2 Months 'Til Mrs. (2 'Til Series) Page 17

  “I see.” He looked her over and rubbed at his five o’clock shadow that with his Italian roots was more like Fynn’s three-day growth.

  This was the first Catherine had actually thought about Fynn all day and she felt a smile take over her face. This was their wedding but she had been dealing with it like it was a cumbersome and oppressive thing rather than remembering what it meant to them as a unit. Common rookie mistake.

  “Is that going to be a problem?” Tara piped up.

  “No. We have some spectacular options for… what say the 1st?”

  “Really?” Catherine asked, startled to be getting this far after her prior consultations. Honestly, she wasn’t married to the 4th of March. Although the first was mid-week—certainly outside wedding rules, she was sure.

  “Of what?” Tara asked, eyeing her cousin warily, like he was up to no good.

  “Of April,” he said innocently.

  “Vinnie,” Tara warned.

  “What? It would be a beautiful wedding. High-end everything at a fraction of the cost.”

  “She wants to do it in two months.”

  “Well, I—” Catherine was calculating just how important it was to her to be married before she turned thirty-five. It seemed so superficial and ridiculous. It wasn’t like all of a sudden the calendar would turn and her birthday would come and she would wake up to find all her eggs dried up and her breasts dragging on the floor and arthritis in her hands and osteoporosis making her shorter than she already was…. And yet she wanted to be a thirty-four-year-old bride. She just wanted it.

  “It’s the April Fool’s Day thing, isn’t it?” he sighed sadly.

  “Huh?” Catherine asked, caught up in her gross nightmare of aging.

  “Nobody ever really thinks about it when they first book it, and then it approaches and someone tells them…. I’ve had more flakes on that date….” He shook his head in disappointment. “It’s just a day. Heck, I was married on April Fool’s Day.”

  “Aunt Sharon didn’t mind?” Tara asked.

  “No, Sharon would have had a cow. I mean Trina. It was a beautiful ceremony,” he said wistfully.

  “You’ve been married how many times?” Catherine asked.

  “Just three…. I love a good wedding.”

  “Do you have any other dates available?” Tara dug. “She’d really like to do this thing before March 13th.”

  “Superstitious?”

  “Thirty-five,” Tara said bluntly.

  “Oh.” He nodded in understanding. Catherine had the feeling Vinnie had seen it all and more in his business.

  “Let’s see….” He picked up a file in front of him. “How’s March 4th sound?”

  “Are you serious?” Catherine asked in disbelief, like this was kismet.

  “Although if you’s are willing to go down to the wire, I think I’ll have some wonderful options freeing up for the 11th.”

  “The 4th,” Tara said definitively.

  Catherine looked to Tara thankfully, her voice lost to unadulterated shock and joy.

  “The 4th it is then. I have a wonderful venue, plus food and music—a package deal.”

  Vinnie started sifting through the paperwork and Tara excused herself to the bathroom, leaving Catherine alone with him. Awkwardly, she tried to fill the empty space with small-talk. “So, how long have you been here; it’s kind of an out-of-the-way location for the wedding planner sort of thing.”

  “I prefer to think of myself as a wedding broker—an opportunity guy. I’m the last resort. I make it happen. I don’t need outer appearances. Do good work and they will come; that’s what I like to say.”

  But she was barely listening or caring. His voice was drowned out by her stomach, which was protesting loudly over the scent of sauce and cheese… and crust below. “I don’t know how you work like this,” she grumbled.

  “Like what?”

  “With the smell of pizza always right there. I’d be huge—” She stopped, wishing she could disappear in the shadow of his massive stature. “Sorry.”

  “The joint downstairs is mine. Didn’t want a long commute between offices.”

  “So pizza maker and wedding planner?”

  “Yeah, well, weddings come and go, but a good pie? Now that’s forever.”

