“Oh no.”
The chubby little puppy came over with one of Imogen’s pricy bridal earrings in his mouth.
“No, no, no, come here, puppy! That’s a good boy,” I coaxed in a high-pitched voice, slowly approaching him. The puppy backed away, tail wagging, shaking the earring playfully.
“No, please, puppy, please be a good boy!”
The puppy tossed his head then swallowed the earring in one gulp.
“Crap crap crap!”
“Don’t forget pictures of the bridal jewelry,” Imogen’s mother said, hurrying over to us. “I want some pictures of her gazing at the pieces with Teddy’s picture in the background. Obviously, we had to Photoshop him. He’s been in his beer a bit much lately.”
We gave her a wide-eyed look.
“Where are my earrings?” Imogen shrieked.
“I think that’s the most expensive dog in New York City right now,” Grace remarked as the puppy rolled over on his back, begging for pats.
“What happened to it? One of the maids in this hotel stole it, I bet,” Imogen raged. “I want you to call the police, Ivy. Someone call the police.”
“It was the dogs,” I said, wincing.
“My party favors?” Imogen was shocked.
“He ate at least one earring,” I said. The puppy burped. “Probably two.”
“You should have been keeping a better eye on them,” the bride scolded.
“I told you the dogs were a bad idea.”
“I pay you to agree with me,” Imogen hissed.
“No,” I countered, “you paid me to put on a flawless wedding, which I can’t do if there are puppies running around peeing on things and eating the bridal jewelry.” I braced, waiting for her to fire me. Her breathing increased.
“She’s like a dragon ready to flame the villagers,” Grace muttered under her breath. I elbowed her.
“Mika!” Imogen screeched.
Mika, hair and makeup done, hurried over.
“Give me your earrings,” Imogen demanded. “Those dogs you bought ate my bridal jewelry, so you have to give me yours.”
Mika touched the jewelry dangling from her ears. “But these were my mother’s earrings,” she said in a small voice.
“She’s dead, so she doesn’t care if you wear them,” Imogen said curtly. “Give them to me. I have to take photos.”
“Mika, you don’t have to,” I told her.
Mika silently and sadly slowly removed the sparkly pearl-and-diamond drop earrings from her ears. “You’re next, Ivy,” she said dejectedly.
My hair and makeup took longer than it should have, because Imogen constantly interrupted me, inquiring about the flowers, the food, or the reception decor, and I would then have to stop, pull up the schedule, text someone, or make a call. When the stylist finally swiped the last bit of lipstick onto me, I asked Mika the question I’d been dreading all morning.
“Where is Camilla? She’s the best girl on the groom’s side, but these ladies have to do her makeup before they do Imogen’s.”
“She was supposed to be here,” Mika said. “I’ve texted her. She’s not answering.”
“The father of the bride is not picking up either?” Grace said, snapping photos. “I want to get a few pictures of him and the bride before she gets dressed, then after. They make for a cute series.”
