Page 4 of The Wedding Run
He pulls out the list I gave him at the rehearsal from his hip pocket and waves it, but continues walking.
Before my scattered thoughts settle, Elle stalks into the room, heels clicking ominously, her gaze trailing after Luke like she might be interested.
Then she rounds on me. “What was all that about?”
She spots my iPad and snatches it, taking away all my lists, notes, and plans.
CHAPTER 2
Libby
Elle places the veil on my head, fluffing out the gauzy material. “Smile for the camera! Say… Confetti!”
“Confetti?” I hear a click, click, click in rapid procession.
Charlie checks the LCD screen and then re-aims her expensive camera. “Your eyes were closed.”
I tweak the veil’s satin edge. “What do you think Derek will say?”
“If he doesn’t start drooling,” Elle says, “then he doesn’t deserve you.”
I pull my sisters into a hug, my heart swelling with love for these two women, even when they drive me crazy by taking away my lists. They mean well. We’re not only family but also business partners. Elle makes the most delicious wedding cakes, and her five-tiered masterpiece is on the dining room table downstairs. Charlie takes first-rate photos; if they aren’t to the subject’s liking, she’s a whiz at Photoshop. I am a wedding and event planner. Organization is my superpower.
Together, we form a trifecta of wedding engineering.
Bailey circles us, his tongue hanging out and his tail thwapping us.
“Yoo-hoo!” comes a high-pitched, southern voice.
Elle grabs my arm and whispers, “Did you invite Aunt Barb?”
I shake my head emphatically, making my veil wave about my face.
Charlie sighs in relief and lunges to hold onto Bailey’s collar as he barks a greeting or a warning. It’s hard to tell the difference.
A woman with blonde tresses peeks around the door. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
Before we can answer, she barges right in. Bailey woofs continuously.
“Bailey, hush,” Charlie says. But he doesn’t.
“Mari…anne,” I stumble over the woman’s name because we’ve only met twice. “Hello.” I have to raise my voice over all the commotion.
Clearly, she came to upstage the bride. She’s wearing a fuchsia dress zipped and cinched tight in all the right places. Her lipstick, shoes, and tiny handbag match. It’s a fuchsia explosion. Her gaze sweeps over me, assessing every tiny stitch. “That dress is so scrumptious! I could eat you up.”
Elle glances at Charlie, and then they focus on me, silently asking:Who is this?
“Marianne,” I begin the introductions, “these are my sisters, Elle and Charlie. Marianne and her fiancé, Trevor, are getting married next weekend.”
Marianne waggles her ultra-long fingernails, which are also painted fuchsia, and her blinding engagement ring.
Bailey wags his way toward her, sniffing Marianne’s toes. She teeters a step.
“That’s Bailey,” I say.
“Is he in the wedding too?” she asks, unable to hide the crinkle in her nose.
“Derek’s allergic,” I explain.
