“Prince John is in America? Does he have a new love? Can’t make out her face very well. Name? Details!”
— #princessbride #princejohnsnewlove
“Late breaking news here on Cable News PF. Hamish Fickle, MP, is calling for federal investigation of Reingard Industries, a Grand Duchy of Hessenberg company, who purchased land in the Midlands. ‘All I’m asking is for the Crown Investigation Bureau and Crown Justice to look into it.’”
— Cable News PF @ 6:00
Chapter Six
Gemma
By the time she arrived at The Wedding Shop Monday morning, Gemma was frustrated and hungry.
Note to self: go grocery shopping.
She sent Imani into town for a pre-basketball camp breakfast at Ella’s Diner, so she had to handle the herd herself. While she was inspecting the rabbits, Taylor Gillingham called to confirm the wedding shoot at the wedding chapel on Wednesday.
“Do you have everything you need for Wednesday? This is a new client for me and if it goes well, I’m golden.”
“Checked your storage locker last night. We’re good. See you at 8:00 a.m.”
Just when she was ready to head to work, she noticed a flood in the barnyard. A water pipe had burst. Mr. Sweet Pea, the Velveteen rabbit, gained lakefront property.
By the time she shut off the water, called Daddy for advice, and moved the rabbit cages, she was sweating and covered in mud.
In moments like these she found it hard to believe she’d ever aspired to greatness or ever lived in Tinseltown, consumed with her looks, her clothes, and her career.
If they could see me now.
Except Matt Biglow. Her life would be complete if she never clapped eyes on him again.
“Sorry I’m late.” Gemma burst through The Wedding Shop’s back door, grabbed a Haven’s cinnamon bun and cup of coffee, and headed to her mezzanine office, pausing by Haley who worked a white gown over a headless mannequin. “A water pipe broke this morning. The whole barnyard was flooded. Mr. Sweet Pea was about to go swimming.”
“Did you call Cole?” Haley bent to fluff out the voluminous skirt. “What do you think, Gemma? New from Elnora. Her designs get better every year.”
“Nice. Pretty.”
The brilliant white silk seemed to flow in the light coming through the large display window. The pearls seated on the seam of the V-waist radiated pops of color down the skirt. It was the sort of gown that would make any bride feel stunning.
“‘Nice, pretty’? That’s all you got?”
“It’s beautiful.” Gemma adjusted the strap of her bag and took a closer look, careful of her precariously perched pastry on her coffee cup. Careful of the cathedral train. “Fabulous really. I love it.”
“That’s better.” Haley regarded her for a too-long second. “Gemstone, everything okay? I mean besides poor Mr. Sweet Pea going for a swim?”
Gemma sighed. What were friends for but to look beneath the surface and ask the real questions? In L.A., her friends mostly cared about her auditions, her callbacks, her party invitations, her workout routine and diet, and how in the world was she lucky enough to meet Matt Biglow.
“He’s gorgeous.”
“He’s the hottest thing in L.A.”
“What? You’re going to Vegas to be on a Biglow reality show?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Just can’t seem to get organized. Imani had to eat at Ella’s this morning before camp. Why didn’t I grocery shop yesterday? Aren’t the weekends for cleaning, shopping, and binge-watching TV shows? What’d I do? Work. Researched designs for Taylor’s shoot on Wednesday. Spent three hours in the storage locker organizing everything I needed. I’m a bad mom.”
“If you mean you’re showing Imani how to be a kind, caring, conscientious woman, who maybe isn’t the best housekeeper in the world, then you’re a great mom. You can’t be good at everything.”
“Feels like I should be. Especially for her. I want her to feel safe, you know, that she belongs with me. I want her to go into the kitchen, open the fridge or a cupboard to find it full of food and yell, ‘There’s nothing to eat. Can we order from the Fry Hut?’”
