Page 10 of Save the Date
“It’s me, Torie,” Cara said. “I was just telling your mom, everything’s good.”
A small, nervous woman in a pale blue dress fluttered out of the room. “Whatever you do, don’t upset her any more,” Ellie Lewis, the wedding planner, whispered in Cara’s ear. “She’s already threatened to strangle one of the flower girls.”
“I’m coming,” Cara said, scuttling into the room with the box of flowers held before her like a peace offering.
Torie Fanning was a gorgeous mess. Her glossy black updo was coming unpinned, and the tight-fitting bodice of her gown gaped in the back where the last half-dozen tiny satin-covered buttons refused to fasten. The dress fit snugly over her hips—a little too snugly, Cara thought—then flared out with multiple layers of spangly tulle that made the bride look like a mermaid. An overwrought, undermedicated mermaid.
“It’s about damned time,” Torie said.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Cara said. She moved behind the bride and began fastening the buttons. “You look amazing, Torie,” she said, her voice low and soothing. It was the same voice she used to coax Poppy to take her heartworm meds. It usually worked well on dogs and neurotics.
“Truly. You’re my most beautiful bride ever,” Cara said.
“The dress isn’t too tight? I think that fuckin’ seamstress took it in too much.” Torie inhaled sharply as Cara tugged at the last satin button, praying that it would close the gap.
“Oh my God. I can’t breathe,” Torie croaked.
“Perfect,” Cara assured her. “You don’t have to breathe. You just have to look amazing. And you do.”
She placed her hands lightly on Torie’s shoulders and spun her slowly around. She lifted the bouquet from its nest of tissue and handed it to her.
“Now. Isn’t this worth the wait?” Cara crossed her fingers, waiting for Torie’s reaction.
She’d chosen the most spectacular flowers from Lamar’s bucket truck, all in Torie’s wedding palette of purples, greens, blues, and pale coral. Hydrangeas, tea roses, and tiny white lilies of the valley and stephanotis made a dinner-plate-sized bouquet, wrapped in hand-dyed watery lavender silk ribbons, fastened with an exquisite platinum brooch with diamond and pearl lilies of the valley.
The bride’s expression softened. The shadow of a smile appeared. Torie turned the bouquet this way and that. She touched the delicate tracery of the antique brooch with her finger. “This is pretty. Where did it come from?”
“It was Ryan’s grandmother’s,” Cara said. “And yes, the diamonds and pearls are real. It’s a signed Cartier piece. He thought of it all by himself, and he told me it was perfect—the sweetest flower for the sweetest girl in the world.”
Which was a big, stinking lie, of course. One of Cara’s trademark touches was to include a piece of family jewelry—a little surprise from the groom to the bride—in every bridal bouquet. She’d called Ryan weeks before the wedding to ask him to find a suitable jewel to gift Torie. And she had to admit, he’d come up with a winner.
Torie burst into tears. “That’s so like him. He is so thoughtful. And I’m such a bitch! I don’t deserve somebody as wonderful as Ryan.”
The wedding planner’s right eye twitched three times in rapid succession. She patted Torie on the shoulder. “Come on, dear, don’t cry. You’ll ruin your makeup.”
Cara gave Torie a fond pat on the arm. “You’re not a bitch. You’re just a little emotional. Perfectly natural.”
Another lie. Well, it was an occupational hazard. Lying to brides and their mothers.
Cara tucked a stray lock of raven’s-wing hair behind Torie’s ear. “All right. You’re ready. Take a deep breath and try to relax. I’ve got to go get the rest of the flowers handed out and check on the church. You’re calm now, right?”
Torie sniffed and nodded.
“Your bridesmaids’ flowers are all right there too,” Cara said, pointing at the box she’d put on a nearby tabletop. “Is everybody here?”
“They’re here,” the wedding planner volunteered. “They’re just in the bathroom, touching up their makeup. I’ll give them their bouquets.”
“Great,” Cara said. “I just want to run through the church and check on everything.”
She hurried through the side door to the church and took a deep breath. The sanctuary was cool and quiet—and blessedly still for the moment. Her altar arrangements looked magnificent, spilling out of the church’s own tall chased-silver urns. The candles in the Fanning family candelabras were definitely white, but she could only hope Lillian would not notice the difference. Cara buzzed up and down the aisles, straightening pew bows and picking up errant rose petals from the white satin runner.
After picking up the box with the boutonnieres, she knocked on the door of the vestry.
“It’s open,” a male voice called.
The scene here was the opposite of the one in the bride’s room. Half a dozen men were attired in tuxes, but with vests unbuttoned and ties untied. They were puffing on cigars and handing around a silver flask, and from the slightly glazed eyes of the assembled company, it was evident that everybody had already had more than a sip of Knob Creek.
“Hey Cara, how’s it goin’?” Ryan Finnerty was as calm and laid-back as his bride was overwrought. He was tall with a blocky build, with strawberry-blond hair and the Tom Sawyer freckles that went with hair that color, and a square jaw and an easy, gap-toothed grin. Ryan wasn’t classically handsome, but Cara had developed just the teensiest crush on him during all the pre-wedding planning. He was friendly, down-to-earth, impossible to dislike. She wondered if he knew what, exactly, he was getting into with a high-maintenance girl like Torie.
