Kat walked around Audrey and shut the door. Taking Audrey's arm, she led her toward the sofa and nudged her down to it. A moment later, back at Audrey's side, she handed her a cold bottle of water with the cap already untwisted. Audrey could barely hold the bottle, much less drink from it, and she just sat there, her mouth still open, her heart still thudding in her chest.
"I can't believe she wanted me to choose a different dress seven hours before I get married!" Carly said. "Aud, you don't really want me to, right?"
Audrey closed her eyes and shook her head to rattle around some clear thinking in it. "Of course not."
"I mean, I know you designed it. But as a wedding gift. I mean, it's my dress, right?"
"Yes."
"It is, right?" she asked Kat.
"It is abolutely your dress, Carly. Now why don't you go on and get out of it so it's fresh for you later on."
"Okay." But Carly just stood rooted to the spot. "Aud?"
She shook her head again, and when she looked up at Carly, she saw that her friend's eyes had misted over with emotion. Audrey rose from the couch and crossed to her side.
"She's a lunatic," Audrey reassured her with a squeeze to her hand. "That dress is one hundred percent Caroline Hunt. No one is walking down any aisle in any city in any venue in that dress except you."
Carly sighed and smiled. "Thank you."
"Are you kidding? She's nutso."
"She really is," Carly replied. "But thank you."
"Do you need help getting out of the dress?"
"No. I'm good."
The minute she left the room, Audrey turned around, and her eyes locked into Kat's.
"I'm really sorry," Audrey told her.
"You're sorry? For what?"
"I thought Kim was the answer."
"I know."
"But clearly . . ."
"It's okay, Audrey," Kat reassured her, taking her hand and shaking it. "It's going to be okay."
"You really believe that?"
"I absolutely do."
"Good," she said with a nod. "Because you're fired."
"Dude," Fee sympathized. "That bites."
"It really does," Audrey said as she plucked her fourth cookie from the platter between them.
"Do you think you'll be able to bring her around to looking at your other designs again?" Emma asked, and she picked up the cookie on the napkin before her and bit off a sizeable chunk of it.
"I'm not—" Audrey stopped mid-word and gasped. "Emma! Are you eating cookies?"
"Yeah."
"Aren't you diabetic?"
Emma chuckled. "Thanks for watching out for me, but this is a sugar-free recipe I'm trying out."
"These are sugar-free?"
"Yep."
"Really," Audrey clarified. "They're delicious!"
"You think so?"
"Honestly. You are really good at this baking thing."
The corner of Emma's mouth twitched slightly as she replied, "Thanks, Audrey."
"It's important that some people succeed at their chosen craft, don't you think? Not like the rest of us who fail miserably and land on our duffs with a thud."
Emma whimpered as she rounded the table and wrapped a sympathetic arm around Audrey's shoulders and squeezed. "Sorry."
"It's okay. Really. I hate New York anyway."
"You do?" Kat asked from the doorway.
"Yeah. I do."
"Why don't I know this?"
Audrey lifted up the plate of cookies and extended it toward Kat. "Try one of these. Emma's a genius."
Kat took one and moaned at first taste. With a full mouth, she told Emma, "Theesh are yummm."
"How many of them can I safely eat without puking or something?" Audrey asked.
"You may have passed that limit a couple of cookies ago," Fee stated.
"Then I'd better stop," she said, and she took another bite.
"Hey," Sherilyn interjected, and she timidly pointed at Kat before tapping her own throat. "Kat, I love the necklace."
A single strand of floating pearls, with a dangling rhinestone heart. One of Kat's originals.
"Thanks," Kat replied without revealing that she'd designed it herself.
"It's really beautiful," Sherilyn said, approaching for a closer look. "So dainty, but really eye-catching."
Audrey waited, but Kat didn't confess. So she did it for her.
"Kat dabbles in jewelry design. That's one of hers."
"You made this?"
Kat nodded, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "Yeah."
"It's stunning! You should really get these on the market. Have you ever—"
"It's just something I mess around with. I've taken a few classes."
