Page 7 of The Lovers
?Millie’s clap is a gentle flip of her wrists to bring her long, trim, perfectly manicured hands together with a soft puff. I always expect to impress, but this is new. My cheeks feel warm from the praise.
“We really just took your beautiful vision and brought it to life,” I say, proud that I manage to conceal the faint wobble of emotion in my voice. It’s a compliment to myself and my team as much as it is to her, and the tiny crinkle in her lightly freckled, perfectly poreless nose is the only indication she gives me that she noticed.
Millie is a dream client. Smart, focused, passionate. She knows what she wants and stays true to it, even when bright shiny new trends come her way. I hate when clients want to “pivot” because some hotter concept has captured their attention. It helps that she’s genuinely into all the mystical elements we’ve incorporated into the ceremony.
She didn’t just pick “spiritual, modern desert oasis” as a theme; she lives and breathes the idea that the Universe is working on your behalf. Millie broke out as a spiritual wellness influencer on Instagram, leveraging brand partnerships, highlighting practical (and luxury) ways to bring the mystical into every day.
Sean—who looks like a Hollywood Chris and acts like ahimbo even though he went to Princeton—seems to go along with everything Millie wants, says, and thinks. Which is good, since everything from the location to the wedding officiant is metaphysical magic of the most California variety.
When Zoe asked about Millie’s Goddess Awakening party—Millie’s name for the bachelorette fete—Sean let out a small guffaw of amusement at the title.
“Sound Healer Suni is locked in—she’s worked at the Glamp-Out before, so it was easy,” Millie replied, smacking Sean in the stomach. “I’ve reached out to a fellow influencer who does tarot, so, fingers crossed.” She did the motion and Zoe followed suit. “She’s a little flaky, known for last-minute confirmation. But one hundred percent worth the risk.”
My stomach does a little flip at her nonchalance. I telepathically will Zoe to make a note to check on that first thing in the morning. Tarot, of all the spiritual practices featured in this wedding weekend, is the one I know the most about. I once was peer pressured into visiting a medium at the Haunt O’ Ween fair in Old Pasadena—a reading that was hard to forget.
I have tried. Believe me.
“All right then,” I say. Millie has finished clapping; now she just beams. “Ready to sign on the dotted line?”
We have all of our clients sign off on the final presentation before the wedding events get underway. Insurance against anyone getting a wild idea at the last minute and wanting a change, and, of course, protection if they “forget” they agreed to anything and try to get their money back.
Millie flicks her eyes to Sean, who doesn’t look up from his phone. “Babe,” she says, pressing her hand gently over the screen. “Good to go?”
His eyes drift up to Millie, then me and Zoe sitting across from him. He’s playing catch-up as he flicks his eyes over the iPad with the checklist ready, and then furrows his brow.
“Let’s get it!” It feels like something he just says. Like “Go Lakers” or “Doing great” in response to the question “How are you?” even if his arm is being chewed off by a wild hyena.
“Promise me something, Julia,” Millie says, turning her attention away from her fiancé.
I feel a tremor of nerves through my center. As a rule, I don’t promise. My assurances come with the asterisk that I will do all within my power, but promises are a contract, and the only contract I adhere to is the one she’s about to sign with all the final and approved details.
I pause too long, and Millie’s hand shoots forward, gripping mine with a friendly squeeze. “It’s a party,” Millie says, finishing up her signature on the wedding checklist. “Cut loose a little.” She stands, pushing the iPad over to Sean. I must look ill at her suggestion—I certainly feel ill—because she chuckles and makes a tinyawwsound before adding, “All I’m saying is, just, feel free to enjoy yourself, too. The magic in the desert is for everyone.”
I want to protest. I should protest. Nothing comes out.
“Right, babe?” she adds, touching the nape of her fiancé’s neck.
“Millie knows best,” he says, but it’s another one of those autoreplies he seems to excel at delivering.
Sean launches up and stretches. The move shows a sliver of tan, sculpted abs and we all take a moment to stare. He looks between us and his face contorts with confusion.
Millie snorts.
“You did that on purpose, dumbass.”
Zoe stifles a laugh and I stand, extending my hand for them to shake, but Millie snaps her fingers. The crack hits me with a jolt of surprise.
“Oh! I almost forgot, Bridesmaid Ellen—the one who chose that dusty pink dress, off the shoulder?” I nod, affirmative. “Well, she broke her leg in three places skiing in Switzerland, so she’s trapped at a recovery resort near the accident site.”Sounds nice.“My sorority sister, Piper, is the same dress size, similar coloring, so she’s stepping in to fill her spot.”
Piper.
Similar dress size, similar coloring to Ellen, a tall, fit redhead with a peaches-and-cream complexion.
Piper.The name of my ex-girlfriend who fits that exact description.
“She’s been so incredible since I announced the engagement, offering to help in any way she can even though she wasn’t in the wedding party,” Millie continues. “And when Ellen had to bow out, she immediately stepped up.”
This sounds like Piper. Not just the appearance, but the behavior. A trademark manipulation tactic was to gently offer up helpful advice, unsolicited gifts, anything she had at her disposal that she thought someone would want. And it wasn’t until she had her hooks firmly planted that it became clear just how deep her control had breached.
