The cupcakes had gotten a ton of buzz after the episode aired, and six months later, they remained one of our top sellers. When Justin and I agreed to this show, we’d asked Sarah to make a cupcake tower for us. Now it sounded like I was going to have to eat something about as appealing as dirt instead.
Logan’s smile faltered. “The Network’s guests want something healthy. And you can’t serve peanut butter to a large group of people in LA. Someone could be allergic.”
“Can’t that someone not eat the cake, then? Or can’t we have an alternative for those people? The beauty of cupcakes is that we can make as many kinds as we want.” I realized that part of me had veered from the Plan less than a day after entering the house. Arguing was against the rules, but vegan cupcakes? No. Justin would understand me fighting this one battle.
“I’m afraid not. The order’s already in, and the baker’s hard at work,” Logan said, not sounding remotely sorry.
Silently, I chanted remember the Plan while willing a smile on my face. I probably looked like I needed to poo. But I could go along with this. As long as I could get Sarah to bring me some cupcakes on the plane.
He turned to face the cameras. “This seems like a good time for a break. When we return, Jen and I will talk about the thousand fairy lights I ordered to spell out ‘Jen & Justin 4-Eva’ over the pool.”
A thousand lights? That sounded ridiculous. Although, a giant testimonial to our love floating in mid-air might be… No, it would be way too big. Possibly blinding. That was a freaking lot of lights, even small ones.
Still, Justin and I swore to go along with whatever happened. I refused to argue about stuff that didn’t even matter. The cake was one thing, especially since I owned a bakery. What would it say if people thought I didn’t trust my business partner to make the cake for my own wedding? That needed to be discussed.
But fairy lights? Whatever. It wasn’t like they wanted us to eat them. I forced the smile on my face to widen, determined to give this whole thing a chance, and sighed happily. “Oh, that’s going to be amazing!”
The smile remained in place until the cameraman said, “That’s a wrap!”
“I’d scale back the fake happy sighs a little, but overall, nice job.” Logan stepped out of his cheesy wedding planner persona as easily as shrugging off an overcoat. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to blindside you with everything. I thought the Network filled you in on the deets. They didn’t tell you everything’s been decided?”
I shook my head slowly. “Do I get to make any decisions at all?”
“You picked the groom, right?”
“That I did. And I can’t imagine marrying anyone else.”
“Then my advice is, don’t sweat the rest of this. It’s all for the show. The Network wants ratings. You get a free wedding. And at the end of the day, none of this stuff matters, right?”
His words echoed the Plan. As horrified as I was at not getting a real wedding cake, I needed to roll with the punches, make the show, and save Justin’s job. As long as Sarah agreed to smuggle in the cupcakes, I’d be fine. We could hide them in the fridge until after the wedding.
“You’re right. I don’t care if the cake is inedible crap. I care about marrying my best friend and sharing my joy with all of America.” With a little more practice, I’d be good at this. Maybe I could do Network spin for a living if the bakery didn’t work out.
“That’s the spirit! Come walk the grounds with me, and I’ll go over the rest of my vision with you for the cameras. All you have to do is smile and look delighted at spending time with me.”
Logan headed for the rear doors, and I couldn’t suppress a grin. At least enjoying the wedding planner’s company should be easy enough. His quick smile and behind-the-scenes comments should make this whole process more fun.
Chapter 6.5
On the Groom Cam, Saturday:
Justin: Good morning! Today, I’m on the hunt to find the perfect wedding present for my beautiful bride. Sarah was supposed to come with me, but she’s a little camera shy.
I need to come up with a gift that beats a fully paid wedding, with honeymoon. The Network’s already outdone me. But I’ll figure it out. I’ve stopped by my parents’ house to ask for words of advice.
The camera turns, revealing a wrought-iron table surrounded with four chairs on a small brick patio overlooking the pool. A house sits in the background. At one of the tables is a woman in her fifties with milky, white skin and golden hair, streaked with gray.