Sherilyn looked at Audrey, her blue eyes wide and one eyebrow arched. "Right?"
"I know," Audrey answered. "It's beautiful."
Kat plunked down on the stool beside Audrey and bumped her shoulder. "Really? You hate New York?"
"Everything about it."
"Everything?"
"Well," Audrey corrected. "Not everything. I like you. And I love the pizza at Maggio's."
"That's it?"
She thought it over for a moment and nodded. "Yeah. That's it."
"I guess this is stating the obvious, but what are you doing there then?" Fee asked.
"I'm a designer. It's New York."
"Oh. I guess there's that."
"The good news is I'm about to be an ex-designer. So the world is my oyster," she announced. "I can live under any bridge in any city I choose."
Emma tilted her head to Audrey's shoulder. "You can always come back to Atlanta, right?"
"Why?" she asked seriously. "Are you hiring?"
The kitchen door swung open, and an elf of a woman poked her head inside. "Emma, you need to come next door."
"Hey, Pearl. Come on in and meet Audrey and Kat. They're—"
"Good to meet you," the woman interrupted. "But really, you want to come next door now."
"What's going on?" Emma asked as she hopped off the stool.
"Your aunt is here."
"She is?"
"And she's just wandered into Anton's kitchen."
"Ohh!" Emma's face cemented over with sheer panic as she hurried out the door behind Pearl.
"C'mon," Fee said with a nod of her head. "She may need reinforcements."
Kat and Audrey exchanged glances before they followed the line of women around the corner and through the identical swinging door beside the one leading to Emma's kitchen.
"Aunt Soph, what are you doing in here?" Emma asked, gingerly taking the hand of an elegant woman in a light blue party dress draped with a large white apron.
"Oh, Emma Rae. Have you met Anton?" she asked, reaching for the wooden spoon Emma removed from her hand.
The short man in a matching apron huffed as he snatched the spoon and began to stir the steaming pot on the stove.
"Yes, I have," Emma said, nodding with animation directed at the the man. "Anton Morelli, meet Audrey Regan and Kat Ivanov. They're dress designers."
Morelli looked Audrey over like a pork chop he considered breading, and he muttered something indecipherable before moving on to Kat.
"Good to mee—," Audrey began, but he cut her off, midword.
"Ivanov," he repeated, focusing on Kat with slightly narrowed eyes.
"Yes."
"Russki."
"Um, yes."
The man glanced at Pearl, his waif of a sous chef, then back at Kat. He rubbed his bulbous nose with a balled fist as he asked her something in another language.
Everyone in the room turned toward Kat curiously.
"Oh, my father's family is from Chechnya."
"Da," he muttered, nodding. Then he tried out her first name as if simultaneously spitting a lint ball from his tongue. "Kat."
"Katarina," she replied, and a smile spread across his round face like a warm pat of butter.
"Ah! Katarina Ivanov."
"Yes. But
I can't take credit for it. I was born in Abilene."
The man turned to Fee and looped his arm into hers, pulling her toward him. "America is indeed the melting pot of the civilized world, is it not, Fiona Bianchi?"
"We're a smorgasbord," she replied, deadpan.
"You," he said, pointing his finger at Kat's face. "You come to eat in my restaurant. I make you some borscht, a little tabaka. Yes?"
"That would be lovely," she answered, and Audrey knew Kat well enough to recognize the forced smile. "Thank you."
"Come on, Aunt Soph," Emma interjected. "I'm trying a new recipe, and I really need your help."
"Oh," the woman sputtered. "Well, all right. Anton, you don't mind, do you?"
Anton raised his hand and waved it, giving Sophie a hint of a smile. "Somehow, I carry on without you." After the elderly woman had passed, he shrugged at Kat.
"Chechnya," Audrey said as they rounded the corner and headed back into Emma's kitchen. "Who are you really, Katarina? I don't know a thing about you."
"And yet I know everything there is to know about you," she teased in reply. "Hmm. Quite a conundrum, isn't it?"
