Diary of a Single Wedding Planner (Tales Behind the Veils Book 1)

by Howe, Violet

  “In the future? So are you saying we have one?” he asked.

  Panic replaced annoyance. I couldn’t answer that. I knew I didn’t want to hang up the phone and never talk to him again, but I wasn’t sure I wanted anything else beyond that either.

  He laughed at my silence and said, “I’m kidding you, girl. Don’t freak out. I ain’t asking you for nothing. I’m just happy to be talking to you again. Although, my Christmas would be merrier if you were here.”

  I bit my lip. If I told him my plans to come home, he’d probably think it was for him and about him. Which wasn’t the truth. The reason I decided to go home was Mama.

  If I didn’t tell him, there’s no way he wouldn’t find out. In fact, I’m sure me telling mama last night meant half the town already knew this morning.

  “You still there?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” I said with a sigh.

  “You okay? I didn’t upset you or anything, did I? I’m just talking. I don’t want you thinking I’m getting all serious or something.”

  “No, Dwayne, you’re fine. I’m fine. Just a little distracted this morning,” I answered. Distracted was an understatement.

  I’m about to go home for Christmas for the first time in years. I’m going to be with my mother twenty-four hours a day for several days. And then there’s the little matter of telling my former flame, the man I thought was the love of my life, that I’m coming home without making it seem like it has anything to do with him. Yeah, a little distracted.

  “I’m coming home for Christmas,” I said, the words rushing out of my mouth like making a confession to a priest.

  “You are? Awesome! That’s incredible! You’ve made me the happiest man on earth, I tell you what. You turned my whole Christmas around, for sure. That’s great, Tyler. Thank you so much. Yeah! Best news I’ve had in a while. I can’t wait to see you, darlin’. I’m gonna take you out for the best dinner you’ve ever had.”

  I wanted to stop him. To interrupt him and tell him I only planned to come home because I felt guilty about Mama. But he sounded so happy, so excited. I couldn’t bring myself to knock him down. It makes me nervous as all hell that he was so elated. I know I’m not going to go home to see him, but I honestly can’t say I’m going to go home and not see him either. I wasn’t sure this was what Laura meant by just riding it out, but I guess one way or another I was going to find out what it all meant.

  Tonight at dinner, I felt guilty even bringing it up to Cabe. I knew he’d think I was going home for Dwayne, too.

  “By the way,” I said as I casually twirled the pasta against the spoon, “I decided to go home for Christmas.”

  He stopped chewing and looked at me without saying anything. I stopped twirling and looked back.

  “What?” I said. “Did you hear me?” I knew full well he had heard me.

  He started chewing again, slowly and deliberately, and then washed it down with a drink of wine. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and sat back in his chair, still staring at me.

  “What? Would you please say something?” I asked.

  He just stared at me.

  “Cabe, what? Say something. Why are you looking at me like that?” I put my silverware down and clasped my hands together in my lap. I wanted to know what he thought, but I dreaded him telling me.

  He took another drink of wine and looked away from me, still silent. We sat for what seemed like an eternity. I finally picked up my fork and took another bite just to have something to do. Otherwise, I may have exploded from nervous energy and emotion.

  Cabe put his napkin down and pushed his unfinished plate away. Then he got up and left the table without a word.

  His reaction caught me off guard. Was he mad? Sad? Was he, I don’t even know what? He’d been very vocal all along about whether I should be talking to Dwayne or entertaining anything at all with him, and I had no doubt he assumed my trip home was because of Dwayne. So why wasn’t he saying anything? He’d never just walked away from me before. A few minutes went by, and I began to wonder if he was going to return at all. But then there he was, back in his seat and still looking at me with those incredibly blue eyes.

  “Are you going to talk to me?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer right away. My heart beat so loudly in my ears I thought I might not be able to hear him when he did speak. But I could hear him fine, despite him speaking low and hushed, as though fighting to control his voice.

