Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride (33 page)

W
ho gives this woman's hand in marriage?"

"I do," Gavin said, and he squeezed her hand almost as tightly as her heart constricted at his reply. He kissed her cheek and cupped her chin in his hand. "Love you, Sheri."

"I love you too."

She'd suspected it was going to be that sort of night after half a dozen spontaneous floods of tears throughout the day. Her emotions had just gotten the better of her before her feet even hit the floor that morning and she noticed Vanessa's exquisite wedding dress hanging on the back of her hotel room door.

Tears continued to flow later when she meandered into Emma's kitchen to find her putting the finishing touches on a simple three-layer crème brûlée wedding cake . . . and then while she and Emma acted as overseers to the team of florists decorating The Desiree Room with sterling roses, several pastel shades of hydrangea, and deep purple winter tulips . . . and again an hour before the ceremony when Vanessa and Emma helped her with her hair and zipped up her beautiful Christian Dior gown.

Jackson had taken Andy to the airport that afternoon to pick up Jeff Durgin, Andy's best man, so Emma and Fee had

arranged some special "girl time" for the three of them to have manicures, pedicures, and facials. All three of them had cried then.

"Never let it be said that I let my best friend cry alone," Emma had sniffed while Fee grabbed a tissue and passed the box around.

But now—as Russell's performance of the song he'd written especially for them came to a close—Sherilyn battled against the slippery slope that stood far too near: The Ugly Cry.

Not now. Not at my wedding!

Once their vows had been completed and they'd pledged to serve God and one another for the rest of their lives, Miguel glanced at his watch.

"Andrew and Sherilyn, with only one minute until midnight," he told them, "it is now my honor, before God and your family and friends, to pronounce you husband and wife. Andy, would you like to kiss your bride?"

"More than I can tell you," Andy replied with a grin.

"Four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . ."

Cheers and party horns sounded at precisely midnight from the New Year's party in the Victoria ballroom as Sherilyn Caine became Sherilyn Drummond, and she kissed her new husband.

Afterward, when her eyes met Emma's and she spiraled down into tears, those two best friends indulged in an instant, unspoken competition right there and then over which of them had accomplished
the ugliest cry of all!

1. What does Sherilyn's career choice say about her personality?
   
2. How did you feel Sherilyn and Andy fit into the landscape of The Tanglewood?
   
3. What do you suppose is the basis for Sherilyn and Andy's fast attraction, and how does their faith play into it?
   
4. How did Sherilyn's past relationship influence her current one?
   
5. What role did Russell play in Sherilyn's life? Was it an important one or was it simply a passing acquaintance?
   
6. Sherilyn hasn't had family ties for a very long time, but her sisterhood with Emma has provided a familial feeling. How important is it to have that in your life, and why?
   
7. How did you feel about the relationship between Sherilyn and Gavin, Emma's father?
   
8. Aside from Emma and her family, what do the various other characters in the book add to Sherilyn and Andy's story?
   
9. What were your thoughts about Sherilyn's lost wedding dresses? How did this thread add to the overall story?
   
10. If you read the first book in the series, how did the role of Miguel evolve into the second book? Did you enjoy Miguel's contribution to the story and to Sherilyn's growth?
    

T
hat's not ivory, Granny. It's ecru."

"Is it?"

"Yes. And I needed crystal beads, not these iridescent ones. The crystal is much more showy, and I need them to make a statement."

Beatrice leaned forward in her rocking chair and smoothed the white-gold hair of her grandchild, who was perched like a bird at her feet. "Are you sure you're just nine years old?"

"Granny, please. Just help me look through these cases for the crystal beads? I knew not to let Carly alone in my room with my cases open. She must have mixed them all up."

She pushed two matching plastic boxes into her grandmother's lap. Beatrice flipped the latch on one of the pink gingham-patterned cases and tipped open the lid before glancing down at the little girl who seemed to be surrounded in light amidst hat boxes, organizers, and immaculate containers.

Audrey's innocent porcelain face crumpled like a grape left out in the sun as she continued her search. Without missing a beat, she raked back her spun-silk hair and fastened it with a pink sequined scrunchie band. When she glanced up to find her grandmother watching her instead of engaged in

the search, Audrey cocked her head to one side and heaved a laborious sigh.

"Granny? The crystal beads?"

Beatrice nodded, fingering through the separated compartments of the tray, each of them bearing a red vinyl label with raised white letters.

