Chapter Eight #2
“Firstly, I’d like to thank you for being here today.
In the essence of time, I thought it would be the best way to ensure we’re all on the same page logistically before I continue confirming with the vendors.
” She pauses, making individual eye contact for our buy-in.
“Fantastic!” She perks up, smiling at me. “Now—”
“Wait, I really want to echo that sentiment. Thank you, from Donovan and I, too.” Hailey beams at us, her eyes brimming with tears. “Truly, for making this dream into a reality.” Her lower lip quivers.
Fortunately, Cornelia’s here to hand her a balled-up pocket tissue and a cool there, there pat on the shoulder.
Lord.
Ebony softens, meeting Hailey’s watery gaze. “We are just as lucky. We can’t wait to transform this…romantically illustrious, historic venue for this monumental occasion. It’s going to be stunning,” she says, and then proceeds to make us believe it.
She ushers us out of the bright foyer, guiding us into the center of the reception hall, where she paints a vivid picture with carefully curated buzzwords.
She calls it a five-star luxury manor that channels romance, history, and style.
A worldly escape of the highest caliber, and even higher style.
My mouth is on the ground.
To hear her talk about how it will be “quintessentially Ellswood,” and watch Cornelia and Hailey eat it up—it’s an acutely skilled talent.
I can just imagine these two going back, gabbing to their so-called elite friends about the dedicated catering staff.
The six elegantly designed suites to accommodate wedding guests.
The way Ebony sells it, space isn’t the issue because it’s “an intimate yet worldly escape.”
She makes it look so easy.
A small, proud laugh bubbles in the back of my throat.
To be fair, though, we haven’t moved more than twenty feet, and I’m leaned against the wall, listening, and feeling transported too.
She’s amazing.
“We’ll be buying out the property for the entirety of the weekend,” she says, gaining agreement from Cornelia, before she briefly checks in with Hailey whether she’d like to take advantage of the space to host a bachelorette party or bridal shower here.
Of course, it’s a prime location for a bride-to-be to “indulge in the ultimate comfort.”
Wow.
I see why Hailey insisted that no other wedding planner would suffice.
Five minutes pass with them confirming the wedding party (five bridesmaids and groomsmen, respectively) and the event weekend, which will begin Friday, September nineteenth, for the rehearsal, followed by a serene dinner in the indoor garden—my eyebrows shoot up, because I guess that’s how we’re now referring to the conservatory—with the ceremony and reception, Saturday the twentieth, culminating on Sunday with a morning-after brunch on the terrace lawn.
Jotting down a few notes on my iPad, I listen as she points out the striking white marble floors and alcoves set to be restored to showcase flower arrangements, as this is where guests will gather for cocktail hour before they’re granted access to the grand ballroom.
I follow closely, listening to them ooh and ahh as we tour the library, conservatory, and drawing room—a great location for engagement photos, according to this renowned event planner.
Ebony reaches for the door to the billiard room, but before she opens it, I rest my hand on the small of her back, giving a small, wide-eyed head shake, wordlessly warning her that it’s under construction and likely not the best area to show Cornelia our progress so far.
“U-uh,” she stammers, her smile faltering for a moment as our eyes connect. “Let’s, uh, keep going…toward my favorite space.” She forces the words out, improvising as if she too felt the electric jolt between us.
Whoa.
It was only an instant, but my pulse is racing.
Ebony stalls outside the double doors of the ballroom. It’s barely noticeable, but her hand trembles as she presses it to her chest, as if she’s trying to catch her breath. But like a pro, she snaps back, using that adrenaline to impress Cornelia and Hailey.
“We’re here,” she says, beaming.
Hailey’s eyes light up. “I’m so ready!” She squeals and bounces like she’s on springs.
I’m guessing it’s just the reaction Ebony was hoping for, because she clears her throat, her entire body snapping to attention as she smooths her expression.
“The legend of the manor’s grand ballroom promises that if a couple shares their first dance beneath its crystal chandelier, their love will last forever.
” She pauses, letting that tidbit hang in the air.
“Before the building was condemned, many had come to test it, but none have disproven the magic.”
The bouncy squeals return in full force.
Hailey—and Ebony, it seems—are clearly believers.
“Now, please keep in mind,” Ebony continues, “we don’t have a ton of time until September twentieth—exactly one hundred days from today, according to my calendar countdown.
” When she says this, her eyes sparkle and the inflection in her voice rises just so.
It’s really thoughtful how she makes even a random Thursday in June feel like a milestone.
“And Mr. Bridges and his team are in the midst of preserving some of the structural integrity of the space, but…”
Then she opens the doors, and…I cringe.
It looks like a giant monster swallowed a lumberyard then decided to cough up a DIY project.
Honestly, it’s an embarrassing letdown, seeing the space in this state after all the buildup.
The wooden floors are in need of sanding, restaining, and lacquering, so there are stacks of reclaimed wood strewn everywhere.
The gold leaf on the gilded wall panels is peeling, the ornate plasterwork needs work, and the color of the stained-glass windows has faded with time.
All of it’s in progress, but about the only saving grace is the nineteenth-century chandelier.
Naturally, Cornelia ignores Ebony’s forewarning. She’s got all the questions. What’s our construction timeline? Do I have an updated layout or rendering of how it’ll look once it’s finished? Will the bathroom facilities be fully operational? Is my team available to answer these questions?
Yes, where is my crew ?
Ebony must not see the worry on my face.
“Uh, Linc?” She defers to me, like handling Cornelia is the simplest thing.
Oh, and what happened to Mr. Bridges?
