The Holiday Bride

by Laura Briggs

  *****

  The next morning, Gwen had a text from Ryan. A picture of his Christmas tree, the caption ‘You’ve got a date to decorate me!’ typed below. It brought a smile to her face—the last real smile she would have all day, as it turned out.

  Upon arrival at Hilbourne Headquarters, Gwen was shown to Erica’s office on the fifth floor. A spacious area in modern gray and white, its furniture in matching colors beside a mahogany desk. Erica stood behind it, talking with a woman whose mass of curly red hair bobbed erratically when she spoke.

  Erica welcomed her with a smile, saying, “Gwen, this is Mitzy Rogers, a journalist from the City Insider. Mitzy has exclusive story rights to the wedding, so you’ll need to keep her informed of all the pertinent developments.” With emphasis on the word ‘pertinent’ Gwen thought, wondering if that was code for something. But Erica’s face gave her no clue, its smile firmly in place as she looked from Gwen to the journalist.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Gwen, extending a hand.

  Mitzy ignored it, demanding, “You won’t hold out on me, right? The contract was very specific about my right to access information.” She bared her teeth in a smile that was more like a snarl. Combined with her untamed curls and beady eyes, it made Gwen think of a small, unfriendly poodle.

  “I was just telling Mitzy about the entertainment for the reception,” Erica said. “Brock and I have a number of acquaintances in the music industry, but we thought it might be nice to give an up-and-coming performer the chance to shine. Someone whose proven themselves worthy of further recognition.”

  “How generous,” said Gwen, fully meaning it. “What a nice gesture.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” This from Mitzy, her tone less impressed. “With all those top-selling artists at your beck and call to settle on some unknown instead. But maybe you don’t want them sharing too much of the spotlight for your big day, hmm?”

  Did Gwen imagine it, or did her client’s smile dim a little at this joke? For that matter, was it a joke? She could be wrong, but Gwen felt that the journalist’s voice held a touch of malice for this comment.

  “Well, of course, we don’t want just anybody,” Erica continued. “There was a screening process with applications and demo tapes from the performers. And there will be auditions next, which my very capable wedding planner will preside over.” This was followed by an extra bright smile in Gwen’s direction.

  Gwen pictured herself as the judge at an American Idol type setup, where would-be contestants bared their souls in the form of musical performances. An awful vision, her mind batting it away before Erica or the journalist could guess her thoughts on the subject.

  “Shall we go see your office, now?” Erica asked, startling her from these worries.

  “My…office?” Gwen wondered if she missed something, lost in her thoughts.

  “Well, of course,” her client replied. “You’ll practically be living here for the next few weeks.” With a teasing smile as she squeezed Gwen’s arm, telling the journalist, “I’ll be relying on her 24/7 to see this wedding through.”

  Mitzy summoned a little smirk for this, pulling a notebook from her leather satchel as they moved towards the elevator. Three floors up, Gwen’s office, though not so grand as Erica’s, was nicer than anything at Creative Coordination. Its furnishings were older, but obviously expensive at one time. They were still colorful and inviting, as was the rug beneath them. She walked to the window, the view of the city park visible somewhere below, its Christmas decorations glistening in the morning sun.

  Would she really be here that much? She hoped Erica was exaggerating, but part of her feared this was turning into a monster event, one that really would require constant management. One which could break her, just as Grace Taylor predicted it would.

  Don't think of Grace and her scandalous story threat. Just think of succeeding with this client the way you've succeeded with all the others in your past ... including Grace Taylor's society weddings.

  “You’ll need to send for any supplies you need from your agency,” Erica was saying, “and my personal assistant will see to anything else you require. Anything you need to make this ceremony a success, just ask for it.”

  Gwen smiled. “Thank you. This means so much, Ms. Hilbourne, to have you —”

  “Erica,” her client insisted firmly. “We’re working together, so no formal names here. That goes for you, as well, Mitzy.” Her smile seemed less friendly for the journalist, who didn’t offer one in return.

