The Wedding War

by Talley, Liz

  Officer Rhett went to his police car and returned seconds later with his card. Joseph C. Rhett. There were other things on there like his badge number and his rank and yada yada. She flipped it over and bingo—his cell phone number was scrawled across the back.

  Why that thrilled her, she hadn’t a clue.

  “Again, ma’am, I’m sorry about your door, but I’m glad you’re safe. Remember to check your windows and make sure they’re all locked. This is a safe neighborhood, but you still need to take precautions.”

  “Yes, Officer,” she said.

  “If you have any other trouble, call us. We are here to protect and serve.”

  Tennyson nodded and walked him to the door. “I’ll be sure to call if I need you.”

  Her words sounded flirty, and Officer Rhett’s expression looked puzzled. Okay, so her flirting skills were rusty and—

  Tennyson caught her reflection in the mirror she’d hung in the foyer a few days ago.

  Holy hell. She looked like death warmed up in the microwave. Clumps of hair falling (and not in a sexy, cute way), the mask dried in patches, her lips drawn tight and pale, and her boobs not as perky as they were in her expensive padded bra. Total mess.

  “Have a good night, ma’am,” Officer Rhett said.

  Then he walked down her front walkway, looking clean-cut and unruffled . . . and very much not interested in Tennyson.

  Her flirting skills may be rusty, but her interest-level radar worked just fine. And this man was not interested. And for some reason that really hurt. Because Tennyson used to be able to seduce even the most stalwart of men. She’d even had a hard-nosed general groveling and begging to kiss the toe of her black stiletto boots. Of course, that was back when she was into that sort of thing.

  But this Shreveport patrol cop?

  Nada.

  “Damn it,” she said, closing the front door and ignoring the lock just because it suited her to disobey. She needed to get her shit together because this version of herself was unacceptable.

  If she was going to live in Shreveport, she needed to do it right.

  Tennyson O’Rourke was back home, and she wasn’t going to be ignored.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Melanie plopped her wine down on the table, though she was tempted to throw it against the wall of the perfectly nice restaurant her daughter had chosen to deliver the most shocking, horrible, ridiculous news of her life. “No. I’m sorry, you aren’t doing this. It’s preposterous.”

  Emma’s mouth flatlined. “Marrying Andrew is not preposterous. We’re doing this with or without your support. I don’t need your permission.” She then turned to Andrew, who looked about as comfortable as a woman in stirrups. Maybe more uncomfortable.

  “Now, let’s all calm down,” Kit said, pressing his hands against the air between them.

  “Daddy, I knew she’d react this way. I told you she would, but it doesn’t matter. If y’all don’t want to pay for the wedding, Andrew’s mom said she will.”

  “Wait, you already knew about this, Christopher Douglas Layton?” Melanie said. She was on the verge of losing total control, something she never did. But her daughter had told Kit she was engaged before she told her own mother, and that hurt. Of course, Emma had likely already told her father because she knew how to play her daddy like a Steinway. Then the last part of her daughter’s statement hit her. “Wait, Tennyson knows, too? You told her before me?”

  “We told her a few hours ago. Jesus, Mom, why is everything such a competition with you?” Emma said, rolling the blue eyes she’d inherited from her father.

  Her possibly lying, flirting-with-cheating father.

  Okay, so Kit hadn’t already tilted over into adultery. Or at least he’d proclaimed he hadn’t, but Melanie knew without hesitation that if Charlotte could, she would have her tanned, toned legs wrapped around Kit Layton before anyone could blink. The younger woman was definitely laying the groundwork for more than a professional partnership with Melanie’s husband. Not that Kit would admit as much when she’d confronted him with the text about the hotel room.

  He’d claimed it was the meeting room, a pseudo suite/meeting space within the hotel because the other conference rooms were booked, and Hal had insisted on the meeting being at the Hilton. Melanie had, of course, looked up the meeting space availability online and had drawn no firm conclusions on that claim. She’d hemmed and hawed over calling the Hilton, but her husband had been forthcoming about Charlotte and her . . . well, flattering attentions. She had to trust that he was being true. Even though what he’d confessed after she confronted him was just as soul-crushing—he’d admitted to being somewhat tempted to pick up what Charlotte was laying down.

