Chapter 1 #2
I'm jumping up and down like a caffeinated kangaroo, my heels clicking against the stone pathway in a staccato rhythm that probably sounds like machine gun fire.
My phone is still pressed to my ear, and I'm probably deafening poor Emma, but I can't help it.
My best friend is getting married! The same girl who once declared she'd rather become a nun than deal with alpha drama is getting married!
"Oh my God, Em! When? How?" My bourbon scent is going full cinnamon-sugar mode, the omega equivalent of a happy dance. "Wait, did you know it was coming? I thought you were just high on that new meditation app you downloaded."
Emma's laughter bubbles through the phone, rich and warm and so familiar it makes my chest tight. "Sav, I can't breathe. Stop making me laugh or I'm going to pee myself, and I'm wearing my good underwear today."
"The lacy ones from Victoria's Secret that you save for special occasions?" I gasp, finally stopping my victory dance. My cheeks hurt from grinning so hard.
"The very ones. Which should have been your first clue something was up."
I lean against the fountain, the stone cold against my back through my dress. "Okay, spill everything. And I mean everything. How did he propose? What did you wear? Did you cry? Did HE cry? I need details, woman!"
"So Dax…”
Dax Sullivan. The quiet, sweet alpha who's been pining after Emma since high school but never had the guts to make a move. Dax with his auburn hair that never stays put, kind green eyes, and the gentle hands that make nervous animals calm just by touching them.
"Wait, Dax? 'I'm too shy to order coffee at Starbucks?”
“Not since Dax became head of the Blackwater Pack. He showed up at my apartment with Chinese takeout and a ring hidden in the fortune cookie."
I'm grinning like an idiot now, bouncing slightly on my toes, but realizing that my BFF has kept a secret from me. Sure, I knew she was dating Dax. But him being leader of a pack, that’s a different story.
Then again, after his old man died, I assumed the position would go to him, not his brother.
"That's the most Dax thing I've ever heard.
Did your fortune actually say 'Will you marry me? '"
"It said 'Your future holds great happiness with the right alpha.' But he'd written 'Will you marry me, Emma?' on the back in his terrible handwriting. I almost missed it because I was too busy trying to figure out why my fortune cookie tasted like plastic."
"Because it had a ring in it, you absolute muffin." I'm laughing so hard I'm starting to snort, which is not my most attractive sound. "This is perfect. This is so perfectly you two that I might actually cry."
"Don't cry yet, because here's the thing..." Emma's voice takes on that tone she gets when she's about to ask me for something big. The same tone she used when she talked me into dying her hair purple in high school. "I need you to plan the wedding."
And just like that, my happy bubble pops like a balloon at a cactus convention.
"Em..." I start, but she bulldozes right over me.
"Before you say no, hear me out. I know it's been eight years since.
.. you know. Since you left and vowed to never come back.
But Sav, you're the best wedding planner I know, and more importantly, you're my best friend.
I can't imagine getting married without you there, and I can't trust anyone else to make my day perfect. "
My stomach does that twisty thing it does when I think about going home to Pine Hollow.
Home to where Logan still runs the fire department with those storm-gray eyes that used to look at me like I was his whole world.
Where Griff probably still builds houses with those ridiculously capable hands that used to trace patterns on my skin.
Where Dr. Xavier Blackwell probably still thinks he can fix everyone's problems with his medical degree and his insufferable arrogance and those perfect lips that used to whisper my name like a prayer.
"Emma, you know I love you, but..." I pause, trying to find words that don't make me sound like a complete coward. "Maybe you could find someone local?"
"Savannah Marie Hale, are you really trying to get out of being there for me.” Emma's using her stern voice, the one she perfected during her brief stint as a kindergarten teacher before she realized five-year-olds are basically tiny drunk people with no impulse control.
"It's been eight years. Hell, they've probably forgotten you exist."
That stings more than it should, a sharp little knife between my ribs. "Thanks for the confidence boost, bestie."