Justin: This is my mom, Charity. She and my father will be flying out to Los Angeles at the end of the week.
Charity: We’re not staying in an all-glass house, I’m afraid. That would have been lovely during my sorority-girl days, back when I met Justin’s father. Back then, we didn’t have any problem swanning around the house in nothing but our underwear.
Justin: Mom, I beg you not to share any more.
Charity: Don’t be ridiculous. We’re all grown-ups here. But I’m sure America doesn’t want to hear about a fifty-five-year-old woman’s drunken escapades almost thirty years ago.
Justin: Why don’t we talk about the wedding?
Charity: I’m delighted that Jen and Justin are getting married. He gave her my mother’s diamond ring, you know. Carried it around a cruise ship for a week waiting for the right moment. He’s lucky he didn’t lose it in the ocean.
Justin: Any thoughts on a wedding gift for my bride-to-be?
Charity: Traditionally, the wedding was the couple’s gift to each other. Or the honeymoon.
A middle-aged man with a bald head, deep tan, and a thick, white mustache enters the frame.
Justin: And this is my father, Greg Taylor. What do you think about a wedding present for Jen?
Greg: You’re giving her the gift of the Taylor name! What could be better?
Justin: I think I need something she can unwrap on camera. Especially since she’s not changing her name.
Greg: Get her an emergency roadside kit. Let her know that, no matter what happens, you’ll never leave her stranded.
Justin: Jen doesn’t have a car, Dad.
Charity: Oh! Get her a car! One of those cute British ones.
Greg: He can’t get one of those. No room for grandkids in the back.
Justin: Cars—and babies—are a bit out of our price range at the moment. Dad, why don’t you tell me about marrying Mom?
Greg: Thirty years ago, feels like it was yesterday. Your mother was a real knockout. When the door opened and I saw her waiting at the front of the church, she took my breath away.
Charity: It was the ’70s, dear. We all looked so atrocious, I hid the photo albums.
Greg: I liked that tux! Powder blue, ruffled, what’s not to love?
Charity shudders.
Charity: The only thing to love is the man wearing it.
She leans over and kisses Greg. Justin clears his throat off camera, but they ignore him. A moment later, the camera swings around and Justin comes back into view.
My parents, everyone! It looks like they could use some time alone, so all I can say is, I hope Jen and I are as happy in thirty years as they are today. You guys are an inspiration.
Charity: Thank you, darling.
Greg: We wish you every happiness.
Together: Congratulations!
Chapter 7
Confessions from the Chapel, Sunday morning:
Rachel: Joshua and I have been in contact ever since The Fishbowl ended. He’s not at all like the person he portrayed on the show. He was playing a character, trying to be the person he thought the viewers would vote to keep around. Who doesn’t love a good villain, right? But we’ve talked about this, and he understands that he went about it all wrong.
J-dawg: In retrospect, I think speaking all in rhyme was my downfall. From now on, the J-dawg will only share
poems when they’re natural. Ha! See what I did there? No, I’m serious. I’m just here to repair my image and spend some quality time with Rachel.
Jen: Whatever. I can’t even. He calls me fat once, he’s out.
[Male producer’s voice, off camera: That’s fair.]
Justin Taylor to My Wife:
Oh, no! You mean I’m going to miss getting to see the J-dawg?
Jen Reid to Justin Taylor:
He’ll still be here when you arrive.
Justin Taylor to My Wife:
Do you remember J-dawg? I have my doubts.
Jen Reid to Justin Taylor:
Oh, I would never deprive you of the pleasure of a reunion. If the Network tries to remove him before you get here, I’ll throw a fit.
Justin Taylor to My Wife:
No fits. Remember the Plan.
Jen Reid to Justin Taylor:
Shut up.
Joshua arrived at the Fishbowl the next morning. To my unending disappointment, he didn’t seem to have changed a bit. His blond hair was longer, the top pulled into a man bun. He’d spent precisely the right amount of time in his tanning bed to avoid turning orange. That summed up Joshua: So all-American, his skin was the color of apple pie. He still dressed like he’d stepped off the pages of a J. Crew catalog. He and Rachel made a gorgeous couple. He also still acted like he was running for Jerk of the Year.
