Chapter 6
Lizanne
The interior of the Range Rover smelled of expensive leather and Trina’s sharp, citrusy perfume—a scent that usually made Lizanne feel safe but today felt like an irritant. Trina’s fingers were tapping a restless rhythm against the steering wheel, her rings clicking against the hide.
“Why are we going to a random vineyard in the middle of nowhere, Liz?” Trina asked, her eyes shielded by dark, oversized sunglasses. “I thought we were settled on the St. Helena property. It’s iconic.”
Lizanne leaned her head against the headrest, squinting at the GPS on the dashboard.
“The planner sent this location, Trina. Apparently, the St. Helena place has some foolish policy about needing to book a year or two in advance. Even for us. They wouldn’t budge, even when Rose mentioned the Prime Esque streaming deal. ”
Trina let out a short, sharp laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “See? This is what happens when you rush. If we didn’t have to do this stupid reality show, we could’ve planned the wedding properly. Like we were always going to. A year or two from now, when the schedule cleared.”
“Trina, don’t start,” Lizanne warned, her voice tight.
“You were all for this when we signed the contract. You were the one who said it would be brilliant for the record company. You just started your own label and said it was great for your artists. Don’t rewrite history because you’re bored with the logistics. ”
“I said it was good for both of us, but this is a lot of stress, honey bee,” Trina countered, her tone cooling as she took a sharp turn. “I’m just saying, I don’t like being directed in my own life.”
“I’m the one dealing with most of it,” Lizanne pointed out, staring out at the rolling hills of dry grass. “I’m the one doing the meetings, the fittings, the frantic emails at three in the morning.”
“Which is exactly why we’re paying for a wedding planner,” Trina said. “One who will hopefully not turn out to be a complete disaster. This better be worth the hour-long drive.”
They arrived at the vineyard—a smaller, more secluded estate called Luna de Sangre.
It wasn’t the sprawling icon Lizanne had first envisioned, but Rose had been talking it up with a feverish intensity over the phone.
As they pulled into the gravel drive, Lizanne had to admit the girl had a point.
Over the last week, Rose had managed to pull off a string of minor miracles: she’d secured a seamstress who could hand-stitch a celestial velvet canopy, found a florist who didn’t blink at a five-figure orchid count, and drafted a menu that was a masterpiece of Regency-era fusion.
But they still didn’t have a venue. And they still didn’t have a cake.
Rose was waiting for them near the wine tasting room, framed by ancient, twisted olive trees.
She looked noticeably different today—sharper, more formidable.
She was wearing a new black tailored suit and a crisp white shirt.
Lizanne noted it immediately; the hefty advance payment she’d authorized had clearly gone straight into Rose’s wardrobe.
Lizanne didn’t mind. In this town, your clothes were your resume, and Rose looked like a woman who could command an army or at least a film crew.
“Lizanne, Trina,” Rose greeted them, her smile professional and bright. This was only the second time Rose had met Trina and the formality lingered in the air. So far, Lizanne – and to a lesser degree Pat – had dealt with Rose.
“Tell me exactly why we are here, Rose,” Lizanne said, skipping the pleasantries. She could feel Trina’s impatience radiating off her in waves.
“The location you wanted is fully booked, as I mentioned,” Rose explained, undeterred by the frost in Lizanne’s tone.
“But this vineyard had a last-minute cancellation due to a family dispute. It’s private, which is better for security.
The architecture is more authentic to the Regency period we’re aiming for, and most importantly, the light here at dusk is far better for the Prime Esque cameras.
The way the sun hits that western slope? It’s pure gold.”
As they began to tour the grounds, the atmosphere remained awkward. Trina trailed a few paces behind, looking bored and checking her phone every thirty seconds. That was, until Rose mentioned a name that acted like a lure.
“I guess your judgment when it comes to venues ought to be trusted?” Trina asked.
“Actually, you should. We met briefly at Marcus Lance’s birthday party in March,” Rose said, glancing back at Trina. “I was coordinating the floating orchids in the canyon pool. The venue was also my choice.”
Trina looked up, her interest piqued for the first time all day. “Oh, right! Marcus’s place. That hot tub setup was insane. People are still talking about how you managed to keep those flowers from wilting in the steam. Lizanne mentioned you had organized that party. I forgot.”
The two of them fell into an easy, animated conversation about Marcus’s house and the nightmare logistics of canyon parties. Being the odd one out in her own wedding planning was a role she wasn’t used to, and she didn’t like how easily Rose could pivot to charm her fiancée.
“Anyway,” Rose said, turning back to Lizanne, her eyes bright with excitement.
“Look at the slope of this backyard. We could turn this into a perfect replica of the gardens from the show. We can give the ceremony the Regency vibe you want, but with the intimacy this space provides. It’s not a stage, Lizanne. It’s a sanctuary.”
Lizanne looked at the grounds, actually seeing it now. The way the vines crawled up the stone walls, the hidden alcoves, the smell of ripening grapes and dust. It was beautiful.
“I was looking at your own wedding plans again,” Lizanne said, the curiosity she’d been harboring finally leaking out as they walked toward the tasting table. “I looked up that resort in the Catskills you mentioned. It’s gorgeous. How fortunate they had space available for a Wednesday.”
Rose’s posture stiffened just a fraction, a micro-movement Lizanne only caught because she was trained to watch for tells. “Derek—my fiancé—handled that part,” Rose said. “He’s in entertainment law, so he’s quite good at negotiating contracts and got a great package deal.”
“Entertainment law?” Trina asked, perking up. “Which firm? I probably know his partners.”