"You know what I mean. You're not the same omega who left Pine Hollow with her tail between her legs.
You're Savannah Hale, owner of the most successful wedding planning business in Denver.
You've planned weddings for celebrities, politicians, and that one tech billionaire who insisted on living unicorns. "
"They were horses with horns glued on, and I still have PTSD from that event." The memory makes me shudder. Those poor horses looked so confused.
"My point is, you're a boss omega who doesn't need to hide from anyone. Besides, it's Christmas Eve. The most magical time of year. What could go wrong?"
"You've used every emotional blackmail tactic in the book, wait what did you say about Christmas Eve? That's about three months away."
"I want to get married for Christmas."
Of course, she does. That's every girl's fantasy and Emma has always made it clear that it's hers. Before I can say another word, I'm interrupted.
"Sav," Sharon hisses, trying to whisper-shout across the garden. "We have a situation. A big one."
My stomach drops like it's bungee jumping without a cord. "Em, I have to go. Something's happening here."
"Think about it, okay? I'm not taking no for an answer, but I'll give you twenty-four hours to process."
"Em..."
"Twenty-four hours, Sav. I love you."
She hangs up before I can argue, leaving me standing in a winter garden with a phone in my hand and a growing sense of dread. Sharon is practically vibrating with anxiety, and her usually composed omega scent is sharp with panic.
"What happened?" I ask, hurrying toward her on my stupid, impractical heels that I wear because they make me look taller and more authoritative. The stone pathway is slippery, and I have to grab the fountain for balance.
"The bride's dress," Sharon says, her voice cracking like she's announcing the apocalypse. "It's... it's gone."
"Gone? What do you mean gone? Dresses don't just vanish into thin air. This isn't Hogwarts." My mind is aracing through possibilities. Theft? Fire? Did someone accidentally pack it with the linens? “Besides the last time I saw her, she was dancing in it.”
"Someone spilled an entire bottle of red wine on it. Like, the whole bottle. It looks like a crime scene. Sarah's in the bridal suite crying, and her pack is about ready to murder someone. Devon actually growled at the catering staff."
I close my eyes and count to five, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth like my yoga instructor taught me before I realized that downward dog was not, in fact, going to solve my life problems. This is not happening. Not tonight. Not when I have a perfect reputation to maintain.
"Okay, deep breath. We can fix this. Who spilled the wine?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
“No one knows. It happened during the first dance. Someone came up in a mask and just poured it all over her.”
"That's the thing, boss. The second dress is the one that got wine-bombed. The ceremony dress is missing, and besides, she couldn’t dance in it, because it has a twelve-foot train and weighs about forty pounds."
This is bad. This is very, very bad. I'm not interested in why this is all happening, it doesn't matter.
I just need to fix it. Sarah's pack spent a fortune on this wedding, and they specifically chose me because of my reputation for handling disasters with grace and style.
If word gets out that I failed to solve a simple wardrobe malfunction. ..
My business is built on perfection. On the promise that I can make any omega's dream wedding come true, no matter what obstacles arise.
I've handled runaway grooms, drunken officiants, flower allergies discovered mid-ceremony, and that one memorable incident with the aggressive peacocks that still haunts my nightmares. But this...
If Sarah's wedding photos show her in a wine-stained dress, or worse, if she has to skip the reception entirely, it won't matter that it wasn't technically my fault. In the wedding industry, the planner takes responsibility for everything. The reviews will be brutal. The word-of-mouth will kill me.
My omega anxiety is spiking, and I can smell my scent shifting from cinnamon to bitter lemon, the universal omega distress signal.
The suppressants I took this morning aren't hiding anything.
They feel like a thing of the past when my anxiety gets this bad, which is exactly why I took up yoga in the first place.
I need to get control of this situation before it spirals completely out of control.
"Here's what we're going to do. First, we're going to assess the damage. Maybe it's not as bad as it looks. Wine can sometimes be cleaned if we act fast enough."
