Chapter 1
One
Valerie Peng needed it to be a good day.
A few things were trending in her favor.
The June sun hung bright in the turquoise sky, and the lack of humidity meant her hair looked fantastic and would stay that way.
The never-ending Toronto road construction outside of her apartment had slowed.
Her breakfast banana, so often a hit-or-miss fruit, had been at the perfect ripeness, that sweet spot between mushy or so green it made her teeth chalky.
It was going to be a good day, she decided as she locked the door. It was.
She was halfway down the street when the phone rang with a call from a potential client. “I’m still not sure about this celebration-of-life thing,” Mike said.
Valerie ducked into an alley to focus on the discussion. “Let’s talk about your concerns.” She hoped he didn’t hear the horns blaring in the background.
“Well, the main one is Mom’s not here to appreciate it.”
This was a common reaction. Ad Astra was the only company in the city to focus on planning memorials and celebrations of life, and people were often unsure about what Valerie could do, or even what they wanted.
“I find it helpful to remember that while the celebration is to honor your mother, the true value is for her friends and family,” Valerie said. “It’s a way to gather and share stories and memories after you’ve had some time to process.”
“The funeral was so depressing,” he said morosely. “I can’t deal with that again. Mom loved light, you know? She took down the curtains in her room so she could see the dawn.”
Valerie considered this. “We could have her celebration in the morning. I know a gorgeous garden with a gazebo.”
“We could?” His voice became more hopeful.
“Absolutely,” she assured him. “There are no rules for a celebration of life. I did one at night in an observatory for an amateur astronomer.”
“Mom always wanted flowers in the house but the cats ate them, so she was stuck with fake ones.” Mike laughed. “Yeah. A garden. I’d like to have something truer to how she was, not all solemn and serious.”
Valerie confirmed a few details before leaving the alley with a bounce in her step, pleased that she’d come up with something for Mike.
She’d worked hard to get Ad Astra on the road to success, although her old wedding planner boss, Ruth, had wrinkled her impeccable nose when Valerie told her why she was leaving.
“Isn’t that morbid?” Ruth considered death a disreputable act and not to be discussed at full voice or in groups of more than three.
“It’s uplifting.” Valerie didn’t often disagree with her boss—she hated contradicting anyone, let alone the person who signed her paychecks—but this was important. “People who are grieving deserve the same consideration and attention as those experiencing joy.”
“Very altruistic of you, although I’d argue weddings are hardly a time of unmitigated bliss.
” Ruth swung her low ponytail over her shoulder.
Multiple brides, and some grooms, had seen that sleek blond tail, wrapped in a silk bow that matched Ruth’s outfits, and insisted on the same look for their special days.
“You certainly won’t have competition from me. ”
Yet Ruth had been good about mentioning Ad Astra when she heard someone had, as she delicately put it, passed.
Over the last two years, it had become more acceptable to hire Valerie to plan a memorial or to book her in advance of one’s own death in an attempt to maintain control over life’s most uncontrollable situation.
Business was growing slowly, but definitely steadily.
And it might explode if today went as well as she hoped.
Three weeks ago, Roger Badgerton hired Ad Astra to plan his father’s celebration of life.
This could change everything for Valerie.
Not to be crass, but Malcolm Badgerton had been a pillar among a certain set of wealthy Torontonians, and the event would be packed with people whose last names were prominently emblazoned on hospital wings, university faculties, and art gallery learning centers.
When she helped the Badgertons remember their father in the way he deserved, the city’s movers and shakers would see what Valerie Peng could do—and why they should hire her themselves.
That’s why the day had to be good, and would be. She squared her shoulders and strode into the venue, ready to wow the Badgertons. Respectfully, of course.
“Ricky,” she called as she pulled the door shut. “Your favorite event planner has arrived.”
“So she has, bright and early.” The manager came out from the back, a tiny espresso in hand. He turned on the music and Mariah filled the room. “You ready to work?”
“Let’s do it.” They had five hours until the event began, but she wanted to make sure everything was in apple-pie order.
An hour later, they were debating whether the welcome table should be moved to the left of the door when a loud squeal came from the entry. “Valerie, did you dress like the catering staff on purpose?”