Glass beads.

Seed beads.

Sequins.

Beatrice, at the tender age of nine, wouldn't have known the first thing about various types of beads, much less thought of asking for a label maker for her birthday to better differentiate them inside organized plastic cases! While her other nine-year-old friends played with accessories for their Barbies, Audrey designed and created haute couture for every doll in town.

"Her wedding is scheduled for this Saturday afternoon," the child announced. "She can't get married without any crystal beads on her gown."

"Of course not," Beatrice sympathized.

"And Granny, will you make the wedding cake? We're going to have the ceremony here on the sun porch."

"I think I can do that," she replied, and the corner of her mouth twitched slightly. "Oh, is this what you're looking for?" She stuck out her hand, several shiny beads rolling on the palm.

Audrey's dark green eyes ignited, and she gasped. "Granny, you're wonderful! Where did you find them?"

"The second tier. Under these thingies." She tapped one of the compartments with the tip of her finger.

"Thingies!" Audrey said, chuckling. "Those
thingies
are just the last of my wooden barrel beads. I used them on the bracelet I made Carly for her birthday, remember?"

"I think I do." She nodded. "Yes, that's right."

"Once this wedding is behind me, I'm going to have to go through every one of my cases to put everything back in its right place."

"Yes, I suppose you can't have shiny sequins in a compartment marked as something else."

"You can see what a disaster that could be, can't you, Granny?"

"Clearly."

Audrey took the cases from Beatrice's lap with caution, gingerly setting them on the carpeted floor beside her.

"That Carly," she muttered as she began plucking crystal beads from the tray. "Sometimes she's like a gorilla at a tea party."

A
udrey, the car will be here any minute. You're going to miss your plane."

"Shh. I just need another minute."

She leaned down over her sketch pad, nibbling the corner of her lip as she put the finishing touches on the four-foot train of an elaborate A-line wedding dress.

"Oh, Audrey! That's beautiful. Is it for Kim?"

She didn't reply for another moment or two, not until she felt perfectly secure in the fact that she could lay down her pencil and be done with it.

"There are three others in the leather portfolio in my closet. The messenger will be here at three o'clock to pick up the four of them and get them into Manhattan by four o'clock." She handed her assistant the finished product, pausing for an instant to admire the drawing. "Be very careful about it, but put this one with the others, and be sure to zip it all the way around so they aren't wrinkled. Just give him the whole case, and call Kim once he's on his way to give her a heads-up that they'll be delivered to the penthouse."

"Will do."

"My plane lands in Atlanta at five-something, and it will take me an hour or so to get out to Roswell where this hotel is located. You've shipped—"

"And confirmed. Carly's dress is safe and sound at The Tanglewood, awaiting your arrival."

Audrey sighed as she cast a quick glance toward the door where Kat had lined up her pink plaid luggage. One oversized rectangular case and one large round one, both on wheels, both packed to full capacity.

Audrey applied a glaze of Cherry Bliss lip gloss while Kat added the final sketch to the leather case, and she paused with the gloss wand in mid-air until she heard the
vvhht
of the zipper. As she slipped the tube into its compartment inside her purse, the buzzer sounded.

"That will be your car," Kat announced. "But before you go . . ."

Kat grabbed Audrey's hand and placed a compact little cell phone into it, closing her fingers around it.

"Now this is the simplest cellular phone available."

"Kat, I do not want one of these. I told you that."

"I know. But you have to."

Audrey stared at the strange thing on her palm. "What do I do?"

"If it jingles, you open it. Like this." Kat demonstrated. "It will either be a phone call, in which case you press the blinking green button. If it's a text, it will come up automatically."

"Ah, maaan . . ."

"I know. But it's the best way to keep in contact. You want to keep in contact with me, don't you?"

Audrey groaned. "Yeah."

"So put this in your purse."

Audrey reluctantly tossed the thing into her bag as Kat pressed buttons on her own much more complicated-looking cell phone. An instant later, Audrey's purse began to jingle.

"It sounds like a harp," Kat pointed out. "That's your cue to pull it out and open it." Kat stared at her for a moment before nodding at Audrey's purse. "Go on. Answer it."

"I already know who it is."

"Audrey."

Audrey groaned again as she produced the cell phone, unfolded it, and stared at the thing.

"The green button," Kat prodded.