When he arrived, Birdie and I were floating in the pool, hanging on to rafts turned sideways. Rachel lounged on a raft nearby, using it properly. Logan sat at a patio table, working on something top secret. Hopefully not a tux made of body paint for Justin, or the officiant, or something even more ridiculous. I wouldn’t put anything past the Network at this point, but I hoped Logan could be trusted to temper some of the tacky.
Every once in a while, Birdie glanced over my shoulder at the hot tub she couldn’t use for the next month or so and whimpered.
A primal scream ripped through our peaceful afternoon. Something catapulted into the pool. Water exploded around us. Birdie gasped and grabbed her stomach. I abandoned my raft and towed her to the side of the pool. By the time we got there, the water had calmed. Our old nemesis stood in the middle of the shallow end, laughing.
“Man, you shoulda seen your faces,” Joshua said. “The J-dawg is baaaaaaaaaaaack!”
Inwardly, I groaned. Here some part of me had been hoping he’d turned over a new leaf. But Justin and I promised to roll with the punches. Eye on the prize, Jen. I needed to deal with whatever the Network threw at us happily so Justin kept his job.
After wiping the water out of my eyes and making sure Birdie was okay, I forced myself to greet him pleasantly, still refusing to use that ridiculous moniker he’d given himself. “Hello, Joshua.”
“Hey, Jen! Marrying a lawyer, huh? Way to go! Now you can sue the Network for making you look like such a jerk on Real Ocean.”
“Everyone made some mistakes on that show.”
“Oh, yeah? Here I assumed it was the editing. Why else would you gang up on the chick with cancer?” My fists clenched, but I bit my tongue. He turned to the only person in the pool area who wasn’t glaring at him. “Hey, Rach. Why are you still hanging out with these losers?”
She slid from the raft into the pool and swam toward him. “These are my friends. And you promised to play nice.”
“Right, right.” He tossed the next comment over Rachel’s shoulder. “Jen, Birdie, I’m sorry you guys are total losers. And Birdie, sorry you got so much fatter.”
“She’s pregnant, you Neanderthal,” I said. “And I swear to God, if you’re going to act like this at the wedding, you’re not invited.”
“No worries. I wouldn’t be caught dead at a snooze-fest like the wedding. I’m here to liven up the reception.”
“Wonderful.” I rolled my eyes at him and exited the pool with Birdie. I couldn’t control that he was here, but I didn’t have to engage. As we passed Logan, I said, “Can you make sure, after he goes to his hotel, that I’m not here when he comes back?”
Logan glanced from Joshua to me and back. “Sure. You two have some kind of history I should know about?”
“Only what you saw on the show,” Birdie said. “He treats everyone like that. Except Rachel, for some reason.”
“I didn’t watch the whole thing, but I saw enough,” Logan said. “At least he stopped rapping.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Birdie muttered. “C’mon Jen, let’s go inside.”
My plans for the afternoon had involved writing my wedding vows, but running into Joshua ruined my mood and my focus. After about a thousand false attempts, I gave up and texted Justin to wish him luck with the trial. He sent me back a link to “Top 10 Ways to Insult Someone without Them Noticing” and suggested I practice on Joshua.
Feeling a bit lighter after the exchange, I went back outside to work on wedding favors with Logan. Having not been to a ton of weddings, I didn’t know what to expect. One friend gave out chocolate candies printed with their initials. Another did donations to a charity, which sounded cool but not the Network’s style. Ah, well. No one went to a wedding to receive gifts, right?
Well, in Seattle and Florida they didn’t. Maybe in LA they did. Green and blue gift bags littered the table. Logan filled them with stuff that had to cost more than a wedding dress. An actual one, not body paint. Fancy chocolate bars I’d spotted selling for ten bucks each on Rodeo Drive. Engraved Tiffany heart-shaped keychains with J&J plus the date. Coupons that let the bearer into a private party at a hot new sushi place.
