Magical Weddings (98 page)

Ass Hat.

Pemberly’s brother climbed out of the driver’s door, speak of the devil. Her stomach dropped to the floor, then ran for the kitchens without her. But she had no time to worry about her reaction to him. There was too much to do. No way could she take a moment to enjoy the sight of him. And if he came in smelling like leather…

She should have eaten a bigger breakfast. The hole in her middle, left by her fleeing stomach, needed filling. Of course she refused to believe she was hungry for
him
.

She ignored the pounding in her chest as he came up the steps looking like a god. She was in Wedding Day Mode. She was Wonder Woman, poised and ready to deflect anything that came at her, to solve problems in the blink of an eye, and defend 'the vision' with her life.

Later, she'd find a small dark corner, curl up in a ball, and cry her eyes out, like she often did after a big event. But not now. Nothing would go wrong. She wouldn’t allow it.

And just what in the hell was 007 doing on the island at nine o'clock in the morning?!

He pulled open the 100 lb. door like it was a piece of paper in his way, but she refused to be impressed. Instead, she tried to imagine he was someone else, like the father of the bride or something.

“Mr. St. John,” she said. “I wasn't expecting anyone from the bridal party until four-thirty, for pictures.” Mal set her clipboard on the center entrance table, next to a half-completed arrangement that would, in the end, stand seven feet tall. But the vans couldn’t transport something that size, so the base had been done the day before. The top, she would finish herself.

She turned to face him. Only then did she realize he was furious. His dark slashing eyebrows may as well have burst into flame. But even though this was the awe-inspiring villain from her past two weeks of nightmares, he couldn't make her nervous now. He'd picked the wrong day to
look
at her cheerios, let alone piss in them.

He stormed past her into the ballroom. She followed, ready for anything.

“Have you lost your senses?” His gaze shot around the room like a pinball, noticing every mess, every cardboard box flung on the floor. “My sister's wedding reception cannot possibly be held here. This is a disaster!”

Mal smiled patiently. Six young men on ladders paused and looked at her, as if to ask if there was any point continuing if the customer was going to cancel. She lifted her wrist and pointed to her watch. They all got the hint and went back to work.

“Trust me, Mr. St. John. By three o'clock you won't recognize this room. My staff will be gone, and everything will be in its place.”

“You'll have to forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe, Ms. Mayhue. The parking lot looks like a circus has just been bombed, and this building looks like it has been bombed
twice!
”

Mal shook her head and took a deep breath. She really wasn't used to clients getting a good look at the mess it took to create something breathtaking. She was pretty good at keeping the mothers of the bride and groom distracted until most of the chaos was cleared away. She should have treated Big Brother like Big Mother and told him when he'd be allowed on the premises.

Just what was he doing there, anyway, if not to knock down her confidence, like he had in her nightmares?

“Wait a minute,” she said. “What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the temple soon, aren't you?”

He was certainly dressed for it. He looked like he'd just walked out of an Armani catalogue. Only his face was still red. Was he upset? Or was he embarrassed?

“I'm not allowed to witness my sister's wedding, as I'm sure you're aware. So why would I be expected at your temple?”

Mormon temples weren't open to the public, and even members of the church had to have special permission to go inside. But apparently no one had explained about wedding protocol.

“Hang on just a minute,” Mal said. She went back for her clipboard, then took it to London, who was telling a boy on a ladder what to do. “Hey. Call some of those cell numbers. See if he's expected.” She came back to 007. “There will be lots of family members who weren't able to witness the wedding. But they'll be there, waiting for the couple to come out. Then the family usually gathers on the steps and has pictures taken.”

London got off the phone. “Yes, they're expecting him. Wedding starts at ten.”

Mal already knew what had to be done. As she moved to the back of the ballroom, she hollered to Big Brother. “Don't suppose you know how to get to the Salt Lake Temple? Where to park? How to get in?”

“Of course not,” he said loudly, but he sounded a little nervous. “I'm sure you're mistaken. They wouldn't want me there. I'm only a step-brother, in any case.”

