by Tif Marcelo
Okay, sure, she’d had some bad luck lately. Nothing seemed to be working. She tackled dating like it was a part-time job. She worked those apps for a half hour a day—at least—searching for the one. Because yes, one day, she’d like to have a happily ever after, too. Pearl wanted a partner, someone who’d understand where she was in her life, at the cusp of something great, and who’d support her endeavors. And yes, she also wanted the entire kit and caboodle: the ball gown silhouette dress, the tiara, the red-carpet entrance, and the money dance.
“Was this your idea?” she asked Mari.
“What? Why am I always the bad guy? It was Jane’s idea!” Mari burst out, glaring at Jane. All at once, the two bickered.
The sisters’ arguments were like the feathers of a torn-open down pillow during a pillow fight: words drifting without rhyme or reason.
Pearl laughed. Between the exhaustion from her day, the stress of wondering what she wanted for her life, and now with this weird gift her sisters got totally wrong and right at the same time, she couldn’t help cracking up. “Stop, you guys.”
Mari and Jane quieted.
“It’s perfect,” Pearl said. “Absolutely perfect because it was from love.” She leaned into a group hug, settling the chaos. What else could she have said? Feeling anything other than grateful wouldn’t have helped. She wasn’t in the mood for another fight. There were no refunds on these gift certificates; they’d spent good money on it.
Right now was all about celebrating her win over Wedding Day and the start of her twenty-seventh year. A year that would bring her into the great world of true independence. And she was going to enjoy the hell out of this Moscato.
seven
Mood: “Feels So Close” by Calvin Harris
Are you ready to meet the first challenging client of the day?” Mari said to Pearl as she pulled up the emergency brake in the Volvo. She flipped on the dome lights, which cast a dim glow above their heads. With white and red lights flashing, a stream of cars passed behind them through the narrow parking garage lane.
“Yep.” Pearl took a breath next to her. “Thank you for letting me tag along today.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not just tagging along. I’m going to need you to back me up, too. Glynn is our afternoon appointment, and you’ve met Hazel. But our first couple, ‘Bito,’ isn’t a top, though they’re giving me heartburn like one. Let me give you the skinny.” Mari turned her planner to Reanna Vito and Francisco Bell’s page. “A September wedding at the Gaylord, National Harbor. One hundred guests. Pink and brown color scheme. On point budget. On paper? Straightforward. In real life? Not.”
“Is she indecisive?”
“No. She’s um . . . particular.” Mari held back from divulging her real opinion—that Reanna was loud, demanding, and a mouth without a filter. Pearl was still a colleague, and right now, she wasn’t listening to her as a sister, but as a mentee.
Her sisters might have complained that Mari was overbearing and hotheaded sometimes, but she wasn’t ignorant. Mari excelled at listening. She didn’t get to her position by imposing her choices on clients; she provided the best options she’d deduced from what she heard and observed that her clients wanted.
She was aware Pearl was getting antsy. Her restlessness resonated in her SOS phone call at the Orbinson wedding three days ago. It was in the way she shifted uncomfortably when Mari corrected her. But a gap existed between a day-of coordinator and a full-service wedding planner, and Pearl had to witness it. The job wasn’t just more work—it required more commitment. It meant sticking it out despite personality challenges.
Not only must Pearl understand this learning curve, but Mari had to be comfortable with her taking on the role. Today was about watching Pearl in action while dealing with her two most challenging clients.
They sidestepped their way around cars out of the parking garage and into the full sunlight of Georgetown. It was the first day of spring, and the weather did not disappoint. The sky was a cornflower blue with streaks of white. A hint of chill remained in the air—the area was possibly due for another snowmageddon toward the end of next week—but the buds on the occasional tree on the cobblestone sidewalks dared to burst through. The narrow streets resembled Old Town, with its historic town houses, but prominent, beyond the roofline, were the two steeples of Georgetown University’s Healy Hall.
