Kaitlyn had been her friend, once. Before the drugs and drinking and slutting around. Once upon a time, they’d laughed together so hard their parents had yelled at them to settle down. If only Kaitlyn had tried harder, they could be living this life together.
What a strange thought. Melissa cleared her throat and squeezed Bradley’s hand. The ring on her finger (which she’d insisted Bradley pay for, since she was giving him everything else) had been made here on the Cape, another way to make friends and influence people. A two-carat solitaire diamond flanked by two tapered-cut baguette diamonds. Flashy but classy. She’d already spent tens of thousands in town, at the galleries and shops, the wine store, the church. She’d have friends, especially after they came to the wedding of the century.
“So,” Hannah said, pouring more tea into Melissa’s cup, “now that you’ve told me about your love story”—she swallowed hard, but Melissa let it pass—“give me some adjectives of what you want your wedding to be.”
“I just want it to be simple and personal, you know?” Melissa said. “But beautiful.” This was a lie, and Hannah seemed to sense it.
“Simple, personal and beautiful, of course. This is such a special day,” she said, not looking at Bradley. “We want it to reflect you as a couple, the things you love most, that reflect what’s important to you.” Another swallow. Bile? It didn’t matter.
“Exactly, Hannah,” Melissa said. “Personal, intimate and lovely. Right, babe?”
“Right, babe,” Bradley echoed. “And, Hannah, again, thank you for being so professional about this.”
“Of course,” Hannah said. “This is my business, and I want you to have a stunning day.”
Or at least cash the check, Melissa thought. Because she was going to spend so much on this wedding, and she was going to invite just about every resident of Wellfleet. Hannah charged 10 percent of the event budget plus a nonrefundable $20,000 deposit, so she’d be making at least $200,000 on this little soiree. Melissa would make sure she earned it.
In the two weeks since Bradley had moved in with her, Melissa had already improved him. His beard was four days of perfect stubble and no longer gray. His glasses were now tortoiseshell Armani, replacing those silly Harry Potter gold rims. She was thinking he should get LASIK, but there wasn’t time before the wedding. Highlights in his blond hair. Pants by Tom Ford, shirt by Burberry. She’d surprised him with a Jaguar convertible, and she had to admit, he was adjusting to his new life quite well.
The sex was damn good, too. He wanted to impress her, and it was so wonderful, him being the one to do all the work. He’d offer a massage, starting at her toes, spreading rose petals on the bed (corny, but he was trying). She knew he was making sure she didn’t have any doubts about marrying an older man. So far, she did not. And if she had them later, that prenup was airtight.
Three hours later, much was decided, and Melissa had to give Hannah credit. This would be a wedding no one forgot. Ceremony on the lawn of Stella Maris with a string quartet from the Boston Symphony Orchestra. A dress appointment with Candice Wu for her and Ophelia (the flower girl, of course, not that she showed any interest). Bespoke floral design from Lilacs. Catering by MAX Ultimate Food out of Boston. Music by Memphis Train Revue, whose lead singer sounded like Aretha Franklin (they’d have to be flown in from Texas, but it was her wedding, and money was no object). Signs painted by a calligrapher on reclaimed wood pulled from the bottom of Lake Champlain.
“And how many guests are we thinking?” Hannah asked.
“We want to keep it small,” Melissa said. “Intimate. A hundred and fifty? Two hundred? What do you think, honey?”
“Whatever you want, babe.” His amazing turquoise eyes glowed at her. She’d have to park Ophelia in front of the TV when they got home so they could make love.
She looked back at Hannah. “I know we’re asking a lot with the wedding being so soon, Hannah,” she said, keeping her voice low and warm. “We appreciate your expertise so much.”
“We do, Han,” Bradley said. “We don’t want to go on living together without a legal commitment and set a bad example for Ophelia.”
“Like adultery would?” Hannah asked mildly.
Bradley said nothing, so Melissa gave him a sharp jab in the ribs. “That was unfair, Hannah,” he said, his tone frosty. “We’re using you because we want to support your business, but there are other wedding planners, you know.”
Exactly. “I understand this may be hard for you,” Melissa said. “If you’d prefer us to take our business elsewhere . . .”
“No, no,” she said, flushing. “But you’re both so compassionate, and Brad, you’re a psychologist, of course. I’m sure you can understand that I feel a tiny bit disloyal. Lillie is my sister, after all, and Dylan is my nephew. I promise to be better at compartmentalizing from here on out.”
“Oh, Dylan’s fine with it,” Bradley said. “I’ve asked him to be my best man.”
“Can he come home from college during football season?” Hannah asked. Irritatingly, they started talking about the boy. Who had been quite rude, by the way. The one time Bradley passed the phone to her, Dylan hung up, as if divorces didn’t happen every single day. He’d get over it. Melissa had been planning to give him a car, too, but not if he wasn’t civil. Then again, he hadn’t met her and experienced her personality and charm. She’d win him over. He was male, after all.
“Getting back to the wedding,” Melissa said, forcing a smile. “We need a place for our wedding night before we fly to Paris. Any recommendations?”
“Of course! Lands End has a beautiful suite. I’ll arrange for a car to take you. Would you prefer a limo, or an antique car?”
“Oh, an antique car,” Brad said instantly.
“Honey? My dress in a grubby old car? I don’t think so.”
“We can get you a classic Bentley that’s absolutely immaculate,” Hannah said.
Ooh, a Bentley. “Okay. I trust you, Hannah. I’m sure there are a million things you’ll think of that we haven’t covered, but we do need to get back. Ophelia’s French lesson ends at four, and we’re already late.”
She and Brad held hands walking out, and Melissa felt so happy. She couldn’t wait for the wedding. She’d skip a maid of honor . . . it was classier to be alone, really. Oh, and she’d invite all the mothers from New York and see who came and/or what gifts they’d send. Should she register? Yes, she decided, even though she needed nothing. Maybe she’d tell people to donate to their favorite charity. But she kind of wanted gifts, even if she might not like them.
Most of their guests would be from here. Can’t buy friends? Think again. There was a reason she’d already given more than a hundred grand to local causes, from wetland conservation to turtle rescue to drug rehab programs.
There was the flicker of Kaitlyn again. If she ever got out of jail and was still addicted, Melissa would send her to a really good rehab place, now that she had her own money and didn’t have to hide Kaitlyn anymore. Maybe that would finally get Katie on the road to sobriety.
* * *
Ophelia was in a foul mood when they got to the French teacher’s house. “You’re late,” she said, throwing her backpack into the car and flinging herself after it so hard the Beemer rocked.
“Sorry, honey,” Brad said. “But guess what? You’re going to get a special dress made for the wedding! Mommy wants you to be her flower girl!”
“She’s not my mommy,” Ophelia snarled. “And I’m too old to be a flower girl.”