After a moment, Audrey pressed the button and held the phone to her ear. "Audrey Regan isn't available right now, but please feel free to take a flying leap at the sound of the harp."

Kat shook her head as she pushed the button on the wall intercom and she told the driver, "Come on in. We have a couple of bags." Then, back to Audrey, she remarked, "Text me when you arrive. Do you want me to show you how?"

"I'll call. Let me know the minute you confirm the sketches have reached Kim."

"Will do."

"The very minute, Katarina.
We need this."

"I know. It will be fine. She's going to love them."

"As long as she loves them more than Vera Wang and Austin Scarlett."

Audrey paused in front of the full-length etched mirror propped against the wall beside the front door of her loft, just long enough to smooth the straight pencil skirt and adjust the corset belt around her waist.

"Car for JFK," the driver announced, grabbing both of the bags.

"How much, by the way?" she asked as she followed him down the stairs.

"Ninety-five," Kat called out from the doorway. "Already charged to the corporate card."

"Ninety-five dollars, from Soho to JFK?"

"You can grab a taxi for fifty bucks, Princess," the driver snapped, letting the street door flap shut in her face.

Audrey turned and looked back at Kat, standing in the doorway at the top of the stairs. "Charming."

Kat chuckled. "Have a good flight."

"One can only hope."

As she climbed into the back seat of the dark blue sedan, Audrey thanked God above that she'd had the good sense to hire Katarina Ivanov. She sighed as the driver took a left on Kenmare, and Audrey stared blankly out the window.

She'd held interviews on a Tuesday afternoon in the corner booth at the Village Tart, and Kat had arrived fifteen minutes early. She'd ordered a coffee at another table while Audrey finished up with the gay design school student who looked like a cross between Buddy Holly and Kramer from
Seinfeld.
When they were through, the young man stood over Audrey, tapping his shiny patent leather shoe.

"So let's cut right to it, shall we?" he'd said, glaring at her over the bridge of thick black-rimmed glasses. "Do I have a shot at this or not? I'm only asking because I have two more interviews after yours, and I need to know whether I can blow them off."

"I think I can answer that," Kat told him as she transferred her espresso to Audrey's table and sat down. "Go on the interviews. I'm pretty sure we've decided which candidate is the best choice. I'm so sorry, but good luck to you."

The boy grimaced at her before he looked back at Audrey. She only shrugged. Twenty seconds later, the front door of the café thudded shut behind him.

"Did I go too far?" Kat asked her as she crossed her legs and wrinkled up her nose, flipping short dark waves of hair. "I know. Sometimes I go too far. But he was wasting your time. You weren't going to hire him."

"I wasn't?"

"No," she said confidently, sliding her resume across the table, only a slight trace of amusement in her dark brown eyes. "Even if you don't hire me, you certainly can't hire him. He's high maintenance; he's a drama a day, at least. And you don't need that."

"I don't."

"No. You need stability. Loyalty. You need a take-charge, organized fashionista who makes their workday all about you."

And Katarina Ivanov had been doing just that for more than a year since. She was two parts Mother Earth and one part All- Business. Audrey had no idea what she would ever do without her.

"Where are you going?" she suddenly asked the driver. "Are you taking the Van Wyck Expressway?"

"I got an idea," he tossed back at her over his shoulder. "You worry about your hat and gloves, and I'll take care of getting you to JFK."

I'm not wearing a hat and gloves, you Neanderthal.

When he glanced into the rearview and noticed Audrey seething at him, he sighed. "Don't worry your pretty little head. I'll get you there, Princess. Deal? Okay. Deal."

Audrey dug her bright red fingernails into her palms.

I despise New York.

But she knew it wasn't the city so much as the energy of the place. Ten million people crammed into jam-packed streets, everyone trying to get somewhere, all of them convinced that their particular mission trumped everyone else's. Audrey, on

the other hand, just wanted to survive long enough to catch the tail of her dream. Nearly out of money, and fast running out of steam, she had just enough of both to carry her through Carly's wedding in Atlanta. If she didn't score the job designing Kim Renfroe's wedding dress by the time she returned, Audrey would have to start thinking about throwing in the towel. Perhaps she could rustle up a job working for one of the other design houses, but her stab at venturing out on her own hadn't been the starship success she'd been convinced that it would be.

Two years and three months.

