I glance up at the telly and see those reporters’ sneering faces again in my mind. Double damn. They are not compatible. I must choose. I either need to be a very sensible, practical bride, which would prove that I'm mature and have my priorities straight. Or I can be a very silly, whimsical bride, which says the exact opposite. And I choose my reputation over the fairy-tale. After all, my wedding is one day, my reputation is forever.
Closing the book, I lean back on my pillow for a second, tapping my fingers on my lap desk. I can let go of the dream. I’mthirty, for goodness’ sake. I stand and scoop up the album, my carton of shame, and the spoon, and walk back to the kitchen, tossing the spoon in the sink and depositing the album and the carton in the trash. "I choose sensible."
The teenager in me wants to grab the album back out and clean it off, then clutch it to my chest forever. Well, not forever. That would be ridiculous. But at least put it back in the box. But no. I won’t.
Although, if I’m going to let go of the dream, I bloody well am going to get credit for it. Spinning on my heel, I hurry back to my room and swipe my cell phone off my night table. Then, I text Dylan:Just wanted to make sure you’ll have a camera crew at our planning session tomorrow.
In under a minute, I get a response back from Dylan:I’ll have a crew at EVERYTHING over the next eleven weeks. EVERY. THING.
My heart stills as I stare at her words. I have a bad feeling I’ve started a war with a most capable opponent. One who never sleeps either, so she’s got twenty-four hours a day to scheme.
Shit.
Chapter 10
Humankind’s Highest Calling
Will
"There’s our handsome groom!"Dylan says, spreading her arms out wide in my direction.
She’s standing at the head of the table in the king's boardroom where at least thirty people are sitting, two and three-deep in some spots. The wedding planning session started at nine a.m. sharp and, due to being stuck at the studio last night until well after one a.m. and trying to fill in this beast of a questionnaire until after three, I overslept.
It is now 9:07 as I make my apologies to everyone and search for Arabella, finding her squeezed into a spot between Mrs. Chapman and Gregory, who gets up and gestures for me to take his chair.
As I rush to the opposite end of the table from Dylan, I am treated to a little jab courtesy of her. "I hope you'll make it to the wedding on time."
I can feel my ears burning with embarrassment as I sit down. "Yes, of course I'll be very early."
I take Arabella's hand and give it a squeeze, whispering, “Sorry."
She offers me a soft smile and whispers, "Don't worry about it."
"To bring you up to speed, William," Dylan says in her characteristic speed talking. "You already know the people to your left, the ANN crew in charge of production, and on your right is the wedding planning team led by the esteemed Imogen Arbuckle—event planner to the stars. She's the mastermind behind such great weddings as Lady Brooke Beddingfield’s wedding to movie star Blake Cunningham, and Barrett Richfield’s wedding to Helena Jones. We’re extremely lucky to get her on such short notice."
I glance at the woman who Dylan is pointing at and she reaches her arm out to me. She's got short, spikey salt-and-pepper hair and turquoise glasses. In order to shake her hand, I have to do a weird half-standing/stretching thing across the table that feels extremely awkward and manages to squish my boys in a most unpleasant way. "Lovely to meet you," I say, doing my best not to wince. "And thank you for taking us on."
She gives me a broad smile, then says, "With what they're paying me, it's totally worth it. Now, I was just explaining to all of your advisors and ANN executives that my process is called strategic intuitive event creation. I'll be using your answers from the extensive questionnaires and blending them with current trends as well as my own intuition through a process of deep meditation and reflection. It may sound a little airy-fairy to you, but it works. I have successfully executed over four-hundred large-scale events in my twenty-five years in the industry and am widely known as a trendsetter."
"Brilliant," I say with a nod.
I glance around the room, only to notice a film crew spread out throughout the room, including Mac and Tosh.
“William, if you could pass your questionnaire to Cassandra over here, she'll start inputting your answers into our system.”
I slide the folder toward the young woman, then say, "I filled it in as best I can, but I'm really quite flexible about the entire event. For me, I'll be happy with whatever makes Arabella happy."
People around the table start to chuckle and I glance at Arabella, feeling rather confused until she leans over and says, "That's precisely what I was just saying right before you came in."
"That I’ll be happy with whatever makes you happy?" I ask with a grin.
"No, thatI’llbe happy with whatever makesyouhappy.” Arabella offers an odd smile around the room that looks…almost…phony. “I was just explaining that we’re not in need of a lavish, over-the-top event, but rather would prefer something simple and elegant and understated." She gives a quick smile in the direction of the camera, then continues, "Especially given the current economic situation of people around the world.” Turning to me, she says, “Right, darling?"
"Right," I say with a nod. "Definitely."
We all sit in an awkward silence for several minutes while Cassandra taps away on her laptop. When she finishes, she turns to Imogen. "Done and analyzing."
She sits back and stares at the screen for a moment, then leans forward and says, "Huh, well, that's never happened before."