Rose blinked, looking suddenly overwhelmed, like a deer caught in high beams. “Oh, it’s a... it’s a smaller boutique firm. Very specialized. They handle mostly indie talent and... digital rights.” She stammered for a second, her confidence wavering for the first time.
Before Trina could press her for a name, her phone rang. “Shit. I have to take this.” She stepped away, her voice rising as she talked about a crisis at the studio.
When she came back, she was already reaching for her keys. “I have to go. There’s an emergency with the mix on the new single. Lizanne, I’m sorry, but if I don’t get there, they’re going to ruin the track. You’ll catch a ride with Rose, right?”
Trina leaned in and kissed Lizanne deeply—a performance of affection that felt a little too timed for the benefit of the wedding planner.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lizanne noticed Rose looking away, her gaze fixed intently on a row of grapevines as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world.
A cold, uncomfortable thought struck Lizanne: Is she one of those people? She wondered if Rose’s “traditional” wedding and attorney fiancé meant she wasn’t actually comfortable with a lesbian wedding. It would be an irony she didn’t have the energy to deal with.
After Trina sped off in a cloud of gravel dust, the owner of the vineyard offered them wine to try.
“I shouldn’t,” Rose said, her eyes lingering on the bottle. “I’m driving.”
“A glass or two won’t hurt,” Lizanne said, sliding into a seat. “And if we get pulled over, I’ll just pull the celebrity card. It’s one of the few perks of the job.”
They tried a couple of different reds, the silence of the valley stretching between them.
Lizanne used the time to interrogate her, watching Rose closely over the rim of her glass.
She needed to know who she was working with.
“So, Rose. Be honest. What are your actual thoughts on the ‘Gay Wedding of the Year’?”
Rose took a sip of the wine, the alcohol seemingly loosening her guard.
She let out a soft laugh. “If I’m being honest?
My first romantic partner was a woman. My thoughts are that you both deserve a day that’s better than any movie set.
I’m not here for the ‘gay’ part, Lizanne. I’m here for the ‘wedding’ part.”
Lizanne felt a wave of relief, followed by a strange, warm curiosity. “I didn’t expect that. Does Derek know you were with women?”
“Of course,” Rose said, though she quickly turned the conversation back to the paperwork. “We tell each other everything.”
“Is Derek very involved in your preparations?” Lizanne asked, swirling her wine. “Does he help with the birch trees and the candles?”
“No,” Rose said. “He’s a lot like Trina, honestly. He lets me handle the details. He’s just... along for the ride.”
The words hit Lizanne harder than they should have. She looked at the empty seat where Trina was meant to be sitting. She hadn’t realized it was that obvious—that she was the one doing the heavy lifting while Trina just showed up for the photo ops.
“Along for the ride,” Lizanne repeated, staring at the purple stain the wine left on her glass. “Yeah. I know exactly how that feels. I was looking for you two on Instagram, you know. I couldn’t find a single photo.”
Rose’s grip tightened on her glass. “I mostly use my social media for business. Plus, Derek is a corporate attorney. He’s very careful with what he puts online.”
Lizanne tilted her head. “I thought you said he was in entertainment law.”
Rose gripped her glass. “He’s... he used to be in corporate law. He switched to entertainment because it’s less high-pressure. But the corporate law background still is in his bones.”
“Ah, I see,” Lizanne noted. “Where did you meet?”
“Coachella,” Rose said. “We’re both huge fans of Harry Styles.”
Lizanne smiled. “Harry Styles? At Coachella?”
Rose gulped. “What about you? You and Trina?”
“I met Trina on a movie set,” Lizanne said.
She didn’t want to talk about herself and Trina right now.
She needed to talk about Rose. This was her chance to find out more about her.
Because, there was something off about her.
She just couldn’t tell what it was. Whenever she brought up Derek, she seemed to freeze for a second before thawing again.
And the mix up about what type of lawyer he was?
It was…odd. “What about Daisy? Is she a Harry fan too?”
Rose went still.
Quickly, Lizanne leaned forward. “I saw her picture on your socials. Is she Derek’s?”
“No,” Rose said. “I was with her father in high school. We broke up after a while, and then got back together after college. He hasn’t been in the picture since she was born. I only hear from him through court papers.” She didn’t look at her directly.
Lizanne softened, then her lips curled upward. “Rose. Daisy. Is your mother named Petunia?”
“Actually... it’s Marigold.”
Lizanne burst into laughter. “It really is a full bouquet! A florist’s dream!”
They both laughed, and in the heat of the moment, Lizanne reached out and touched Rose’s forearm. Her cool fingers wrapped around her forearm, her thumb caressing her skin.
The touch sent a jolt through her—sharp and electric. And it had surprised Rose; that was evident from the way she jerked, spilling her wine across the white cloth.
“Oh dear,” Rose said and got up. As she did, she swayed and grabbed onto Lizanne, who held on to her to keep her from tipping over.
“I think that wine went down quicker than we anticipated.”
“I think so. I… I don’t think I should drive.”
Lizanne shrugged. “We can share an Uber back.”
“No, I need my car…” Rose ran her tongue over her purple lips and Lizanne’s heart shuddered.
“I’ll call my brother, Quinn,” Rose said, her voice shaky. “I’ll be right back.” She retreated to the bathroom, leaving Lizanne to stand where she was, suddenly not sure what the hell she was doing.
She took a deep breath. “I’ll just head to the upstairs bathroom,” she called after Rose, who raised a hand to acknowledge she’d heard her.