Mark’s lip curled back. “If I had a daughter who expected a large, over-the-top wedding, I would be very disappointed.”
“Wow. I feel sorry for your future kids.”
“And I feel sorry for yours. You’re such a child,” Mark said snidely to me then stalked over to his family.
What is wrong with you, Brea?You’ve dealt with entitled billionaires and bridezillas before and not lost your cool.Normally I could act like a professional and not a feral animal. But Mark irritated me. His total disdain for what I did, his smarter-than-thou attitude toward weddings, his outright dismissal of me—all of it was triggering my worst insecurities.
Though I was part of the Weddings in the City collaborative and helped plan nuptials for the rich and powerful in Manhattan, I still didn’t earn that much money at the end of the day. I used only the finest lace and the best silk and hand embroidered the dresses. Though I had some assistance from other seamstresses around New England, after all the work and material, I didn’t net all that much profit per dress. It was enough to feed my sugar and romance novel addictions but not enough to move out of my childhood bedroom.
And that was what I felt like—a child. Even when I was out on the town and happy with my friends, the minute I remembered that I actually in fact was not a real adult, a pit would form in my stomach as if I was dropping on a roller coaster. The only things that made me feel better were snacks and distracting books. Then Mark had just gone and flung it all in my face.
I decided I hated him.
“You’re lucky I’m too busy making wedding dresses,” I whispered as I glared daggers of indignation at the billionaire’s broad back.
I fortified myself with some freshly made pasta before I went to congratulate Liz. When she and I had first met, she had been as scattered and sugar addicted as I was. I had found a kindred spirit. Now she was engaged and would soon be a mother.
“It’s strange to see you not surrounded by pretty paper,” I told her, hugging her.
Liz made a face, and we went to a table with our snacks. “I’m so glad you came! I need you to design my wedding dress. And I need Weddings in the City to do my whole wedding. Ihaveto be married before the baby comes.”
“And you totally want your dream wedding!” I said. “It’s what, like eight months until the baby comes. We can get you married in that amount of time. You’re, what, probably a few weeks along…”
“Months!” Liz wailed. “I’m six months!”
“How?”
“I just thought I was getting fat!”
I pushed the plate of pasta across the table to her, and she stuffed a bite into her mouth.
I mentally tried to do math. “Okay so, three months. We can do that.”
“I don’t want to look like a whale in my wedding dress,” Liz sniffled. “I still want to look sexy.”
I had designed dresses for pregnant brides before, but a woman eight or nine months along?Gulp.
“I’ll make you the pretty’s bride with the most gorgeous dress,” I assured her. Liz started crying, and I patted her hand. “You’ll look great.”
I hope I can pull this off.
“One more thing,” Liz said, eating a bite of garlic bread. “Can you please be the maid of honor?”
“Uh—”
“You don’t want to?” Liz started crying again. “Sorry, it’s the hormones. And I’m freaked out.”
“I mean, we’re friends, but you don’t want your sister or a closer friend?” I asked tentatively.
“I’m so worried about this wedding,” she admitted. “It has to be perfect. I don’t want Wes to feel like I trapped him or to have any regrets.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t. He loves you!” I reminded her.
Liz blew her nose.
“I need someone who knows the wedding rodeo. You work with Weddings in the City, and you’ve done hundreds of weddings.”
“Ivy is a great wedding planner,” I assured her. “She’ll give you your dream wedding.”