Mal laughed. “Nice try. They're expecting you, buddy. Pemberly wants you there. Today, Pemberly gets what Pemberly wants.” She waved an older boy down off a ladder, then crooked her finger at the other one assisting him. “Both of you have been to the Salt Lake Temple for a wedding, right?”

They both nodded. The tallest one, Chandler, had been her driver once upon a time. She trusted him.

“Know where to park at the Conference Center, to get to the temple fast?”

They nodded again.

She pointed to the shorter one. “You ride with Mr. St. John. Chandler, you take my car. He'll follow you. One of you walk him all the way in, then you both get your butts back here. Don't wreck my car.”

She turned to find 007 standing behind her, looking a little small.

He waited for the boys to head for the door, then bent toward her. “What if she doesn't want me in her pictures?”

Mal rolled her eyes, but took pity on him. He really was nervous. This warm and fuzzy family stuff wasn't something he could control, and it probably scared him to death.

“Don't worry,” she said. “Family is family when it comes to the Mormons. But look on the bright side. If she doesn't want you there, she can always photo-shop you out.”

The boys pulled their coats and headed out into snow flurries. Big Brother started to follow, but turned back.

“Thank you,” he said. Then he looked around again. “And I suppose I shall simply have to trust you.”

“Get out,” she said.

He gave her a little bow and left. She was pretty sure his hands were shaking.

“That's it, people,” she shouted. “We've just lost two bodies. Let's move it!”

****

At noon, the caterers brought a load of food and case goods, including plates, goblets, and flatware. They set up their chafing dishes on the buffet tables so Mal and her crew could decorate around them. They would return later with all of the hot appetizers, leaving some out in the tent with the hot beverages.

At 1:30, just ahead of schedule, the cake crew arrived and began assembling the seven layers of cake around which Mal’s crew would hang more of the hand-painted ornaments. The cake itself was the most gorgeous Mal had ever seen, and she’d seen a lot of fabulous ones. The tiny white Onsidium orchids, made of paste, were half the size of butterflies and clung to delicate stems. The stems themselves shot out of the cake at the same angles as the real stems of orchids shooting out of the centerpieces, giving them the fountain effect. Everything was falling perfectly into place. Every creation was a reflection of another creation.

Pemberly Adams was going to be thrilled.

By the time the bakery crew left the island, the ballroom was swirling with the smell of gourmet cake. Mal should have been able to smell the flowers, too, but she had become desensitized to them. She was always told she smelled like flowers when she walked into a room, but she really couldn’t tell anymore.

She leaned close to a giant sphere of solid white roses and took a deep breath in through her nose and was grateful she could smell them. If she kept inhaling cake fumes alone, she would soon find herself next to the cake table looking for a wayward piece of icing that didn’t belong. And it didn’t matter how solid the cake was, or how gifted the bakers who erected it, any wedding cake could fall if accidentally bumped. And with a cake of five-plus-feet, in addition to the three feet of table, she was taking no chances. So, just in case others were feeling the same temptation she was, she waited anxiously for the ornaments to be hung, then placed ten chairs in a circle around the cake table.

If only to discourage herself.

They’d had lunch two hours before, at 11:30, but apparently she should have ordered cupcakes for everyone, because all her employees, temporary and otherwise, were staring at that cake like she’d been.

Mal sighed. As tortured as they were, they could suffer a little more for Pemberly’s sake.

On the rest of the round tables, the massive centerpieces were perched on three feet of heavy glass. Inside that glass, artificial snow. Suspended above that snow, by invisible magician’s wire, were more hand-painted ornaments. The arrangements consisted of white hydrangea, Columbian roses the size of apples, antique pink anemones, and crème French tulips. The fountain design was created with long stems of dendrobium orchids, and various grasses.

But the finest effect was produced by five hundred stems of expensive, white, and rare Onsidium orchids. They floated out from the arrangements like trails of tiny butterflies playing Follow the Leader. To Pemberly, they would look like snowflakes.

