Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Brooke breezed into work, and found Lila waiting in the lobby with an elegant older woman. “You’re late,” the woman said in greeting, her lips pursed.
“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,” she apologized, coming back down to earth with a bump. It was a long way from soaping up in the shower with Riley to presenting catering plans, but she needed to get her game face on right away.
“You didn’t, it’s fine.” Lila spoke up quickly. “Justin couldn’t make it, but this is his mother, Bitsy.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” Brooke shook Bitsy’s hand. The dreaded mother-in-law. She was usually able to keep the peace, but Bitsy looked like a force to be reckoned with in a Chanel tweed suit and pearls. “Shall we go through and get started? I can’t wait to show you the plans.”
Brooke steered them into the salon and ordered tea. “How are you feeling?” she asked Lila. “You must be getting excited, with the big day so close?”
“Excited . . . and nervous,” Lila admitted, glancing over at Bitsy. “There’s a lot to figure out.”
“Just over one week to go,” Brooke agreed, and tried not to feel panicked.
At least the computer system was up and running, thanks to Riley, and she had a twenty-point plan to see her through the rest of the hectic schedule.
“I’m sorry the planning stage will be so rushed.
Usually, I have months with a bride to figure out their style and taste, but with you . . .”
“We need to get everything locked down today,” Lila finished. “It’s fine, really,” she said, looking remarkably cheerful for a bride who had to cram her dream wedding into just a few sessions. “I trust your instincts, so whatever you pick out is great with me.”
“Wow,” Brooke laughed. “That should make this easy.”
She pulled out the folder she’d assembled for the big day.
She still felt scattered, wrapped in the morning afterglow of everything that happened the night before, but she tried to pull it together.
This wedding was her opportunity to prove herself and get her career back on track after this unplanned detour out to Cape Cod.
“I’ve narrowed things down to a few options,” she began. “I know you wanted classic and beachy, so I’m thinking white, with some pink and gold accents.”
“Pink?” Bitsy snorted. “That’s far too gaudy,” she said. “This is a Cartwright wedding, after all.”
“Oh no, it’s a blush pink,” Brooke explained, showing them the swatches. “With pale gold. Very classic and understated.”
“That looks great.” Lila smiled.
Bitsy pursed her lips, but didn’t complain again, so Brooke moved on. “For music, I know you had some ideas. A jazz trio, and a DJ?—”
“There will be a string quartet,” Bitsy announced. “Playing traditional classical music. Some Vivaldi, and Brahms.”
Brooke paused. “Lila?” she shot her a questioning look.
“Sure, why not?” Lila gave a polite smile.
“Okay . . .” Brooke made a note. “Our chefs are preparing the menu options as we speak for you to sample, and you’re using your own photographer?—”
“Henry Miller,” Bitsy interrupted. “He does all the Cartwright occasions.”
“Right. So let’s talk about?—”
“Is the hotel unionized?” Bitsy spoke over her again.
Brooke stopped. “Excuse me?”
“The hotel staff. Servers, janitors, etcetera,” Bitsy looked around, assessing. “Are they part of the local chapters?”
“Umm, yes, they are.” Brooke frowned.
“And there have been no issues here? Disputes, complaints, scandal?” Bitsy continued.
“No, not that I know of.” Brooke was still confused. “I’ve only been working here a few months, but the place has an excellent reputation. You don’t need to worry about anything disrupting the big day.”
“Hmmm.” Bitsy made a note in her little leather notebook.
Brooke was unsettled. “Let’s go see about those catering options,” she said, getting to her feet. She took them through to the private dining room, and soon they were sampling smoked salmon sandwiches and an array of hors d’oeuvres.
“These are all delicious,” Lila said, reached for another sandwich.
Bitsy cleared her throat. “Is that wise? You’ll want to fit into your dress.”
Lila paused. “No, I’m good.” She took a deliberate bite, and smiled at Bitsy.
Uh-oh. Brooke sensed tension in the air, so she quickly moved onto the drinks, but Bitsy—predictably—had more questions.
“The seafood is all local?”
“That’s right.” Brooke tried not to sound impatient. “We keep in-season as much as possible.”
Bitsy peered at the crab cakes. “It’s very important this all be Massachusetts crab,” she said sternly. “None of that Maine stuff.”
Brooke blinked. Most bridal parties cared about flowers and wedding favors, not the provenance of the shellfish and whether or not the hotel staff were part of a union. Nobody would notice those details unless?—
Oh. Brooke put two and two together.
“So the rumors are true,” she said, finally understanding. “Justin is going into politics.”
Lila snorted with laughter. “No way,” she said. “I’m the performer. He’s happy out of the spotlight. He’d never go for that.”
