Rose made it all the way to her car before she let out a breath so long and harsh it sounded like a deflating tire. She sank into the driver’s seat, her head hitting the headrest with a dull thud.
“Okay,” she whispered to the empty car. “Just a two-year-booked vineyard, a baker who hates everyone, a thousand orchids, and a hand-stitched velvet galaxy. All of that by October 27th. That’s all.”
The fee for this wedding would pay off the Meridian debt in one fell swoop. The prestige would fix her career for the rest of her life. All she had to do was pull off five different miracles by showtime.
Chapter 6
Lizanne
September 30th
The interior of the Range Rover smelled of expensive leather and Trina’s sharp, citrusy perfume—a scent that usually made Lizanne feel safe but today felt like an irritant. Trina’s fingers were tapping a restless rhythm against the steering wheel, her rings clicking against the hide.
“Why are we going to a random vineyard in the middle of nowhere, Liz?” Trina asked, her eyes shielded by dark, oversized sunglasses. “I thought we were settled on the St. Helena property. It’s iconic.”
Lizanne leaned her head against the headrest, squinting at the GPS on the dashboard. “The planner sent this location, Trina. Apparently, the St. Helena place has some foolish policy about needing to book a year or two in advance. Even for us. They wouldn’t budge, even when Rose mentioned the Prime Esque streaming deal.”
Trina let out a short, sharp laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “See? This is what happens when you rush. If we didn’t have to do this stupid reality show, we could’ve planned the wedding properly. Like we were always going to. A year or two from now, when the schedule cleared.”
“Trina, don’t start,” Lizanne warned, her voice tight. “You were all for this when we signed the contract. You were the one who said it would be brilliant for the record company. You just started your own label and said it was great for your artists. Don’t rewrite history because you’re bored with the logistics.”
“I said it was good for both of us, but this is a lot of stress, honey bee,” Trina countered, her tone cooling as she took a sharp turn. “I’m just saying, I don’t like being directed in my own life.”
“I’m the one dealing with most of it,” Lizanne pointed out, staring out at the rolling hills of dry grass. “I’m the one doing the meetings, the fittings, the frantic emails at three in the morning.”
“Which is exactly why we’re paying for a wedding planner,” Trina said. “One who will hopefully not turn out to be a complete disaster. This better be worth the hour-long drive.”
They arrived at the vineyard—a smaller, more secluded estate calledLuna de Sangre. It wasn’t the sprawling icon Lizanne had first envisioned, but Rose had been talking it up with a feverish intensity over the phone. As they pulled into the gravel drive, Lizanne had to admit the girl had a point. Over the last week, Rose had managed to pull off a string of minor miracles: she’d secured a seamstress who could hand-stitch a celestial velvet canopy, found a florist who didn’t blink at a five-figure orchid count, and drafted a menu that was a masterpiece of Regency-era fusion.
But they still didn’t have a venue. And they still didn’t have a cake.
Rose was waiting for them near the wine tasting room, framed by ancient, twisted olive trees. She looked noticeably different today—sharper, more formidable. She was wearing a new black tailored suit and a crisp white shirt. Lizanne noted it immediately; the hefty advance payment she’d authorized had clearly gone straight into Rose’s wardrobe. Lizanne didn’t mind. In this town, your clothes were your resume, and Rose lookedlike a woman who could command an army or at least a film crew.
“Lizanne, Trina,” Rose greeted them, her smile professional and bright. This was only the second time Rose had met Trina and the formality lingered in the air. So far, Lizanne – and to a lesser degree Pat – had dealt with Rose.
“Tell me exactly why we are here, Rose,” Lizanne said, skipping the pleasantries. She could feel Trina’s impatience radiating off her in waves.
“The location you wanted is fully booked, as I mentioned,” Rose explained, undeterred by the frost in Lizanne’s tone. “But this vineyard had a last-minute cancellation due to a family dispute. It’s private, which is better for security. The architecture is more authentic to the Regency period we’re aiming for, and most importantly, the light here at dusk is far better for the Prime Esque cameras. The way the sun hits that western slope? It’s pure gold.”
As they began to tour the grounds, the atmosphere remained awkward. Trina trailed a few paces behind, looking bored and checking her phone every thirty seconds. That was, until Rose mentioned a name that acted like a lure.
“I guess your judgment when it comes to venues ought to be trusted?” Trina asked.
“Actually, you should. We met briefly at Marcus Lance’s birthday party in March,” Rose said, glancing back at Trina. “I was coordinating the floating orchids in the canyon pool. The venue was also my choice.”
Trina looked up, her interest piqued for the first time all day. “Oh, right! Marcus’s place. That hot tub setup was insane.People are still talking about how you managed to keep those flowers from wilting in the steam. Lizanne mentioned you had organized that party. I forgot.”
The two of them fell into an easy, animated conversation about Marcus’s house and the nightmare logistics of canyon parties. Being the odd one out in her own wedding planning was a role she wasn’t used to, and she didn’t like how easily Rose could pivot to charm her fiancée.
“Anyway,” Rose said, turning back to Lizanne, her eyes bright with excitement. “Look at the slope of this backyard. We could turn this into a perfect replica of the gardens from the show. We can give the ceremony the Regency vibe you want, but with the intimacy this space provides. It’s not a stage, Lizanne. It’s a sanctuary.”
Lizanne looked at the grounds, actually seeing it now. The way the vines crawled up the stone walls, the hidden alcoves, the smell of ripening grapes and dust. It was beautiful.
“I was looking at your own wedding plans again,” Lizanne said, the curiosity she’d been harboring finally leaking out as they walked toward the tasting table. “I looked up that resort in the Catskills you mentioned. It’s gorgeous. How fortunate they had space available for a Wednesday.”
Rose’s posture stiffened just a fraction, a micro-movement Lizanne only caught because she was trained to watch for tells. “Derek—my fiancé—handled that part,” Rose said. “He’s in entertainment law, so he’s quite good at negotiating contracts and got a great package deal.”
“Entertainment law?” Trina asked, perking up. “Which firm? I probably know his partners.”
