Chapter 9
WILLOW
“You look like the Snow Queen,” I tell Katrina.
She is truly a vision in white, silver thread, and diamonds for the first and, hopefully, only fitting of her wedding dress. Francine, the designer, moves around with colored pins and clamps, pinning what needs pinning and clamping what needs clamping.
Her studio is on the Lower East Side, on the top floor of an industrial building that’s been converted into artist’s spaces. She wanted to work there because she feels connected to her roots, even though she could easily afford something posher uptown.
“Have you lost some weight since I last took your measurements, Katrina?” Francine asks her.
“I have!” Katrina beams with pride. “I want to be perfect for my wedding day.”
I’d like to tell her that she is already perfect, but there’s no talking to a woman who’s at war with her own body.
Francine rolls her eyes, adding more notes to her workbook. “You should stop, honey. Otherwise, I’ll have to keep making adjustments to your dress. It’s already a short-term project.”
“I’m only making the dress look even better,” Katrina quips as she fawns over herself in the mirror. One moment, she loves what she’s seeing, then, a minute later, she pinches her hips through the shimmering fabric, lips twisted in disgust.
“You look great, Katrina,” I say, trying to ease her mind. “Terrence’s going to love you. I mean, he already does. You don’t need to lose any more weight; I promise.”
“I bet you’d like me to stay fat like you, so he can dump me before the wedding, right?”
I let a heavy sigh roll from my chest. I knew going to this fitting was going to be hard, so I came mentally prepared. “Moving on,” I reply, going over my agenda. “The color scheme for the gown matches the décor, which is great. You already approved the table settings and the floral decorations.”
“Sheila approved them,” Katrina says. “I mean, yeah, they’re approved. Whatever.”
“You didn’t like them?” I ask, carefully analyzing her expression in the mirror.
Her back is to me, but I’m seated on the ottoman behind her, which gives me a good view of every scoff and eye roll this spoiled, moody brat makes. This morning, she’s been on an emotional roller coaster from the moment I walked through the door.
“I had other ideas, but Sheila talked me out of them,” Katrina concedes.
“It’s your wedding, though.”
Katrina turns around and gives me a puffy scowl. “You have no idea how the rich work, do you?”
“Oh, I do. I’m just pointing out the obvious. You’re the one getting married, Katrina, not Sheila. It’s your wedding day, your dream come true, right?”
“Right.”
“So why aren’t you the one deciding these things?”
She turns to face the mirror while Francine steals a sympathetic glance at me and adds a few more clamps to the skirt part of the bridal gown. My eyes wander across the fabric, dazzled by the studded pearls. It’s a fresh, pristine white—an almost perfect match to mountain snow in the sunlight.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s fine. It’s going to look great. Like I said, everything is approved,” Katrina says.
The more I’m around these people, the clearer it becomes that I dodged one hell of a bullet when Terrence unceremoniously dumped me.
“Okay, what about the bridal bouquet?” I ask Katrina. “I sent you three options the other day. Did you get a chance to look at them?”
“Yes,” she replies with a faint nod, “I wanted the lilies.”
“Then I’ll order the lilies.”
“No, get the white roses with the lily-of-the-valley fillers.”
She sounds downright disappointed, and I know this is because of Sheila’s interference. Taking a deep breath, I give Katrina a soft smile. “Are you sure? If you like the lilies—”
“I’m not letting you get between me and my dream wedding!” she snaps.
Francine clears her throat. “She’s not the one getting between you and your dream wedding, Katrina.”
Silence falls between us. The most awkward kind. It’s heavy and it presses down on my shoulders, but I give Francine an appreciative nod before I try to talk some sense into Katrina.
“Listen,” I say, “I get that you don’t like me. Honestly, I don’t like you either.”
In spite of herself, Katrina laughs. “And yet, here we are.”
“Because I’m a damned good wedding planner, and you know it.
So does Sheila. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here, trying so hard to do my job.
” I sigh. “What happened between Terrence and me is in the past. I will never, ever let my company or my professional reputation suffer because of my feelings.
I want my brides to be their happiest on their wedding day.
“That means their choices, their designs, their tastes to define the moment. Visually, musically, gastronomically, you name it. I point at her. I want you to have the dream wedding you want, not Sheila, so I’m going to ask you one more time, do you want the lilies for your bouquet?”
