The Undercover Bridesmaid

by Montpetit, Kimberley

  Chloe hoped she didn’t have grass stains on her sandals. Surreptitiously, she lifted a foot to check, trailing behind her cousins.

  Celine gave a knowing grin and spoke under her breath. “It’s all a little much sometimes, right?”

  Mercedes was already in her fiancé’s arms when Chloe entered the drawing room. He was much taller than his bride, bending down to embrace her and nearly lifting her off her toes.

  When they parted, Mercedes was beaming and began introductions while Chloe tried not to stare too hard.

  Mark Westerfield was in his early thirties, dark blond hair in a styled and shaggy cut brushing along his ears. Not too long, not too short, but perfectly coiffed. Did the man have a personal stylist? The thought made Chloe smile, and she immediately stepped forward to shake his hand so he wouldn’t think she was laughing at a secret joke.

  The one accessory Mark wore that threw Chloe off was a pair of black-rimmed glasses. She hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t worn them in the engagement pictures tucked into the envelope with the embossed wedding announcement. The spectacles gave him a brilliant and studious air.

  Mark Westerfield also spoke with a slight Boston accent, but he didn’t elongate his vowels as much as she would have expected. Perhaps he’d gone across the country for his university studies.

  “Very pleased to meet you, Chloe,” he said easily before giving Celine a quick brotherly hug.

  “Congratulations on your upcoming marriage,” Chloe replied. “Be good to my cousin. I don’t have too many of them.”

  “I don’t have too many relatives either, but I’ve told Mercedes we should have a big brood of offspring.”

  “Even Prince William and Kate have three children. I think that’s lovely,” Mercedes added.

  Chloe had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Her cousin was a royal wannabe, and it came out in so many funny ways.

  Behind her, Celine let out a small, weary sigh. “You should travel the world sometime.”

  “Oh, we have,” Mercedes said. “Mark has been all over with his IT company.”

  Celine shook her head. “I mean travel in places where there aren’t five-star hotels. Backpack through villages. Float down the Amazon. Walk the streets of Bangladesh. Visit the poor in Nepal.”

  “I’m sorry, but that sounds—difficult. How often do you get a shower?”

  “Once a week,” Celine said, grinning. “But you’re wrong, sis. The world is breathtakingly beautiful and achingly hard for millions of people. And yet, I find that most poor people and tribal people in Africa are quite happy and content and live their lives with purpose. And yes, lots of children and elders. Families with dozens of members. You never get lonely.”

  “Some people say that living so close to D.C. is like living in a bubble. Perhaps they’re right,” Mercedes conceded. “I’m just not sure I could last a week without washing my hair.”

  Mark gazed down at his bride with affection while Celine lounged across one of the pristine couches, kicking off her shoes and stuffing them under the furniture.

  Chloe sat across from the bride and groom, and the four of them chatted about their university experiences. Turned out Mark had gone to Yale, magna cum laude, with a master’s in computer science as well as an MBA. Good grief, he must have spent the last decade in school.

  His father was turning his burgeoning tech company over to Mark, who was on the board and would soon run it as CEO when his father retired in a few years.

  “Both our degrees will come in handy,” Mercedes said. “The tech side and the management side.”

  “I planned it that way deliberately,” Mark said, but not in a bragging manner. More of a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Where are you two going to live?” Chloe asked.

  Mark sat up, placing an arm around his fiancée. “This past spring, I purchased a home in Newton, outside of Boston.”

  Chloe nodded, aware of the affluent neighborhood. Business must be good. “Will you miss Virginia?”

  “I’m going to hate all the extra snowstorms up north,” Mercedes said. “Especially moving right as winter is beginning. I told Mark we must have snow plowers on staff. But he’s promised me a honeymoon in Italy. We’ll have our own villa for three weeks.”

  Celine yawned. “See what I mean, Chloe? You two need to get out more. Rich Boston neighborhoods, villas in Italy. Doesn’t it get dull, the same old, same old?”

  Mark lifted his eyebrows, glancing between Mercedes and Celine. It was obvious he didn’t know how to take his future sister-in-law, but didn’t want to insult her, either.

  A man of high privilege, education and fortune. A man who wanted to make nice with his in-laws, too. Mercedes had chosen the perfect husband.