They came around to a corner shop with its window framed with flowers. “Here we are. District Petals.” Mari paused at the window and spied a brunette perched on a stool at a high round table. She shot Pearl a look. “And she’s already here. Note that this is the third florist I’ve visited with this client. The first florist backed out citing personality conflicts. Reanna thought the second florist was trying to cheat her out of her money.”
Pearl’s eyes widened. “Oh dear.”
“Stay positive, and she’ll soften up.” With a breath, Mari opened the front door and entered, overly chipper—the only attitude that had carried her through meetings with this client. “Good morning, everyone!”
“Finally.” Reanna looked at her oversized watch face. She was hard-edged everywhere. Stiff blown-out hair, drastic eye makeup, a gaze that could cut glass. “Aren’t you supposed to beat me here? I’m starving and ready to get this over with.”
Behind her, Louisa, District Petal’s proprietor, rolled her eyes. Already a bad sign.
Mari moved things along and dragged two stools to each side of Reanna. “Then let’s do this, shall we?” The quicker they picked flowers, the faster they’d depart. “Reanna, Louisa, this is my sister, Pearl.”
“Aw, is this ‘bring your baby sibling to work’ day?”
“No, actually,” Mari said. “She’s a wedding planner, too.”
“God, you look like you just stepped out of a sweet sixteen party. Do you have experience? Because I hired experience.”
Pearl’s eyes flashed, but to Mari’s relief, she kept her voice calm. “I understand your concern because I have such a baby face, but I’ve worked full-time at Rings and Roses the last five years.”
“Okay,” Reanna said after a beat, eyes narrowed, tone suspicious. She turned to Mari. “She’ll pass. As long as she knows how this works. I call the shots.”
Pearl popped up on a stool and said sardonically. “Oh, I can already tell that you do.”
Mari internally groaned. No. This was not the time for Pearl to rise up. But instead of Reanna calling her out, she cackled, hiking a thumb at Pearl. “I like this girl.” Grabbing the portfolio binder right out of Louisa’s hands, bypassing the owner altogether, she handed it to Pearl. “Tell me, sassy girl. I’ve had a pill trying to pick the right bouquet. Everything is so”—she waved her manicured fingers in the air—“frilly. What’s your recommendation?”
Mari jumped in, compelled to protect her sister, as well as to mitigate the tension before it got really out of hand. She stood and leaned over to grab the portfolio from Pearl. “Reanna—”
“Actually?” Pearl’s voice lifted, taking over. “I don’t even have to look through this binder to know the kind of flowers that represent you.” She tapped her chin, was quiet for several beats. “You’re strong, bold, with a hardy exterior. But with a softness just below the surface. And majestic.”
Mari hung back, intrigued. Her sister’s aura had transformed. She was confident, unwavering, and, Mari would daresay, a little subversive. But her client was eating it up; Reanna had leaned forward in her seat.
“Peonies,” Pearl declared. “Peonies with their resilient blooms. They’re audacious. Bewitching, much like you. And with your pink and brown color scheme, it won’t be a problem to pinpoint the exact color. But may I suggest a contrasting color to wow your guests? Like a Tiffany blue.”
For the first time, Reanna Vito was utterly silent. And Mari was knocked back onto her stool, impressed.
Mari’s smile hadn’t left her face since getting into the Volvo and driving herself and Pearl twenty minutes downtown to the Carnegie Institut
ion for Science.
“You were amazing back there.” Hands on the steering wheel and maneuvering through traffic, Mari glanced at her sister. “I was worried at first—”
“I thought she was going to eat me up alive,” Pearl said.
“And she ended up eating out of your hand. You took her from indecision to transaction. You said exactly the right things.”
“I did, didn’t I?” She settled back into the seat with a triumphant grin—smug, even. “All I did was reflect how she wanted other people to perceive her. And thank goodness for Daddy and his gardening habit. Remember? He planted peonies one year? He used the word audacious to describe the bloom. Anyway, I thought of those two things and guessed right. Honestly, I think I could have picked any flower and she would have gone for it. Reanna just wanted someone to see her. It’s really what most want, you know?” Pearl pointed up ahead. “Holy crap. An open space.”