Before Audrey had the chance to respond, Sherilyn Drummond flew past her, nearly knocking her over as she tore into the kitchen and landed on Emma's heels.
"What's up with you?" Emma asked as she recovered.
"I'm so late!" Sherilyn cried.
"Then why are you stopping to tell me about it?" her friend countered. "Where do you need to be?"
"No!" Sherilyn exclaimed, looking around at the group of women gathered at the stainless steel table in the middle of the room. "I'm LATE!" she shouted.
"I heard you," Emma answered, taking a bite of a cookie and handing another to her aunt. "So why—"
"Emma Rae!"
"What?"
Fee stepped over to Emma and slipped her arm around her shoulder. "Dude. She's telling you that she's late." Emma thought it over for a moment, still not making it to the same page.
"I think I'm pregnant!" Sherilyn bellowed. With her hand on her hip, she shook her head and added, "Sheesh, are you on a sugar high, or what? . . . And what are you doing eating cookies?!"
Kat and Audrey made their way across the lobby, and suddenly Russell appeared from around the corner. His chiseled face brightened at the sight of Kat.
"Just the kitty-kat I was hunting," he said, taking her hand between both of his.
Audrey suppressed the inward groan. Not now! she wanted to shout at him. Instead, she just kept on walking toward the elevator.
"What are you doing here?" she heard Kat ask him.
"Getting out of the boys' hair for a bit. Me thinks J. R.'s had a snocker full of me, so I brought my suit and headed over early. How's about a spot of lunch?"
Audrey pressed the call button and waited, hushed tones of their conversation wafting here and there, and she wondered if J. R.'s day had already been wrung out too. The elevator doors opened, and she stepped onboard. She pushed her floor button and leaned back against the glass. Just before the doors closed, Kat slipped between them and stood next to her, grinning like a ridiculous schoolgirl.
"None of that," Audrey said, facing forward.
"Pardon?"
"No happiness today."
"Oh, all right."
"Thank you."
Kat remained silent for a moment, then asked, "No one?"
"No one, what?"
"No one is happy today?"
"No one."
"What about Carly?"
Audrey groaned. "Right. A wedding. Yay."
"So just to be clear. Carly can be happy, but she's the only one."
"Yes."
"Got it."
As she opened the door to the bridal suite, an invisible burst of unmistakable "happy" puffed right out at her. She hadn't even laid eyes on Carly yet, but she could feel it, all of that unbridled joy on the other side of the doors.
"I'm so glad you're back," Carly bubbled, fiddling with the thin purple rollers knotted all over her head. "Can you help me with my hair? Oh, and I had your dress steamed and pressed. It's hanging on the armoire. The bouquets should arrive in about thirty minutes, so I thought Kat could wait for them while we're in the bedroom figuring out my hair. You know, I forgot to ask you. Did you bring shoes?"
Audrey sighed, smiling at her friend as she nattered on. Every thought that crossed her mind seemed to take an instant conveyor belt right out of her mouth. Carly's enthusiam had boarded an express train, and Audrey no longer had the heart to slow it down.
Go ahead, Caroline. This is your day.
"Are you still thinking of wearing your hair up?" Audrey asked, casting a quick glance at Kat before they moved into the bedroom.
"I'm not sure. What do you think?"
"I could go either way, but I thought you looked really lovely before when you tried on the dress and the veil, and your hair was loose."
"Yeah, Devon likes my hair down."
"There you have it. Problem solved."
Audrey sat down on the bed while Carly stood in front of the mirror, holding up varied amounts of hair.
"I wish she could be here," Carly stated, and Audrey looked up to see her friend gazing back at her through the mirror's reflection.
"Who?"
"Your granny."
"Oh." A warm breeze of nostalgia blew by her, and Audrey smiled. "She would be so happy for you, Caroline. She really loved you."
"There was no one like her, Aud. And I miss her."
Me too.
"I'm sorry about Kim Renfroe."
This time, she said it out loud. "Me too."
