The Wedding Sisters (29 page)

“In a bad way?”

“No—of course not. My parents are way too self-absorbed to give you too much thought. Trust me, this is just another thing to check off their to-do list before the next trip to Ibiza. Or Belize. Or wherever. Don't worry—we just have to suffer through one dinner, and then we won't hear from them again until they show up at the wedding. If they show up at the wedding.”

“Oh, Toby. Of course they'll be at the wedding.”

But they had flaked on Toby's college graduation, so who knew what these people were capable of? Jo felt bad that his parents were so detached. It had to be lonely for him. She had the impulse to invite him dress shopping with her and her mother, but it was bad luck for him to see the dress, so what was the point?

“You're right—they will be. I'm sure they'll want to see with their own eyes that I've gone through with it.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Well, because of the trust fund.”

“What trust fund?”

“I come into my inheritance when I marry. We all do.”

Jo dropped the magazine. “Is that what this engagement is all about?” she asked.

“What? No! Jo, don't be ridiculous. You know how I feel about you—how I've always felt about you. I'm not doing this for the money any more than you are.”

Wow. Okay, that was fair. Why should she accuse him of ulterior motives when she was the one who'd done the complete 180?

“I'm sorry. I just … This never came up before.”

He shrugged. “It's not a big deal. A technicality. Oh—almost forgot.” He pulled out his black American Express card and slid it across the table. “For the dress.”

“Toby—you don't have to do that. Really.”

“I want to. Maybe you'll even let me see you in it before May. I'm not sure I can wait.” He smiled.

“It's bad luck,” she said.

He kissed her. “I don't believe in luck.”

*   *   *

Meryl rushed into Jane restaurant. Scott gave her a wave from his table in the center of the room.

“I have maybe twenty minutes,” Meryl said, out of breath.

“I know, I know—you're in demand. But this is worth your time, trust me. You cannot imagine the number of calls I got this morning,” he said, hugging Meryl in greeting. He smelled painfully good.

“I have a dress-shopping appointment at Marchesa in an hour. Or rather, a pants fitting. My youngest wants to wear white silk Marchesa skinny pants down the aisle.”

“I love it! Now, here's the deal: I got three calls from networks this morning asking me about a potential show with you and your daughters.”

“Scott, I told you not to pitch it yet. I haven't even spoken to my family.”

He held up his hand. “I didn't pitch it. The networks I've worked with came to me.”

“Came to you? Why?”

“Because this is what I do, Meryl. They thought I might be able to approach you. And yes, I'll admit, when they called, I told them I happened to know you personally. But that's as far as the conversation went. That's why I needed to see you immediately. This is hot, Meryl. This isn't just shooting the shit between two old friends. There's real money here.”

Was it indecent to order alcohol at eleven in the morning on a weekday? Probably.

“I'll have a mimosa,” said Meryl.

“Just coffee for me,” said Scott.

“Now you're making me feel bad.”

“If I had three daughters getting married in a matter of months, I'd be drinking too.”

She laughed. “Yes, well—when you put it that way. So this is all because of the
New York
magazine article?”

“That was quite a piece. Calling your daughters the modern-day Paley sisters?”

Meryl beamed. “It's very exciting. But the show just isn't a good idea. Between you and me, sometimes I feel getting these three girls down the aisle will be the death of me.”

“That's not the way this article makes it sound.”

“Yes, well—don't believe everything you read.”

“What's going on? I mean, aside from the stuff with your husband. I can imagine it's stressful for him to be unemployed when there is a wedding to plan. That's why this show is such an opportunity, Meryl.”

“He's not … unemployed. He's writing a book.” Suddenly Meryl felt prickly and defensive for Hugh. “We're all just doing the best we can,” she said.

“I get that. And this show can make your best all that much better.”

It was tempting. But everything with her mother was making her anxious. She felt vulnerable. Uncertain.

“It's not a good time.”

