to be cordial with her?”

  “It’s Eric’s wedding, and I want it to be perfect for him.” Even though she couldn’t care less about the wedding being perfect, she hurried to add, “And for Jennifer too. It should be special for them. We shouldn’t fight with anyone. All that stuff with Sharon is old news anyway.”

  “Don’t tell lies. You never intended to get along with her.”

  Crystal smirked. “Probably not.”

  “You’re so full of shit.”

  “Thank you for stating your opinion,” Crystal sarcastically said.

  She flashed a stern glower to remind Lindsey to shut her mouth in front of the bellman.

  They bickered constantly, and they’d been arguing during most of the flight from LA, but they had a rule that they never quarreled out in public. It was vital to promote their image as a loving mother and daughter.

  Crystal dispensed parenting advice on her YouTube channel, and she invented stories about things that happened between her and Lindsey. She used the false incidents a
s examples of their beautiful bonding, but in reality, their relationship was very grim. They’d never bonded in their lives.

  Crystal had no maternal tendencies, and Lindsey wasn’t the sort of girl who could be mothered. Plus, with her being nineteen and a legal adult, she’d moved beyond the spot where she’d heed Crystal on any topic.

  They enjoyed no mutual respect and could barely speak without insults being hurled. Crystal had birthed Lindsey when she was just nineteen herself, after having an affair with rocker, Jimmy Holliday. He’d overdosed and killed himself shortly after Lindsey was born, so he’d never been around to help parent her. Thank God.

  But Crystal had had no idea how to be a mother, and she treated Lindsey more like a little sister than a daughter. She was reaping the consequences of her bad decisions. Lindsey was rude, mouthy, lazy, and horrid, and in most instances, Crystal couldn’t stand her.

  That said, they were both celebrities, and they never participated in any act that might detract from the fake personas they displayed to the world. At least they wouldn’t have in the past, but Lindsey was more out of control every day, and Crystal couldn’t rein in her worst tendencies.

  Lindsey flounced out, so for the moment, their spat had ended, but she’d likely reappear very soon. Her own room was on the floor below, and she hadn’t yet realized it wasn’t a suite. She’d be back to complain and demand that one be provided, but there weren’t any available. Crystal could hardly ask the bride or groom to hand over their room to the groom’s stepsister, and she and Dennis definitely wouldn’t.

  The bellman was finished, and she tipped him, then he left. She was alone, and she walked out onto the balcony to stare out at the snow-capped peaks off in the distance.

  “What possessed me?” she muttered to herself, wondering what had driven her to select the dreary, rural hotel. Yes, it had a rustic sort of charm, but honestly! She wasn’t a country girl.

  Why hadn’t she booked a floor at the Plaza in New York City? Why weren’t they loafing at a beach on Maui?

  When Eric had announced his engagement, Dennis had dumped the hasty wedding in her lap and ordered her to plan it. His only request had been that she pick a setting where they could keep the paparazzi away. One of Crystal’s followers had recently attended a party at the Cross Creek Inn, and she’d gushed exhaustively about how unique and exotic it had been, how different from other venues.

  Crystal was always looking for what was different.

  After the briefest investigation in history, she’d determined that it would be the perfect location. Not because of how Eric or Jennifer might have liked it, but because of how she could use it to push her brand. She’d already had an advance team shoot the scenery so they could incorporate it into various videos that would show her as she pretended to be hiking in the woods.

  She supposed Jennifer should have had some input on Crystal’s choices, but Dennis was paying the bill, so Jennifer understood that her function was to be pliant and grateful. Sharon probably should have been consulted too, but Eric was Dennis’s son. Not Sharon’s.

  They’d divorced fifteen years earlier, and Eric had stayed with Dennis. Their other son, Alex, had gone with Sharon. It had created a rift between Sharon and Eric that hadn’t ever been repaired. Dennis had handed the nuptial reins to Crystal and had told her to manage it, and she had.

  If she was candid—which she rarely was—she’d admit to relishing the fact that she’d assumed the role that should have been Sharon’s. Crystal could be very petty. She never denied it.

  Sharon was a dowdy frump who’d never forgiven Dennis for divorcing her. She’d never forgiven Crystal for stealing him away, but for pity’s sake, what had the boring, pathetic housewife expected to transpire?

  Dennis was a powerful movie producer who was surrounded by starlets. Sharon had never done anything—not with her clothes, physical condition, or attitude—to convince him she was worth keeping.

  He’d decided to trade her in for a newer, younger model, and Crystal had eagerly jumped to take her place—and she’d never looked back. The stupid cow should get over it. Crystal certainly had.