  Sunday, January 9th

  -28-

  “Where were you last night?” she asked, a tinge of jealousy in her voice even though she tried her best to hide it. Not that there were a whole lot of places one could be in Nekoyah, but it still bothered her that he hadn’t answered her call.

  “Missing you.”

  She rolled her eyes with pleasure and frustration. “Seriously.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “If that was all you were doing, you could have answered the phone.”

  “I was too depressed to lift a finger.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice but she wasn’t going to give into it. She’d really needed to talk to him after her day from wedding-planning hell. As it was, since he didn’t answer, she’d eaten too many cookies (all ten too many, considering cookies weren’t on her bridal diet at all). If he’d been there for her on the other end of the phone she never would have been scrounging in her cupboards where she found said cookies—stale cookies at that. She was going to fatten herself up on stale cookies. It hardly seemed worth the calories.

  “I was sleeping, okay?”

  “At 9 o’clock?”

  “I was tired.” Yawning as if to hammer home the point.

  You don’t even know tired, she thought. But I still had time to call you.

  “Catherine?” he prodded.

  “I just wish you would have answered. I needed to ask you something.” Only a semi-accusatory statement—passive-aggressive (Elizabeth Hemmings would be so proud).

  “Ask away,” he said lightly, like now was just as good as then would have been.

  She took a calming breath, reminding herself they were different people—at times very different. So he didn’t get that she really wanted to ask him last night. Or that she would have slept much better if she’d been able to talk to him…. But did he have to be full of nonchalance and shrugs too?

  “What do you think of Philadelphia?” Catherine dove right in, no introduction, just straight to the point… or at least straight to the geographical location. She wanted an unadulterated reaction before sharing any further.

  “As a U.S. city in general? Or more specifically?” he asked playfully.

  “Come on,” she groaned.

  “I haven’t spent any time there.”

  “So you hate it?” she asked tightly.

  “Did I say that I hate it?”

  “You didn’t have to. Your tone says it.”

  “I don’t think my tone says much of anything other than that I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,” she said bluntly.

  “I didn’t think you were talking about Mississippi,” he quipped.

  “There actually is a Philadelphia in Mississippi,” she said smartly.

  She could hear the exasperated sigh coming from his end. Like he has anything to be exasperated with. I’m the one trying to get a straight answer out of him and he’s joking around. I don’t have time for games. I don’t have time for anything right now. My check will clear—

  “So what do you want to know?” he asked, brusquely this time.

  For the slightest moment she was tempted to give him the silent treatment and refuse to tell him just for spite. Childish? Yes. But it was her gut reaction to this type of thing, carefully honed over all her years of dealing with boys and their pigtail-pulling, bra-snapping, teasing ways. She could almost hear the Jeopardy! theme song running through her mind, counting down the seconds before she would explode. We’re getting married, she reminded herself, as if that alone required a certain level of maturity and decorum (not that she hadn’t seen plenty of reality TV on weddings to know how wrong
that assumption could be).

  “I was thinking we should have the wedding there.”

  Absolute silence greeted her. Not even crickets.

  “In Philly,” she added.

  “I’ll be there with bells on,” he said breezily.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, needling the point because the silence must have meant something. He could have been taking a sip of coffee. He could have been distracted by Magnus. Or a burglar. Or by a naked woman in his house. Or he could have dropped the phone…. Or he could HATE the idea.

  “Why not?” he said, and she could swear she heard the shrug that came with it.

  Why not? ... Then why not Hackensack? Or Walla Walla? Why not Buffalo or Toledo? Why not Kiev for that matter, if we’re just snowballing options…. Or the border of North and South Korea? That would be a hoot. It didn’t matter that he seemed okay with her choice. She wanted him to agree with it—to want it—to love it. Maybe loving it was a little much, but feel something for it. This wasn’t a second helping of dinner or a piece of cake for dessert that he was agreeing to. Why not is the best you can do?

  “What’s wrong now?” he asked of her silence. He sounded resigned, like he expected as much from her.

