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Authors: Bella Cruise

Beach Wedding

BOOK: Beach Wedding
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Beach Wedding

 

By

 

Bella Cruise

 

Beach Wedding

 

Copyright © 2015 Bella Cruise

 

All rights reserved.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

For my mom and my dad, for always believing in me and supporting my dreams!
And thank you so much to everyone who has helped make this possible!

Table of Contents

 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

 

Chapter One

 

I love weddings.

I love everything about them: the flowers, the dress, the music. But
most of all, I love the kiss. Somehow, it’s love brought to
life in a single, perfect moment, when all the crazy chaos and
pageantry melts away, and all that’s left are two people ready
to share the rest of their lives together.

That’s not to say it always runs smoothly. Believe me, I’ve
seen my share of hiccups. There was the groom who wanted a hole cut
in the altar platform, so his six-foot bride wouldn’t look
taller than him in the photos. There’s the bride who had to
have emergency root canal six hours before the wedding and mumbled
her way through ‘I do’. Then there’s my favorite:
the couple who were literally struck with lightning. Look it up on
YouTube if you don’t believe me; halfway through their charming
vineyard wedding, the skies opened with a massive thunderstorm. They
struggled on through the downpour, only to be struck by a bolt from
the blue during their big kiss. (In case you’re worried, they
turned out just fine – and the national news coverage paid for
their whole honeymoon in Mexico!)

Yes, when it comes to that one perfect moment, I’ve seen them
all. I’ve planned them all too – because, after all,
that’s my job: Ginny Austen, Wedding Planner extraordinaire.
It’s my duty to make sure my clients get the day of their
dreams, despite high heels, Vicodin doses, and an appearance from El
Nino.

Luckily, today the weather is on my side. It’s a gorgeous
summer’s day in New York City, with the kind of blue skies and
puffy cotton candy clouds that every bride – and wedding
planner – pray for. “Are we ready?” I ask, checking
my watch. Any minute now, the guests will start to arrive.

“Ready.” My assistant, Theo, pulls out his notepad,
checking it over from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Everything
is set to go. Right down to the poodle ring bearer – and,
yes, the groomer is on hand, too. What, are you expecting poor Fifi
to get her hair mussed up?” he teases with a grin.

“Do you remember what happened last time we had dogs running
around?” I remind him. When it comes to a couple’s
wedding day, I believe everything should be perfect. Not a hair out
of place – not even on a dog.

Theo’s grin slips. “The schanuzers.”

“That’s right. Five minutes before the ceremony started,
they were chasing a stray dove through a field. They left muddy paw
prints all the way up the aisle. I’m not making the same
mistake again.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Theo checks it off the list. “Canine
stylists present and accounted for.”

He looks amused, but he’s only been working for me six months
now. “Trust me,” I smile. “When you’ve been
working this gig a little longer, you’ll get used to the
crazy.”

Dogs don’t even come close to the strangest thing people want
included in their special day – and it’s my job to make
sure they get their heart’s desire. No dream too big, no detail
too small. I can organize a hundred doves fluttering up in the air
right as the newly-minted mister and missus exit the chapel doors. I
can have fireworks spell out their initials in the night sky. I can
make sure that hydroponically-grown orchids match the bride’s
eyes. I do whatever it takes to make it perfect, and today, it is.
The Central Park Boathouse looks like something out of a fairy tale.
Pink rose and yellow hydrangea garlands hang from the dock, a rose
petal strewn walkway leads up the aisle, and Liszt’s romantic
Liebesträume,
played by four members of the New York City Philharmonic, greets
guests as they arrive.

“It looks like a million bucks,” I overhear a guest say.

“It should be, with the way his year is going, the lucky
devil!” quips her date, in a suit that costs more than my rent.
“Let’s just hope that today’s loss on the field
won’t hurt the honeymoon!” I watch as the couple oohhhs
and aahhhs at the canopy made from ivy and lace. I smile and glance
at my watch for the thousandth time in the last hour. Precision is
the name of this game.

Today’s clients are James, a successful sports manager, and
Sarah, a sports therapist. A match made on the side lines – and
these two are as specific as they are sporty. The bride wouldn't
budge on the scented candles (maybe she’s been traumatized by
locker room funk), and the groom insisted that seventy-percent of the
hors d’oeuvres
be bacon-wrapped. Both of them agreed,
however, that their rescue dog, Bartholomew, a fourteen-year-old toy
poodle, would be charged with leading them down the aisle. I actually
love incorporating pets in weddings, but from what I’ve heard
of Bartholomew, he has the potential to be the biggest diva at the
event. I made precautions and assigned my second assistant to be in
charge of him all day, so I shouldn’t be surprised when I get a
MAYDAY text from Jody: “
Doggone
!”

Theo looks over my shoulder. “Seems like the pooch has flown
the coop.”

Jody appears – a look of stark horror on her face. “Talk
to me, Jody,” I beg.

“I went to get Bartholomew’s raw vegan lunch from the
kitchen. When I came back, he was nowhere to be found,” she
says, tearful. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” I try not to panic. “Get
everyone you can spare, and find him. He’s old. He can’t
be far.” I turn to Theo. “You go run interference with
the bride. If she asks, precious Barty is off getting a special
wedding pamper, OK?”

