by Laura Briggs
She had made certain to hide her packing boxes in the other room, and hoped that Natalie wouldn’t notice that some of her personal things were gone from her shelves. At least her couch hadn’t sold yet, so she still had plenty of seats for guests.
“Things didn’t go well at the dress shop?” asked Tessa, as she checked the oven’s timer.
“It was a disaster,” said Natalie. “Every expensive price tag turned Bianca’s head. And they were attached to the ugliest dresses I’ve ever seen. Kandace would have been proud of them, believe me.” She took a sip from her wine glass. “The way that clerk kept bringing out all those giant, expensive dresses—five minutes with Bianca and the woman knew all the right buttons to push to steer her away from making a smart choice.”
“What did you do?” asked Tessa.
“I talked her out of putting a deposit on a hideous dress that Molly would hate,” said Natalie. “Molly wasn’t crazy about anything the shop had to offer, even the one or two decent designs they showed her. ‘Bigger isn’t necessarily better,’ I kept trying to explain to Bianca, but she’s afraid that anything simple equals cheap.”
“I agree. Totally.” Ama poured herself a glass of wine. “Bianca won’t look at any options that aren’t the most expensive choices in my book. I kept trying to get Molly and her to think of something special, but it didn’t work.” She shrugged.
“It doesn’t help that Molly doesn’t have many memories in her past of special places or experiences,” said Tessa. “Neither does Paolo. I think that’s why they’re letting Bianca’s fantasies rule the day. Neither of them had any expectations, but Bianca has this huge wedding in her head that she wants to make come true. It’s her special dream for them… and they don’t seem to have any of their own.”
“A dream complete with a princess ball gown and a giant cake,” said Ama. “I think someday they’ll look back on the huge wedding with only twenty or thirty guests and wonder why they ever agreed to let Bianca suggest all these impractical things that didn’t matter to them.”
“Everything that she chooses costs a fortune,” said Natalie, sighing. “I’ve promised to get her a discount on a dress. I’m pretty sure I know a boutique that will be happy to unload some tulle skirt for a few hundred. If I can convince Bianca it’s still the best, even with a bargain price tag,” she added wryly.
“You could sew one better than any of your friends’ boutiques,” hinted Tessa. “I’ll bet there’s one somewhere in your closet already.” Natalie ignored her and took a bigger sip of wine.
“I’m trying to convince them to choose two Styrofoam layers for the bottom half of the cake,” said Ama. “It’s a hard sell, though. Bianca’s afraid that someone will find out and think Paolo and Molly are cheating their guests or something.”
She took a bite from one of the biscotti. “Mmm,” she said. “These are better than the ones at Bianca’s house.”
“Thanks,” said Natalie. “They’re from my family’s bakery. Ma lets family have the day-old stuff, so I have a freezer full of Italian pastries.”
“Your family owns Icing Italia?” said Ama. “I didn’t realize that. I love that place. I walk by it almost every time I leave the restaurant. I can’t believe this—was that you I saw in the window a couple of times?”
“Could be. I help out a lot, especially when my uncle is in his pasta-making phase,” said Natalie.
“I used to imagine working there,” said Ama with a dreamy smile.
“Believe me, my mother would love to hear that somebody’s dying for it,” said Natalie. “I may have learned to bake biscotti and fill cannoli, but it never turned into a lifelong love. Not after seeing my first Vogue magazine, anyway,” she said. “Sometimes I think Ma was a little disappointed that both my brother and I had other plans for our lives than the family business of baking.”
“Sounds familiar,” said Ama.
“Your family has an Indian bakery?” quipped Natalie.
“No,” laughed Ama. “I work at their restaurant—the Tandoori Tiger downtown?”
“I’ve been there,” said Tessa. “The chicken is fantastic.”
“And the atmosphere is kitschy, right?” said Ama with a grin. “Anyway, if I quit, they’d probably never forgive me. Everybody works in the family restaurant—unless, of course, they have a husband who moves to another city in a big career move.”
