Chapter 19 #2
I can’t help but make a face at her. Camila is stunning in an all-black sequin gown that blinds everyone in a fifty-foot radius.
You can’t help but look at the woman—not that you can see afterwards, but still.
I’m sure there are some men here who will think that the temporary blindness is worth it.
I just hope Jasper isn’t one of them. Or Leo, for that matter.
I watch as the bridesmaids line up near a set of palm trees, all six of them stunning in their black dresses and clutching what can only be described as the most diverse collection of beverages I’ve ever seen at a wedding.
One has a venti iced latte, another sports a giant pastel tumbler that probably contains some kind of smoothie, and a third is carrying what appears to be a protein shake in a bedazzled bottle, and on and on it goes.
“Are they seriously taking their drinks down the aisle?” I ask Buffy.
“Charlotte insisted.” Buffy grins. “She said it was authentic to their friendship and would make great social media content. Plus, it would give a few more hashtags.”
“Of course, she did. Because nothing says eternal love like caffeinated bridesmaids. Although I’m pretty glad none of them will be passing out due to dehydration. So, there’s that.”
“The fourth bridesmaid has what looks like a green juice,” Buffy continues, clearly enjoying my horror. “And I’m pretty sure the maid of honor is carrying a mojito.”
“A mojito? At ten in the morning?”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” comes a voice behind us, and I turn to see Emmie approaching with an adorable and rather dapper baby Elliot on her hip.
Emmie looks stunning in a dusty rose dress that complements her glowing skin.
“Plus, if I had to be in Charlotte’s wedding party, I’d probably need a mojito, too. ”
“Wouldn’t we all,” I mutter. “Where’s Leo?”
“He’s over there with Jasper, trying to convince the groomsmen not to make social media posts during the actual ceremony,” she replies, nodding toward where our husbands are having what appears to be a serious conversation with the groomsmen.
Speaking of groomsmen, I glance around and spot Conrad emerging from the direction of the utility shed, looking perfectly composed and straightening his bow tie.
He catches my eye and gives me a friendly wave, as if he weren’t just making out with the bride twenty minutes ago.
It’s pretty clear I went undetected, and I’m thankful for that.
The absolute audacity of these people is breathtaking.
The male hooman with the shiny hair is acting very pleased with himself, Fish mewls, having noticed Conrad’s swagger. Georgie says she’s going to gobble him down as soon as the ceremony is over.
That’s because she said he looks like a snack, Sherlock adds with a woof. I can smell cologne from here. Also hairspray. Lots of hairspray. I don’t think I’d want a bite if I were her.
AND THAT FLORAL PERFUME THE brIDE HOOMAN WEARS IS ALL OVER HIM!
Truffle yips excitedly. Like, REALLY all over him!
It’s like he rolled around in a flower garden or maybe hugged her for a REALLY long time, or OH MY GOSH, do you think they were sharing snacks?
Because that would explain why he smells like her lip gloss, too, and also why his hair is all messed up, even though it has so much sticky stuff in it!
Well, at least the pets are excellent detectives.
The music shifts to the processional, and the bridesmaids begin their walk down the bedazzled aisle, beverages in hand, looking like a cross between a bridal party and a very elegant coffee shop advertisement.
The guests are taking photos of the drink parade, because apparently, this is what passes for wedding tradition in the social media age.
“I have to admit,” Emmie whispers, “the aesthetic is very Charlotte. Beautifully chaotic with a side of caffeine addiction.”
“It’s like watching a lifestyle blog come to life,” I agree, watching the maid of honor carefully navigate the sand while balancing her mojito.
Charlotte appears at the end of the aisle, absolutely radiant in her designer gown—lots of white pouf with enough lace to wrap around the planet twice—as Camila discreetly films her every step.
She’s glowing with happiness, waving at guests, and showing absolutely no sign that she was just making out with her future husband’s best man in a utility shed.
Either she’s an excellent actress or she’s completely compartmentalized her life into “wedding performance” and “secret affair” categories, which is actually kind of terrifying when you think about it.
Truffle gives a series of nervous yips. The bride looks SO SHINY and sparkly and like a princess but also kind of sweaty, which might be from nerves or maybe from all that running around earlier, and OH, she keeps touching her hair and checking her dress and smiling SO BIG, but her eyes keep looking around like she’s watching for something or someone, and do you think she’s looking for snacks, because I would be looking for snacks if I were wearing a big white dress!