  “Now let’s see,” Erica said. “Why don’t we say hello to some other people working on the wedding? We’ll start with Brett in photography. He’s in charge of all the photos for the ceremony.”

  At that moment, a blond woman in a business suit stepped from the elevator, a serious expression on her face. She carried a small box that she brought straight to Erica, whose face wore an expectant look at the sight of it.

  “Terri from the makeup department brought this latest sample to your office, Ms. Hilbourne,” the blond explained. “I knew you wanted to see it right away, so I took the liberty of bringing it to you myself.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Erica, taking the box. “This is my personal assistant, Sandra Conners,” she added, introducing the blond to her two companions. “If you’ll just give us a moment, I need to assess the progress on a new creation for the cosmetic line.”

  Gwen felt this explanation didn’t quite ring true, and suspected that Mitzy thought the same. The journalist reluctantly followed her into the hall, gaze peering through the slanted blinds on the office door.

  Almost without meaning to, Gwen did the same. Watching as Erica opened the box and studied its contents for a long moment. She exchanged a few words with Sandra, then closed the box and shoved it back in her assistant’s hands. Her smile was tight, her words becoming audible as Sandra opened the door.

  “Have Terri come to my office and we’ll discuss the modifications. Sometime after lunch is fine.”

  Smile still in place, Erica turned back to Gwen and the journalist. “Shall we continue, ladies?”

  *****

  By mid-afternoon Gwen was tired of Mitzy’s unnerving stare. The reporter had stuck to her like glue, as if afraid Gwen might lose her around the next corner. It wasn’t a bad idea, but for her client’s sake Gwen made herself play the charming hostess, once Erica abandoned them for a business meeting.

  “What about the wedding dress?” Mitzy asked. “Or bridesmaids’ gowns? Something readers might actually care about, say?”

  This was an insult to their earlier visit at the photography department. Brett had showed them samples of his work at the company, along with a video montage of the couple's relationship set to music, which would be featured at the wedding reception.

  Gwen drew a patient breath. “The bridesmaids have their dress fittings next week. The wedding dress is off limits I’m afraid. Even I won’t be seeing it,” she admitted, remembering a note from the massive email packet she received. The gown, valued at fifty thousand dollars, was kept in a temperature controlled vault at Erica’s bank, where Gwen imagined guards were stationed outside night and day.

  “Jewelry, then?" Mitzy persisted. "Footware? What about the table centerpieces at least?”

  “There should be a sample of those ready to view,” Gwen admitted. The centerpiece arrangement was kept in a glass display case in a studio down the hall. Another case showed off the cutlery and napkin ring designs, postcard size images of the dishware patterns for the wedding and rehearsal dinners propped behind them on stands. All beautiful, expensive, and perfectly in keeping with Erica’s standards in taste .

  Mitzy lamented the quality of pictures taken through glass, her gaze scanning the room for something more interesting. There were only props and costumes from the marketing department, however, and a series of cabinets that proved locked when she tugged on them.

  “I’m sure there will be more soon,” Gwen replied, keeping the impatience from her voi
ce. “It’s still three weeks away. And there have to be a few surprises, if you know what I mean.”

  The journalist didn’t answer, a disgusted look on her face. No doubt, she interpreted ‘surprises’ to mean ‘secrets’, and felt obliged to sniff them out for her readers.

  Their lunch was a sampler buffet from Degas, the place Erica hired to cater the rehearsal dinner. Mitzy took photos of the hors d'oeuvres requesting a copy of the menu. “I’ll need to get one from the lodge, as well,” she decided, scrolling through her phone’s database. “Maybe I’ll just book a tour over there. See if their more forthcoming on details.”

  Thank goodness, Gwen thought. Let them handle her prying questions and gimlet stares. It was all she could do not to push her towards the door—or sigh with disappointment, when Mitzy scheduled her lodge tour for the next day.

  “Now what?” Mitzy popped a pecan-encrusted chocolate in her mouth, fixing Gwen with a bored look. Clearly, she expected the day to get worse from here, though not in the same way Gwen did.

