Hanna swallowed hard. Maybe calling Ramona, who was supposed to be the best wedding planner in the business—she’d apparently arranged a ton of starlets’ nuptials all over the country—was a crazy idea. So, probably, was asking that she have it at Chanticleer, her favorite mansion on the Main Line. “I realize weddings normally take a while to plan,” she said meekly. “Is there anything you can do for us?”
“Oh, I can do anything you want,” Ramona said haughtily. “I’ve planned weddings with far less time. It just means we have to start now.”
Then she looked at Fidel, her gaunt, ponytailed, effeminate assistant who’d trailed in timidly behind her. He was twitching in the shadows, taking notes on an iPad. “Bring in the samples!” she boomed. Fidel skittered out the front door.
Hanna squeezed Mike’s hand. They were doing it. Really getting married. Sure, the wedding plans were a bit overshadowed by everything else going on, but Hanna was happy to have something good in her life to take her mind off all that, at least for a little while.
There was a swift knock on the door. Dot sprang up and started barking. “Entrée, you fool!” Ramona bellowed, and Fidel burst into the foyer pushing a wheeled clothes rack with one arm and balancing several white bakery boxes in another.
Hanna’s mother, who had been in the kitchen, hurried down the hall to grab the boxes before they fell. “My goodness!” she cried. She opened the lid of one of them and swooned. “Wedding cake samples, Han!” she cried. “From Bliss Bakery, and Angela’s—these are the best!”
Hanna smiled gratefully. It wasn’t any mom who would take her daughter’s announcement that she was hastily getting married before she was probably going off to prison in stride. Ms. Marin had basically said that if Hanna was happy, then she was happy. She’d even agreed to sign off on the marriage certificate—which a parent had to do, as Hanna and Mike were both under eighteen. And she’d even left a few copies of Brides and Vogue Weddings on Hanna’s bed this evening and said she would handle securing a DJ for the night—her advertising company had some connections.
Mike’s parents had accepted it, too: Hanna had received a congratulatory hug from both Ella Montgomery and Byron’s new wife, Meredith, that morning. Of course, in that family the wedding was overshadowed by Aria’s disappearance, for good reason.
Hanna glanced at Mike, who was sitting next to her. He hadn’t said anything in a while. In fact, he seemed out of it. “Are you okay?” she whispered.
Mike flinched and returned to earth. “Yeah,” he answered. “Of course. Just, you know . . . thinking about Aria.”
Hanna swallowed hard. Of course he was. She’d been thinking about Aria a lot, too. It astonished Hanna that she’d actually escaped. The cops had interrogated her this afternoon with questions about Hanna helping to escort Aria out of the country. It was even on CNN this evening. Apparently, authorities all over the EU were searching for her. Her picture was up everywhere, and already people in Spain, France, Luxembourg, and Wales claimed to have seen her, though Hanna hadn’t been able to tell if any of the leads were valid.
“Are you sure you don’t want to postpone this until she’s found?” Hanna whispered.
Mike shook his head. “No. Let’s do it.” He leaned in closer. “And we don’t want her to be found, right?”
Hanna bit her lip, frowning. Mike was right—in a way. Hanna wanted Aria to be free of this. On the other hand, her absence made it way worse for her and Spencer. Another story on CNN was how guilty they looked now that Emily was dead and Aria was AWOL. Several legal experts had said they might as well enter a plea bargain and be done with it.
She turned back to the clothes rack Fidel had pushed into the center of the living room. At least fifteen wedding dresses wrapped in plastic hung from the bar. There were shoe bags bearing names like Vera Wang and Manolo Blahnik. A final hanger held a small velvet bag containing jewelry. An assortment of veils and tiaras were draped over the top bar, and a sudden smell of floral perfume had filled the room.
She looked at Ramona. “Is that stuff for me?” She leapt up and looked at the tags. The dresses were in her size. She peeked in one of the shoe bags. The gorgeous pair of off-white pumps also looked like it would fit her. “How did you know what to choose?” She’d only contacted Ramona a few hours ago, and the woman had asked her the briefest of questions.
Ramona rolled her eyes. “That’s why I’m the best. Now, go try some things on. Your groom and I will talk about the menu, things like that.”
Mike suddenly looked intrigued. “Can we have Hooters cater chicken wings?”
Hanna shrugged. “If you want, I guess.”
Mike’s eyes lit up. “What about Hooters girls serving the wings?”
Ramona looked horrified, and Hanna was about to shoot him a look. But then she realized—this was Mike’s wedding, too. And she’d do anything to take his mind off Aria. “If you promise not to touch the Hooters girls, then yes,” she said primly.