The wedding planners, p.1
The Wedding Planners, page 1
The Wedding Planners
Erin Thomson
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Dear Reader
About the Author
One
Jemma
There was only so much pacing a person could do in a four hundred and fifty square foot flat. I took my fifth (sixth? Seventh?) loop past the coffee table, to Darcy’s bedroom door, and back around the armchair before coming to a halt in front of her couch. If I kept this up I was going to wear a track through her rug.
“I’m fine,” I said, though whether it was for Darcy’s benefit or mine I wasn’t sure.
It was almost true. And maybe with a few vodka shots I could convince myself that I was just hallucinating. Although if I was going to hallucinate something, the end of my career wouldn’t be high on the list. A naked Hemsworth would be far more appealing, and yet I didn’t see one of those in the kitchen offering me Dom Peringon and chocolate covered strawberries with a sexy smirk on his face.
My stomach gave a threatening roll, letting me know that the crumpets I ate earlier were on notice of eviction. Because that was exactly what I needed—vomit everywhere to go along with the food poisoning allegations. Food poisoning. My food had poisoned people.
Allegedly.
It was rubbish, I was sure of it. The event in question, a bachelorette dinner, had been flawless. The bride-to-be had cried when she walked in—admittedly she was already plastered, thanks to a half-day winery tour—and told me that if she didn’t already have a caterer, she wanted me to do the wedding.
How did we go from that… to this?
I scanned the Facebook thread, and my stomach gave another warning rumble. It didn’t even matter if it wasn’t true—which I was confident it was not. I did not poison people—the point was that it was out there. In the world. Tarring me with a poisoned brush. What the hell was I supposed to do now?
Was I finally going to have to admit defeat, shut the door on my life in New York and move back home? Was this the thing that broke me?
My parents had turned my room into a gym when I left at nineteen, so I’d probably have to sleep in the attic between the Christmas decorations and Mom’s extensive collection of Charles and Diana wedding memorabilia including a replica of her dress, complete with twenty-five foot train. I’d have to take a job at The Sergeant At Arms in Guilford and churn out bangers and mash and over-cooked steak for the rest of my life. And that was assuming I could even get a job cooking. I’d have to be grateful to serve a medium-well steak on a Sunday lunch service.
“You're not fine. You’re spiraling,” Darcy said from the kitchen, she didn’t look like a Hemsworth. Not at all. Not even if I squinted. She was too short, too curvy and too ginger. The fact she was in possession of a vagina didn’t help either.
“Of course I’m bloody spiraling! You would be too if some trollop from Jersey torpedoed your career.” I made an explosion noise and flopped sideways into her overstuffed couch cushions.
“Your career is not over.”
I barked out a laugh. It may not be over yet, but the writing was very much on the wall. I’d be lucky if I had a single booking left by tomorrow morning.
“I’m a failure,” I said with a sniff. “A big fat failure. Why did I think that I’d be able to do this?” The familiar old voice in my head started telling me all the things I’d been trying so hard not to believe. You’re not good enough, Jemma… You can’t do this on your own… You’re in over your head…
“Hey, hey, hey...” Darcy dropped down beside me and pulled my head into her lap, her fingers attempting to comb through my ratty mop. “You are not a failure.”
I waved my phone at her. “Am too. Susie from Jersey has made sure everyone in the tri-state area knows that I am not fit to cook food for human consumption.” Maybe I could start a line of dog biscuits? People spent obscene amounts of money on their dogs.
Darcy snorted like she sensed the direction of my thoughts. “She was drunk. And I’m sure I heard one of the others talking about some truck-stop-diner-seafood-something-or-other. You didn’t make those women sick, Jemma.”
“Probably not” — definitely not — “but it doesn’t matter. Everyone believes I did.” I sat up and blew out a breath. “I thought I’d got it right this time, you know? I finally came out the other side of J— my past. I got myself together.” My voice trailed off. Surely if I survived Jonah Evans, I could survive this too. Or maybe I only had so much left in the tank, and this was the thing to push me over the edge.
“You are doing amazing. You were also fast approaching burnout and we both know it.”
“I do not know that.” Also, burnout wasn’t a real thing. It was a convenient excuse that people used when they didn’t have what it took to succeed.
“You barely took a day off all summer—”
“I know, it was brilliant! And I was booked up until Thanksgiving. Half of them have already cancelled.” And the rest would, too, soon enough.
“You’ve still got Cream and Sugar.” Yes, my should be part-time but was more like a full-time gig cooking brunch for hipsters. Go me. There was only so much avocado I could squash on toast—with a side of poached eggs—before my brain would turn to mush. Don’t be an ungrateful bitch, Jemma.
“I know, thanks, Darc.” If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t even have that job, and it was all I had left now.