  But was he everything he appeared to be? There had to be a motivation for the FBI to be watching him. A reason he was their prime suspect. Whether she liked it or not, the next two days would unfold, and Mark Westerfield’s true colors would be revealed.

  The possibilities made her sick. It took all of Chloe’s mental strength to sit on the couch and make small talk—and not run screaming from the room.

  Chapter 10

  Friday morning started off with a bang. Chloe’s alarm went off at seven a.m., and then she had to rouse Mercedes from the dead.

  “Go away,” her cousin groaned, tugging the pillow over her head. “I need my beauty sleep.”

  “You’ve got beauty on a silver platter, Miss Bride of the Year.”

  Mercedes rolled over, bleary-eyed. “I need a power drink with a few shots of caffeine.”

  “I’ll have the maid bring it up to you,” Chloe joked. “Oh, that’s right. The maid is me this weekend. Your very own professional bridesmaid.”

  “Ooh, I like having a personal maid AKA bridesmaid that I can boss around.”

  “For the next two days, my wish is your command. But we have a massive to-do list, woman.”

  “All I want to do is dream about Mark. Tomorrow is my wedding night! The two of us alone at last.” Mercedes sighed, sinking back into the downy four-inch-thick duvet with luxurious satin sheets and outrageous thread counts.

  “I’ll let you keep those dreamy thoughts all to yourself,” Chloe warned.

  “Party pooper.”

  “Into the shower with both of us. I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast in thirty.”

  Chloe ran lightly down the hall back to her own bathroom with its cool green tiles and towel warmer in the corner.

  Butterflies swarmed her stomach. She could only imagine how the pre-wedding nerves were settling over Mercedes.

  She beat Mercedes downstairs, but the breakfast nook was empty and quiet. Since it had just passed eight o’clock, she imagined Uncle Max was long gone to work, but the women of the house were all sleeping or showering. Or staring at their cell phones while lying in bed.

  Chloe wondered what Celine did in the morning. She wished she’d had enough time for a run herself, but it was better not to leave the premises or Mercedes alone until she was safely off to the honeymoon hotel tomorrow night, rained on by guests throwing rice or blowing soap bubbles.

  An array of breakfast provisions had recently been brought out because the food was still hot, and it looked fantastic. Eggs, bacon, crisp waffles, syrup, butter, homemade jam, scones, juices, ice water, and herbal teas. There was even a mixture of sausages and hash browns that looked tempting.

  “Our very own breakfast buffet,” Chloe murmured, thinking of the Easter Sunday breakfast buffet at the Hilton she’d gone to with her family as a teen.

  Mercedes arrived about fifteen minutes later, just as Chloe jumped up at the sudden sound of truck engines coming up the driveway. She peered through the curtains.

  “It’s the wedding planner and a truck load of décor,” Mercedes said, taking a peek before sitting down with a bowl of yogurt and berries.

  “Yogurt is not going to sustain you until dinner. Who knows if we’ll have time for lunch,” Chloe told her. “Get some nouri
shment or you’ll be fainting by three o’clock.”

  “I wanted to drop two more pounds before tomorrow night so my stomach is flat on my wedding night.”

  “It’s flat enough. I think Mark would rather have a coherent bride than a fainting waif.”

  Mercedes assumed an innocent expression. “Don’t men like shrinking violets they can carry across the threshold?”

  “I predict Mark could pick you up with his pinkies if he wanted to. He’s at least eight inches taller than you. I don’t know when the man has time to lift weights—unless he’s naturally blessed.”

  “He’s naturally blessed,” Mercedes said dreamily. “But he also takes time for the gym at lunchtime. There’s a workout room in his office building.”

  “The perks of being a millionaire must be nice. I say that with all due respect, of course. Hey, where’s Celine and Aunt Aurelia?”

  “Mom had an early morning hair appointment, and I’m sure Celine is out in the back meadows eating grass for breakfast. She’s so thin it’s disgusting.”

  “I’m right here,” Celine said, pushing through the swinging doors to the breakfast nook. “And yes, the grass is very sweet and tasty this morning. You should try it sometime.” Celine poured herself a cup of hot water and dunked a raspberry tea bag into it. “I get up with the sunrise. Backpacking in the wilds of India will do that to you. I find the culture and the Hindu religion fascinating, too.”

