“Oh, heavens no!” Charlotte laughs. “We went to that new fusion restaurant downtown. I figured if we were going to bond over spices, we should let professionals handle the actual cooking. Smart move, considering I once set pasta on fire.”
She set PASTA on fire?Kiki’s mental voice is incredulous.How does someone even... never mind. This explains so much about whyPiers chose her. He’s always been attracted to helpless kittens he could rescue.
I try to laugh at Charlotte’s comment despite Kiki’s catty commentary.
This conversation is certainly painting a picture I wasn’t expecting—Charlotte as the scattered but charming heiress, Kiki as the competent ex who clearly still carries a torch, and Piers as the common denominator who apparently has atype.
Sadly, I probably would have fallen into that type, too. I could so burn pasta with the best of them. But I can catch a killer with the best of them, too.
CHAPTER 7
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Georgie’s voice cuts through the peaceful spa atmosphere like a foghorn. We’re out here on the expansive front lawn of the Country Cottage Inn at the Gossip and Polish event that the newly crowned Bridal Rescue Squad dreamed up. And Georgie looks as if she’s about to launch us into chaos in spectacular style.
She stands up dramatically from her pedicure chair, her toes spaced out with cotton balls, her champagne glass raised high, and from the split in her hot pink robe we get a glimpse of a matching pink kaftan covered in rhinestone palm trees that could blind just about anyone with corneas. “I have an announcement!”
The collective groan from the assembled women could probably be heard in the next county. Why do I get the feeling they’ve all met Georgie?
“I’ve had an epiphany about my career trajectory,” Georgie declares, striking a pose that looks as if she’s accepting an Academy Award rather than revealing her latest harebrained scheme. And what career trajectory? She’s been retired for the last twenty years. “I’m launching Georgie’s Bridal Blitz Boot Camp!”
Okay, so more chaos is on order for the week. That’s not a shocker. Although I think I’d rather deal with the killer again.
Macy nearly drops her mimosa. “Please tell me you’re not about to do what I think you’re about to do.”
“I’m declaring myself an official member of the Bridal Rescue Squad! Older, wiser, and someone who takes on more of a consultant role. I’m the new wedding planner!” Georgie announces with confidence despite the fact that she’s never actually planned anything more complex than a grocery list. And even those have been questionable. “My qualifications include watching seventeen seasons of wedding reality shows, maintaining a Pinterest board with over four thousand wedding pins, and having an innate understanding of bridal chaos dynamics seeing that I’ve been a bride more times than I can count on my fingers and toes.”
“And she certainly understands chaos,” Mom mutters.Mostly because she causes it.
I nod because I happen to agree.
The nail techs exchange glances that suggest they’re considering early retirement.
“But wait, there’s more!” Georgie continues, because apparently, we haven’t suffered enough. “I’m also implementing a comprehensive multi-day plan that includes Conrad surveillance operations for the bride’s protection, and leveraging this tragic situation for my new social media empire. Think of it as wedding planning meets investigative journalism meets influencer marketing!”
“It does sound brilliant,” I mutter.
Charlotte finally looks up from her phone. “Did she just sayConradsurveillance?”
“Oh yes.” Georgie grins with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever who’s just discovered a tennis ball factory. “Someone needs to keep an eye on that devastatingly handsome best man, and I volunteer as tribute.”
“This is going to be a disaster,” Camila mutters, but she’sfighting back a smile because there’s nothing Camila Ryder can appreciate more than a Georgie-shaped disaster—and that’s mostly because of how it affects me.
Camila loves disasters almost as much as Georgie loves chaos.
“Speaking of disasters,” Charlotte holds up her phone with all the drama of a magician revealing their best trick, “want to see my latest content? I was just updating my followers on the wedding week drama.”
She starts scrolling through her Hot Mess Heiress Insta Pictures account with the pride of a parent showing off honor roll certificates. “Here’s my Rich Girl Problems series from yesterday. See this post about my champagne going flat at the engagement dinner? It got three million views!”
The crowdoohsandahhsagain. I get the feeling they adore anything this woman has to say. It makes me question if these are friends and family or outright fans. Maybe all of the above.
I peer over at her screen. The production value is actually impressive—perfect lighting, designer everything, and Charlotte looking gorgeously flustered as she holds up a glass of allegedly flat champagne.
“And this one,” she continues, swiping to the next post, “is from my Oops, I Did It Again collection. I accidentally booked first-class tickets to Paris, Tennessee, instead of Paris, France, for my honeymoon research trip. The comments are hilarious. Everyone thinks I’m so relatably ditzy.” She winks my way, and the crowd is thoroughly regaled once again.
The irony is alive and well. Charlotte has built an empire on being the relatable rich girl who makes expensive mistakes, but watching her scroll through those comments with genuine anxiety about her image, I’m starting to think there’s more to heroopsmoments than meets the eye.
According to those likes, it’s clear her followers eat up every disaster, every spilled champagne and backwards designer dress, even though she swears it’s performed relatability.
“Your follower engagement is insane,” I tell her, watching the likes climb in real time. “You’ve got some serious business savvy going on here.”