  “I can’t stop you from making your own decisions and living your own life. I can only tell you I think this is a mistake. I think this guy is focused on his own pain, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to numb that pain. I don’t think he genuinely cares about you and what’s best for you.”

  “Cabe, it’s not about Dwayne,” I said. “I’m going home to see Mama. You should have heard her when I called and told her. It’s been three years since I’ve seen my family, and I want to go home to spend Christmas with them. It has nothing to do with Dwayne.”

  “Really? He starts calling, and out of the blue, you’re suddenly all nostalgic and want to go home for the first time in three years. I’m not stupid, Tyler.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I never said you were. Cabe, I’m not going home to see Dwayne.”

  “But you are going to see him, aren’t you?” His tone bristled with accusation, accompanied by a brow arched so high it seemed to be pointing at me above his intense glare.

  I felt uncomfortable answering, like I was guilty of something without knowing what.

  “What do you want me to say, Cabe? Yes, I’m sure I’ll see Dwayne while I’m there. Is that really such a bad thing? Is it terrible that I want to see him? To talk to him? I know it’s probably because he’s lonely, okay? I’m not stupid either. But maybe it feels good that he wants to see me and needs me. I feel like the tables have turned a little in my favor. With what the guy put me through, is it wrong to want to be on this side of the coin for a little bit? And maybe I’m just happy that after all these years, I can finally go home without being scared I might accidentally run into him. That I can see him without feeling my guts wrench. Is that wrong of me?”

  Cabe sneered and took out his wallet to pay the check, his plate unfinished.

  “I should have known,” he said. “Ready to go?”

  “Should have known what?” I asked, confused as to why he seemed so angry with me. He clearly thought I was doing something wrong. Either to me or to Dwayne, or both. Or to him somehow. He seemed to be taking it so personally. I just didn’t understand why.

  We rode back to my place in silence. I felt like I was in trouble. Like I had gotten caught skipping school or something and would get grounded when we got home.

  He walked me upstairs to my door, but he hung back when I unlocked the door instead of standing with me like usual.

  “You coming in?” I asked.

  He shook his head no. I walked over and looked up at him. My heart hurt at the sadness I saw in his eyes.

  “C’mon, Cabe, don’t do this. I’m fine. I’m just going home for a visit. It’s not about Dwayne. I’m not going home for him.”

  Suddenly, Cabe wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him for an unexpectedly passionate kiss. It caught me off guard, and I don’t even remember whether I kissed him back or stood there like a limp rag. He kissed me like it was the last time we would ever see each other. One hand twisted in my hair to pull me hard against his lips while the other planted firmly across my lower back holding me against his body. He held me so tightly, I could barely breathe. I felt like I might pass out, but I didn’t know if it was from lack of air or the way he was completely blowing my mind by plundering my mouth.

  Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away from me, and his eyes locked mine with an insane intensity before he abruptly let me go and walked down the stairs.

  I stood there staring after him, my lips tingling from the contact and my heart stinging from his sudden absence. I felt unsteady
as I walked to the stair railing to see him get into his car. I knew without a doubt he would turn and look up at me. I lifted my hand to wave goodbye when he did.

  “When are you leaving?” he asked.

  My head spun in a dizzy haze as I tried to figure out what just happened. I swallowed hard and forced my voice to sound nonchalant as I answered him.

  “Uh, I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet. I have a wedding with Laura the Saturday before, so not until after that.”

  “Okay. I’d planned to tell you tonight that I have a surprise planned for you that Friday night. So please don’t leave until after Friday, okay?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, no problem. I have that wedding, so I’ll be here Friday no matter what.”

  He got into his car and drove away.

  What the hell?

  Wednesday, December 11th

  I had the weirdest dreams last night with people’s faces and voices all mixed up. I would be talking to Cabe and suddenly realize it was Dwayne. Then I’d be talking to Dwayne and it would morph into Mr. Bad-Breath Bad-Knees, but his voice would be Cabe’s. I think all this confusion speaks greatly to the benefits of strict monogamy. Not that I’m dating all these people. Actually, I’m not dating any of them. But they’re all floating around in my head making me crazy. Er. Crazi-Er.