  “Celine likes to study religions,” Mercedes put in, making a face.

  “I’ll let that comment go,” Celine retorted, speaking directly to Chloe and ignoring her older sister. “I also inspected the tree house back along the Potomac. With a few nails and a couple of fresh planks, somebody could rendezvous there.”

  “Perhaps a quick walk after breakfast when we check in with the wedding planner and her team.”

  Celine made a face. “I have to brave the shopping mall to find something decent to wear tonight for the rehearsal dinner. Mom says I need to burn my T-shirts and at least get a skirt.”

  “Mothers can be such hard-noses,” Chloe joked sympathetically.

  “Do you think Target will have anything good?”

  “Celine Romano,” Mercedes said, squaring her shoulders. “If you wear something from Target to my wedding, I will never speak to you again!”

  “Is that a promise?” Celine said with a wink to Chloe.

  “Ergh!” Mercedes shoved her chair back. “You’re impossible!” She thrust the drapes aside and stared down at the side yard.

  “Come on, Mercedes, laugh at yourself once in a while,” her sister told her. “You take everything too seriously.”

  “It’s my wedding. I can be as serious and uptight as I want to be.”

  Celine glanced at Chloe, who shrugged. “The bride is allowed to be moody and irritable. It’s her weekend, and the rest of the family and wedding party must bow to her wishes.”

  Celine set down her spoon. “I’ll catch you later.”

  “Please don’t bring one of your backpacking friends as your date to my wedding, Celine.” Mercedes pleaded. “Please? Try to be normal for once.”

  “Big sister, you’re the one that needs to figure out what normal is, not me.”

  When Celine left, the room went absolutely still.

  Mercedes twisted her fingers together. “Our first wedding weekend fight. There’s bound to be at least one, right, Chloe?”

  From her vast year of experience, Chloe knew it was only the beginning, but she just nodded. “The rest of the day is going to be fantastic and tomorrow the highlight of your life. Take me outside and introduce me to the wedding planner. We’re going to have a blast today. Pinky promise.”

  The morning was warming when Mercedes led Chloe out a side door to where a train of five trucks had pulled up one behind the other, emblazoned with logos of various rental companies.

  More than a dozen men in jeans and work T-shirts were systematically unloading the trucks while an anorexic-looking woman barked orders, clipboard in hand.

  “Yoohoo, Suze!” Mercedes called out, running down the side yard.

  The woman shaded her eyes when the morning sun slanted along the roofline, hitting her square in the face. “Mercedes! I thought you’d still be in bed. It’s the weekend for the bride to luxuriate and relax and think happy thoughts.”

  “My bridesmaid said otherwise. We have a busy schedule today.”

  “Your bridesmaid?” Suze pivoted toward Chloe. “Since when did you get yourself a bridesmaid? I thought you and Mark had decided to focus on the two of you and let my magnificent decorating be the weekend’s focus. You will be dazzled beyond belief by the time we get done with this place.”

  Chloe glanced around the corner of the house, already bedazzled by the flower gardens, columns, and fountains shooting water. “How could it get any better?” she said out loud.

  A mistake. Suze overheard her. “Get any better?” the woman asked. “You’re about to witness the wonder of Suze Perry’s miracles. Mercedes Romano’s wedding will be talked about long into the next decade, perhaps century.”

  Chloe studied her curiously. The wedding planner didn’t look to be much more than thirty-five, but expensive clothes and a few doses of Botox could often be deceiving—especially in Washington D.C. “You’re very—confident.”

  Suze pinched the bridge of her thin nose and pointed a long, red fingernail to a passing man carrying pieces of a gazebo. “Confidence has nothing to do with it. I’m called the Wedding Miracle Worker. Mercedes knew exactly who to hire.”

  “She’s very wise,” Chloe said, trying not to get into an argument.

  “Innate talent. This is my calling. My purpose. My art. Unbelievers will become converts by six p.m. tonight. Mark my words.”

  “I can’t wait to see this place transformed,” Chloe said, attempting to smile at the fierce woman.