  “Nothing,” she said darkly.

  “You know you aren’t fooling anyone, right?”

  “I just want to know what you want,” she practically whined.

  “I told you what I want. I want you to be happy. I’m okay with pretty much anything… other than animals as ring bearers, and cakes in the shape of animals, and animal prints.”

  “So pretty much animals are a no-go then?” she clarified, feeling a smile on her lips that he seemed able to coax out at the worst possible moments, like when she was making a point that he wasn’t taking her seriously enough.

  “Don’t tell Magnus, but yes.”

  “And I was so hoping he would come to the wedding.”

  “We’ll show him the video,” Fynn said.

  “And save him some cake.”

  “Didn’t you learn your lesson with the Pop-Tarts?”

  -29-

  “Wait a second, you hired the guy?” Georgia asked, incredulous and out of breath from the stairs. She was busy trying to excavate Nell from a fabric puzzle that she claimed was actually a papoose-like baby carrier that was all the rage with the new-mom crowd. At least that kept her eyes focused on something other than giving Catherine a withering glare, and her hands focused on something other than dismemberment.

  “I hired SG Weddings,” Catherine qualified, closing the door behind her friend.

  “Her cousin,” Georgia added, thumbing disbelievingly toward Tara.

  “He said he could do March 4th.” That was the only thing Catherine had needed to hear.

  “You handed him a check on the spot?” And as if on cue, Nell let out a wail of righteous indignation to show she was on her mother’s side. “How could you make all of those decisions just like that?” Georgia snapped her fingers to emphasize Catherine’s hastiness.

  “It was really only one decision. A whole wedding package. You and I both know that I don’t have any time to waste.”

  “But you could at least take the time you’re given. This is your one and only wedding and you’re trusting it to some… charlatan!” she charged, striking out in hurt.

  “You don’t know that,” Tara pointed out, sounding less than certain herself.

  Of course Georgia felt slighted. Everything had been decided in one fell swoop—cake, photographer, videographer, location, food, band, linens, seating. No band tryouts—the Toasted Lemons played everything from wedding favorites, to golden oldies, to soft rock, to hard rock, to grunge… even death metal if requested. No reception space once-overs—an old mansion outside Philly, midway to Chesterton, with picturesque gardens (although March was out of season) and indoor ceremony and reception space for one hundred and fifty guests—not that she had even considered who to invite yet.

  “I still need help with the guest list,” Catherine blurted, throwing a bone to take the edge off the news.

  “What about invitations?” Georgia asked.

  “Well… I have to order through him,” she admitted.

  “Vinnie has his own printing company,” Tara piped up proudly.

  “I have a catalog,” Catherine added quickly. “I was hoping you could help me pick something perfect. Maybe a special quote to add to the type; something like you and Thomas had.” She was fishing for anything to smooth the waters, handing over the catalog and snatching her hand away quickly before her friend bit it.

  But instead Georgia handed her Nell in exchange for the surprisingly professional catalog and started perusing the pages begrudgingly. “And the menu is already set?” she asked coldly.

  Catherine welcomed the warmth of her goddaughter’s little baby body to combat Georgia’s tone. “Well, the caterer is set. And the type of menu is set. It’s an hors d’oeuvres buffet, but I can make some substitutions.”

  “Can you do a taste-testing?”

  “I don’t really know.”

  “Is he the caterer too?” Georgia asked snippily.

  “No, he’s not the caterer,” Tara snapped back.

  “What? It just seems like he has a business for every business,” Georgia said innocently.

  “I have the whole thing right here; all the information,” Catherine said quickly, wanting to put an end to the simple pettiness before it grew into a real argument. She nudged an open portfolio across the coffee table for Georgia’s inspection. “It’s on the up-and-up.”

  “A potato bar?” Georgia humphed. “You can go to Wendy’s for that.”

  “It’s a mashed potato bar,” Tara corrected. “I think it’s cool.”