Valerie turned to see her assistant, Alexis, late but holding her usual caramel ice coffee.
“The caterers wear aprons,” Valerie said, looking down at her black pants and white shirt and trying to make it into a joke. “I brought my gray suit for later.”
“Right, the one you wear all the time.” Alexis sipped her coffee. “Don’t you think it’s a bit dowdy?”
“No?” She’d always considered it professionally chic.
“Really? I thought you’d want to represent your brand a bit better.” Alexis rolled her eyes at whatever expression had appeared on Valerie’s face. “Don’t be like that. You know me—I’m brutally honest, but you do you.”
Valerie wasn’t sure if, like many of Alexis’s comments, this was genuine advice, a veiled insult, or a murky combination of the two, but it was better for their working relationship to assume the first. They’d known each other for more than a decade through their mutual friend group, and when Alexis had lost her job as an office manager, everyone assumed the assistant role Valerie had just posted would be hers.
Backed into a corner since she didn’t want to rock the boat or feel responsible for Alexis not being able to pay her rent, Valerie had agreed.
Alexis herself had been more than confident she could handle the work. “I did my wedding all by myself, and the planner was only there for emergencies or when I was too busy,” she’d said. “Memorials can’t be harder than that.”
Two months later, Valerie was kicking herself for saying yes.
She watched Alexis lift a pile of tablecloths off a chair and drop them to the floor so she could sit and decided it was time for a talk.
Not an official reprimand between a boss and employee, which would make Alexis more defensive than usual, but a chat between friends about expectations.
That was reasonable. She’d do it tomorrow.
“Did you get your hair done?” Alexis asked. “It’s too red.”
It was, and when the stylist had asked, Valerie had lied and said she loved it before forking over a hundred bucks, plus tip. However, she had zero desire to go into this with Alexis and murmured something noncommittal.
“By the way, Margaret Roberts called yesterday,” continued Alexis. “Something about the time needing to change.”
The celebration for Margaret’s husband was next week, so this was important information. “What exactly?”
“I told you. Something about the time.” Alexis yawned and checked her phone.
Valerie set a reminder to call Margaret later. “Did you go by the office and get the boxes I stacked by the door?”
Alexis gazed up at the latticed smoked glass of the high ceiling. “I can get them now.”
“You were supposed to bring them with you so we can set up before Nico Hever arrives.” Nico was Roger Badgerton’s executive assistant and had been her primary contact.
He was also curiously intriguing for a guy she’d had limited interactions with, and entirely by phone, thanks to a work trip that had taken Nico and Roger out of town.
Despite focusing solely on Malcolm’s memorial, their initial conversations had been enough for her imagination, always in overdrive, to create a vision of him in her mind.
She had decided Nico Hever would be pale, with short dark hair, a long nose, and a prominent widow’s peak—an expectation she suspected was influenced by his name and a picture she once saw of Niccolo Machiavelli.
This wasn’t fair to poor Nico, who had not once discussed the cunning ruthlessness needed to acquire and keep a city-state during their conversations about dates, venues, and guest lists.
She’d also decided his shirt would be ironed and tucked in, because no one who took a sincere interest in napkin thread counts would neglect his own creases.
He would not only possess his own lint brush, but also use it regularly.
Some of these expectations had been laid to rest when Nico agreed to a video call to view the event space before booking.
On the screen had been an attractive white guy with dark hair.
Then he met her gaze and Valerie had been momentarily and unusually stunned into silence.
It took a moment for her to place why he was familiar.
Nico resembled a World War II squadron leader portrait she’d recently spotted in a museum display, with the same disciplined expression, strong bone structure, and spare features.
His slate-gray eyes gave him a brooding expression, as if he was full of secrets he had no problem keeping.
She was looking forward to seeing him in person today, and not only because of those eyes. His serious attitude and clear competence were instant draws, making him not only physically appealing but also good to work with. It was a rare combination.
“Right, the tight-ass.” Alexis didn’t look up from her phone. “Tell him we have it under control. That’s what I would say if this was my business.”