  After that little bombshell, she’d booked an appointment with a therapist for the following week. They could fix this lull—or what had Kit called it? Yes, dissatisfaction in their marriage. If there was one thing Melanie knew, it was that she could fix almost anything. They’d weathered a lot in their marriage, and Kit being bored with her or having a midlife crisis was just one more thing they would laugh about when they celebrated their golden wedding anniversary over cake and champagne at the club.

  But she hadn’t expected her daughter to announce that she was getting married in August.

  August!

  And Emma had already booked the church and reception space for the wedding—the same church where she and Kit had been married years before. Bad memories slammed into her. What should have been a wonderful day had been ruined by the woman who would soon be Emma’s mother-in-law.

  Holy cow, she couldn’t believe this.

  “Your mother didn’t mean it that way, sweetheart,” Kit said. His glance her way was quelling because he knew she had meant it that way.

  Tennyson shouldn’t have been the first person told about Melanie’s daughter’s wedding. No. It absolutely should have been Emma’s own mother who’d heard it first. The thought that she hadn’t been was . . . Melanie blinked away the sudden prickling of tears.

  Andrew looked down at his phone. “Uh, my mom is running late. Traffic.”

  “Wait. She’s coming? Here? To dinner tonight?” Melanie managed without sounding as alarmed as she felt. Hurt was forgotten as something ugly wound its way into her gut. She didn’t want to see Tennyson, and she danged sure didn’t want to be connected to her by her daughter’s marriage. God, they’d have to spend holidays together. Oh, and plan a wedding.

  Why was this happening?

  Okay, so she knew she would see Tennyson at some point this weekend. That was why she’d gotten a pedicure and her roots touched up along with a special intensive conditioner applied to make her dark helmet of hair shine beneath the light. She’d carefully chosen clothes that disguised her slight belly and bird legs. She’d even paid a ridiculous sum for eyelash extensions. If her mother found out she’d done something so preposterous, Anne would scoff. Maintaining one’s appearance wasn’t to be left to obvious deceit. A woman ate well, exercised, and always, always moisturized. If the time came for touch-ups, a woman went to the best surgeon in Dallas so no one would know. End. Stop. Fake eyelashes and hair extensions were for strippers. And don’t even contemplate a tattoo unless one was preparing to be a cocktail waitress or a homeless person with a crack addiction. Melanie was almost certain those were the exact words her mother had used.

  “Uh, yeah, she’s coming.” Andrew looked at Emma with alarm in his eyes. “That’s why we’re seated at a table for six. She’s not bringing anyone, though. She and my stepdad just got divorced six months ago. Besides, I thought you knew each other.”

  Like the back of her hand.

  But that had been once upon a time. Before they hated each other. Before college. Before Kit. And before the wedding catastrophe that had ruined the Brevard family. It was something she’d buried, that her whole family had put behind them. Emma and Noah didn’t know about what had happened that night or the aftereffects, and she’d hoped to keep it that way. The past was bet
ter left . . . in the past.

  But that might not be possible now.

  “We do know each other,” Melanie said, trying to get control of her spinning emotions. She’d thought she had years before Emma got engaged, but the gleaming two-karat ring on her daughter’s left hand declared that belief null and void. And now her daughter wanted a hurry-up ceremony so she and Andrew could play house during the most difficult and demanding year of her life—year one of medical school. Nothing made sense to Melanie about this plan.

  “We’re merely surprised. That’s what your mother means.” Kit gave his daughter a comforting smile.

  “Yes, we’re surprised. You said you didn’t want to be in a relationship while you were in medical school because it wouldn’t be fair to the other person, and now you want to get married. That’s, like, a major relationship, honey.” Melanie lowered her voice and spoke with slower modulation. The way her mother had always demanded. “Are you sure you’ve both thought this through?”

  Andrew nodded. “We have, and we think this makes more sense than being six hours apart. Larson Hart has a branch in Shreveport, and they granted me a transfer. Besides, I can help pay the bills while she’s in school. Oh, and make sure she gets food, rest, and support during that tough first year. We’re young, but we know we’re meant to be together.”