“No worries, Ginny. I’ve got this,” Theo says, and
for once, I can relax. He’s my magic weapon, the ultimate
bride-whisperer. I found him on a job last year, working for a
photographer, right out of college. Somehow, around him, everything
seemed to run smoother: the warring mother-in-laws were charmed by
such a polite young man, the drunken uncles were steered safely away
from the bridesmaids, and even the bride managed to calm down with a
reassuring smile. I hired him away that same day, and he’s been
my right-hand man ever since.

Now he heads for the bridal suite while Jody starts scouting in the
bushes. Crisis averted – until I see the best man walking
toward me his bowtie undone and an undone look on his face. “Hey,
Ginny, I…um…we…um…have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“The rings. They’re gone. I put them down on a tray next
to my coffee…and then…” he trails off.

I check my watch and think about sending Theo to the nearest cheap
jeweler for a couple of placeholder bands. But there’s no time.
The ceremony is due to start in ten minutes.

“Don’t worry,” I tell him, my mind racing. “I’ve
got this.”

I reach for the chain hanging around my neck with two rings
dangling from it. My parents’ rings. They died in a car
accident when I was nine, and I like to keep their rings with me for
luck, especially for a big wedding. I guess today they really are a
lucky charm.

“Here, use these.” I tell him, pressing them into his
hand. “They’ll work for the ceremony, and we can switch
them out later.”

Relief floods his face. “You’re a lifesaver.” He
grabs the rings and crushes me in a quarterback’s hug.

“Whoa, just make sure you keep hold of those.” I
detangle myself and smooth down my dress. “Now you go get into
place with the groom, OK?”

“Yes, coach!”

He heads off, and I hear something even more beautiful than the
string quartet’s rendition of
Pachelbel’s Canon
.
It’s the sound of barking. I look around and find Jody gripping
Bartholomew tight. “Theo found Bartholomew! I’m going to
get him to the groomer to get that seafood smell off of him.”

“Seafood smell?”

“Seems like ol’ Bart found his way to the bacon-wrapped
scallops.”

“A dog after my own heart,” I grin, relieved. “What
about the bride?”

“All dressed up and ready to go.”

I let out a long breath of relief. We pause and look out at out the
scene: friends and family all lined up in their seats, the water
shining beside them under a canopy of green. It’s beautiful:
just the way I’d want my wedding to look.

“You really hit it out of the park this time, Ginny.”
Theo grins, holding up his hand for a high five. “Is there
anything you can’t do?”

“Ask me once they make it to ‘I do’,” I
laugh. On a wedding day, anything is possible.

 

I watch the ceremony from a discreet post off to the side, giving my
silent cue to the musicians, and the man poised to release two dozen
heart-shaped balloons after the vows. I keep an eye on my parents’
rings as they sparkle during their big moment. Somehow, the bride
doesn’t even notice the substitute rings as she gazes into her
new husband’s eyes and leans in for that first, perfect kiss.

I breathe a sigh of relief. From here on out, it’s smooth
sailing. Even if the reception is a disaster, and somebody has an
allergic reaction to the cake, and somebody else’s crazy uncle
starts stripping to the Macarena, the couple won’t mind. All
they’ll remember is the ceremony, and how it went off without a
hitch. My work here is done.

As the crowd cheers and the newlyweds make their way back up the
aisle, something else catches my eye. Or rather, someone else. Across
the dock, a dark-haired woman in a designer suit lurks, watching the
scene. Unlike the expressions on the faces of the invited guests,
which range from “happy for the bride” to “dang,
how much did that dress cost?” this woman has her eyes narrowed
in scrutiny. I quickly run through emergency protocols. A jealous
ex-girlfriend? Scorned client? I’m about to run interference
when I notice she’s not paying attention to the happy couple,
she’s looking at everything else: the flowers, the decorations,
the band. When she sees me, she brightens, and comes cutting through
the crowd.

“Ginnifer Austen?” she asks.

“That’s me.”

“I’m Marcie Miller,” she says with a bright smile
and strong handshake. She’s about my age, with a fashionable
choppy haircut and oversized gold statement jewelry. “Can I
have a moment of your time?”

I glance around to see guests dispersing. Sarah and James are
climbing into their rented Corvette, and I’ve already
double-checked with the reception venue that everything’s ready
to go. “Just for a minute,” I tell her. “I’m
kind of in the middle of something here.”

“It was a gorgeous ceremony,” she says, still smiling
brightly. “Great work. I won’t waste your time.”
Marcie plucks a business card from her bag, “I’m with
Star! Networks. I produce
Park Avenue Princesses
,” she
says as though I should know what that is.

“Are you looking for a wedding planner?” I ask, still
confused. “If you call my office and make an appointment—”

“Not for me,” Marcie laughs. “For Pixie and
Clyde.”

Again, I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Who
now?”

“Pixie and Clyde!” Theo’s voice comes from behind
me, excited. He sees my blank expression and rolls his eyes. “Duh?
They’re pretty much the reality TV it-couple.” He
catches himself. “I mean, I’ve seen a couple of episodes.
At the gym. The girls are always putting it on. While I lift weights.
Big weights.”

“That’s great,” I say, puzzled. “But I
really don’t have time—”

Marcie cuts me off again. “They’re getting married in
the fall, and we’re looking for a wedding planner for the
show.”

“On TV?”

Marcie looks at me like I’m insane. “Of course on TV.
It’ll be a special episode, massive ratings draw. My team will
call and set up a meeting, OK? We can’t wait to hear your
ideas.”

“Now, wait a minute,” I try to protest, but she’s
already stalked away.

BOOK: Beach Wedding
4.28Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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