And nestled deep within the fountains were electric lime ornaments. Some solid. Some so intricate the eye is forced to take a closer look. If the flowers were as successful as the cake, the guests would wake up the next morning with sore necks from looking up all night.

And as a little reward for looking up, the ancient ceiling was furnished with stenciled light in the shape of tiny snowflakes. Another of Pemberly’s wishes. The snow globe wedding had to be fun for those inside the globe, too.

Mal looked back at the centerpieces. They were finished.

They were
finished
! Not just on time, but early!

“Looks like we over estimated-set up time for once,” said London, coming to stand next to her. “And what’s the deal with that cake? Think we can slip one of the layers out of the middle and they won’t notice?”

“I know, right?” Mal gulped in a breath of sugared air. “We’d better get these teenagers out of here before they come up with the same idea.”

“I can’t believe we’re not sweating this one down to the wire.”

“Me too. I’m just glad Big Brother won’t be watching us hall out the trash.”

London gave her a funny look.

“What?” She wiped at her mouth, wondering if she’d wished so hard for a bite of that cake a bit of frosting might have manifested on her lips.

“He’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah. So?”

“And he kissed you.”

Mal had forgotten she’d spilled those beans. “And he’s also the guy I’ve been having nightmares about for the past two weeks. I can’t wait until this is over and he’s gone back to England. I need sleep.”

London waved a kid over who’d been carrying an empty box toward the door. She pulled some stems and garbage from the big pocket in the front of her apron and tossed it in the box. After the kid was out of earshot, she turned back and leaned close.

“Maybe you can’t sleep because you’re, you know,” she whispered, “frustrated.”

Mal straightened. “Shut. Up.”

London laughed and backed away, her hands digging in her pockets for her tools. “I’m headed off the island anyway. The carriages are arriving any minute. But that thing we were just talking about?” She grabbed her coat off a chair, then headed out of the ballroom. Her head poked back inside, like it often did. “I’d jump on it.”

Mal heard London’s laughter halfway down the causeway.

The photographer’s assistant showed up, set up some equipment, then left again. A man delivered a harp and asked three times if Mal thought it would be safe if he left it in the corner. She assured him it would, that she was alone on the island for a while.

She went outside and checked the arrangements at the ends of the staircase.

“What you need,” she said to one giant wreath, “is a little bit of snow.” She turned and looked at the causeway. “If it doesn’t snow hard and fast, no sleighs.” She sighed. Her breath puffed up into a cloud and she resigned herself to the fact that one thing was not going to be perfect for Pemberly. The Hopi Indians would approve.

Mal headed up the steps. A man laughed behind her and she turned with a professional smile on her face. But no one was there. Which was at it should be. Everyone else had left the island with London.

“Hello?” She stared at the tall shrubs at the north side of the building, expecting someone to step out. No one did. “Hello?”

A chill ran up her spine and fractured into a hundred little jolts at the base of her skull. She was imagining things. Talking about her nightmares to London had brought them back to life. She was imagining Bennett St. John laughing at her.

She gave a little
hmph
and headed inside. At least that was one nightmare that wasn’t about to come true. There wasn’t anything out of place, nothing about Harmony Lodge’s current state that 007 could complain about. Her confidence in that, at least, couldn’t be shaken.

Of course, he might laugh at all her contingency plans, but that didn’t matter. Let him laugh. At least she hadn’t needed to worry about things going wrong—she was prepared. And if it wasn’t for her nightmares about
him
, she could have rested easy.

Mal slipped into the mindset of a wedding guest and walked through one of the big doors. It was really heavy. Thank goodness they had a doorman scheduled. A doorman in white livery, with an electric green vest, wearing a powdered wig, just like the carriage drivers. Pemberly was going to love it.

There were two openings at the rear of the entrance. One led to the ballroom. The other led to the rest of the lodge. A heavy cream ribbon hung across the second opening, making it clear that guests should use the first. Once inside the ballroom, there was a music stand of cream and gold holding the guest book.