  He made it sound so reasonable.

  “But this seems so fast,” Melanie said, trying to sound lighter . . . and likely failing.

  “I know it does,” Andrew continued, looking contrite. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you both first. Emma found the ring in my sock drawer, and, well, it—”

  “I screwed it up,” Emma interrupted, her irritation fading when she looked at Andrew. Damned if the child’s eyes didn’t shine with absolute adoration when she looked up at the boy who had obviously stolen her heart.

  “But I tried to redeem myself,” Andrew said, and the way he quirked his mouth looked so much like his mother. For a moment, something squeezed in Melanie’s chest.

  “Yeah, he said, ‘Put it back, and pretend you didn’t see it.’” Emma smiled, reaching for his hand. The diamond sparkled as if it, too, was in on the whole convincing-the-parents campaign. “So I did. The next day, I awoke to ten dozen roses surrounding me and a latte with the cutest little heart. We went on a picnic, and then that night under the stars at a rooftop restaurant in Bentonville, Andrew took my hand and led me to the dance floor. The band played my favorite Ed Sheeran song, and he got down on one knee and asked me to be his forever and always.”

  The two were staring into each other’s eyes, a sheen of tears glistening as Andrew lifted her daughter’s hand to his lips and brushed her knuckles with a kiss.

  Melanie felt tears prick at her own eyes. The couple before her looked about as much in love as two people could. It was almost eye-roll worthy, but so sincere she wouldn’t dare. As upset as she was that her baby wanted to get married at twenty-two to the son of the woman who betrayed her, she was also pleased to see the affection between the two. She wanted love for her daughter. The kind she’d found with Kit. The kind she still hoped knit them together.

  Emma swallowed back her tears. “And then all of a sudden all our friends were there with champagne. It was just magical. I wish you could have been there.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Andrew said, ripping his gaze from Emma and looking at her and Kit. “I should have asked. I know that. But . . .”

  Kit shrugged. “It’s okay. I would have said yes because you two are perfect for one another. We’re happy for you.”

  Melanie nodded, though she wasn’t so sure happy was the right word for how she felt. More like resigned because unless she wanted to alienate her daughter forever while at the same time looking like sour grapes, she would have to make the best of the situation.

  At that moment, she heard someone shout, “Ma’am, ma’am?”

  Kit craned his head. “Well, she’s here.”

  Coming toward them in a tight, no doubt designer dress with her boobs spilling out was the person Melanie had vowed to hate until her last breath. Tennyson sashayed when she walked, wearing giant Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses like a celebrity. Her heels were high, her hair coiled perfectly, and her lipstick was piranha red. From a large bag slung over her shoulder, a ridiculous little puppy peeked out, giving a yipping bark as the man dressed in a white jacket and bow tie scurried toward them.

  “Ma’am, we don’t allow dogs in here,” the maître d’ said, his finger raised.

  Tennyson stopped and pivoted.

  “This dog is my emotional support dog. I’m entitled to have my animal with me as long as it is properly restrained. Check titles two and three of the Americans with Disabilities Act. Are you going to deny me my legal rights, sir?” Tennyson asked, sliding her glasses down her nose and glaring at him.

  The pup yipped again, doing its emotional support thing, one supposed.

  “Uh, no, ma’am, it’s just this is a—”

  “I’m not stupid. I know it’s a restaurant, and my service animal will remain in this bag. Do you have a problem with that?” Tennyson looked around and said very loudly, “Does anyone in here have a problem with my legal service animal?”

  Several diners shook their heads. The maître d’ closed his mouth and then bowed his head. “My apologies, ma’am.”

  Tennyson nodded like a queen dismissing her subject and then proceeded toward the table. “Oh, and get me a vodka martini, will you? Make it a double.”

  Melanie stifled the insane impulse to laugh. Tennyson was like a Hollywood caricature come to life. Lord.

  Her former friend halted at the table and looked them over. “What a sad little party. Where’s the happy tears and champagne? We are celebrating, aren’t we?”

