Chapter 20 #2
Archie’s already clicking away on his laptop.
“Got it. You should try this and the Spanx. Uh-oh.” He stops reading and looks up.
His lips are tilted up at the corners. “This says that one of the side effects of the egg fast is hellacious farts. Guess you’ll be blowing the mystery wide-open there with lover boy.
” He pitches his voice high, “Happy wedding day . . . brrrrrupt . . . oops, was that me? Tee-hee-hee.” His dry delivery makes it even funnier, but I don’t dare stroke his ego and let him know that.
I roll my eyes. “Eggs and Spanx I can do for the waistline. But I can’t exactly change my boobs.” I rub my hand over my chest, accustomed to the soft flaring out, and then back up my chest. In this dress, it’s just one smooshed-flat surface.
Weston smiles. “I can definitely fix that.” He moves closer and gestures to the lace at the top. “I’ll alter this part so that it’s more of a portrait-style neckline. That’ll show off your collarbones and give you and your breasts room to breathe.”
My heart soars, and I look in the mirror once again. Abi steps to my right, Archie to my left. “Violet, are you saying yes to the dress?”
I can feel the tears rolling, because of this dress, because of this moment, because of the wedding. It all feels like what I’d dreamed it would really be like. But I choke the tears down with a reminder once again . . . fake, fake, fake.
So I force a big ,toothy grin and say, “Yes to the dress. And eggs and Spanx, I guess, too.”
Archie and Abi’s smiling faces match mine in the mirror, and I wonder if they’re faking it too.
Archie pulls his tablet up from his side and starts clicking away.
“Okay, ordered Spanx to be here tomorrow. Ordered eggs, and some good-smelling candles, to be delivered to your place so you can start tonight. Sent Ross a warning about your incoming flatulence, and last but not least, marked the wedding dress hunt as complete on the to-do list. That’ll go to Kaede, Abi, me, and the wedding planner. ”
I turn to him, grabbing him in a hug. He balks at first, so not a touchy-feely person, but he relents. “Thank you so much, Arch. What would I do without you? Wait, did you say you told Ross I was going to be gassy? What the hell?”
He ignores my outburst. “Without me, you’d still be small potatoes, just a one-woman shop, running yourself ragged as you tried to do it all. At least with me, you’re free to be your creative genius self and leave the details to moi.”
“Humble brag, much?” I tease, knowing he’s one hundred percent right.
“No reason to be humble when it’s true,” he answers. “Just call me Kanye.”
I hug Abi and then Weston. “We did it, guys. This is actually happening!”
Wednesday—3 Days Until the Wedding
Ross . . . is a saint.
I’m sure of it. I’m on day two and a half of not eating anything but eggs, the thought of which now makes me nauseous.
I know I’m snappy, and Archie’s been walking on eggshells since yesterday afternoon around three o’clock when I went full Hungry Girl Crazy.
Metaphorical eggshells, not literally. I’m not that much of a mess.
Ross, though, has been there beside me the entire time.
Even when the gas hit me like Arch’s research said it would.
I tried to leave the room before I let loose, pink with embarrassment, but he’d followed me and laughingly told me that I ‘broke the farting barrier first’ as he let one rip too.
Between the two of us, we’d made the whole room smell like sulfur and had generously sprayed some Febreze and burned down three candles to cover the stench.
It’d actually been oddly funny and even cute in a weirdly gross way, but I had drawn the line at a farting competition, even when Ross tried to egg me on. ‘Get it? Egg?’ he’d prodded as I’d groaned at the bad puns he kept coming up with.
But I have lost three pounds, so hopefully, it’ll be worth it.
I did make Abi promise to make sure I don’t inhale my dinner at the wedding.
I’m afraid that when presented with actual food, delicious food from one of the best Italian restaurants in the city, I’ll succumb and go into ravenous caveman mode and start shoveling it in.
At first, she’d said she’d pay money to see me do that in my fancy white gown.
But when I reminded her that it’d be all captured on video for posterity and forever linked to her brother, she’d relented and agreed that it would definitely not be funny, after all.
Oh, God . . . the video crew. I still can’t believe this is my life, I think as I watch the vultures following me. Ross has another crew of his own tracking his every step, but he seems to mostly take it in stride, going on with his business as if they’re not there.
