Chapter Twenty-Four #2
I only torture him for a few more seconds before I put him out of his misery. “It fits. So, surprise!” I throw up a pair of extra-jittery spirit fingers. “I want to be your wife, Lincoln Bridges. That’s my big secret I’ve been keeping.”
My heart is a Jumanji drum pounding deep and loud, summoning the magic and danger of the game.
Cutely, he tries to unzip his lips, but I halt him again.
“Almost,” I say, pressing a chaste kiss on his mouth.
“Just a couple more points. First, I’m fully aware of how unhinged I must sound, talking about rings and marriage when I’ve only been out of my last one for a year.
But…I don’t need another decade to know I want to spend forever with you, because you’re the person who makes my ordinary moments feel extraordinary. ”
He deflates onto his pillow with a soft groan, like this censorship is utter torment, and I can’t suppress my laugh.
“So, second, if by chance your heart is on the same page, I want to share my life with you in a way that turns every day into something worth remembering. And …”
Linc jolts upright, arms folded, giving me a seriously? look.
I’m dying at the dramatics.
“ Finally ,” I say, dragging out the word, then quirk a shaky smile, “I want to thank you for listening so patiently. Without further ado, my request is that you do not respond right now out of impulse, but instead, only after you’ve given it some real thought.”
Because I can’t look at him without dying a slow, tortured death from wondering what he’s thinking, I turn out the lights—still starving, but unable to eat a thing, because who can eat with my whole future at stake?
The next morning, my faith in the Lord is reaffirmed.
Not only is the weather app reporting a warm September wedding day with sweet magnolia blossom breezes like I promised Hailey, but my baby is still fast asleep when I leave his house before daybreak.
I’m still terrified what he’ll say after mulling over my bombshell of a strange proposal—or plea for him to hurry up and make me his wife, depending on how you look at it.
Either way, I figure it’s out of my hands now.
I’ve shown all my cards, and now Lincoln Bridges must decide how he wants to play it. Meanwhile, I’m out, set to ensure the wedding of the century goes off without a hitch.
At home, I quickly brew a cup of coffee, shower, and dress in my Carolina Herrera floral embroidered cap-sleeve midi-dress with red bow-knot stilettos, simple diamonds, and an evening beat on the face. Then I dash out to Madison Manor armed with my Ever After Essentials Kit tucked under my arm.
The ceremony isn’t until five thirty this evening—however, within twenty minutes of my eight a.m. arrival, the place is buzzing.
Florists are installing gorgeous, fragrant white rose and red zinnia arrangements in towering vases in the alcoves and the grand ballroom.
It’s loud and chaotic with the sound system and microphones being tested, but the decorations are brimming with exquisite style.
Both the photographer and videographer are setting up their lighting and equipment for the sunset photo, so I dip into the kitchen, where the caterers are hard at work, preparing a culinary experience.
“…and you’ve got the labels for the food options?” I ask, my attention flickering between the chef and the menu. I’ve made sure the catering staff knows the menu and serving schedule, but we’ve got to have clearly marked plates for our guests with allergies.
“We’ve prepared, stored, and labeled them separately,” the chef says, calmly.
For too long, I study her even expression before a small smile tugs at my lips. “Let’s see, it’s almost eleven. The bridal breakfast—”
“Is on its way up now.” She blinks slowly, and I can take the hint.
“Yes, of course.” I nod a few times. “Thank you so much. Everything looks exquisite.”
She thanks me, giving me a look that screams, Duh! Now get out of my kitchen, trying to micromanage me and my team, before I leave her to her it.
The thing is, I’ve still got a dull ache throbbing over my skin.
I plan quintessential, exclusive affairs—premier events geared toward refinement and ultimate glamour.
I’m great at my job. But the one thing I can always count on is something going wrong.
It’s the only guarantee, and I’ve made a career of handling snags before they become tears. That’s what sets me apart.
However, I can’t do that if I don’t know what the problem is.
So, after I confirm all the vendors have arrived on schedule, I run around checking in with the manor staff, tending to last-minute details.
It’s no surprise with all the family drama surrounding the Livingstons—and the sister of the bride—that there are no cancellations.
The final guest count is intact, including the who’s who of the Ellswood elite.
And likely, Luxe Ladies from other regions.
Yet there are also no news vans or press helicopters hovering overhead…
My chest tightens as I take my time, completing my indoor walkthrough, dissecting every speck of dust and misplaced flower petal.