  Kit smiled, rose, and kissed her cheek. “Ah, Tennyson, you always bring the party, don’t you?”

  Tennyson gave Kit a sly smile. “Something you haven’t forgotten, have you?”

  She then bent to smack a kiss on the cheek of her son, leaving behind a smudge of red, before wrapping Emma in a hug. Looking over at Melanie, her lips twitched. “I’d hug you, but I don’t know what weapon you’re carrying in your, wait, is that a Brighton bag?”

  Melanie didn’t want to bristle, but Tennyson hadn’t changed one dang lick. Always pushing, always sliding her digs in . . . or rather out-and-out tossing them like hand grenades.

  “Hello, Teen—uh, Tennyson,” she said, stumbling past her old nickname for Tennyson because she wasn’t ready to let Emma know just exactly who this woman used to be to her. Instead, she found her calm, vowing to ignore Tennyson’s barbs.

  “It’s been a while. You look good for your age,” Tennyson said, sliding into the empty chair beside her son. She sat her bag with the little Yorkie on the extra chair. “This precious angel is Prada, my new baby-kins. Isn’t she adorable? You are so adorable, sweet baby girl.”

  “When did you get a dog?” Andrew said, looking at the little puppy whimpering and lifting a paw in the most adorable way.

  “This morning,” Tennyson said, pulling off a piece of bread from the basket and offering it to the puppy.

  “But you said it was a service dog,” Andrew said, frowning at his mother.

  Tennyson waved a hand toward the front of the restaurant. “But he doesn’t have to know that she isn’t. I mean, last week, I had a raccoon get into the house. I thought it was a burglar at first, and that got me to thinking about being alone in that big ol’ house. So when I saw Prada, I knew she would keep me company. Totally an emotional support animal.”

  “You think that dog can handle a burglar?” Kit asked. He slid a look over to Melanie, humor glinting in his eyes.

  Tennyson slid her glasses off and set them beside her water glass. “Of course not. But she will bark. That might dissuade intruders.”

  “Only if she can sound like a rottweiler,” Kit said.

  Tennyson shot Kit a withering look before folding her hands and look
ing at Andrew and Emma. “Now, you two, what have we decided? Still set on mid-August?”

  “It’s a suicide mission,” Melanie said, twisting her napkin into a noose. “We can’t possibly get everything done in that amount of time. What about Christmas? That at least gives us—”

  “Mom, we’ve booked the church, and we are committed to August.” Emma may have rolled her eyes a little.

  Melanie excelled at reading a crowd, and if she wanted to have any control of this wedding, she needed to assert herself quickly. Otherwise, Tennyson would have this whole next three months off the rails with crazy antics and wild ideas. Oh, and wasting a crap ton of money. “How about your father and I host a small engagement party in June? I think we can pull that together fairly quickly.”

  “Uh, well, we hadn’t really thought about it. But that would be cool, I guess?” Emma looked at Andrew.

  He nodded. “Yeah, that would be good.”

  Kit glanced quizzically at Melanie. She gave him a confident smile. “I’ll get the list together and let you check it. I’m thinking something intimate with a nice champagne toast. We can announce the wedding date and location.”

  Tennyson accepted the martini from the waiter. “That sounds so . . . well, there’s no other way to say it, so what is always done. But I suppose a tasteful, small engagement party would be a good idea. Emma and Andrew should be moved into their new place by that time.”

  “New place?” Melanie tried to modulate her tone and volume but failed. Just how much planning had her daughter done without her?

  “Tennyson is letting us live in her carriage house for the first year. It will save us money. Actually, we will pay her rent, but then turn around and use what we paid her as a down payment on a house next year. Isn’t that brilliant?” Emma beamed at her soon-to-be mother-in-law.

  “Wait, Tennyson has a place in Shreveport?” Melanie’s voice rose to almost panic stage.

  “Emma didn’t tell you?” Tennyson said, her smile almost evil. “Yes, Melly, I’m finally returning home. Perfect timing since my boy is moving there, too. And now I can help these two out as they start their life together.”