“Then it’s excusable to leave?” said Tessa.
“Right. Otherwise, you’re supposed to stay with the family and do your part. For me, that’s being in charge of desserts for the menu.” Ama set her glass on the table and rose to check the garlic bread in the oven as its timer beeped persistently.
“So is that why you run a mail-order bakery?” asked Natalie.
“It let me live out my dream a little,” admitted Ama, sliding the bread slices onto a platter. “Of course, not the way the wedding firm could. I’ve always wanted to make a multi-tiered cake for someone who wasn’t family—some great culinary sculpture I could be proud of.” She set the hot tray on a trivet by the sink.
“I thought your cupcakes and cookies were perfection,” said Natalie. “That’s exactly the sort of creativity my mother would love. You know, so we don’t turn into a too-authentic Italian bakery.”
Tessa lifted out the lasagna from the oven. “I wish that Bianca would agree to let you create something different from a Styrofoam cake for her family’s wedding. Cupcakes for a small wedding would be adorable.”
“Just imagine what she has in mind for the venue,” said Ama, dusting the top of the salad with grated Parmesan. “The NiteLite is way too big for their reception.” This was still Bianca’s dearest wish for the couple’s big day, despite their best attempts to make alternative suggestions.
“Maybe we should have ‘The Wedding Guru’ talk her out of it,” said Natalie. “He is the best, after all.” She paused. “That rose garden idea wasn’t too bad for a first attempt. He could probably persuade her to do something else if he really tried.”
“Blake?” said Tessa. “I think we should have him say as little as possible so he doesn’t blow his cover.” She served herself a piece of lasagna from the pan, adding a generous helping of salad to the side. “Besides, we promised we wouldn’t ask him for extra favors.”
“I don’t know,” said Natalie thoughtfully. “I thought he did pretty well, considering how weird the whole situation is. Besides—he’s easy on the eye. It’s kind of nice to have someone that handsome around the office,” she teased. She accepted the plate Ama handed her, blowing on her first bite of lasagna. “Don’t you agree?”
“That the contractor is gorgeous? Absolutely,” said Ama. “If he paid attention to me instead of the upstairs wiring, it would definitely be a worthwhile distraction from cupcakes and frosting.” She settled on the floor beside the coffee table. “Not that I’m saying I have a crush on him or anything. I’m just admiring him in a purely aesthetic sense.”
“I’ll grant you that he’s good looking,” said Tessa. Heat crept into her cheeks. “I mean, he’s pretty tolerable in a suit, anyway.”
“That’s it? Tolerable?” Natalie took on a fake snobby accent, tilting her nose as she said, “He’s tolerable, I suppose… but not handsome enough to tempt me.” She and Ama giggled over this reference to Pride and Prejudice. Even Tessa couldn’t keep a straight face for long.
“Okay, okay,” she admitted with a laugh. “You got me. He’s a little bit handsome.”
It was usually easy for her to say that a guy was attractive, so Tessa couldn’t explain why it was so hard to admit it about Blake. He was certainly easy on the eye, as Natalie said—she had noticed that from the moment she met him. And he was a lot of other things she didn’t want to admit right now, too.
There was something about him that she couldn’t quite explain, something unexpected and magnetic. He defied the clichés that she had expected from the flannel-clad carpenter whose sledgehammer was tearing into the plaster of their down
stairs walls. Maybe that was what made her hesitate to talk about him or think about him in a romantic way, even more than the fact he was handsome.
“He’s single. I checked his ring finger,” said Natalie.
“And his online profile?” teased Ama.
“No, not me,” said Natalie. “I’m not that interested. I have plenty of dates already.”
“Nat’s never been romantic,” said Tessa, glad to shift the subject to her friend’s love life and away from her own feelings for the contractor turned fake wedding planner. “She thinks relationships should be fun, not serious. She always says she’ll know Mr. Right when she meets him… eventually.”
“Exactly,” said Natalie, lifting her glass to this statement.
