“Okay… okay,” Marigold said, more to herself than to Bruce. “I’ll find a notary, get the signatures, and send them over.”
“The town clerk would normally insist on hard copies, but if you send a scan by tomorrow morning, it’ll be fine. Mary owes me a favor. She was in a bit of a jam a few years back. Turns out her son had opened a credit card in her name and then flown to Russia to meet a woman he met on the internet, but the woman—”
“That’s probably not something you should tell me, Bruce,”Marigold said, a bit more shrilly than she’d intended. “But thank you for the call. I’m on it. You’ll have the paperwork in time. Talk to you soon.” She pressed “end” and started to scroll through her contacts before remembering that she was holding Olivia’s phone, not her own.
“Can I have that back, please?”
Marigold flinched, then spun around to see her sister glaring at her from the back door.
“Just gimme a sec,” Marigold said, taking a few steps backward as she planned what to do next. First, she had to grab her phone. She still had Hugo’s number buried in her contacts, but what would she do if he didn’t pick up? It was too risky just to forward the paperwork and hope for the best. It needed to be signed and notarizedtoday. Which meant that if Hugo didn’t check his texts or look at his email, someone would need to hand deliver the documents. And as far as Marigold knew, Hugo was still living in Canada.
“No, now. I have to check my email. Immediately.”
Marigold tossed the phone to Olivia. “God forbid you make anyone wait thirty seconds for a response.”
“It’s my job to be available and responsive. To be someone people can count on.”
“And you’re saying I’m not?”
“You’re getting married tomorrow and you don’t have a marriage license. Classic Marigold.”
“It’s not my fault,” Marigold said faintly. “There was a mix-up with the paperwork.”
“Nothing’s ever your fault, is it?”
“I appreciate your support, Olivia. It’ssuperhelpful.”
Olivia sighed. “Fine, I’m sorry. What do you need?”
“Nothing. I’m just going to grab my phone and head to the ferry. I need to get my… birth certificate. From my apartment. I didn’t realize I needed it for the license.”
“You’re going toNew York? That doesn’t make any sense. We know a hundred people flying up today. Just ask someone to bring it for you. Your doorman can let them in.”
“It’s in a safe with all my jewelry, so I don’t think I should risk it. Or it might be in a safe-deposit box at the bank. I’m not one hundred percent sure. It’s just easier if I go. I’ll be back in time for the rehearsal dinner.”
Olivia gave her an odd look. “Are you okay? Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”
For just a moment, Marigold felt an urge to tell her sister everything. Olivia would be horrified, but she’d fix Marigold’s mess, just like she always did. But she’d never, ever let Marigold forget it. She’d bring it up, regularly, for the rest of their lives. And could she really trust Olivia not to tell anyone about Hugo? No, her little performance last night had made it clear—she wasn’t afraid to humiliate Marigold when the opportunity arose. Jonathan could never hear about this. Neither could Lulu and Bill. “There’s nothing to figure out. I just need my birth certificate. It’s fine. I’m on it.”
“Will you be okay doing all this by yourself? Do you want me to come with you?”
“I’m good. I’d rather you stay here, hold down the fort. I’ll just go grab my stuff.” Thankfully, the one thing shereallyneeded was up in her room—her passport.
She wasn’t going to New York; she was heading to Canada. She had eight hours to find Hugo Berlanger and fix the biggest mess she’d ever made.
CHAPTER FIVENatalie
Flying back to NY to get birth certificate. Need it for marriage license. Back tonight. Xoxo.
Natalie stared down at Marigold’s text in dismay. How could this have happened? Marigold had a wedding planneranda lawyer in Maine. Why had they waited so long to get the license? Wouldn’t Jonathan have checked in at some point?
She knew it would all work out in the end, though. This was how Marigold rolled. Natalie couldn’t count the number of times she had left her passport at home, or arrived forty-five minutes before a flight only to realize she was flying out of Newark, not JFK. And yet she always managed to salvage the situation. Or, at least, called someone who salvaged it for her, like when Bill sent a helicopter to take her to the correct airport.
The more immediate issue was that they were supposed to take bridesmaid photos in an hour, and Natalie had spent a ridiculous amount of time coordinating with the photographer’s“team”—his booking agent, his admin assistant, his production coordinator. Jean-Luc Duchant famously never shot weddings, but he’d made a special exception for his friend Marigold. However, even his affection for his muse wasn’t enough to overcome his powerful disdain for traditional bridal party photos, so the plan had been for a “day before” photo shoot in the black vintage cocktail dresses they’d found for the occasion. Or, more accurately, thatNataliehad found for the occasion…
Needless to say, Natalie wasn’t particularly keen to let everyone know that the shoot was off. As she considered what to tell Jean-Luc, she perused the inn’s breakfast menu, torn between lobster benedict and wild Maine blueberry pancakes. That was one of the many small indignities of singlehood no one ever talked about—without someone to share with, you had to make the impossible choice between savory and sweet that always left you feeling cheated.
As Natalie dithered over the menu, Liesl sauntered over. She had an exaggerated, almost choreographed way of moving, swinging her hips far more than necessary. And if you called her name, she’d turn her head and raise a questioning eyebrow before responding, as if she were always auditioning for the femme fatale role in some unknown film. “We’re taking photos soon, yes?” she said in her usual affected manner that often morphed into a vaguely European accent despite the fact that she’d grown up in Connecticut.
