Um, I thought we were going over the guest list, but then again, I don’t think we planned a time for that.
“Yeah, sure, sounds fun. I’ll meet you there. Text me the info. Yup, see you then. Bye.” He hangs up the phone and sticks it in his pocket. “Sorry about that.”
“Seeing Birdy tonight?” I ask as I awkwardly adjust the large veil at my side.
“Seems like it,” he says and then turns to me with a smile. “Shall we blow The Beave over with your ceremony suggestion?”
“Sure,” I say, feeling weird that he changed the subject so quickly.
“And what would that suggestion be?” He holds up his finger in a jovial way. “Hold on, let me guess.” He taps his chin and says, “Uh, it has to be somewhere unique because that’s who you are, but also something quaint and old school.” He snaps his finger. “The old courthouse.”
“I would love that, but you know it can’t even fit one hundred people.”
“Good thing we’re paring down the guest list then.” He wiggles his brows.
“There’s no way she would go for that, and if I’m going to suggest something, I might as well suggest something that would make her think that she came up with it.”
“Okay, I’m listening,” he says as he folds his arms.
I tug on the veil, attempting to pull it off, but The Beave shouts, “You’re not done with that, Ophelia. I’m still processing how it will look.”
I roll my eyes at Breaker and then shove the clip back on my head. “Well, as much as I hate the club for obvious reasons, they have a beautiful garden out back that would be perfect for the ceremony. People could watch from the balcony of the club, from the lawn, or from chairs in front of the altar.”
He nods. “It’s not exactly you, but just you enough. Want me to suggest it?”
“I hate to say it would be better coming from you, but I think that’s the truth.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” He puts his arm around me and guides me down the aisle toward The Beave. The whole time, my mind is racing about my glasses, about Breaker’s warm voice, telling me how much he loves them, about his date with Birdy, and this damn veil. It all makes me so nauseated. “Mrs. Beaver,” he calls out.
“Yes?” She turns her spindly-like body on us.
“You know, I was thinking, the reception will be at the club, right?” Breaker says so casually that if I didn’t know him, it might be disturbing to see how quickly he can turn on the charm.
“That’s correct,” she says, folding her hands together.
“Beautiful choice, by the way. I went there for a wedding a year or so ago, and it was breathtaking.” God, I hate when he gets like this, all proper. It’s not the man I know. But it’s his business persona, and it’s why he’s gotten where he has because he can charm like no other, just like JP. Huxley, on the other hand . . . well, he’s the hammer. Huxley has a tough time being charming. To him, things are black and white. There is no gray . . . well, besides Lottie.
“It is picturesque.” The Beave studies Breaker. I can sense her wanting to know where he’s going with this.
“And because it’s so picturesque, it makes me think, although this church is beautiful, it pales in comparison to what the club has to offer. I was just there the other day, having a meeting with Clinton Mars. Do you know him?”
Ha!
Of course The Beave knows Clinton Mars. Everyone does. He’s one of the wealthiest men in America. He created a little piece of hardware that goes in every phone, and he’s made so much money off it, he basically sneezes hundred-dollar bills now.
Leave it to Breaker to name-drop the right name to make The Beave weak in the knees. This is why he’s my best friend, my man of honor.
“Yes, of course. Clinton is a wonderfully sharp and intelligent man. I was lucky to meet him a few months ago,” The Beave says, her eyes sparkling.
“Well, we took a stroll through the gardens during our meeting, and he raved about how it was so beautiful and what a perfect setting it would be for a wedding. He was actually thinking about having his daughter get married there.”
“Really?” she says, her mind racing now. You know the phrase “Keeping up with the Joneses”? Yeah, The Beave lives her life by that.
“Yup, and I thought . . . he was right. The gardens are breathtaking, beautifully landscaped with the ocean in the background, just spectacular.”
The Beave slowly nods her head. “You know, the flowers will be in full bloom in five weeks.” She snaps her finger, and her assistant appears by her side. “Get the club on the phone at once. I need to make arrangements.” She then turns to us. “Now the gardens would be magnificent, but I worry about your ability to walk in heels in the grass.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it at all,” I say, not wanting her to find an excuse not to use the gardens. “I’m quite astute with heels.”
“Very astute,” Breaker says.
“The most astute,” I add, which, of course, causes The Beave to give me a look of derision. “Uh . . . just watch. I’ll strut up and down this carpet.” I flop the length of the veil behind me, and with the utmost concentration, I walk down the aisle, pretending to hold a bouquet. My sweaty feet slip against the surface of my heels, but I keep them in place as I make it down to the altar.
Thank Jesus, I made it.
“Walk back,” The Beave says, her voice unconvincing that she believes I can execute walking in heels.
God, she’s such a freaking pill.
Shoulders set back, hands poised in front of me, I put one foot in front of the other and head back down the aisle.
Eat your heart out, Beave.
You can make me feel like shit about my glasses.
You can take away my right to choose my own wedding.
But I refuse to allow you to make me feel like I can’t walk in freaking heels.
“See,” I say as I hold my hands out, approaching her. “Not a problem at . . .” On my last step, my foot slips out of my shoe, throwing me off my balance. “Oh shit,” I cry out just as I reach for the closest thing near me . . .
A candleholder.
I clutch it tightly.
“Whoa, buddy,” I say on a shaky breath. “That was a close one.” I chuckle just as I glance up at the candle as it shakily rocks in place.
“Uh, Lia,” Breaker says as he steps forward.
But it’s too late.
It all happens in slow motion as the candle tips over and falls to the ground. My eyes travel with it, watching as it falls right on top of the gathered fabric of the veil.
My breath catches in my chest.
My eyes widen.
And in seconds, the veil bursts into a fury of flames.
“Oh my God!” I shout. “Oh my God, I’m on fire. I’m on FIRE!” I toss the candlestick to the side, and with one heel on and one heel off, I fly down the aisle, running away from the flames . . . as they chase after me.
“The veil!” The Beave screeches.
“You’re on fire,” Breaker cries.
“Put it out, put it out, put it out,” I scream.
“Jesus Christ,” Breaker shouts. “Roll, Lia, roll!”