“These are the guest favors? What else are you giving them? Gold?” I asked, sitting down and pulling a bag toward me.
He laughed. “This is LA. It’s a celebrity wedding. It’s got to be big.”
“I’m no celebrity.”
“Around here you are,” he said. “Besides, I am, and all the Hollywood bigwigs will be here. The bags have to be epic. People should be talking about them for months. I wanted to include new iPhones.”
“That’s a huge waste of money,” I said.
He shrugged. “We’re doing iPad minis instead.”
“Can I have a keychain?” When he nodded, I stuck one in the pocket of my sundress. Whoever started putting pockets in dresses was my hero. Then I pulled a stack of folded bags toward me and opened them, setting them up on the table in a row.
“You know we’ve got an entire production staff here to help with this,” he said.
“Yeah, but I need to do something with my hands other than wrap them around Joshua’s neck.”
He laughed. “That guy’s a piece of work. I’m surprised you invited him.”
“I didn’t.” I hesitated, wondering how much of the Plan to reveal to Logan. He seemed sweet and open and on my side, but he also worked for the Network. Also, there were more cameras around the pool area than people on my guest list. “If Justin and I were getting married at home in a private ceremony, I never would’ve considered inviting him. And I wouldn’t have let Rachel bring him as her guest. But that’s a different world. This is LA, we’re on TV, and the viewers like drama. Joshua brings the drama.”
“That’s a great attitude.” He leaned forward, giving me a conspiratorial wink and lowering his voice. “If you think ‘accidentally’ shoving him into the pool will bring the right kind of flair to your wedding, let me know.”
I laughed. His cologne hit me, making my stomach flutter. I didn’t know what he was wearing, but it smelled good enough to eat. No wonder Logan managed to make dozens of coeds swoon over him every year. I was torn between wanting to ask what he wore so I could buy some for Justin and never wanting my husband within ten feet of a scent that made every woman in Miami want to rip his clothes off.
Grabbing the next goodie bag, I quashed the sudden weirdness in the air. Surely, he wasn’t flirting with me. Or if he was,
the Network put him up to it. A wedding planner who hit on the brides probably wouldn’t stay in business long. I must be misreading him. There was only one way to tell.
“I’m so glad you’re here with me this week, Logan,” I said, pushing my shoulders back enough to make my boobs stick out. “I really need a friend right now.”
“You know I’m here for you, Jen. Whatever you need.” His voice grew thick, and I wondered how he managed that.
“Thanks, Logan. It means a lot to me to have you here.” My voice oozed with sincerity. I searched for something utterly bizarre to say to him. “You know, I thought you were some womanizing jerk, but you’re actually a big pineapple. A little rough on the outside, but sweet and gooey on the inside.”
“You’ve got me,” he said. “But don’t tell anyone. If word got out, my reputation would be ruined. Besides, I only turn sweet and gooey for brunettes with big blue eyes.”
I forced myself not to roll my eyes. Yup. It’s the Network. He’s playing me.
“It’ll be our little secret,” I said, still holding his gaze. “Wild horses couldn’t drag it out of me.”
Logan leaned toward me. “Does your fiancé know what an incurable flirt you are?”
“It’s the thing he loves most about me,” I lied.
“Then I guess we have something in common.”
Uh-huh. I leaned closer, putting one hand on his arm. “You two have a lot in common. You’re both smart, good-looking…”
Logan turned red and shifted in his chair. Uh-oh. Maybe I misread things. Poor guy. Now I’d made him uncomfortable. Maybe I needed to tone it down.
When Rachel, Birdie, and Joshua headed into the house, I kept stuffing bags, enjoying the feel of the sun on my shoulders and talking to someone who understood the need to create drama while secretly reveling in the ridiculousness of it all. All part of the show.
Reality Wedding Page 7