She thinks about it for a long, hard, almost excruciating second. Judging by the look on Francine’s face, she’s on the edge of her seat.
“Sheila will be mad,” Katrina sighs deeply.
“What is she going to do? Force you to cancel the wedding over a bouquet?” Francine can’t take it anymore. “I’ll bet it was Sheila who told you that you needed to lose a few more pounds, too.”
Katrina nods slowly. “About ten, she said.”
“It’s not going to happen unless you get rid of one of your implants,” I mutter.
“Excuse me?” She spins around, ready to pull out one of those pins on her gown and shove it right in my eye.
I raise my hands in a defensive manner. “It’s the truth.
You’re almost skin and bones. Sheila isn’t the one getting married, Katrina.
And you’re even more insufferable when you’re hungry and miserable with the design choices for your own wedding.
I mean, there’s only so much I can do unless you put your foot down. ”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“Pick your own damn flowers!” I explode. “Take charge of your wedding, Katrina. Sheila had hers. Twice!”
Francine stifles a laugh as she pretends to go over her notes, but I see the glance Katrina steals at her. Deep down, she knows I’m right. With a dramatic eye roll, she gives me a slight nod.
“Go with the lilies.”
“Wonderful. Thank you.” I jot that down, one eye already on the next item that needs her approval. “What about the napkins and the napkin rings?”
“The white ones with the silver corners,” she says. “And the rings with the tiny little carvings, the little pretty holes, what are they called again?”
“Filigree,” I reply. “Duly noted, Katrina, thank you.”
She’s not unreasonable. I doubt I’d ever want to go out for coffee with her, but she’s not a bad person.
Her circumstances and the people who exert their influence on her are what makes her difficult to work with.
On the one hand, I can’t blame her for going out of her way to please Sheila.
But if Katrina doesn’t set her boundaries early on, she’s going to end up marrying both Terrence and his mother.
“Okay, moving on. Are you set on the wedding cake? The bakery sent us three different models.”
Katrina shakes her head. “Sheila hasn’t gone over them yet. I mean, I know what I want, but she should at least get a chance to give her input.”
“Again, I don’t think—”
“It’s my wedding, Willow!” She exhales sharply. Francine steps back to get some measuring tape. “Don’t push it.”
“Wow.”
“I get you helping me put my foot down or whatever, but I’m not going to make a wedding cake choice without at least asking Sheila for her opinion. Maybe that’s why it didn’t work out between you and Terrence. You never asked for her input”
“I assure you that wasn’t it.”
“Willow was too much woman for a weasel like Terrence,” Toby cuts in.
Katrina gasps. I jump up from my seat and turn around, surprised to see him standing in the atelier’s doorway with a broad smile on his face.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, though I’m genuinely relieved to see him.
His biker boots thud the floor with every step he takes to reach me, and his cologne travels across the room to dazzle me before he snakes an arm around my waist.
“Hi, Toby,” Katrina mutters.
He ignores her and kisses me; a tender look settles in his eyes. “Hi, baby,” he whispers, his lips brushing mine.
“What a nice surprise,” I manage.
“Jamie told me where to find you.” He pauses and gives Katrina a dull glance. “You look like my mom’s old ironing board, but sparkly.”
“And you are?” Francine interjects with an insulted scowl.
Toby laughs lightly and raises his arms in surrender. “The dress is gorgeous. It just needs a better model. This one looks like it’s about to die of starvation.”
“I beg your pardon?” Katrina croaks, red-faced from the insult.
Toby grabs my ass for good measure, beaming like the sun. “It’s cool, Katrina. Terrence likes his women starved. I like mine curvy with plenty to hold and spoil.” He glances down at me. “Are you done here?”
“I think I am, yes.” I was already working on an exit strategy, but I was torn between giving Katrina another piece of my mind and pretending to answer a nonexistent, incoming phone call.
“Good. I booked us a table at Le Taittinger,” he says, “for brunch. You mentioned you’ve always wanted to go there.”
“And you remembered. I’m impressed.”
“I remember everything you tell me, babe.”
We bid Francine and Katrina a brief farewell, then head out. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the bitter look on Katrina’s face as she watches us leave. I recognize it.
Because I know the kind of man she’s about to marry.
I’m the lucky one.