“Meryl, I didn't get where I am by taking no for an answer.” He put his hand on hers, and she felt the familiar pull toward him, an attraction that had first set root in her when she was just a girl. But there was no place for that now, as much as she'd liked, for a fleeting moment, to believe there was.

“I appreciate that. But this isn't just about business. It's personal.”

“Yes—it's personal, and it's business. The two aren't mutually exclusive.” He smiled.

“Scott, between you and me, I have a lot to deal with now aside from the wedding. You know my mother—you must remember her from, God, when she was my age.”

“Of course. Your mother always wore those enormous round sunglasses.”

“She wears enormous round glasses, period. All the time. My girls used to call her Grandma Owl.”

He laughed. “I can't wait to meet them. So what are you saying? She needs to be on the show? We can make that happen.”

“No—no. Absolutely not. Things have been difficult with her lately. At first I thought maybe she had dementia. Now I don't know. Depression, maybe. And I have this feeling … a really distressing feeling that she's lying to me about something.”

“Lying about what?”

Meryl found herself tearing up. “The past. Her past. I don't know. There's just so much going on at once. The last thing any of us needs or wants is a bunch of cameras following us around.”

“I know you feel that way now. But in a few months, this stress will be behind you and you'll change your mind. And if we don't start getting footage now, it will be too late. This time leading up to the wedding is crucial. Meryl, I don't want you to miss this opportunity.”

She pulled back. “You don't want
me
to miss it? Or yourself?”

“That's not fair.”

She nodded. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I don't need another thing on my plate right now. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to pass on this.”

“Meryl, as your friend, I think you're making a big mistake.”

Was he right? When all the excitement died down, would she be kicking herself for not exploring this?

“Scott,” she said. “It wouldn't be the first time.”

*   *   *

Jo wanted to wear Marchesa because of an outfit she'd seen on Pinterest. It was a white satin minidress with scalloped layers in front paired with white satin skinny pants. She'd seen it over a year ago, long before weddings were even a thought. Still, she'd had the fleeting but unforgettable notion that she would someday get married in something exactly like it.

Only three places in the city carried Marchesa bridal, and one of them was on Wooster Street in SoHo. She was due to meet her mother at ten, but she thought she'd get there a little early just to get the lay of the land before her mother swooped in and started micromanaging. She didn't want to try on a dozen dresses. Jo knew how she wanted to look on her wedding day, and it was just a matter of whether or not this particular bridal boutique had what she needed to pull it off.

“Jo!”

She looked up automatically at the sound of her name, and then noticed a swarm of photographers advancing toward her. Flashes went off like mini explosions, leaving her momentarily paralyzed. She might have stood like that, a deer caught in the headlights—or in this case, flashing lights—but someone grabbed her by the arm and said, “Follow me.”

It was the wedding planner, aka Chanel Boots. Aka Leigh Beauford. Aka the recent guest star in a few unwelcome but extremely hot dreams.

Leigh was somehow equipped with an umbrella despite the clear weather, and she used it as a shield and buttress as they pushed through the throng of photographers to the front door of the bridal boutique. All the while, they were shouting Jo's name, asking about Toby—she thought she even heard Caroline's name.

Once inside the shop, the sales rep locked the door and pulled down blackout shades.

“Okay, that was insane,” Jo said. “We have to warn my mother.”

“I'm calling her now,” said Leigh.

“Tell her to ring the shop when she's outside. We'll open up for her,” said one of the saleswomen.

Jo glanced at Leigh, who was talking intently into her phone. She wore a robin's egg blue trench coat; a red, blue, and gray Burberry scarf; charcoal gray pants that flared at the bottom; and gray Louboutins. Her chocolate brown hair framed her face in perfect layers, cascading down her back. Her fair skin was flawless, her almond-shaped dark eyes intense. Jo looked at her hands, the long tapered fingers, the short nails polished the color of the inside of a conch shell. Jo imagined those hands on her body, and immediately shook the thought away.