I take shallow breaths, inspecting with an eagle eye any slippery surfaces, checking the restrooms, flushing the toilets, making sure the ramp I had added at the entrance is wheelchair friendly.
Honestly, I must look like a deranged drill sergeant skulking about the premises, and still, everything is going smoothly. But …too smoothly?
In the back of my mind, I just know Cornelia and—hopefully, no longer — Nora’s fandom would love nothing more than for something to go terribly wrong at this event so they could blame it on me and Linc. Who still hasn’t called or texted me.
“Breathe, Ebony.” He’s giving it real thought, like you asked. And besides—he’s not going to propose over text message.
Part of me—the clearly dramatic half—was low-key hoping he wouldn’t wait more than an hour. That he’d wake me up in the middle of the night and profess his undying love with a glorious, delicate, and classic diamond ring. “I’d love nothing more than if you ’d be Mrs. Ebony Grace Bridges.”
But that didn’t happen, and it likely won’t, because the man honors his promises.
For now, all I can do is get over it, unearth this wedding’s problem lying in wait, and solve it.
Only then will I get to face reality.
So I quickly glance at the intimate courtyard where the ceremony will be taking place. Unsurprisingly, the floral arch is secured and breathtaking, the guest book is in position, and the gift table and programs look magnificent.
Perfect.
As determined as I am to find that snafu, though, I’ve got to admit I’m pleased that everything looks amazing, so I snap a few photos for The Divorcétante Chronicles —which I’m keeping just as it is, because people need to know it’s never too late to start again—then run upstairs to the bridal suite.
Bracing myself for rage-fueled hair pulling and tiny, empty alcohol bottles scattered across the floor, I announce myself.
“Knock, knock. Wedding planner extraordinaire, at your service!” Gingerly, I crack the door, peeking inside.
Shockingly, there’s no hitch in sight. Hailey and her bridesmaids are in blush-pink satin robes with giant rollers in their hair, cheerily stuffing their faces with croissants and fruit and sipping brightly garnished mimosas like wedding royalty.
“ Ahh , Ebs!” she shrieks, rushing me and pulling me into a hug. “Today’s the big day! I’m so freaking excited!”
“Oh my God, you’re going to be the most beautiful bride.” I squeeze her tight, genuinely grateful to be here in this moment to ensure her day is as amazing as she is.
But as I glance past her shoulder, I make eye contact with Hillary, and there’s the hitch. She’s what’s going to go wrong today.
And yet this woman I’ve known half my life, who betrayed me so deeply… I don’t feel the urge to spew venom at her or call her out of my name. Really, I just feel sorry for her.
She quirks a small, sheepish smile at me. “Thank you for making my sister’s wedding a dream come to life.”
Everything in me wishes I could forgive her. Just say, “ We don’t have to be as close as we used to be,” and move past the betrayal.
But as she walks over to greet me, I can’t even make myself say, “You’re welcome.” Instead, I say the only words that ever made it onto the page in my journal. “I can’t forgive you…however, I can be cordial for the sake of your sister’s wedding.”
It’s the best I can do.
Take it or leave it.
Thankfully, she takes it, and together with the rest of the bridesmaids, we support her sister. She’s fed well with a full spread of fruit, meats, and breads, and sitting in the makeup chair.
With the same iron will, I leave to check on the groom and his men.
Again, I’m utterly surprised when I’m met with the same grace and respect from my teary-eyed ex-husband, who apologizes for everything he put me through and thanks me profusely.
Honestly, the date on the invitations could be misprinted and a tsunami could crash through the grand ballroom and I would be more prepared.
When I leave that room, I have to lean against the wall the to hold myself upright because… “What the hell is happening?”
More importantly, what is wrong with this picture?
It’s like the universe woke up and decided to rectify all the wrongs in my life.
Soon, the sun is low in the soft, dusky blue sky, and as Hailey appears at the end of the aisle in a delicate lace Armani Privé wedding gown with thin, graceful straps, its sheer fabric whispering timeless elegance, my heart yearns for this romance again.
The love shining in Donovan’s glassy eyes as she strides toward him on the arm of her father.
The heartfelt promises and the intimacy of trust and deep love as they exchange vows, and Donovan lifts her veil to seal it with a—far too X-rated, in my opinion—kiss. But all the same, I want it.
It’s the gift that keeps on giving, and I can’t contain my laughter.