“Sleeping with someone’s father is not a mistake,” I shot back.
Ivy was struggling to keep her expression professional.
“Let’s keep the focus on Imogen,” my stepmother said.
“Yes, this is about me. The next few months are all about me. You all have to make sure that my wedding is perfect and special and better than all of my friends’ weddings. Which is why I cannot have these flowers. Show me something else, something better,” Imogen demanded.
“We’ll go back to the drawing board,” Ivy began.
“No,” Imogen declared, “right now. She’s a florist, right?” She pointed at Amy. “So make her rearrange these flowers. I want to see what you’re going to give me. The wedding’s in three months. I can’t wait for you to go back to whatever hovel you occupy and make yet another bouquet that does not meet my specifications.”
“If we do the orchids,” Amy said, “we need to layer the flowers. We don’t have any here today, but I can pretend.” The florist took out a needle and thread and started beheading a few of the smaller flowers. “The orchids would sort of drape down to cascade to the table. We’d want to make the centerpiece feel a little more natural, so we’d want to break up the shape, like so—”
“No!” Imogen shouted. “I told you all already, and you never listen. I told you I did not want that burlap wedding theme where it looks like you just went out into a field and picked some flowers. They have to look expensive. I don’t understand why no one listens to me! This is my wedding, and it has to be perfect. Stop giving me terrible flowers and terrible dresses and terrible décor!”
She swept her arm out and sent two of the vases crashing to the floor.
“Those are antiques!” Ivy blurted.
“That I’m paying for,” Imogen said.
“ThatI’mpaying for,” I interjected.
“Evan, stop being such a nag,” my stepmother snapped at me.
I had to force myself to remain calm. “I think this appointment has ceased to be productive,” I told my family firmly.
The florist blinked in shock at the carnage, but Ivy rallied. “We will take your comments and come up with another arrangement. How’s that?”
“It better be nice. Honestly, I can’t believe I have to do your job for you,” my half sister complained as she shrugged on her camel trench and slipped on her sunglasses. “Mika, come along. We need to go find more pictures for this so-called florist.”
Ivy was patting Amy on the back when I came back from herding my family out the door.
“I do have another meeting,” Amy said, gamely collecting the rest of the flowers.
“I’ll clean this up,” Ivy told her.
The florist brushed past me with a nod.
“I’m sorry,” Ivy told me as she reached for a glittering shard of broken glass.
I grabbed her arm and pulled her back against me. “Don’t touch that!”
Ivy looked at me wide-eyed. We were very close. I could smell the subtle, sweet perfume she wore. I swallowed.
Ivy would be a very nice rebound.
I wondered what she would do if I kissed her. She was close enough.
“Can’t have the wedding planner cut her hand,” I said. “She’s going to need that to eventually slap Imogen in the face.”
“I’m not hitting a client.”
“But you will hit on a client!” I waggled my eyebrows at her.
She narrowed her eyes. “That was you and your stupid little game. Now where is your broom?”
“I dunno.” I shrugged.