  An hour later, they had covered table linens and napkins, wine selections, and even viewed the fabric swatches for Erica’s reception dress. When Mitzy went to the powder room, Gwen kept moving down the hall, turning a corner to duck behind a potted tree. Breathing a sigh of relief for this moment of peace, she leaned against the wall.

  Tonight, she would see Ryan again. That should be enough to get her through the rest of today, a warmth stirring inside her as she remembered the text he sent that morning.

  A sound reached her ears from somewhere nearby; a voice, soft and low. Melancholy but sweet as it sang the words to “Christmas Time is Here”. She glanced around, seeing no one else in the hall.

  It was a beautiful voice, but not one familiar to Gwen from any songs on the radio or her digital music player. Slowly, Gwen peered around the next doorway, feeling curious as she listened. A few yards away, Erica’s teenage daughter, Clare was sitting at a table, homework spread before her. A pair of earbuds blocked out the world around her, including Gwen, who kept quiet as she listened to the familiar chorus before slipping back down the hall where she belonged.

  *****

  Gwen reached inside the box, drawing out a decoration. This time it was a spaceman, his plastic helmet coated in dust. She wiped it clean, telling Ryan, “I’m sensing a definite theme here. Spacemen, robots, a UFO—you’ve been addicted to sci-fi stuff since childhood, haven’t you?”

  Her fiancé laughed, gazing down from the stepladder. “There’s more decorations, I promise. Dig deeper and you’ll find the ones my grandparents gave me, plus some my mom donated from her massive supply. She thought it looked pretty sad the last time I had a tree, so she sent me a box full of stuff the next week.”

  He was right. There were snowmen and reindeer, a collection of glitter-covered pinecones and different kinds of fruit. Nutcracker-style figures in red and blue uniforms, and lots of tiny buildings from a quaint village design.

  “Good thing I bought some candy canes,” Gwen said, looping a few over the bare branches, swatting Ryan’s hand as he plucked one from the box to eat.

  They had popped popcorn earlier that evening, stringing together what they didn’t eat. Gwen had made cocoa and poured it in the mismatched mugs from Ryan’s cabinets. Hanging mistletoe over the living room doorway, she had taken full advantage of the tradition when Ryan carried in the box of ornaments from the hall.

  “I don’t see any packages waiting to go under the tree,” she told him, with a mischievous smile. “Are they in a closet, maybe? Should I poke around beneath the kitchen cabinets?”

  “Go ahead,” Ryan told her. Whistling innocently as he tucked a pinecone inside the branches. “Search the whole apartment, if you like. It won’t bother me.”

  She shook her head, grinning. “So do I get a hint, even? You’ve badgered me plenty about yours, I’ll remind you.”

  “One hint,” Ryan replied. Pausing dramatically before he said, “It’s not here. So make of that what you will.”

  It probably means you haven’t picked it out yet, she thought. But kept it to herself, knowing it would be more fun to wonder than to pry answers from him.

  “See if you can find a really big ornament,” he said a moment later, holding out a hand. “Something to fill up this gap in the branches here.”

  Gwen rummaged around, pulling out a Santa Head, an impressive Old World company design. She watched as Ryan used it to hide the gap, advising him, “Higher…a little to the right now. Closer to the chapel—”

  She broke off, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Oh, Ryan! The chapel! I won’t be able to tour it with you on Saturday. I completely forgot.”

  They had been to various churches and other buildings in search of the perfect venue for their wedding. None had seemed right, until Gwen came across a brochure for the Morning Dove Chapel. A charming historical building, its tiny rose garden featured a variety that bloomed through December, making it seem the perfect choice for what they had in mind.

  “I’m so sorry,” Gwen continued, frustrated as she untangled an ornament from some Christmas ribbon. “If it weren’t for the band auditions—but I can’t skip those, it’s just not possible—”

  “Hey, relax.” Ryan climbed from the ladder, wrapping his arms around her. “We’ll work it out, okay? The chapel will still be there when we’re ready to reschedule.” He placed a kiss against her hair, Gwen letting out a sigh as she considered the words.

