That was not what I was expecting him to say. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep a straight face.
“Bill Rutin.” He stuck out his other hand to shake mine. It looked like a dead fish—not that I ever had touched one. The firm, unyielding grip was a surprise. Rough with callouses, his hand felt like it could do damage.
“Hi…Bill.” I arched a brow between him and the devil in pink. “Welcome to my home.”
“Enough, enough,” Carole sighed dramatically. “We have the wedding of the century to plan. My darling girl is marrying British royalty!”
Bill cheered. “Right-o, she is!”
The wedding planner. Yup. That explained it. When I emailed my dad’s secretary’s assistant to just set me up an appointment, I didn’t think Emery would include my stepmother in the invitation.
I sank onto a barstool. “So nice that you make house calls.”
“She hasn’t given us proper notice to plan,” Carole pouted. “How are we supposed to book Saint Mark’s in such a short amount of time?”
I blew on my coffee. If I was any bit religious, this was the time to offer up a prayer for patience. Pulling myself up straight, I held up a hand.
“Let me stop you right there. It will be a small, intimate ceremony. We will get married in Boston, not…wherever you just said. And I don’t want flowers.”
Carole gasped and slapped a hand over her heart. The puffball wriggled, desperate to get away from the heaving chest.
Bill frowned. “I was told Venice.”
“As in Italy?” Oh, that was too cruel.
Once, a long time ago, I dreamed of eloping to embrace the man I loved under the warm Tuscan sun. Not Venice, but outside Florence.
But that was another life. One where fairy tales existed.
“Of course, Venice,” my stepmom sniffed. “It’s where everyone goes. Stop being so childish.”
Billionaires, sure. Celebrities, naturally.
But even though we had money, we weren’t on either of those levels. Pointing that out would only make me seem petulant in her eyes, so I didn’t poke the sore spot.
“I refuse to go to Italy,” I said flatly. “Plus, I don’t think I can take the time off work.”
“You’re such an ungrateful daughter,” Carole faux sobbed. “See what I have to put up with?”
Bill nodded solemnly.
I wanted to scream.
“And as far as work, your father will handle that.” Carole waved her hand.
Like hell I was letting that happen. Not with the promotion up for grabs. I could barely afford to lose today, let alone time to travel internationally.
“How about England?” Bill insisted. “That way the groom’s family and friends can attend.”
“No!” I protested, while at the same time, Carole squeaked, “How lovely! I didn’t even think of Westminster Abbey. We could put it on the television.”
I put two fingers on either side of my temples and rubbed hard. “Boston. The groom said Boston.”
“He doesn’t matter,” Carole snapped. “This isyourwedding.”
By which she meant her chance to shine.
The puffball sneezed again. “Will you kindly take out that air plug!”