“Oh, my mistake,” Brooke said. “I just thought, you know, with the requests. Local, unions . . . Isn’t there a Congressional seat opening up in the district?”
“Nope,” Lila said. “Over my dead body . . .” She trailed off, a strange look suddenly coming over her face. “He’s not . . .”
She frowned, looking at Bitsy. “Is he?”
“That’s a conversation for another day.” Bitsy stood there, looking smug. “Now, about the cake . . .”
But Lila didn’t move.
“A Cape Cod wedding,” she said slowly. “I wondered why you all were so set on it being here in Massachusetts. We could have eloped, or done it in California, but no, it had to be here.”
“Lila.” Bitsy sounded stern. “This is neither the time nor the place.”
Lila shook her head stubbornly. “We talked about it. He promised.”
“Well, plans change,” Bitsy said brightly. “Now, about the dessert?”
Brooke saw Lila’s stormy expression and quickly stepped between them. “You know, I think we’re all done here. Lila, there’s a great florist nearby, I’d love to take you to see their arrangements.”
Bitsy scowled. “But we’ve already decided.”
“No, you decided,” Lila spoke up, stronger. “I’d love to see my options.”
“Great.” Brooke steered her out of the room. “Let’s go now. Lovely to meet you, Bitsy!”
When they were driving a safe distance from the hotel, Brooke looked over at Lila. “I’m so sorry, I put my foot in my mouth back there.”
Lila slowly shook her head. “It’s not your fault.
You weren’t to know. God, I can’t believe I didn’t put the pieces together before now.
” She looked upset, toying with the sleeves of her casual sweatshirt.
“We talked about it, I asked him point-blank, did he want a career in politics, and he swore the answer was no.”
Brooke didn’t know what to say. Had she just sent this whole wedding into a tailspin? “Maybe he’s just trying to placate his mom,” she suggested. “I mean, with that kind of legacy, there’s always going to be pressure.”
“But he hates all that,” Lila said. “It’s one of the things that brought us together. Dealing with fame, all the paparazzi and attention . . .” Her voice caught. “I thought he understood I don’t want any of that, not when it comes to my personal life.”
Brooke felt terrible. “You just need to talk it out. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding, you guys can clear it up.”
Lila nodded, but she didn’t look convinced.
“I read you were starring in a new version of Sense and Sensibility,” Brooke desperately changed the subject. “I love that book.”
“Me too.” Lila seemed to brighten. “Everyone always talks about Pride and Prejudice, but I’m a sucker for all the unrequited pining, it’s so emotional.”
“Are you playing Marianne?”
Lila shook her head. “Elinor,” she said, and started chatting about Dash Everett, the hot British director they had signing on, and scouting for locations.
She looked a hundred times happier than when she was discussing her wedding plans, but Brooke would take whatever she could get.
By the time they arrived in Sweetbriar Cove, Bitsy’s bombshell was almost a distant memory.
“What do you think?” Brooke asked, leading Lila to the floral shop. It was a cute, lush corner filled with fragrant blooms. “Did you want to keep it simple, or go for something bright and exotic?”
“I don’t know why we’re looking,” Lila sighed, looking listlessly around. “Bitsy’s already decided on white roses.”
“Didn’t you want lilacs?” Brooke asked, remembering their first appointment.
“Bitsy says lilacs look cheap.” Lila toyed with the ribbon on the bouquet. “Which, in Bitsy-speak means I’m a common slut unworthy of her darling son.”
“Well, she’s not the one marrying him,” Brooke declared. She never usually stirred the pot; her job was all about compromise, but after a morning of Bitsy running roughshod over the whole event, she figured Lila needed someone in her corner. “It’s your day, you should have whatever you want.”
“No, it’s fine.” Lila sighed. “I don’t want to cause problems.”
Brooke watched her browsing listlessly. It was strange; she had such a reputation as being a diva on all her movies, but looking at her now, she seemed almost meek.
“You know, you’re not how I imagined you,” Brooke couldn’t help saying.
Lila arched an eyebrow. “You mean, a spoiled Hollywood drama queen? Don’t believe everything you read.”
Brooke blushed. “Sorry.”
“No, I get it. Drama sells magazines.” She shrugged, pushing her blonde hair back.
“I can’t imagine,” Brooke said. “I get tongue-tied just making a presentation. I could never get up in front of a camera like you do.”
Lila gave her a smile. “It’s all an act, in the end. I hate the spotlight, especially when it comes to my personal life. I just thought . . .” She swallowed. “I thought Justin was the same. He promised we would get away from it all.”
“You will,” Brooke insisted, but Lila didn’t look so sure.