So I’ve addressed the issue.
The wedding planner rushes our way, her black chiffon dress understated but elegant, her shoulder-length blonde hair immaculate, and her mouth gaping in abject horror.
When she tries to step past Franki, my wife “accidentally” gets in her way. Once. Twice. Until I complete my floral arrangement and place my hand on Franki’s lower back.
Lucinda fluffs up like a puffer fish in rage. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Which this are you referring to?” Franki asks sweetly.
I’ve heard her voice described as “cotton candy.” Personally, I don’t hear it. We’ve known each other since I was twelve. Her voice is her voice, my favorite sound in the world, second only to her laugh. But there are people who underestimate her when they hear it.
They do so at their own risk.
I glance at the floor behind us. Franki’s stalling allowed the last of the place cards to become too soggy to be usable. “Thank you,” I murmur.
“You’re welcome,” she says with a twinkle.
Lucinda closes her eyes briefly and grits her teeth. “I told you I would handle it. This is my job. Do you think I haven’t dealt with situations like these before?”
“Your answer was to move Elliot while maintaining the other assigned place cards. I explained why that won’t work. Everyone would see the seating chart originally had Elliot with his family and Dante’s parents. It would have caused gossip among the other guests, and it would lead to one party or both feeling slighted,” Franki says.
“You overestimate people’s interest in things that don’t concern them,” the planner says.
“Taking Elliot aside and putting him at another table was an inelegant solution. It would hurt his feelings and offend both sets of parents.” I know this because Franki has assured me it’s true.
“This is sabotage,” the planner grates, indicating the fallen place cards. With her teeth bared and the industrial fan blowing her hair and chiffon gown around, she looks like a deranged Celine Dion about to tell me my heart will go on. “You’ve ruined the rehearsal dinner.”
“Each guest will be met here at the door by you and given their table number verbally, then escorted by a member of waitstaff to their table. You’ll place the entire Spencer family with Henry and myself and make appropriate adjustments,” Franki says. “No one will know it was ever meant to be done differently. Dante’s parents will sit with Henry’s parents, which makes perfect sense since they know each other so well. Everyone here will be impressed with the personal attention they receive.”
“This is unacceptable,” Lucinda snaps at Franki.
“Be very careful how you speak to my wife,” I say softly.
The woman gulps nervously and looks away. “I have other tasks to oversee at that time.”
I’ve been told I’m unnerving when I smile while annoyed.
Good.
“I don’t advise lying to me. Spencer maintains meticulous records, and I’ve seen your schedule. The time period when guests arrive is blocked off on yours as ‘See to guest comfort’ and ‘Address any emergent issues.’ Clearly, this situation is both.”
I lift an eyebrow and pause to give her time to respond. When her face contorts in wordless fury, instead, I nod. “I’m pleased to see you have the situation under control.”
Franki wanted to handle the altered seating arrangements with finesse. No threats, bribes, or force. I have, in my opinion, done so extremely efficiently.
The planner lifts her hand and snaps her fingers at a passing member of the staff then points wordlessly at the floor for them to clean the mess.
I apologize in Italian to the young woman who scrambles to do as ordered and ask her to retrieve something to dry the water, though the fan is doing that job already. Then I gather the soggy paper for the trash myself. I did make the mess after all.
Afterward, I guide Franki away from the dining room.
“I’m not always a shining beacon of propriety, but Lucinda is just rude,” I murmur.
Franki presses her lips together, fighting her smile. “She has a right to be upset we interfered.”
“We outrank Lucinda. Both grooms asked for our interference. If she’d been willing to work with us, we wouldn’t have had to get creative.”
When I lead Franki down a short hallway, then pull a set of heavy keys from my pocket and unlock a dark wooden door, she looks at me in confusion. “Where are we going?”