The door burst open.
“The cavalry has arrived!” Harley crowed, holding two bottles of tequila aloft. The last thing I needed right now was tequila. Unfortunately for me, Harley had a determined look in her hazel eyes, and she was dressed for seduction. Although, to be fair, Harley was usually dressed for seduction, even when she was behind a coffee machine. She dropped her bag, kicked the door closed and in only a few steps was in front of us, grinning like a Disney villain.
“That bitch from Jersey can suck my left tit, Jem-Jem, she’s just jealous of your culinary prowess.”
“Har—”
“Come on, we’re going out.” She dropped one bottle into my lap then unscrewed the other and took a swig like she was drinking water.
“Have fun,” I said, examining my nails.
“Nuh-uh.” She waved the open bottle in my face. “You too grouchy pants, let’s go.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
Darcy swiped the bottle and tipped it to her lips. Like a normal person, she winced. “Come on, Jemma, you cannot sit around all night wallowing.”
“I’m not wallowing. I'm thinking. I’m regrouping.” And trying not to think about how much a ticket back to London would be. I was confident it was more than was in my savings account.
Harley took another gulp of tequila and pulled me to my feet. “Less thinking. More drinking. And then you need to get laid. Tomorrow you can think,” she added as an afterthought, saying think like it was a dirty word.
Darcy stood. “She makes a good point…”
They both had a point, I knew that. But it didn’t change the fact I wasn’t in the mood for tequila and people and pretending like I didn’t want to curl up and cry for a couple of hours—or days. I closed my eyes against the sting behind them, willing the tears to remain at bay until I got myself home. It didn’t happen. They leaked down my cheeks as a sob cracked in my throat.
Darcy and Harley landed either side of me on the couch, their arms curling around me until I was a Jemma sandwich.
“Thank you,” I said with a sniff. “I appreciate what you’re both trying to do but I’m just not going to be very good company tonight. I don’t want to bring you down.”
“You are not bringing anyone down,” Darcy assured me. “How about we all stay in, order pizza and ice cream, and watch some John Wick?”
“What is it with you and those movies?” Harley asked over my head.
“It’s Keanu Reeves. Who doesn’t love Keanu Reeves?”
“Point Break Keanu Reeves, sure—”
“Do not even try and tell me that John Wick Keanu Reeves is not as hot as Point Break Keanu Reeves.”
“That is exactly what I’m telling you.”
“As much as I would enjoy watching the two of you argue about Keanu Reeves’ various hot phases… I think I’ll head home.” I tried to stand but was held in place by two sets of arms. “Come on, I just want to have a shower and wallow on the couch. Maybe cry a bit more.” And think about what the bloody hell I was going to do now. Their grip eased and I stood. “I promise I’ll be fine. Probably asleep by nine.”
“Jemma, that is just fucking depressing. You are young and hot and should be going out and getting la
“Thank you, I think. But I’m okay, I promise.”
Harley looked poised to argue some more but a look from Darcy held her tongue. “Okay, we will let you go home, so long as you agree to come to brunch tomorrow.”
I agreed and after more hugs and assurances that everything would be fine, I was allowed to leave.
Twenty minutes later I legged it up the stairs, praying that Mrs. Snyder wouldn’t poke her head out and find me blotchy and tear stained before I made it inside my flat.
I kicked the door closed, threw my keys into the bowl and stood there for a moment, staring at the wall. The same question was rolling around in my head, what am I going to do now? I was no closer to working out the answer. It was going to take more than a few hours to come up with a battle plan, I knew that much.
My flat was still and dark, the last streaks of orange fading with the setting sun. While sitting on Darcy’s couch, coming home and wallowing sounded like an ideal situation. Now that I was here, my flat was too quiet, and my thoughts too loud. Maybe I should have gone out— downed enough tequila shots to make me forget, at least for tonight.
Would I regret it tomorrow? Quite possibly. But at least a hangover would also provide a decent distraction from career implosion. Maybe Harley was right—something I would never admit to her face—and now was not the time for thinking.
I went to the fridge, got myself a beer and drank it down in a long, gas inducing skull. No, now was not the time to think. Now was the time for distractions.
“Okay, I’m in,” I said as soon as Darcy answered the phone and Harley howled, evidently, I was on speaker.
“I’m not doing shots,” I told them, like I had any kind of control over the situation.
“We’ll see you in thirty,” Darcy said.
“Wear something tight and short!” Harley yelled, then added, “I’m gonna get you laid sugar tits!”
Two
Nash
“It’s open!” Dallas called a beat after my knock. I shouldn’t be surprised that my sister would leave her door unlocked, despite being only five when we moved to New York her heart remained in the small town south of our early childhood, where we never locked our doors.