Sharon shakes her head so vigorously her bun finally gives up and lets her hair fall loose around her shoulders. "Boss, I'm telling you, it looks like someone was sacrificed to the wine gods. There's no saving this dress."
"Then we're going to get creative. Do we have any connections in the area? Other vendors, local shops, anything?"
"It's Saturday night in wine country. Everything's closed except the gas stations and that one diner that looks like it hasn't been updated since the 1950s."
I'm running through my mental rolodex of emergency contacts when Sharon drops the real bomb.
"Oh, and there's one more thing. Sarah's biological pack is here."
"What? But she's mated to the Riverside Pack."
"Yeah, but apparently her biological pack came as a surprise. They flew in from somewhere back east and just showed up an hour ago. They're... not happy about her being mated to a six-alpha pack. Or about pretty much anything, from what I can tell."
Well, that explains the mystery about someone in a mask throwing wine all over her dress. Birth packs can be tricky when their omega chooses a different pack for mating. There's often resentment, jealousy, and a whole lot of alpha posturing that makes everyone miserable.
"Where are they now?"
"In the bar, drinking heavily and making comments about 'omegas who don't know their place.'"
Something hot and protective flares in my chest. Sarah's happy, loved, and treated like the queen she deserves to be. No one gets to make her feel bad about that choice, especially not on her wedding day.
"Right. Here's the plan." I straighten my dress, check my lipstick in my phone camera, and prepare for battle.
"I'm going to charm the hell out of her birth pack and make them feel included and important.
You're going to find me anything remotely dress-like in this venue.
Tablecloths, curtains, that decorative fabric we used for the arch, anything. And Sharon?"
"Yeah, boss?"
"If anyone asks, this is all under control. We're handling a minor wardrobe adjustment, not a crisis. Got it?"
Sharon nods, her panic-scent settling slightly. This is why I'm good at my job. I don't just plan weddings; I create calm in the middle of chaos. I make people believe that everything is going to be perfect, even when it's all falling apart behind the scenes like a house of cards in a hurricane.
As I walk back to the reception hall, my device buzzes with a text from Emma: "PS - the wedding is Christmas Eve. That gives you three months to plan. No pressure! ??"
Christmas Eve. In Pine Hollow. With all my exes probably on the guest list because it's a small town and everyone knows everyone and apparently the universe has a sadistic sense of humor.
I look up at the string lights twinkling in the garden, and for a moment, they look less like fairy tale magic and more like warning signals blinking out an SOS.
"Universe," I mutter under my breath, my words puffing out in little white clouds, "I said 'what could go wrong' as a rhetorical question. You didn't need to take it as a personal challenge."
But as I square my shoulders and put on my best "everything is under control" smile, I make a decision. I'm going to save Sarah's wedding night, charm her difficult birth pack, and somehow conjure a dress out of thin air. And then I'm going to go home to Pine Hollow and plan Emma's wedding.
Because I'm Savannah Hale, owner of Bourbon Bliss Weddings, and I don't run from challenges anymore. Even when those challenges involve facing alphas who once had my heart and probably still have my scent memorized.
How hard could it be?
That's when the scream rips through the evening air like a battle cry from hell itself.
The music cuts off with a screech of feedback that makes everyone wince.
Then another roar, deeper and more vicious, followed by the unmistakable crash of chairs hitting the ground and glass shattering.
Wine glasses, champagne flutes, and what sounds like entire bottles go flying through the air as alphas let their rage rip without restraint.
I race into the chaos, but the scene that greets me is like something out of a wildlife documentary about territorial predators.
Sarah's biological pack and her mated pack are circling each other in the middle of the dance floor, lips pulled back in snarls, every muscle coiled for violence.
Wedding guests are screaming, diving behind overturned tables, clutching their children and running for exits.
"Call the police!" I shout to Sharon, but when I turn around, she's already running in the opposite direction like her life depends on it, her cell clutched to her chest.
Thank you, universe, for giving me my tenth wedding this year, so much more than the previous years I’ve been running this business, and making absolutely sure it was the worst of them all.