Because Phee absolutelyhatedto see me with any other woman, let alone someone much younger and sweeter like Birdie. So her going to great lengths to get me back was classic.
Her jealousy was absolutely legendary, although I thought she’d just attempt to slash the tires of my limo like she usually did.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” I had demanded as the rest of my wedding guests filed out of the cathedral.
“Not here,” Phee said. “We can’t talk here. Too many paparazzi. Come with the kids and me on a little cruise to Tahiti. Just until we have to be back to start rehearsals.”
“All right,” I said.
I’d had to bend down quickly to pick up the ring Birdie had thrown at me and pulled something in my back. After all, the ring was only valued at 2.5 million dollars, absolutely something to just throw on the ground and leave.
So I was not in my mood to talk to my fiancée at the moment and perfectly happy to let her stew a bit.
Why the hell had Birdie been so pissed? I felt intensely irritated over that frozen sculpture. I had gotten the Duke de St.Ars-sur-Formansout of retirement for that damn ice sculpture and Birdie had destroyed it 18.5 minutes into its lifespan.
Pheewas supposed to be the dramatic one, not Birdie. Birdie was my peace. Had always been. So what the hell was with that outburst?
Bouncing blue waves pulled our yacht out to sea and my children clinked glasses.
“To Dad’s wedding day,” Hieronymus said.
I leaned back against the railing sardonically.
“Oh my god, you and Mother,” Paige cried.
“Hell of a duo,” I said, but I was too pissed to drink champagne. Birdie’s face kept running in my brain.
Fiveminutes. That’s all I had asked for.
“Dirty martini,” I barked to the bartender on board.
“The Duke de St.Ars-sur-Formansis going to give me hell for this,”I said irritably, pulling at my bowtie. “It didn’t have to go down like that.”
“When it comes to Birdie, yes, it does,” Paige said tartly. “She likes. . . scenes. She has no breeding.”
I frowned. “She’s not usually like that. Don’t be overly harsh on her.”
“Yeah, but the gossip mags are going to be full of this,” my daughter squealed, getting out her phone.
Full of Birdie hitting me with her bouquet, destroying an ice sculpture, and storming off? Yes.
I sipped my martini and looked out over the bright blue of the Pacific Ocean.
“Oh my god, look at these headlines,” Paige cried. “MUSIC MOGUL DUMPS GOLDDIGGER BRIDE, LEAVES HER SOBBING AT THE ALTAR.”
I felt a frisson of irritation.
“I didn’tleaveher at the altar.She’sthe one who stormed off.”
“Well, actually,” Hieronymus said, and he was always kind of a well-actually guy, but today I was not in the mood, “If we want to get technical,youwere leaving to talk to Mother. So yes, while Birdie didtechnicallyvacate the premises first, it was clear you were leaving her at the altar.”
I said nothing, looking over Paige’s shoulder as she scrolled through the headlines.
Surely Birdie was going to ignore this ridiculous gossip, right?
The wedding hadn’t beencanceled. Only postponed. I had made that very clear to her.
It occurred to me that these headlines did not express what had happened very well, and that Birdie could hardly help reading them, in fact, she had said before the wedding that all the media attention on our wedding would be great PR for Paige and Hieronymus’ first time directing.
