Seduced by Sunday (21 page)

“I’d been dancing all night, running all day . . .”

“Why are you downplaying this? The guy cornered you, said some nasty things, and took off.”

Judy had a point.

“I guess I don’t want to think a little threat turns me into a melodramatic basket case who ends up in the hospital.”

Judy pointed her fork in Meg’s direction. “With the exception of that description of yourself, you can’t be accused of being melodramatic.”

The doorbell to the Tarzana house rang and Judy jumped up to answer it.

“Delivery for Miss Rosenthal.”

Meg leaned over to see down the short hallway to the front door. Judy was taking a massive bouquet of what looked like two dozen roses.

“Ah, my brother is so sweet,” Gabi announced when Judy brought the flowers into the kitchen.

Meg didn’t think she was a flower kind of girl, but she was smiling despite her own self-perceptions. She took the card and opened it.

She started to giggle.

“What did he say?” Judy asked.

“They’re not from Val.”

“They’re not?”

Meg leaned in and sniffed a fragrant bud. “Nope. They’re from Jim Lewis.”

Gabi tossed her head with laughter. “Maybe he is trying for his next wife after all.”

Judy scratched her head. “Who is Jim Lewis?”

Chapter Seventeen

“You remember Shannon Wentworth.” Meg stepped into her client’s photography studio with Gabi right behind her.

“Yes, of course. You and your new husband were guests of ours earlier this year.”

“Yes . . . I’m sorry but I forgot your name.”

“Gabriella Masini. Val’s sister.”

Shannon shook Gabi’s hand and offered a gracious smile. “We had a wonderful time on your island.”

“It’s my brother’s, but thank you. I like to think I help in some way.”

“How is the political campaigning?” Meg asked once the introductions were out of the way.

“Exhausting. Not to mention fattening. I swear, there are more dinners than there are days in the week.”

Shannon wore her long hair down her back in a slick ponytail. Her tiny waist and petite frame weren’t something Meg could easily imagine overweight. “Eat a celery stick, I’m sure that will even things out.”

Shannon understood Meg’s humor and slapped her arm. “What brings you to my neck of Beverly Hills?”

The studio Shannon had moved to after her contractual marriage ceremony was located in the center of Beverly Hills, just off Rodeo. The high-end real estate was part of the deal. She could shoot candid or even
not so candid
pictures of the exclusive clientele that lunched on Rodeo just to be seen. She also accepted the contracts of others who wanted their children’s graduation pictures, baby pictures, or wedding photographs taken by a professional. What was even better, Shannon always wanted to mentor new graduates with talent. Her studio afforded her that effort.

Meg patted Gabi on the back. “My new friend is planning her wedding. She needs a gown, and since you’re the photographer of all things weddings, I thought maybe you could point us in a direction. Show us some shots . . . tell us who you know.”

Hollywood, LA, the entire scene was all about
who
you knew, not
what
you knew.

Shannon’s gaze fell on Gabi with renewed interest. “You’re getting married?”

Gabi lifted her left hand and wiggled her fingers. “I am.”

“Congratulations . . . wait.” Shannon narrowed her eyes and stared at Meg. “Is she a client?”

Meg laughed. There was no way Alonzo would have passed the background check. “Ah, no. Gabi was engaged before we met.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Shannon turned to Gabi a second time. “Congratulations. When is the big day?”

Gabi looked between the two of them . . . twice. “In the fall. And what do you mean by
am I a client
?”

“I told you I did background checks,” Meg offered as a half answer.

“Background checks?”

Shannon jumped in. “I know people. Lots of people. Let’s look at some brides and you can tell me what appeals to you. We can go from there.”

They sat down to a pile of photo albums, every one of them filled with brides and everything weddings. If there was one thing Meg believed in, it was paying it forward. It helped that Shannon was a kick-ass photographer and a nice person. The nice person part was a plus. Helping her build her business didn’t require a second thought.

“Are you getting married on the island? Somewhere cold? Do you know what your bridesmaids are going to wear?”

Gabi pulled her shoulders back and grew silent. Her eyes started to fill with moisture.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” Meg managed to catch her new friend’s gaze.

“I don’t have a bridesmaid. How can I get married without a bridesmaid? A maid of honor?”

Shannon jumped up and brought a box of tissues while Meg patted Gabi’s back as a few tears fell from her eyes. “Lots of people get married without a big wedding party.”

Gabi dabbed her nose. “I have a cousin, but we don’t see each other very often. When we announced I was getting married she didn’t know if she was going to be able to come.” Gabi stood and started to pace. “This is awful.”

“It’s not awful, and not abnormal,” Shannon pointed out.

“I’ve spent so much time on the island I’ve forgotten how to foster friendships. How can Alonzo love that? I’m going to be a terrible wife.”

“You’re not on the island now,” Meg reminded her. “And I’m right here. You haven’t forgotten how to foster anything. Now unless you’re letting something else fester inside of you that’s an issue, let’s find you the perfect dress.” Meg grabbed at one of the photo albums
and pointed to the first slim-fitted strapless job she saw. “I think you’d look amazing in something like this.”

Gabi still wasn’t convinced. She glanced across the room at the picture and offered a pout.

Meg looked back at the photo album. “Didn’t your mother tell you that your face would stick that way if you kept it up?”

When Gabi’s laugh met Meg’s ears, she knew she’d broken through the nervous bride’s fears.