Technically, this is where everything could’ve gone wrong.
But leave it to Ebony Grace, planner extraordinaire, to help Cornelia see the jewel amongst the junk.
“Yes, it’s hard to imagine now. But do me a favor. Close your eyes and picture this.” Then she inhales and smiles. “It’s dusk on a warm September day. A soft breeze carries the sweet, floral scent of magnolia blossoms.”
“Mmm…” Hailey inhales—probably centuries-old sawdust, but that won’t make a lick of difference. “Go on.”
Ebony seems all too happy to oblige. “We’ve just come indoors after an intimate courtyard ceremony where you and Donovan exchanged vows on a beautifully manicured lawn.
” Genius. “You’ve captured the sunset photos to prove it, and now, with cocktail hour wrapped, your loved ones are eagerly awaiting a phenomenal culinary experience. ”
Hailey swoons, and I have to bite my tongue to hold back a laugh.
“They walk into a majestic ballroom where a few dozen white-clothed ten-seater tables are scattered around the gleaming wooden dance floor. At the heart of each table, towering vases overflow with white roses and rich red zinnias. Or maybe dahlias.” She flashes a conflicted smile, like she’s still debating.
“The Baccarat crystal chandelier, timeless furnishings, an air of natural elegance—”
PING!
My phone yanks us out of the vision.
“Ugh, sorry. I need to take this. Please continue.” I slip my hand in my pocket and hurry out the door to the terrace, praying it’s my project manager, Manny, or one of my guys calling to explain why the entire crew is still MIA.
Or even Vincent, who was supposed to be here with the interior design plans.
When I make it out to the hearth room patio, I check my screen and let out a heavy sigh.
The message isn’t from them.
Dom
Your girl…
Website: The Divorcétante Chronicles on PopShot: “High society to high jinks—Pre-Adventures of a Post-Divorce Diva. #TheNextChapter
The next chapter?
Confused, I tap on the text. The message opens to a preview link with a full image of Ebony’s face. Sporting the new pixie cut, red-lipped Ebony is… Sitting in her car? Is this today? But again, the handle isn’t Ebony Grace Livingston; it’s The Divorcétante Chronicles …
“What in the hell is a divorcétante?”
I lower my volume, letting my finger hover over the link, unsure what to expect once the PopShot app opens.
Then I tap it.
“Hey, and welcome! It’s your girl Ebony.
Some of you might know me from my event-planning company, Ebony Grace Events, where I curate premier weddings and celebrations.
Others might recognize me as a member of Ellswood’s Zion & Zara chapter.
And then there are those who know me from that viral episode of The Morning Tea .
Yeah, the one where my ex-husband ended up in a, let’s say… compromising situation.”
She laughs.
“Whether you know it or not, you’re here for part one of my new series that I’m calling…”
She pauses, briefly reaching out of shot before returning with a sparkly tiara in hand. Then she looks directly at us.
“… The Divorcétante Chronicles . And what’s that, you ask?
It’s me—part debutante, part divorcée, all hiccups.
All real. All the pomp and ceremony as I tell my side of the story.
I’m living the married-single life, and yes, I’m even being villainized as a cheating victim.
Because, let’s face it, you’ve already heard the version from the ‘Luxe’ team. ”
Ebony throws up air quotes, and it doesn’t take a mind reader to know she’s referring to the hashtag #TeamNora.
“The reason I know that’s why you’re here is because some of you have taken my picture as I enter office buildings for business and personal appointments.
One such person was so bold, she snapped a photo dead in my face.
Shoutout to Syd, the multitasker, who somehow managed to violate my privacy and help me pick out an amazing gratitude journal.
“You want my reaction so bad.
“You want the scandal.
“You want the shock value, the trending, viral smear-campaign drama.
“And guess what?
“I’m going to give it to you, because I’m still here. They thought I was down for good, but I’m reclaiming Ebony Grace, daring to reinvent myself outside of my ex’s family dynasty.
“As a divorcée—just like I trained as a debutante—this will be my reintroduction into society, but on my terms this time.
“I’m about to tell you how I really feel about those news anchors procreating—by the way, congratulations and good luck with that. Plus, you’ll get an all-access pass to my newfound freedom and fashion as I find myself, and, yes, as one of my divas likes to say, as I find the fine-ass men.
“Y’all, it’s true. I’m on the market again! And no, you won’t catch him by stalking my every move. But don’t worry—I’ll share all the salacious details. Like the fact that I’ve created a starter profile with a dating concierge and I’ve got my first consultation tomorrow!”
She crosses her fingers.
“Wish me luck. And let’s just hope my days of Missionary Mondays are soon to be a thing of the distant past.
“I’ll take you along with me as I plan the wedding of the century at the architecturally stunning Madison Manor, currently being restored by Bridges Heritage Conservation. Congratulations to Hailey Winston and Donovan Livingston on your engagement. So stay tuned.”
Fittingly, she steadies the crown atop her head.
“For now, pause, peace, power. Signing off, the Divorcétante.”
The video starts to replay, and I close out of the app, feeling…restless? Inspired?
I’m not sure, but I feel like I’ve just watched one of those underdog sports movies when the tables turn, and I’m left with this overwhelming sense of pride for her.
I’m still reeling as I duck back inside to rejoin the group as Ebony walks Cornelia and Hailey through the wedding night sparkler send-off.
She’s beaming and beautiful, and I’m blown away by the prospect of Ebony King’s return.
Glancing at my phone, I silence it and hit play on the video again, watching her light up the screen as she speaks her truth. Without a second thought, I follow her account.