I wandered into her open concept kitchen-living area, which overlooked Central Park, and found her wearing what had to be the skimpiest fucking underwear on the planet. I clapped a hand over my eyes, but the damage was already done.
“Jesus, Dal! Put some fucking clothes on.” Was I early? Did I imagine the fact that we had plans today? I glanced at my watch, I wasn’t early, and we definitely had plans. It was almost six in the evening. Why was she in her underwear right now and not dressed?
“Nash, dear brother, this is how I walk around in my own home.”
“Dallas, dear sister, I cannot have a conversation with you when I can see your nipples. That shit ain’t right.” I went to the kitchen island and pulled up a stool, the slap of her bare feet on the hardwoods followed me.
“Well, if you’d picked up the last issue of Sports Illustrated you would have seen them already.”
I made a mental note to never buy Sports Illustrated again. Ever.
“Aren’t we supposed to be—”
“About that,” she cut in and I rolled my eyes skyward because of course less than forty-eight hours after I got back to New York she was bailing on me for a better offer. “Duke and I have been invited to this... party.”
“A party? You're ditching me for a party?” I tried not to sound like a pouting toddler and failed miserably.
“Aww… don’t be like that.” She sidled up to my side and bumped my arm with hers.
“Dal, I’m not being like anything. But I swear to God, I cannot talk to you when you’re half naked.”
“Oh please,” she scoffed. “It’s literally no different to a bikini.” I wanted to argue but she carried on without pausing for breath. “Also, why do men get to have their nipples out left and right and women don’t? It’s bullshit. Free the nipple, Nash. Free. The. Nipple.”
She had me there. I was not down with the whole gender double standard thing, but I still had no interest in seeing all my sister’s...stuff.
“Please stop saying nipple.”
“Nipple. Nipple. Nipple.” Each one was punctuated with a finger to my ribs. I remained staring at my clasped hands and rolled my lips together to keep from smiling. My sister was a brat. Now and forever. She dropped her head onto my shoulder while continuing to whisper the word nipple over and over. My junk was retreating inward.
“Babe, stop making him squirm.” Duke padded into the room and threw a robe at Dallas. Thank. God. She slipped the flimsy bit of silk over her shoulders; it barely covered her ass, but it was still a vast improvement. He held out his fist for me to bump. “How are you, man?”
“Good, great,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster and palmed the back of my neck as tension crept up my spine. I still wasn’t sure what to say to that question yet, not that anyone who asked actually wanted to hear the truth. So, I didn’t give it.
I was sure that Duke was a good guy, the way Dallas looked at him certainly suggested he was, but I didn’t know him well enough to make the decision for myself. The fact I’d only been back in New York for a few days, after over a decade working in LA, probably didn’t help. I should probably get to know him, especially now they were living together. The fact she moved in with him after only two months was a new record, even for her. Next thing she was going to tell me she was getting married. The thought made my stomach roll. They might be living together but they were still a long way from getting married.
“If we want to make it to the airport, we need to leave in twenty,” Duke added to Dallas.
“Airport? I thought you were going to a party?”
“We are! It’s in Palm Springs!” The robe flew open as she bounced on her toes and my eyes darted to the floor-to-ceiling windows that provided one-eighty-degree views. A party in Palm Springs. Naturally. “Technically the party will probably start on the jet. But semantics. We can’t hang tonight, I’m sorry.” She pouted and nudged me with her elbow. “It’s you and me on Tuesday though.”
Was I disappointed? Yeah, a little. As much as Dallas drove me crazy, I loved the girl, and after being away for so long I was looking forward to being back in New York and spending time with her—when she was clothed anyway. I guess I just needed to find something else to do tonight because I wasn’t interested in sitting alone in my parent’s Chelsea apartment with only Netflix and my thoughts for company. No thanks. Even if I wasn’t really in the mood for going to whatever it was Dallas had planned, it was nothing if not a good distraction.
Now, I needed a new one.
“Nashville!” Chase waved over the heads of several customers lined up at the bar, her eyes twinkling, her grin wide and her raven bun leaning slightly to the left. The large knot in the red and white bandana she had tied around her head made it look more intentional than it probably was.
“Chase,” I said, accepting her one armed hug around my neck as I stooped down to her level. “How many times have we talked about calling me Nashville?”
Her nose scrunched as she considered the question. “So many that you’ve become a bore.”
“Maybe I can change your mind by calling you—”
“No.” She slapped a hand over my mouth. “There’s no need to go doing things we can’t take back…” There was a pause as she released my face. “Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you had that thing with Dallas?”
“She bailed.” I slid onto an empty stool.
“Good.”
I barked out a laugh. If it was anyone but Chase I might have been offended. “Ah, thanks.”