  “You would think it’s cool.”

  “Come on, you have to admit potatoes and toppings served in martini glasses is a cute idea,” Tara prodded, as if it were a no-brainer.

  Georgia paused for a moment, looking from one to the other, and Catherine braced herself for a full-on tongue lashing; maybe a resignation from her position as matron of honor; perhaps a refusal to come to the wedding at all. “You know,” she finally said, her tone dreamy, “you should do old-fashioned sundae glasses instead of martini glasses. A little nod to how you and Fynn met. Tasteful but meaningful.”

  “Oh my God, I love that,” Catherine squealed, startling Nell who had surprisingly fallen asleep in her arms. She rocked her back to the land of nod, soothing herself as well with the realization that Georgia was going to be the bigger person in spite of hurt feelings.

  “The menu looks pretty good,” Georgia admitted. “How many will it serve?”

  “I can have up to one hundred and fifty guests, but I don’t think I even have that many people to invite anyway,” Catherine admitted. “Sounds a little big.”

  “You’d be surprised how it grows when you start putting it down on paper and adding the plus-ones,” Georgia said expertly, sifting through the folder. “Will the cake feed the same number?”

  Yet another question Catherine hadn’t thought to ask for herself. “I should think so considering it was all prepackaged together.”

  “Don’t assume anything. I have been to enough weddings where the cake is gone and the guests are left out in the cold,” Georgia cautioned. “Your best bet is to have a cake cutter on hand to mete out the precise servings needed.”

  “Does anyone even eat the cake?” Tara asked.

  “If it’s good,” Georgia said. “Mine was totally gone… except for the top layer that I had them set aside for posterity.”

  “Cake posterity?” Tara hacked.

  “Yes,” Georgia snapped. “You eat it the next year on your anniversary.”

  “Year-old cake?”

  “From the freezer.” Georgia rolled her eyes.

  “I think I can probably make changes to the cake… not that I care that much; I’m not even going to be eating it.” Wedding cake was the only cake she didn’t care much f
or.

  “Of course you’re going to eat it!” Georgia exclaimed.

  “I never eat wedding cake, why would I—”

  “You’re the bride,” Tara reminded her. “The whole feeding-each-other-cake bit!”

  “Oh my God, I’m the bride!” The reality of cake in her face hit her like a ton of bricks. She wasn’t just a bystander this time; she was the main event!

  “So we need to look into the cake, maybe make some changes…. And where are the flowers?” Georgia asked, flipping through the portfolio.

  “What do you mean?” Catherine asked hazily.

  “I don’t see anything about flowers.”

  No flowers? Her heart jumped into her throat, her innards jostling uncomfortably. She had been assured that everything was covered.

  She snatched the portfolio out of Georgia’s grasp and sifted madly through it. Cake, band, reception, table settings, linens, food—but no flowers. Nada. “They’re not here! Weren’t there flowers yesterday? There had to be flowers. I wouldn’t have missed that!”

  “Chill,” Tara said firmly, coming toward her.

  Catherine flinched, preparing for another smack in the face, this time to cure delirium.

  “Jumpy much?” Tara taunted. “Just call Vinnie. He’ll straighten it out.” Completely calm and rational.

  Catherine handed Nell to Georgia, unable to juggle the baby, her phone, and her panic all at the same time. Not more than a minute later she was hanging up again with the general assurance that Vinnie had it all under control—his new motto: “Don’t worry, I got you’s covered.”

  “So?” Georgia asked as soon as Catherine put the phone down.

  “Says he knows a guy,” Catherine said, a nervous smile tweaking the corners of her mouth.

  “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

  “For my people it means it’s as good as done,” Tara said jauntily.

  “Your people make cement shoes for a living,” Georgia jabbed.

  “That is so cliché. There is a lot more finesse involved.” Notably not denying anything.

  “He gave me a number. Said this guy can make anything happen. Just pick the flowers and they’ll be ready in time….”