  “You’ll practically be living here for the next few weeks…I’ll be relying on her 24/7...”

  Erica’s words seemed to be coming true at this moment. Gwen pictured her weekends sucked away, her nights consumed with details for the costly Hilbourne-Dresden affair. Leaving no time for planning the much smaller Lynch-Miller union, despite how deeply she wanted it to be special.

  Something cold formed in her stomach at the thought. Her mind a tangle of personal and professional details, as she hung ornaments without noticing where they went.

  The strains of Christmas music brought her back to the present. Ryan had put on a mix CD, handing her the tin foil star from the cardboard box, as he said, “Care to do the honors? You are the chief coordinator, after all.”

  She laughed, but it was faint. Her mind was still on the broken appointment and how many others she might cancel for the sake of her career. And Grace Taylor’s malicious bet, she thought, shame washing over her for that moment in the restaurant.

  “Ready?” her fiancé asked. Grinning as he plugged in the tree lights.

  Pinks and greens, blues and reds filled the room in a burst of color. Gwen hopped down from the ladder, clapping her hands as she studied the effect. “Very nice. Even if it’s a little bare in places.”

  “Just think,” said Ryan, “next Christmas we’ll be celebrating our one year anniversary.”

  Her smile returned with the words. Picturing herself and Ryan in a tiny house somewhere, decorating a tree that combined their ornaments. A holiday free of obsessive work details, if she was lucky.

  She leaned against him, twining their fingers together. “And what will you get me to commemorate the event?” she teased “A Porsche? A weekend house at Martha’s Vineyard?”

  “Wait and see,” Ryan answered. Pressing a kiss to her temple as they basked in holiday warmth.

  *****

  Music auditions for the Hilbourne-Dresden wedding began first thing Saturday morning. Gwen arrived there early and half-asleep, lugging a folder full of notes. She had stayed up late the night before, listening to the demo CDs sent by the various performers. Sixty in total, none of which she remembered too clearly now that she was seated in the darkened theater auditorium on Bentley Street.

  Erica had rented the building just for this occasion, apparently, and hired a sound crew as well. If only she had provided an audience, Gwen thought, feeling a little conspicuous in the rows of empty seats. There was only Mitzy besides herself, frizzy red hair bobbing manically as she talked to a crew mem
ber by the stage. She wore a press pass around her neck, a faux leather satchel looped over one of her shoulders.

  She better not have a recording device in there, Gwen thought, tempted to have security check the journalist’s bag for restricted items. Maybe it was wrong of her, but she felt Mitzy was less than above board in her methods for crafting this story. She certainly seemed to dislike Gwen’s client, and looked for ways to insult her subtly, while making it seem like a joke.

  Or was Gwen just being suspicious because so much hinged on this job? Mitzy was another responsibility to keep track of, a weight Gwen had dragged around like a chain these past few days. Keeping the journalist’s loaded questions at bay, while trying to steer her towards subjects the bride had pre-approved for the article.

  Even now, the sight of her rankled Gwen’s nerves. She turned away before the trademark smirk could appear, attempting to focus on the task before her. This was her first real test as Erica’s wedding planner, and the one she felt least prepared for, if she was being honest with herself.

  She shifted her glance to the stage as the first audition cued up. A youthful Celtic band, whose sound was reminiscent of various groups Gwen had seen on PBS specials. Good vocals and instrumental skills, a pleasant beat to their song. But not culturally authentic, or very original, Gwen surmised, making a note on these issues, as the next band took the stage. A country western one, judging from the boots and hats, the fringe on one of the singer’s vests.

  The judge of a talent show was never a position Gwen had envied. Now, she knew for certain that she wasn’t cut out for it. Aside from being too soft-hearted on the contestants, she was uncertain what to look for. Gwen’s experience with music had amounted to a year’s worth of piano lessons and a freshman college course on music appreciation.