  At least, I thought I was crazy, until I went into work and got reminded there are people way crazier than me walking around.

  It goes without saying that people take wedding vows too lightly nowadays. The “sanctity” of marriage rarely exists. People trade spouses with the same consideration and thought they give to trading cars. (Sometimes even less so.)

  Melanie got a call today from Greg, a groom she had two years ago. I remember the wedding. In fact, I think everyone in town remembers the wedding. Greg owned several race cars on the stock-car circuit, and he married one of the models hired to present trophies at the track. They had an Arabian Nights theme where Greg dressed as some sort of sheik and his buxom bride Belinda played princess. He spared no expense in creating his fantasy wedding, which included a camel and an elephant inside the reception. (Oh, good Lord, the number of permits and permissions Mel had to get to bring exotic animals into a food service location!)

  The servers and bartenders all wore harem pants. Belly dancers and sword eaters entertained while guests smoked hookah pipes on the patio. They flew in traditional musicians from Saudi Arabia. Quite the magnificent, extravagant affair. Mel drew a firm line against having cobras in baskets, but other than that, they pretty much had no limits.

  At any rate, Greg called today. The marriage lasted less than a year—shocker—and now Greg is engaged to Tabitha, a model and aspiring actress he met at a race. He wants the same exact event all over again. Same menu, same colors, same linens, same band. Bring back the camel and the elephant. Call up the belly dancers and get the same photographer booked. He wants it all the exact same way. The only catch (besides a different bride) is Greg doesn’t want Tabitha to know he’s already done this. Like not just already been married before, but already did this exact wedding.

  How romantic.

  It’s wonderful he had such a great time the first go-round. It’s awesome we did such a great job he wants us to do it all over again. But he doesn’t want his bride to know.

  What a nice way to start out a “lifelong” commitment to each other. With honesty, openness, and full disclosure. Total involvement and investment of both parties.

  Partners are not interchangeable. You can’t substitute one for another.

  Ew. I wish sometimes we could just say no. We don’t want to do your wedding. We don’t want your money. We don’t want to help you contribute to the divorce rate and the brokenness of society.

  This job makes a mockery of love sometimes.

  I didn’t hear from Cabe or Dwayne today. Or Mama. The radio silence was somewhat peaceful.

  Friday, December 13th

  Tomorrow’s bride and groom are the scariest people I’ve ever met.

  Drago is an MMA fighter with massive biceps and a ripped body that looks chiseled out of stone, like a statue you’d see in a museum. Well, if that museum was in the hood. With the exception of his face, tattoos cover all visible skin on his body. Fully-inked sleeves encircle both arms and all the way around his neck right up to his jaw line. He even has a large skull tattooed on the back of his bald head and a small sword tattooed on his cheek. His tattoos don’t scare me, though. I’m fine with tatts. I’m even fine with the multiple piercings in his eyebrow, and the bolt through his tongue. It’s his eyes that freak me out.

  Drago looks like he wants to kill somebody. Like, at all times. I’ve never seen him angry, nor do I ever want to see him angry. But I’ve never seen him happy either. In the few brief encounters I’ve had with Drago, he hasn’t shown any emotion at all. Just a cold, impersonal stare that seemed to be sizing up what method would be most effective for killing me.

  If Felicia is aware of the murderous-demon side of her fiancé, she doesn’t let it show. She’s a stunner. Long, lean, and muscular. She’s tall, at least 5’10”, but she still has to look up at Drago.

  Felicia carries herself with the air of a woman who knows what she wants, knows what she’s worth, and is in control. I don’t get the impression Drago is her puppy dog, but I think he knows what he’s got and appreciates it. After all, not that many grooms show up for an initial contract meeting for day-of coordination, and even less show up for final contract meetings. Especially big, huge, scary, tough-guy grooms.