  “Suze,” Mercedes interrupted. “This is my cousin, Chloe.”

  “Oh. Your cousin is your bridesmaid.”

  “Celine refused, as you know. Chloe hails from South Carolina. Her father—my uncle Albert—is South Carolina’s governor,” Mercedes explained.

  “Oh,” Suze repeated, putting a different tone on the word every time she said it. Appraising Chloe, the wedding planner’s eyes ran up and down the length of Chloe’s stylishly ripped jeans and flouncy red blouse. “How fascinating.”

  Chloe hoped she’d risen in the estimation of the miracle worker Suze Perry who was literally spilling over with self-confidence.

  “Before you start bossing everyone around again, Suze,” Mercedes said with a tinkling laugh—a feat the bride could get away with, but if Chloe had said that, Suze would throw metaphoric daggers at her. “Show us where you plan to set up everything. I’d love to get Chloe’s opinion, too. She’s so experienced with weddings.”

  Chloe wanted to clamp a hand over her cousin’s mouth. What she did for a living as a professional bridesmaid was not to be spoken of to any outsiders while working a job.

  Suze’s eyes latched onto Chloe’s face. “You mean, always a bridesmaid, never a bride?”

  Chloe laughed weakly. “Something like that.” Despite the put-down, she’d dodged that bullet. She linked an arm through Mercedes’s elbow. “Let’s stroll through the backyard and watch for a bit, shall we?”

  Due to the unusually warm autumn season, the rosebushes were still blooming. Flower beds spilled over with every color along the stone paths that surrounded the pond and waterfall.

  “Who designed the new landscaping?” Chloe asked.

  “That’s my father.” Mercedes’s answer was surprising. “I think he has this secret wish to be a gardener, but has to content himself with overseeing two employees who create the magic he imagines. When he has more than a couple of hours at home, he’s out here directing the work.”

  Not three minutes had passed before Suze hurried up behind them, her heels ringing on the stone walkway. “Let me show you where everything is goin
g and if you absolutely hate something, we can discuss it.”

  Chloe bit back a grin as her cousin was tugged away from her, and the wedding planner took over. “The slope of lawn is where we’ll set up the chairs in rows of five, leaving an aisle for the bride to walk up. I’ve decided we should have the wedding party face the house, since we can’t get a view of the river from here, unfortunately.”

  The woman spoke as if it was a personal affront that the Romano mansion didn’t have a better view of the Potomac to enhance the wedding.

  “The backdrop of the house is so pretty back here, though,” Chloe spoke up. She didn’t want to argue, but the words spilled before she could stop them. “You can see the waterfall flowing into the swimming pool and the rose gardens at the same time. And look, there are already hanging lights in the trees.”

  Suze cleared her throat. “That’s what I was about to say. We plan on hanging more lights in the trees and standing lamps along the pathways so nobody trips when dusk comes. The lights in the trees will look just like shooting stars, Mercedes.”

  She marched Mercedes—Chloe trailing behind—to the far side of the lawns. “We’ll set up a dancing floor here. Superb quality, your guests will dance all night long, and you’ll be kicking them out at dawn.”

  Mercedes gave a laugh. “I’ll leave the kicking out to Chloe and Katey. I’ll be long gone to my honeymoon suite with Mark.”

  Suze gave her a knowing smile but didn’t miss a beat of her narrative. “The band will locate here on the wide pathway next to the dance floor. A perfect spot, if I do say so, because the food tables will be on the other side. If your guests want to chat and linger, the music won’t be too intruding.”

  “What do you mean, food tables?” Mercedes asked, her voice tinged with panic. “What about the catered dinner?”

  “Of course we’re having dinner catered, my Mercedes. Sergio’s chefs will arrive at three to begin cooking. But remember that we thought it would be charming to have dessert tables scattered about the garden so your guests could partake of desserts and snacks until midnight. The tables will have chocolate fountains, sponge cakes, and heart-shaped melons chunks. Strawberries and Italian ices. Waiters will float about the reception with trays of mini cheesecakes, wine, champagne, and hand-dipped chocolates. I guarantee that your guests will go home happy. I predict they’ll gush about the Mercedes Romano and Mark Westerfield wedding to their grandchildren.”