“Lucky you,” said Ama. “I’ll be fortunate if I escape my parents’ attempts to rope me into a marriage with the next nice Indian boy that crosses my auntie’s path. My father is threatening to take out an ad for me.”
“An ad?” echoed Tessa. “Like—an advertisement for a husband?”
“That’s correct,” said Ama. “I know it seems weird to you, but it’s perfectly normal in my culture. You arrange dates through ads online or in papers. Two people are compatible, they meet, talk, and make a match… or if two people are pushed hard enough by their families, they do it rather than end up with someone worse. That’s what I’ve always been afraid of.”
“So do you want that?” asked Natalie. “I mean, I wouldn’t. But different strokes for different folks.”
“No,” admitted Ama softly. “That is… I’m kind of a romantic. I don’t know. I just… wish I could fall in love, rather than weigh someone against a checklist of qualities. Not suitability and compatibility, just—impulse.” She played with her salad, pushing a tomato to the side. “Mad, passionate impulse.”
“Romantics,” said Natalie. “They’re a different breed. But even a romantic like Tess would never take an impulsive plunge, would you, Tess?”
“Stop it,” said Tessa, who was suddenly busy cutting into her lasagna.
“Tess is a romantic?” said Ama. “Are you being serious?”
“Of course,” said Natalie. “She’s just in denial about it. You should have seen her in college—crushes every other day, always a cute boy on her mind who might be the love of her life—nobody could fall harder than Tess for a potential soul mate.”
“Stop it,” repeated Tessa, protesting. “That’s not true—”
“If she hadn’t been such a good student, she probably would have pined away over lovelorn opportunities ages ago,” said Natalie. “Not that lots of guys weren’t interested in her. But never for the right kind of relationship. The kind of sparks, chemistry, emotions, or passions that Tess longed for. In short—head-over-heels love between two people.”
“Okay, I’m going out for a walk now. Text me when you’re finished.” Tessa tried to rise and was arrested in the act by Natalie seizing her arm. “I’m not listening to this.” She covered her ears.
“At least I date and pursue options, whereas Tess here hasn’t been out with anyone in ages,” teased Natalie. “And if you think it’s horrible that I’m a serial dater, then meet the woman whose longing for a soul mate connection is so deeply buried that she’s afraid to ever let it come to life again.”
Tessa’s face was fire red. “None of this is true,” she said. “Natalie’s making a mountain out of a little mound of complete exaggeration.”
“So you’re like a non-relationship romantic?” said Ama.
“I think that’s a harsh description,” Tessa answered defensively. “I have lots to interest me and keep me busy without a relationship. I like the idea of it, but I have more important things to focus on. Just because someone’s a romantic doesn’t mean they want to date anybody who comes along.”
“My dates are not just anybody, thanks,” said Natalie.
“I wasn’t talking about you, I was talking about me,” said Tessa. “Romance is great. I love romantic stories. Look around you; I own a dozen romantic movies and even more books. But those stories don’t happen in real life… and I know better than to look for one.” She rose and lifted the salad bowl from the kitchen counter, bringing it to the table.
“You could at least go on a date once in a while,” said Natalie.
“And waste good working hours?” joked Tessa. “Seriously though, I don’t have time for it anyway. Maybe I’ll change my mind someday… but right now I know what I should be doing. I’m not interested in my own happily ever after, just other people’s.”
She lifted the platter of garlic bread and took a slice, then held it out. “Seconds, anyone?” The best way to change the subject from love to regular life was clearly with food.
“So… the handyman’s not married, you said?” Ama ventured.
“Not unless he’s hiding a wedding ring somewhere,” said Natalie.
“He did look pretty hot in that suit yesterday,” commented Ama.
“Definitely,” said Natalie with a wicked grin. Tessa was busy seasoning her salad, and offered no comment.
“He’s probably great with his hands,” reflected Ama.
“If only he were my type,” sighed Natalie.
“More lasagna, anyone?” said Tessa.
