Page 5 of Marry Me

Luckily, it was the last Wednesday of the month, and that meant happy hour with Betsy. Her sister would no doubt want to talk about the wedding plans, and that was good because she could use the tips and a swift kick to jump-start her progress. Her sister absolutely lived for planning her own wedding a few years back and had learned the ins and outs. Ally was more of a go-with-the-flow kind of girl. She’d be thrilled with any kind of gathering of her family and friends as long as everyone was having a good time. But she knew expectations would be high for the Carmichael family, and that’s why she needed Betsy. She was too far out of her depth.

Rather than one of their usual meetup spots, they decided to meet back at their childhood home where they could spread out a bit at the kitchen table and relax. Betsy was already mixing drinks in their parents’ kitchen when Allison arrived. “Martinis. You game?”

She paused in front of the kitchen table. “Bringing out the big guns. You realize I’m not very sophisticated, right? I’ve had maybe two martinis in my life.”

“Exactly why we’re doing this. You’re about to be a Carmichael, and that means acting the part. Plus, this is a big day. We’re planning my little sister’s wedding. I can’t believe I just said that.” She shook the shaker, looking like an ad. Betsy had inherited all the looks in the family. Gorgeous, thick blond hair. A pronounced dimple in her left cheek and sparkling blue eyes that everyone made such a big deal about.Would you look at that little girl’s eyes. Gorgeous!Allison had gotten the dulled-down version of all those features but didn’t mind. She liked her appearance and just smiled when people would fawn over Betsy growing up. She also wasn’t someone who sought the limelight, so her sister had been the perfect choice to absorb most all of it.

“I honestly can’t believe it either.” Allison blinked at the counter. “I’m engaged, Bets. It’s a done deal.”

“Your life is about to transform,” Betsy said, making the gesture of an all-encompassing rainbow probably made of glitter from the land of fashion-forward unicorns.

“Well, somewhat. The basics will stay the same.”

“What? You’re going to teach fourth grade and shlep for Mom and Dad at the shop in the summers after you’re married to Brent? No way.”

Allison frowned. “Well, yeah. Why would I not?”

“Because you’re marrying into lots and lots of money and status. Ally. Come on. You’re not going to have to work. Ever. There will be other expectations, though. Charities, child rearing, social projects.”

“But I like my job, and Brent knows that.”

Betsy laughed in the way that said she knew better and that Allison was too preciously naive to be real. “I give you a year before you quit.”

Allison opened her mouth but swallowed the argument on the tip of her tongue, knowing it was enough that she’d eventually prove her sister wrong. She couldn’t imagine life without her kiddos and her classroom, even as much as it kicked her ass every day. She believed she’d found her calling. Plus, she liked helping out their parents at their small health food store, being part of the family business when she could, and spending time with them.

“Voilà. One shaken martini, straight up, for the bride.”

“Thank you,” Ally said, accepting the martini glass, and feeling a little fancy and not minding it.

“Let’s get started,” Betsy said, taking a seat at the table next to Allison.

“Okay.” She was nervous and excited but ready to do this.

Betsy regarded her with overly sincere eyes. “I want to start by saying that this is a journey, and each detail will take time.” She covered Ally’s hand. “Trust me. I’ve been there.”

“And I do,” Allison said, nodding.

“It’s best to start with the big details and work down. But you’ll need someone to organize it all for you. A planner, or you’ll go out of your mind and crash and burn a fiery death.”

“You?” Ally asked. “Can’t you save me from the death of fire? That doesn’t sound like something I’m interested in experiencing.”

Betsy laughed. Loudly. “Me? Good God, no. I’d love to help and will certainly offer my opinion, but I’m talking about a professional. Iused Hand in Hand, the wedding planners we met that day at the Bridal Fair, but do you know who I dreamed of having plan my wedding?” Ally shook her head. The details were fuzzy. “Soiree.” Betsy left a large pause so the word could shimmer in the ether for a moment. “They’retheplanners in Dallas. The sought after.”

“Then why didn’t you use them?” Allison asked, really enjoying this martini and the way her neck muscles had gone loose. Maybe she should have cocktails after school more often. Cue the debauchery and rebellion. The thought made her laugh to herself.

“Soiree? Oh, well, they’re impossible to book, Ally. I couldn’t get in, and trust me, I tried. Megan Kinkaid is the empress of events, and if she takes you on, listen to me”—she adopted a feisty stare—“you’re golden.” Next, a light bulb seemed to click on over Betsy’s head. “But you know what? You’re not in my shoes. You’re marrying a Carmichael, for God’s sake. I have a feeling that might make a huge difference. Allison, whoa.”

“What?”

“You could landMegan Kinkaidas your wedding planner.” The look on Betsy’s face was now equivalent to someone having dropped a million dollars in hard cash over her head.

Allison was skeptical. “Not if they’re booked solid. Brent and I were planning on getting married in the summer, and that’s less than a year away at this point. It’s already autumn.”

Betsy deflated. “You might want to make an exception, change your plans if it’s the difference between Soiree and another option. Trust me when I say that these are the people.”

“I do—I trust you,” Ally said, still not entirely sold on there being only one company capable of pulling off the kind of wedding Brent’s family would want. Then again, she really didn’t want to blow this, her first official act as a member of their family. They did have incredibly high standards. Suddenly, the pressure seemed oppressive, and her cheeks went hot. She rolled her shoulders. “Yeah, okay. Soiree it is, then. I’ll see what I can do to make it happen.”

“Hidey ho!” their mother said, popping into the kitchen through the garage door, arms full of food from the shop, a grab-and-go health food store where they crafted and sold all sorts of creative and fresh foods. With her fiery red hair swept up into a now collapsing twist, she dropped her bags on the counter and beamed at her girls. “Well, justlook at the two of you. Heads together at the kitchen table just like the days you did your homework in that very spot. Don’t move.” She took out her phone and snapped about eight photos in a row. “Darling.”

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