  She whipped away from the stunning vista, and as she headed inside, her phone pinged, and she rushed to her bag and dug around to find it. The trip from the airport in Aspen had lasted over an hour on winding, steep roads, and phone reception had been nonexistent.

  Miss DeAngelo, the Inn’s event planner, had sworn there were cell towers in the valley, that guests would have suitable Wi-fi and phone service, but her lie was blatantly apparent. If Dennis arrived and couldn’t receive the access he needed, he’d blame Crystal.

  These days, they fought constantly and tried to never be in the same room or even the same house. Bad cell reception would be one more thing he’d deem to be all her fault, and she was too exasperated to deal with his issues. She had too many of her own.

  She yanked out her phone and checked the latest text. As she’d dreaded, it was from her lawyer.

  Indictment likely. Call me, was all it said.

  The words chilled her to the bone.

  For the prior month, she’d watched the news and snickered over how numerous LA mothers had been swept up in the college admission scandal. They’d all engaged in various acts of bribery to wedge their lazy, entitled kids into the best universities.

  Crystal had laughed at them for being careless enough to be caught. It had never occurred to her that she would land herself in the exact same sinking boat. When she’d slipped money to that greedy admissions counselor to guarantee a spot for Lindsey, how was she supposed to know it was a crime?

  This was America. Since when was it wrong for a rich person to spend her money to purchase what she wanted?

  Her idiotic lawyer had promised the problem could vanish simply by tossing around a bit more cash to buy her way out of the dilemma. What did he mean that an indictment was likely? If he couldn’t fix what required fixing, she’d hire someone who could, and it would have to be someone who could keep a secret.

  When the predicament had initially arisen, she’d committed a colossal mistake by mentioning it to Dennis. He’d ordered her—in no uncertain terms—to make it go away. He was in the middle of arranging investments for a movie, and he couldn’t have a financial scandal erupt when he was trying to coerce wealthy dunces to give him a fortune.

  If the situation got worse, Dennis would kill her. He would literally kill her.

  She jabbed at the keyboard on her phone, desperate to confer with her lawyer, but nothing happened. It simply whirred and whirred, then finally, an error message appeared to notify her that the call couldn’t connect.

  She groaned with outrage and threw the useless device against the wall. Luckily, it didn’t shatter. It merely bounced onto the rug and laid there like a dead animal. She glowered at it, then stomped out, determined to escape the stifling, empty room before she went crazy.

  “Are you there?”

  Jennifer paused, listening to static, then Eric’s voice came back on the line.

  “ . . . tomorrow.”

  The beginning portion of his sentence had been lost, but he seemed to be telling her he wouldn’t arrive that afternoon as she’d anticipated.

  “What did you say?” she asked him. “The phone connections in this hotel are the worst. Part of your comment dropped away.”

  “I can’t get there today. Sorry, babe.”

  She hated it when he called her babe. He viewed it as an endearment, and when they’d first met, she’d thought it was cute, but she’d changed her mind. It wasn’t so much that it sounded old-fashioned and sexist, but he called every woman babe: waitresses, flight attendants, store clerks.

  The remark was like a reflex action for him, and he used it everywhere, but she couldn’t stand to be lumped into a pile with all those other anonymous females. The few occasions she’d protested, he’d laughed it o
ff, so she ignored it. And really, why make a big deal of it? It was just a word.

  She tossed away her aggravation to focus on the more irritating problem. “Why can’t you get here today?”

  “My plane is delayed.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Still in New York. We’re having massive thunderstorms, so the airport is shut down.”

  “Can you leave later after they blow through?”

  He’d rented a private plane, chartered from a private company, so why couldn’t the pilot bring him whenever he needed to be brought?

  “Probably not,” he said. “There’s an issue with the pilot and the next flight he has scheduled.”

  “Can you book with another company? Or could you purchase a last-minute seat on a commercial flight?”

  “I’m trying all of that, but I haven’t had any luck.”

  She wanted to scold him, but that would be stupid. He couldn’t control the weather. He couldn’t produce a plane or pilot out of thin air.

  “When do you think you’ll be here then?”

  “It should be tomorrow afternoon, but . . .”

  He continued speaking, but static garbled his sentence again. She pressed the phone more tightly to her ear, wondering what other catastrophic pronouncement was being uttered.

  She was in her suite, having enjoyed a lengthy walk around the grounds, snooping out the cabins located behind the main building. Then she’d marched off on a paved hiking trail for quite a long distance. She’d wandered in two rock canyons and had found the hot springs pool Rachel had mentioned.

  She’d taken her time, anxious to guarantee that when she returned to the Inn, her sister wouldn’t still be in the Great Room where she would have had further opportunities to raise Jennifer’s blood pressure.