But I take sweet glee in watching the gates close behind me, effectively locking the paps out and giving me a moment’s peace.
Today is our final walkthrough and stamp of approval on Mrs. Montgomery’s ballroom.
I’m nervous, but not nearly as much as I was for her living room project.
I feel like we have a steady grip on the style and look she’s going for now, and I’m looking forward to beginning on her formal dining room after the honeymoon.
It’s got this great twelve-inch-thick crown molding that’s still the original walnut stain, and Mrs. Montgomery wants the room to be dark and dramatic.
I think I’m going to paint the walls a deep forest green.
The maid shows us into the ballroom, as usual, and Archie and I examine our work one last time before Mrs. Montgomery shows up.
“Don’t stress, Vi. It’s gorgeous and Lydia’s going to love it,” Archie says quietly.
I smile and tease, “Oh! Lydia is it, now? What happened to Bitch-ella?”
He shrugs. “So maybe she’s not so bad after all.
She kept coming through to check on the ballroom, and at first, I thought it was because she didn’t trust me.
I mean, I know I’m not the usual guy you just invite into your house when you’re someone like her.
” He motions to his combat boots, ripped jeans, anarchy logoed shirt, and his fluff of hair that is currently covered by a jaunty ball cap.
“I figured she thought I was going to steal the silverware. But then she just talked and watched me work and even had the cook bring lemonade to the paint crew one day.”
My jaw drops. “You didn’t tell me that!”
He smiles wryly. “You’ve been a bit busy, Boss. It’s fine, but she’s just . . . not so bad. Lonely, maybe, and I think her resting bitch face is just a bit too much Botox.” He stretches the skin of his face back and opens his eyes wide, and I laugh.
But I stop myself before I get too loud or jostle my belly too much. The last thing I need to do is fart in Mrs. Montgomery’s ballroom moments before she walks in.
Luckily, we get our faces back to their professional blandness as she walks in. “Mrs. Montgomery, thank you for taking time to meet with us today.”
“Of course, Violet. Good to see you again, Archie. Please, do show me about.”
We move around the room, discussing details and highlighting features. I show how the room can be arranged in a multitude of ways for different events and moods, from formal to more intimate.
True to Arch’s call, Mrs. Montgomery’s face barely moves as she nods along with my presentation. But when I’m done, she offers warm praise. “Well done. I like the functionality as well as the finery. So, the formal dining is next?”
I nod. “Yes, ma’am. As we discussed, I’m out of town next week for my honeymoon, but we’ve already taken measurements and discussed what you’d like for the space. As soon as I return, we’ll begin the first phase.”
Mrs. Montgomery turns to me, a sparkle in her eyes I haven’t seen before. “Oh, yes, you are marrying Ross Andrews this weekend, aren’t you?” She’s intentionally trying to make it seem like a small, forgettable thing but failing spectacularly. “Mind a little advice from an old lady?”
I respond the way I’m expected to. “Oh, Mrs. Montgomery, you’re not the least bit old. Why, you don’t look a day over fifty!” Lies, lies, lies. But she pats her white, coiffed hair proudly.
“Thank you. Even so, I have some experience with marrying well, dear.” She lowers her voice.
“Read the prenuptial agreement, every single word, and have a lawyer read over it too. Do not walk down that aisle without doing that. Take it from me.” She gestures around her, and I wonder how it is that a widowed Mrs. Montgomery came to live in this large house.
I’d never even thought about it, but now, I do.
“Thank you for the advice. I’ll definitely take it under advisement,” I say politely. “Archie will work with your house manager to schedule our appointments for the dining room after I get back.”
“That sounds lovely, dear,” she says as she shakes my hand. She offers a cheek to Archie, and he presses his to hers, both of them making an air kissing sound. “Don’t be a stranger, Archie.”
Outside, I give him an incredulous look as we get in the car. “Are you two BFFs now?”
He points a finger at me. “Don’t you dare say a word. We actually have a few things in common.”
“Such as?” I say, not able to think of a single thing Archie, a twenty-something, sarcastic, gay punk rocker might have in common with Lydia Montgomery, a seventy-something, old-school wealthy socialite.
He mumbles the answer, but I hear him clearly. “Real Housewives of Monte Carlo.”
I laugh a bit too hard at that, and before Archie can complain, I roll the windows down and shut my mouth, trying not to breathe too much.