Of course it was.
We got the meeting done in record time so they could keep on top of things just in case I wasn’t around to look after them (though, I’d be around, but it didn’t hurt to have backup).
This segued into the team of makeup artists being thirty minutes late.
Not a disaster, but not optimal.
Which segued into the florist showing with the wrong grass in the arrangements.
At this point, seeing as I was a bit harried, I had to try really hard not to slide backward into the old me, and say sarcastically that we were not launching a revival of Oklahoma!, but instead having a fucking wedding. And therefore, the grass that looked like wheat which was not in the arrangements we’d agreed (and I had pictures), not to mention, it was atrociously ugly, had to be pulled. And they had better source the fluffy, feathery grass we’d agreed that Alex just loved and do it toute de suite.
I managed not to be sarcastic, instead only firm, but I managed it by the skin of my teeth.
They did this, though the new arrangements arrived only fifteen minutes before the guests started to show.
This necessitated me running around in my bridesmaid’s gown with my hair all done up and my makeup just perfect, but my feet in flip-flops (the horror!) to help with the setup.
All while stupid, stupid Dair, who’d been invited to hang with the men pre-wedding (because…of course he had), stood at a split rail fence in his ridiculously well-tailored suit with the collar of his shirt open, exposing the corded column of his throat. He had one foot up on the bottom rail, both forearms on the top, and all he was missing was the piece of grass in his teeth and the cowboy hat on his head.
And he watched me rush around in flip-flops!
Disaster.
(Even if the flip-flops were Valentino…still!)
He’d done this smiling like a lunatic.
Catastrophe.
He finally approached and said, “Get your arse to Alex. I’ll help them finish this shite.”
I was too freaked out to argue, not about him helping, not about him calling the carefully crafted arrangements “shite.”
Because another part of this debacle of a day was that I had not heard from the cake lady. She was the only person who didn’t answer my confirmation call that morning.
And the cake had not arrived.
But in the now, I needed these fucking arrangements arranged and to make sure my sister was okay, the bridesmaids were all good, and I needed five minutes to fan myself so I wasn’t red in the face and sweaty during the ceremony (or worse, the pictures).
So I ran to get my binder, opened it to the flower arrangement section, shoved it in his hands and ordered, “Follow that…to the letter.”
He stared in open shock at the intricate diagrams I’d made on some software I found, then looked at me, still in open shock.
At this point, I was way too harried to process how he could still be so damned handsome with that expression on his face.
Instead, I jabbed my finger two inches from that handsome face and warned, “To…the…letter, Alasdair. I’ll be checking.”
With that, even if one side of his lips quirked up in an attractive half-smile when I called him Alasdair, I dashed back to the bridal preparation area.
It was only while we were lining up to do the procession when Nora approached to whisper the cake had finally arrived, something I was happy about, but it made me fidgety because I didn’t have time to go see if it was all in order. Not to mention, Dair still had my binder, and I couldn’t check it off.
The processional processed (and yes, the arrangements were arranged correctly, thank God), and now here I was, standing in a dress unlike any of the other dresses any of the girls were wearing (Alex insisted that everyone wear what they wanted, it didn’t even have to be a bridesmaid dress or formal at all, so we were a mishmash of dresses in shades and prints of green from elegant (Chloe) to boho (Gal) to flirty (Katie) to classy (Hailey) to sophisticated (me)).
And I was holding a bouquet of fluffy grass.
I was also listening to Alex and Rix sharing their heartfelt, handwritten vows, and I was going to lose it.
Good Lord, who knew Rix could be so sentimental? He was a GUY! most of the time, in all caps with the exclamation point.