Mari swerved into open street parking across from the building. Today was their lucky day. “Your intuition was spot-on. But could you work with a client like her? Full-service?”
“I could. Reanna put up a good front, but I think I see what you see in her, too. That once she softens up fully, she’ll let go. I would do a good job.” Her voice was determined.
Mari nodded, proud. No doubt, what Pearl had done at the florist’s—she’d gotten the client to decide, order, and pay within the hour—was indeed a feat. And her raw instincts exceeded those of Jane, who was methodical, sometimes clinical as she learned her clients’ tastes. But one lucky break did not readiness—or reliability—indicate.
“Okay, then. Show me your magic a second time. We’re early, so we can discuss our suggestion for the floor plan before Hazel arrives.” They got out of the Volvo and darted across P Street. Banked by Victorian- and Empire-style historic homes with manicured and gated lawns, the Carnegie Institution’s gray exterior with its prominent columns and its steep cement stairs could not be missed.
With a hand on the front door of the building, Mari paused. “Here’s the thing. You and Jane know I took this job not just because of the budget but because I liked Hazel, and that she’s pregnant.”
“I remember. For a grinch you have such a soft spot for babies.” Pearl grinned.
“Ha. But seriously. Apparently, Hazel hasn’t told anyone in the family. And since Reid will be here today—”
“Reid? As in our neighbor?” She accentuated the word and trailed her sentence with a giggle.
Mari rolled her eyes. “Pearl.”
“Fine, okay. I won’t say a word about how you and he make such a cute couple. Or about the pregnancy.” Her voice became a whisper. “I think he makes you nervous. Am I right?”
Mari groaned. Since Friday night, her sisters had teased her subtly. Neither had accepted that Reid had simply been a Good Samaritan by bringing in her groceries. They’d crowed that he had an ulterior motive. She’d tolerated the ribbing, assuming Reid’s attendance at Hazel’s dress fitting would be his last appearance until the wedding. Then Hazel texted last night and sprinkled in casually that Reid would be at today’s venue tour.
“See, you’re thinking about him,” Pearl said.
“That man is the last thing on my mind.”
Pearl crossed her arms and scrutinized Mari.
“Okay, fine. I thought about him. A little.” How could she not? He was fine. Yes, she was drawn and attracted to him—and that was a feat in itself. In retrospect, in their brief moment together, Mari knew he found her intriguing, too.
But she’d done a tiny bit of research on this perpetual bachelor out of curiosity. Alas, he was a party boy. He was successful in his own right, true, but one Google search brought up pictures of him on social media with several different women.
Mari had been with a man like him before—impressive, charming, assertive—and she was better off staying away from that sort.
They were startled by the door opening. Reid was on the other side of the threshold wearing what Mari now knew was his business attire; this time navy slacks, coat, with a white dress shirt underneath.
Mari jumped back, hands on her chest. Pearl cooed, “Hello, Reid. It’s you.”
“It is me. Good afternoon, Pearl.” His eyes cut to Mari. They danced with mischief. “Ms. de la Rosa. We thought we heard voices out here.”
Mari lacked a witty comeback, her mind combing through her conversation with Pearl. Had she said anything incriminating? How much had he heard?
He stepped aside for Mari and Pearl to enter, and Mari shuffled ahead, desperate for distance from him and her wayward conversation with Pearl, with Hazel and the institution’s event coordinator in her sights.
This was the ultimate reason Mari could never be in a serious relationship: she only had enough headspace to take care of the things that mattered. She’d sowed her oats, made her mistakes, and now was the time for real living. For building herself and this business, and being the best CEO, big sister, and aunt she could be.
The tour wasn’t going as planned. Hazel was tearful and distracted. Despite the grand marble architecture and the perfect potential ceremony layout in the rotunda and for their sit-down dinner in the ballroom, she showed little enthusiasm. Her fingers flew over her phone as she texted every few minutes.
“Excuse me, Bill?” Mari interrupted the institution’s coordinator, approaching him. “Can I get a few minutes with my client? Do you mind?”
