“I’ve never seen anything like it!” the red-faced officiant said, fanning himself as he followed me after the maid of honor.
Please don’t have a stroke, please don’t have a stroke.
“Uh, Ivy?” Elsie’s voice crackled in my Bluetooth headset. “I thought we had another twenty minutes until the wedding let out?”
“Change of plans,” I said to my best friend and wedding caterer as I desperately tried to chase down the maid of honor. “Have you seen… Oh wait, never mind.”
Elsie was on the terrace in her crisp black pants and white shirt when I pushed through the crowd. She looked as dumbfounded as I felt as the maid of honor clambered up onto a chair, tottering in her platform heels, to tell everyone in the audience exactly how she felt about the bride and Arnold, her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.
“That lying, cheating bastard!” She waved the posters around. “You can’t trust a bitch!”
“Get those pictures from her,” I hissed into the headset as I rushed to corral the maid of honor. “Or actually don’t.” I skidded to a stop as I remembered where those posters had been.
The best man begged, “Please just come down off of there!”
“Dick! Lying piece of garbage!” The maid of honor threw the posters at him then snatched a platter of salmon crudité from a passing server and hurled it at Arnold. It missed—and landed all over me. Bits of fish dripped down my face and plopped onto the terrace.
I bit back a curse.
These people are future clients. Keep your composure.
“Where is Evan?” his stepmother demanded. I noticed she’d had time to grab a drink, so she clearly couldn’t be all that worried about him. “Where is my son?”
“I don’t know,” I told her, trying to look professional as I shook capers off of my shirt.
“You have to find him,” she berated. “You’re the wedding planner. What are we paying you for anyway if you can’t even hold onto the groom?”
You’re not paying me at all.
I grimaced a smile.
“We will all look for him,” I said as Elsie helpfully picked dill out of my hair.
“He can’t have gone far,” his friend Sebastian said. “I have his phone, wallet, and keys.”
I need a drink.
“Honestly, Ivy,” Camilla’s father, Orson Sutherland, said reproachfully. “How could you let this happen? What kind of wedding planner are you? Don’t think we’re paying you for this wedding,” he said with a frown.
Evan’s father, who had no shame, was pouring himself a drink.
“Honestly,” Evan’s stepmother and the father of the groom’s ex-wife said. “How could you?”
He took a swig of the drink. He had Evan’s same blue eyes, height, square jaw, and general aura of psychopath around him. He shrugged.
“I was drunk. It was dark. It wasn’t even that good. Certainly not worth all of this.”
In the distance, a bridezilla screamed.
“You should have insisted they pay before the wedding,” Elsie said angrily in my ear. “I thought that was Weddings in the City policy. You shouldn’t have given them a break.”
“You know the situation with the Sutherlands is complicated,” I hissed back to her as she swept up the food and directed the other employees to start passing out snacks.
I surveyed the chaos then picked up a craft cocktail and took a drink.
* * *
We didn’t even makeit to the reception before the bridezilla stormed out.