Twelve
The NiteLite Lounge gave Tessa a complete list of wedding-package prices, and they weren’t cheap. One hundred dollars per guest—which might not be much if Paolo and Molly were still planning for a small crowd. Of course, by now Paolo’s grandmother might insist on inviting the whole neighborhood to share in her grandson’s big day.
“Miss Miller!” A voice called out behind her as she crossed the street from the lounge. She turned to see Paolo catching up with her.
“Hi,” she said. “Mr. Fazolli—Paolo. How are you? Call me Tessa, by the way. We try to be on a first-name basis at Wedding Belles.”
“Okay,” he said. “Listen, I was hoping to catch you and talk to you—you didn’t put a deposit on that place, did you?” he asked, glancing anxiously behind them at the club.
“No,” said Tessa. “I just picked up a list of quotes for Molly and you to review.”
“Good.” Paolo breathed his relief. “Do you have time for a cup of coffee? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
“Sure,” she said, checking her watch. “I have time before I stop by a few other venues.”
“Then we definitely need to talk,” he said.
They got a cup of coffee from a nearby street vendor, and walked along the park. “I’m worried about Gran,” said Paolo. “She’s obsessed with having this wedding be some big production, and I know she can’t afford it. Nothing I say to her makes a difference, because she keeps insisting this is what she wants.”
“Is it what you want?” Tessa asked. “That’s the most important question when it comes to weddings.”
He sighed. “Not really,” he answered. “Molly and I… when we decided we were getting married, we knew it would be a small affair. Not that either of us don’t dream about a perfect day, but we knew we had to be realistic. Molly wants to save money for her business, and I want to save every dollar I can to put a deposit on a better apartment for the two of us.”
“That’s why your grandmother insists on paying for it?” guessed Tessa.
“Gran claims it’s her dream,” he said. “You know, my parents were pretty poor when they decided to tie the knot. They eloped one weekend to a Justice of the Peace, and that was it. Gran never got over the fact there was no big celebration for it. They didn’t even tell her in advance so she could make a cake for them. I think she felt like our tiny family didn’t have any big moments to bring us together, no milestones that we could cherish. She told me once that it really hurt her that the biggest day in my dad’s life was treated just like any other day.”
“Hers must have been a lot like that, too,” said Tessa. “Judging by the way she talks about it.”
“I know. Gran always said her w
edding wasn’t anything to dream about, either,” he said. “So that’s why she filled up that old cookie tin with extra money over the years. She has two others just like it, you know. Basically just change she had left over after buying groceries. I used to watch her put it in there when I was a kid. But she’s convinced herself that it’s enough to pay for some grand event to make up for all the years none of us could afford anything.”
“She doesn’t have the kind of money to pay for the NiteLite Lounge, does she?” said Tessa. “I figured that was the case when she first hired us. She was just so insistent about having the same planner as her friend.” She hesitated before adding, “It’s not even the same planner, actually. The one she wanted had moved to France… I didn’t have the heart to tell her.”
A sheepish smile crossed her lips after this—maybe Paolo was getting ready to fire them, and this admission would give him a good excuse to do it. She couldn’t give Bianca what she really wanted, and they both knew it.
“I know my gran’s monthly check is pretty small,” said Paolo. “I don’t think Gramps left her much when he died. I don’t want her life’s savings spent on my special day, no matter what she says. It’ll break her, and I couldn’t bear that.” He shook his head.
“So you’re not angry that we let your grandmother believe she’d found her ‘expert’?” asked Tessa.
“Why?” he said. “Anybody Gran insisted on would be in the same boat. That’s why I wanted to talk to you—I want you to help me by convincing her to give up these crazy ideas. To choose something sensible for us so she doesn’t spend her last dime.”
“How?” asked Tessa. “I think if we push away her ideas, she’ll fire us and take Molly to another planner instead.”
“Anything you can do to help,” pleaded Paolo. “I’m afraid she’s going to act on impulse and spend all her money before I can stop her. She has no idea how much these things truly cost—she doesn’t realize how much some place like that lounge charges, much less caterers or flowers for a venue like that.”