That's how long it had taken her to run through the inheritance Granny Beatrice had left her. Twenty-seven months, almost to the day. When she'd left Atlanta for New York, she had such high hopes of making a name for herself as a designer. Marginal successes along the way had not contributed much toward soaring, only toward staying afloat. And even that was in jeopardy now.

Audrey nibbled on the corner of her lip as she stared at the scenery beyond the taxi cab window. A mist of emotion rose in her eyes, smearing the passing cars. She really needed to figure out a way to tell Kat that she wouldn't be able to pay her much longer.

She wondered if Carly knew how much it cost her to drop everything and head home for a week, not to mention all the time and resources she'd spent on designing and creating Carly's dream bridal gown. By the time the Atlanta trip came to a close, she would find herself up against the final wall. She would say good-bye to Kat, convert her design studio into a living space and advertise for a roommate, and she would go begging for a job with low pay and long hours in support of someone else's design reverie.

Unless Kim Renfroe chose to wear an Audrey Regan original for her spring wedding; in that case, the air in the tires of her dream would carry her on a little farther. Not much, but a little.

"You gonna answer that, Princess?"

"What?"

"Your cell phone. It sounds like God is calling."

The jingle of her harp-phone nudged her as she wiped a tear from her cheek. "Oh. I didn't hear it."

She pulled the phone from her purse and fumbled with it. Finally, she heard Kat's muffled voice, and she held the thing up to her face.

"Audrey? Audrey, are you there?"

She held the phone like a walkie-talkie she'd seen the night before in a late-night rerun of
Star Trek.
"Yes, I'm here, Scotty. Now either beam me up, or quit bothering me. And Kat? Can you change the ring? Apparently, it sounds like God."

"I can't change the ringtone remotely, but—"

"I have to go now, Scotty. But only use this thing in an emergency, okay? It's annoying."

"Here we are. Terminal three."

She blinked, and a lone remnant of a tear wound its way down the curve of her face and dropped off her chin. Brushing its path dry with the back of her hand, she tossed the cell phone into her bag and inhaled sharply before cranking open the door and stepping out.

J.R. pulled off the black helmet, instinctively running a hand through his mane of shaggy brown hair, shaking it out. He glanced down at the CL Max helmet and noticed a tiny nick in the polycarbonate shell.

So much for superior quality,
he thought as he unzipped the cuffs of his leather jacket and pulled off the gloves.
I paid a hundred and fifty bucks for this helmet just so this wouldn't happen.

He paused to tuck the helmet between his knees while he pulled off his gloves and stuffed them into the pocket of his leather jacket. He took another close look at the nick, then ran his hand over the flip-up shield before fitting the helmet under his arm and stalking through the brass-plated glass door of The Tanglewood Inn.

His brother Devon had called him early that morning to ask him to come straight to The Tanglewood rather than meeting up at the house, and J.R. had been glad for the change in plans. He hadn't been back in Atlanta for a while now, but he looked forward to catching up with the people he'd met there on his last pass-through with Russell.

Carly saw him first, and she hopped to her feet and rushed toward the entrance of the restaurant. With her honey-blonde hair pulled back into a messy little bun at the back of her head and her glistening blue eyes dancing, his brother's fresh-faced bride-to-be curled her arms around his neck and placed several kisses on his cheek.

"I'm so happy you've arrived safely!" she exclaimed. "You and that motorcycle of yours, well, we just never stop worrying. Devon has been itching to see you!" She looped her arm through his and led him inside.

It struck him funny that Devon and Carly worried about him riding his Harley when there had been so many more pertinent safety concerns with which to concern themselves. J.R. had to admit that relief over someone returning to Atlanta in one piece was something he knew all too well. He hadn't seen his little brother since before he left for his last tour of duty, his second in Afghanistan in just two years.

Devon stood up as he approached the table, the same old twinkle in his eye. As J.R. drew his brother into an embrace, he exhaled for what felt like the first time in months. Relief washed over him, and he smacked Devon's back twice. "Good to see you, bro."

"Good to be seen."

Truer words had never been spoken, and J.R. sent up a quick prayer of thanks for the fact that his brother had come home from war virtually unscathed. Physically, anyway.

"Thanks for doing this, man."

J.R. chuckled. "There's no one else going to be your best man."

"J.R., I want you to meet my wedding planner, Sherilyn Drummond."

Her familiar laughter took the form of music, and J.R. rounded the table and took a much smaller Sherilyn than he remembered into his arms.