He looked beyond her, to her client, and understanding flashed in his expression. “I’ll be in the other room, setting up for an event this evening. Feel free to walk around.”
“Thank you.” Mari waited until he disappeared behind the door. “Hazel?”
“Almost done,” she answered, still texting.
Mari trained her eyes on Hazel and took in her demeanor, her uncertainty, and remembered her tearful meetings with the woman. A nagging feeling tickled the back of her conscience.
She was accustomed to finicky brides, sometimes to angry brides. But she found the worried, tearful bride the trickiest to interpret. One didn’t know if the tears were from joy, sadness, or anxiety. Right now, Hazel was clearly far from content.
It could’ve been the pregnancy or the hormones affecting Hazel’s mood, but not for the first time in the last month, Mari wondered if it was a good idea for Hazel and Brad to marry. She’d met Brad just once, at the initial consultation. She hadn’t been able to put her finger on it, but something about their interaction didn’t sit right. It triggered deep insecurities within Mari, and when Hazel was upset like this, her mama bear protectiveness threatened to burst through.
Which was breaking the first cardinal rule: don’t judge the couple.
Hazel clicked her phone off. “Sorry.”
“Is everything okay?”
She looked askance at her stepbrother.
“How about we take a walk.” Mari eyed Pearl, who picked up on the cue. Pearl found something interesting about the rotunda’s dome and directed Reid to look up at the ceiling, striking up a conversation.
Getting a few feet ahead of the two, Mari sidled closer to Hazel. “What’s going on?”
“Brad’s upset he’s not here. That we didn’t postpone this tour until he was back home.”
“I understand he must be feeling left out, but we didn’t have much of a choice. In fact, we have to make a decision today. This is a sought-after venue. We were really lucky to snag it.”
“I don’t want him to be mad at me.”
Mari searched her brain for the right thing to say. Weddings were about two people coming together in a lifetime of compromise. When working with wants and needs, conflict was inevitable, but it shouldn’t be this painful or sorrowful.
Mari loved and believed in her role in a couple’s nuptials, but she’d already decided that when it came time for her to tie the knot—an idea about as far-fetched as a daily commute between DC and the Philippines—it was going to be done quickly and intimately, and the only thing planned w
ould be the after. As much as the details were important, planning sometimes took the meaning out of the most important part of the bottom line: the marriage.
But she was the wedding planner, and she had been hired to carry this couple across the finish line, to their happily ever after. For better or for worse.
“You know what?” Mari cheered. “You and Brad need to speak. Meaning is lost through texts, but maybe a short phone call or a video chat is in order. What do you think?”
Hazel’s voice shook. “Okay. Can you guys give me some time alone? I’ll call him now.”
“Of course.” Mari called to Reid and Pearl, “Let’s check out the ballroom.”
“I need to use the restroom,” Pearl whispered as she passed. “Meet you guys in a sec.”
Mari nodded, then turned, expecting Reid next.
The man hadn’t moved and lingered around his sister. He was acting like the protective older brother, but he had to realize that this problem was not his to solve. Hazel had the sole power to rise above her insecurity, and the only way she was going to learn how to exercise it was to practice, without her brother’s scrutiny.
Mari raised her eyebrows at Reid. Three, five, eight seconds passed. Then, finally, the man’s gaze faltered. He arrived at her side with a huff.
In close proximity, she was struck by his spicy and mouthwatering cologne. Oh, good golly, he smelled nice. So nice that she wanted to bury her nose in his neck and breathe him in. Her imagination took over: of her unbuttoning his shirt in a crazed lust, peeling it off to a hard body. Of running her fingers down his chest . . .
“Marisol?”
“What?” She shook her head, refocused. Reid was a few feet ahead of her, inside the ballroom. Holy crap, get your mind out of the gutter. “Coming.”
The institution’s ballroom was simple but elegant with understated wainscoting and column moldings, though with grand crown moldings. From the middle of the room, Mari envisioned a slew of options for seating Hazel and Brad’s guests. For now, she joined Reid, who perched himself on a knee-high windowsill. Legs out straight and crossed, he seemed to be staring at the tops of his shoes.