  While Drago scares me in a he-might-kill-me way, Felicia scares me for totally different reasons. If anything screws up at her wedding, she may eat me alive. She has a firm grasp on what she expects to happen, and she’s done her research. She told me she only hired me because she knew she couldn’t be everywhere on the wedding day. If she trusted a friend or relative to help out, then they might do something the way they wanted and not follow her instructions to a T. That would cause conflict. She figured if she hired someone—me—then I would have to do whatever she asked, the way she wanted it, or there’d be hell to pay.

  Some people consider “day-of” coordination to be a piece of cake, but for me, not so much. I prefer being involved from the beginning so I can have some say-so in what vendors they hire and how it’s all arranged. When I come in for day-of only, everything is already set. If it’s been planned poorly or less than desirable vendors have been contracted, it’s too late. But I’m still responsible for making sure everything goes smoothly. No matter how good of a coordinator I am, if the couple hired crappy people and didn’t plan well, there is only so much I can pull out of my hat on the actual day. So to be responsible for how it all turns out when I had no input on the front end scares me.

  Especially with a bride like Felicia who might claw me to death if anything goes wrong, and a groom like Drago who may actually kill me.

  When I arrived for the rehearsal, everyone was already there. Early. That has never happened before. Rehearsals are notoriously, annoyingly late. I commented on how prompt they all were, and one of the bridesmaids informed me Felicia told them if they were late, they would no longer be part of the wedding party and would not be allowed to attend the wedding.

  She means business. And they know it.

  I got everyone lined up and showed them where to stand on the altar area, and then I took them to the back of the church to get them in processional order. I asked for the parents to step forward to lead the processional line.

  I recognized Felicia’s mom right away, but I couldn’t find Drago’s mom. I asked loudly if his mom could please step forward.

  “She’s not here,” Felicia called out from the back of the church. “She got shot.”

  I thought I misunderstood. Undoubtedly, the bride did not just tell me the groom’s mother got shot in the same calm, matter-of-fact voice she would use to say something like, she’s stuck in traffic. Or her manicure ran late. Or her flight got dela
yed.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I asked again just to be sure.

  “Drago’s mom got shot last night, so she’s not here. She may make it tomorrow. I’ll let you know in the morning.”

  Not a single person acted the least bit alarmed when Felicia said it. I mean, everyone but me obviously already knew, but why was no one reacting? Was this a common occurrence? Such uneventful news no one thought to mention it earlier? And this happened last night???

  “Oh, okay,” I said, trying to go along with the blasé crowd.

  Drago didn’t look upset. Neither did Felicia. No one seemed to be remotely bothered by the groom’s mother getting shot. I wondered what the circumstances were, and I struggled not to ask the questions replaying over and over in my mind. What happened? Who shot her? Was it an accident? Where’d she get shot? Is this normal?

  Instead, I turned back to the processional to see everyone looking impatiently at me. Throughout the rehearsal, the bridesmaids and groomsmen laughed or talked lightheartedly at various times, but I never saw a smile or any display of emotion from Drago. He stayed by Felicia’s side without fail, and he did whatever I asked him to do politely. Always with that murderous glare, though. I wondered if perhaps he shot his mother, but then I admonished myself for even thinking it.

  At the end of the proceedings, Felicia stepped forward and stood beside me to address her audience.

  “Listen up, people. You need to be at your designated areas at your designated times tomorrow. Read your itineraries very carefully. Tardiness and lack of preparation will not be tolerated. You show up late to my wedding, and you will go home. You will not be a part of the day if you cannot honor my time schedule. I will not be stressed out, and I will not have Dra stressed out due to your lack of consideration. Got it?”

  The wedding party and family members all nodded in unison.

  “You’ve all met Tyler,” she said, sweeping a long, manicured hand toward me. “Tomorrow she is acting on my behalf and with my authority. If she tells you to do something, I expect it to be done as though I had spoken to you myself. I do not want to hear any reports that anyone showed this lady anything but the utmost respect. Got it?”