“I've called security to clear the perimeter of the store,” said the first saleswoman, Jacqueline. “Your mother should be fine. Do you want to start looking at a few things, or wait for her?”

Jo looked at Leigh.

“We should probably wait for her mother,” Leigh said.

Jacqueline drifted away. Jo and Leigh were left on the sales floor with a tray of champagne.

“I didn't know you were coming today,” Jo said.

“Your mother asked me to help out. I think with the triple wedding, she's more comfortable with the idea of outside support.”

Jo nodded, fighting the urge to check her appearance in the mirror. Jo never felt self-conscious. She was nothing if not comfortable in her own skin. And damn this chick for throwing her off her game. What was her deal?

Their first encounter in the shoe department of Bloomingdale's had felt like a flirtation. But that was before Leigh had known there was any professional connection between them. Really, what were the odds? So whatever that had been—it didn't matter.

“It just kind of feels like a waste of your time,” Jo said. “I mean, I know what I want here, so—”

“Think of me as being in a support role,” Leigh said coolly. “And I need to coordinate the entire event, so having a sense of all the moving parts is important.”

“Okay. Whatever.”

Jacqueline rushed back across the room. “I'm opening the doors for your mother and the photographer now.”

“What photographer?” Jo and Leigh asked in unison.

Meryl breezed in through the newly unlocked entrance to the salon, followed by two men lugging equipment.

“Thanks, Jacqueline,” said Meryl. “You're a lifesaver. And thanks for being flexible about the cameras.”

“Mom? What's going on?”

“Hi, sweetheart. Hi, Leigh! It turns out
People
wants a few shots of dress shopping for the piece, and since Meg is already finished with that and Jeffrey doesn't want his design revealed until the wedding, that only leaves today. Just pretend they're not here.”

Jo looked at Leigh, and they shared a spontaneous and unnervingly intimate glance.

“Uh, don't you think you should have asked me if I'm cool with it? It seems a little invasive,” said Jo. Somehow, everything that came out of her mouth right now was making her sound like a raging bitch.

“Honey, you know what we're working on here. Please just roll with it. Like I said, pretend they're not here.”

Jo sighed, pulled her phone out of her bag, and showed Jacqueline a photo of the satin rose dress.

“Ah. That was many collections ago. And not bridal. But let's see if we can replicate the aesthetic. Of course, we don't have those pants. But we can always have something made.”

Jacqueline pulled a few dresses and put them in the fitting room. Jo glanced behind to find Meryl, but her mother was busy talking to the photographer.

“I can help you,” Leigh said, following her into the room.

“Just come out when you're ready,” Jacqueline said. “I'm going to pull a few more looks for you. And I'm calling over to Marchesa to see if they have anything from their other collections that might be more what you're looking for.”

Leigh closed the door.

Jo looked at her, swallowing hard. “Like I said earlier—I don't really need help.”

“We need to talk.”

“We do?” Was she missing something?

“Yes. Obviously, there's an attraction between us.”

Oh.

“I don't know what to say.” Jo shifted uneasily.

“I think we need to defuse the situation so we can get on with working together.”

“Defuse it … how?”

She walked to Jo, took her face in her hands, and kissed her.

The room fell away.

She smelled like vanilla and honey and just a hint of something floral. Jo's body responded even as her mind buzzed like it had just been plugged into a socket. Her mouth moved with Leigh's like they'd kissed a hundred times before, yet with the spark and wonder of the completely new.

Leigh pulled away first.

“What was
that
?” Jo said, catching her breath.

Leigh reached out and stroked Jo's hair.

Jo's heart pounded. She thought of her mother on the other side of the door. The
People
photographer. Jacqueline.

“We're doing this here?”

“Lord, you are young. No, not here. I'm staying at the Soho Grand. Meet me for a drink tonight?”

Jo's mind raced, already calculating where she could tell Toby she was going. “Yes.”