The thing was, Meg was still nervous for her new friend. Gabi might have told her that Alonzo made up for his assholiness the last night on the island, but the man had yet to pass her test. Now that she was back home, her test was rapidly moving forward. When Sam’s background check, along with her own, didn’t cut the man some slack . . . Meg would turn on the anti-Alonzo game full force.

Gabi fell in love with the first designer they visited. His name was Marco and he catered to money. Since Val promised her the wedding of her dreams . . . she wasn’t thinking of the price tag on Marco’s designs. What Gabi didn’t know was that with every gown she put on, Meg was snapping a picture and chatting with Val via text.

Sooooo, how much did you want to spend on your sister’s wedding gown?

It’s a dress. How much could it possibly cost?
Val, the poor guy had no idea.

Marco wore something Bond would be fond of, with the exception of the purple fuzzy tie. “Marco, hon . . . where is the ballpark of that gown?” Gabi was wearing a strapless that had a princess waist and the most spectacular set of pearls along the bodice that even Meg, who didn’t know a pearl from a glass bead, was impressed with.

“We’re talking price, Margaret?”

The man liked full names. Telling him to call her Meg was like him calling the pope Dad. “Yeah.”

“Economical . . . very economical.”

Yeah, right. “Economical for Kate Middleton or Honey Boo Boo?”

Marco was in the process of pulling Gabi’s breasts into submission, with his full hands, and tossed his head back with laughter. “Oh, dear. What is wrong with a country that let’s that . . .
thing
. . . on the television?” Marco placed his hands on Gabi’s waist and turned her toward the three-way mirror. “Lovely.” He slid his hand down Gabi’s waist as if he had the right and fluffed out the train. “I do think we should look at sleeker gowns. Less fussy, but you see how well this style fits the tone of your skin.”

“All the dresses are white.”

Marco tolerated Meg, but did so with a thin grin. “Bite your tongue. I have nothing white. Every shade is unique.”

“I think it’s beautiful.” Gabi turned in the mirror to admire the beading up the back.

“Marco . . . what are we talking . . . six figures? Five, four?”

“Four? Goodness, I’m not Kmart.”

Just what Meg thought. “So, six?”

“No. I did say it was economical.”

“Even after taxes?”

Marco held no shame as he moved around Gabi, pulling and tugging. “This would need to be taken in here.”

“Marco?”

He waved her off.

Meg sat in a plush white leather couch and watched as Gabi allowed Marco to remove every snap. All zillion of them.

Meg sent the picture of the dress, Gabi in it, to Val.
Stab a guess at the cost of this number.

Is that Gabi?

She’s stunning. Guess the price, moneybags.

There was a delay with dot dot dot as her response.
It doesn’t matter. My sister deserves whatever she wants.

So I should tell her that a hundred grand for a dress she will wear once . . . for only part of one
day, is good?

Meg found a certain satisfaction in seeing dot dot dot blink on her screen for several seconds. Yes, Val was a giving, considerate person. But she didn’t think he was that far gone.

The dot dot dot went on for a while, so Meg sweetened the pot.
A veil, shoes, and jewelry are next, moneybags. Choose your words wisely.

Dot dot dot . . .

Divert.

Nice word. “Gabi . . . hon, maybe we should see something with less beading. I can’t imagine that will wear well in the heat of the Keys.”

Marco removed two gowns from his collection while Gabi slid behind the drape to remove the dress.

“Marco?” Meg waved him over. “I work with a lot of brides, but let’s keep this one perfect with less cash, shall we?”

Marco lifted a manicured, and if Meg had to testify the fact, painted, brow in the air. “Shannon said as much.”

“Most of my brides can afford that little number with all the trimmings.” She pointed to the nearly six-figure dress. “Gabi will be walked down the aisle on her brother’s arm, not her father’s.” Not to mention that she’d be meeting a groom Meg had little faith in her keeping. But she kept that part unsaid.

Marco removed one of the two gowns he had in his hands and found another. “Gabriella . . . we must try this. I think it will be perfect.”

Meg tapped into her phone as Gabi walked out for the second sample.
You owe me.

Dot dot dot . . .

Meg laughed and tossed her phone aside. “I like that one.”

Samantha Harrison was what Meg referred to as a vertically challenged, feisty redhead that oozed poise and money as if she were born to it. In truth she was, but her role as wife, mother, and duchess polished what she’d been born with and made her a tour de force.

Alliance was her baby. She didn’t need the money the business earned her any longer, but she kept the machine running for many different reasons. The least of which was she found her own husband through the service and needed two hands to count the successful marriages she or her employees had arranged in the time she’d been in business. If Meg had to guess, Sam enjoyed empowering women, both through the temporary marriages and the wealth it offered said women, and in working for them to push ahead in life. Meg knew her life had done a 180 when she’d gone to work for the lady.

Combating her height with four-inch heels, Sam still had to reach over her head, on her tiptoes, to touch the coffee beans tucked on a top shelf in Meg’s kitchen . . . which was where Meg found her boss when she and Gabi returned from Marco’s.

“Oh, good Lord, woman. Let me get that for you.”

“I don’t know why you keep the coffee on the top shelf.”

Meg pulled the bag of some of Colombia’s best off the top shelf and poured it into her grinder. “If it’s on the bottom shelf, I’ll make, pour, make more . . . and not sleep all night. Reaching reminds me to stop drinking the stuff.”