"Do you think it would have gone differently if you'd given her my dress?"
"Honestly, I have no idea. She's a bit of a loose cannon."
Carly plopped to the bed beside her and rubbed Audrey's arm. "It's hard to hitch your wagon to a loose cannon, I guess."
"You have no idea."
"You have so much talent. You're gifted, you really are."
Audrey waved her off and turned away.
"I mean it. And she doesn't know what she missed by not giving you more of an opportunity to prove it to her."
"Thanks."
"You're going to get your break."
Audrey wanted so much to believe Carly, but she couldn't muster it up just then.
"You are. Kim Renfroe is a stupidhead."
Audrey pushed out a laugh. They had been using the term since childhood, but she hadn't heard it for years.
"Yeah, she is." She squeezed Carly's hand and smiled.
"I love you."
"Love you too, Caroline. Now let's start on your hair."
Wedding Traditions
When the Groom Is in the Marine Corps
• The Marine Corps groom wears dress blues.
• A boutonniere is never worn with a military uniform.
• The arch of swords—where six or eight Marines (or men
in uniform) raise swords overhead as the newly-married
couple leaves the altar.
No one else may pass beneath the arch.
• The last sword-bearer forming the arch will often tap the
bride lightly with his sword, saying, "Welcome to the
United States Marine Corps, Ma'am."
• If the groom is in uniform, it is customary for him to stand
ahead of the bride in the receiving line.
• The official Marine Corps song is often played as the bride
and groom enter the reception hall for the first time as
husband and wife.
• A noncommissioned officers sword is often used to cut
the wedding cake.
5
I'm so glad we did this, man."
J. R. nodded at his brother and took a swig from the Coke in front of him.
"Carly never lets me eat like this. Today's my only chance."
"I'm all for the splurge," J. R. said with a chuckle. "But you better take it easy there. T
hat's about your fifth or sixth Krystal burger, bro."
"Eighth."
"You get the trots on your wedding night, and who do you think she's gonna blame?"
Devon cracked up. "My stomach's made outta steel. You oughta see the stuff we eat in the desert."
"Still."
Devon stuffed the last tiny cheeseburger into his mouth. "You worry too much."
"And you don't worry nearly enough." J. R. thought about it a minute before he asked, "Speaking of which, how are your nerves about getting hitched? Again."
"Good," Devon replied over a mouthful. "I mean, I'm already Carly's husband in every way that matters. This is all just for her benefit, to let her have her dream, you know?"
"I'm just making sure you're ready, that's all."
"I was born ready," Devon quipped, his eyes sparkling as he grinned at him. "Carly's the one, man. Nuff said."
J. R. nodded, and any reply he might have made was pushed away from his thoughts as his cell phone pulsed.
"Russell," he told Devon before answering. "What's up?"
"I just saw your chickadee, mate. Got her britches in a wad. Thought you might want to pop over."
"Audrey?" he asked. "None of your Aussie nonsense. Talk English, bro. You're in America now. What happened?"
"Morning meeting left her eating dust," Russell cracked. "Kit-Kat says she's in a really harsh way."
J. R. groaned. "She was meeting up with some blueblood this morning. I guess it didn't go well."
"Not from the looks of it, mate. Thought you'd wanna know."
"Thanks, Russell. Where are you?"
"Tanglewood," he answered. "Gonna take my new sweetie to eat in a bit. Got my duds handy too, so I'll meet you boys here a little later, rightie?"
"Yep. Later."
J. R. folded his phone shut and tucked it into his pocket. A poke in his gut made him wonder why Audrey's bad news felt so personal.
"Something happen?" Devon asked.
"Yeah." Then, "Nah. Not really. You ready to go?"
"I was—"
"Born ready. I know."
As they climbed into Devon's bright red truck, J. R.'s gut lurched a bit. Audrey had been hanging her future on that morning meeting, and it just about killed him to know she'd been disappointed. He reached forward and cranked down the stereo.
Always the Designer, Never the Bride Page 7