The little cutie chatters rapidly from her position near the altar.
All brides look shiny, Fish replies. It’s the makeup and the lies.
I think she looks pretty, Sherlock says with a quick bark. Very sparkly.
Sparkly indeed. Charlotte has enough bling on to take down every retina in Seaview County.
The ceremony proceeds with the usual blend of solemnity and social media documentation.
Charlotte and Piers stand before the officiant while Camila films from one angle and Charlotte’s photographers capture every moment from three others.
I notice that Conrad has positioned himself with the other groomsmen, but his eyes keep drifting to Charlotte in a way that makes it look as if she has two grooms, which, considering the circumstances, wouldn’t be entirely wrong.
“Dearly beloved,” the officiant begins, “we are gathered here today to witness the union of Charlotte and Piers in holy matrimony.”
“And to create content for Charlotte’s Hot Mess Heiress brand,” I mutter under my breath from the back.
“What was that?” Buffy asks.
“Nothing. Just appreciating the sanctity of social media matrimony.”
The officiant continues, and I find myself studying the faces of everyone involved.
Piers looks nervous but determined. Charlotte looks blissfully happy and completely focused on her performance.
Conrad looks like a man who’s gotten away with something.
And Bea looks like a woman who’s relieved that her financial nightmare is about to become someone else’s problem. I think.
Kiki, on the other hand, looks like she’s planning something dubious.
“Do you, Charlotte, take Piers to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the officiant asks.
“I do,” Charlotte beams. “And I promise to love, honor, cherish, and document every moment of our lives together. I vow to build our brand, monetize our adventures, and always, always pull my weight in this partnership. You can never say I’m not contributing my fair share!
Except for money. That’s your job,” she titters.
A murmur of amusement ripples through the crowd because only Charlotte would include social media strategy and financial responsibility in her wedding vows.
“And do you, Piers, take Charlotte to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” Piers says, though I notice his smile looks slightly strained. “I promise to love, support, and... help you reach your follower goals.”
The crowd chuckles, but I catch the slight desperation in his voice. Poor guy has no idea he’s just promised to help monetize a marriage to a woman who’s already cheating on him with his best man.
The officiant continues, and just as he reaches, “If anyone objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace,” I see Kiki’s hand spike into the air.
But before she can say a word, Bea suddenly lets out the loudest, most dramatic sneeze in the history of nasal disturbances, drowning out any potential objection and causing half the guests to jump and clutch at their hearts—including me.
“Bless you!” several people call out.
“Sorry!” Bea says, dabbing at her nose with a tissue. “Seasonal allergies!”
More like a bomb detonating in the middle of the ceremony.
Kiki’s hand drops back to her side as the moment slips by, and I watch her face crumple with frustration.
“Well then,” the officiant says quickly, clearly wanting to avoid any further interruptions, “by the power vested in me by the state of Maine, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride!”
Piers and Charlotte lock lips in a smooch to end all smooches while Camila films, the photographers snap away, and the crowd erupts in applause. Rice flies through the air (because apparently, bird-safe rice is a thing), and the newly married couple beams at their guests.
And as I watch Charlotte hug her new husband while winking over at his best man, I realize that this wedding isn’t the end of the drama—it’s just the beginning of a whole new level of complicated that’s going to make solving one murder look like child’s play.
As the newly married couple runs down the aisle through a shower of rice and rose petals, the wedding party immediately breaks apart like a disbanded flash mob. Guests begin mingling, champagne glasses appear as if by magic, and the photographers start herding people into groups for formal photos.
I’m scanning the crowd for potential drama when I spot Kiki standing off to the side near the edge of the reception area, looking like someone just stole her last chance at happiness.
She’s staring at Charlotte and Piers with an expression that could melt a couple of wedding rings with her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
Perfect. I think it’s time for a little heart-to-heart with the woman who just watched her ex-boyfriend marry someone else while she was dubiously prevented from objecting.
I make my way toward her, weaving through clusters of chattering guests and dodging a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes. Because if I’m going to solve this murder, I need to talk to every suspect while their emotions are running high and their guards are down.
And who knows? Maybe I’m about to have a conversation with Tessa Greene’s killer.