Beth Albright - Wedding Belles

“You know these psychics, Vivi,” I said. “They always word things in the most mysterious ways—and most of it’s just a bunch of malarkey anyway. Besides, we’ve got so much else to think about right now. I have a conference with some new clients later this afternoon, but first I’m off to meet up with the Fru Fru Affair boys to plan your shower. It’s gonna be quite the shindig. They’re just full of ideas and are so looking forward to doing your wedding, too.” I was trying to get Vivi’s mind on something other than the psychic, but I’ve known her for twenty-five years and she was not about to let this little bombshell go.

“But, Blake, Miss Myra said there is another woman involved. Is. That means current, like now. I’m going crazy.” Vivi took a sip of tea, then got up to grab the phone. “I’m gonna call Lewis and ask what he thinks. I’m sure he can explain all this.”

Oh, Lord, please don’t let him answer. I crossed my fingers under the table. My prayer was answered. Lewis didn’t pick up. Vivi left a message and sat back down, ready to chew on the subject some more.

“I love you, Vivi, but I have to run. Don’t worry,” I said. I knew that was like telling the Pope not to be Catholic.

I kissed her cheek. “Everything’s gonna be fine. I promise. Lewis loves you like he’s never loved anyone. You know that. I’m sure it’s just the baby. And is would be the word the psychic used ’cause that baby is on the way. She’s alive and kicking. I felt her myself.”

“Don’t forget you’re meetin’ me at the courthouse later to witness us getting our wedding license. Oh, Blake, I’m so excited I can hardly stand it.”

“I’ll be there, sweetie, wouldn’t miss that for the world.” The wedding was only a couple of months away, but it already looked like it might be the longest two months of my life.

I grabbed my purse and headed out the front door to my car, waving to Arthur, the gardener and Vivi’s longtime friend. He waved back with a smile. Arthur had lived with Vivi’s family on the planation since Vivi was a child. They’d always been close, but now that her father had passed away and her mother was living out at Splendor Acres retirement home, Arthur was the closest thing Vivi had to family out at the plantation. Over the summer, Arthur had been building a barbecue business on the side property, getting it ready for the Alabama Crimson Tide kickoff game on the first of September. That would be here before we knew it.

I drove down the gravel drive to the plantation gates and headed to my grandmother Meridee’s house, thinking all the while about Miss Myra Jean’s comments.

Heaven help us, they just couldn’t be true. Sure, Lewis did have a reputation as a ladies’ man. After all, he was tall and masculine, with wavy dark hair and adorable dimples, and his blue eyes were just too gorgeous to belong to a man. Women love his confidence and flirty personality, but it was clear to all of us that he really loved Vivi.

But between managing the wedding planning and an emotionally high-strung pregnant bride, I was beginning to feel like a ringmaster overseeing a three-ring circus gone wild. And now, because of Vivi’s meltdown, I was probably going to be late to meet with the event planning dream team.

Coco and Jean-Pierre, who we’d hired to plan the wedding and shower, were meeting with me at Meridee’s about Vivi’s upcoming bridal-baby-bash. They owned an event planning and catering business called A Fru Fru Affair, and their choice of a company name pretty much summed up their fun flamboyant personalities.

In high school, they were known as Craig and John-Paul, but in the process of launching their business, they decided they needed something with a little more style. Now almost no one called them by their given names except for my grandmother Meridee and my mother, Kitty, who had both known the boys since they were children.

Coco and Jean-Pierre always disagreed about taste and style, but somehow, in the end, they would pull off the most amazing events. Some of their ideas were totally off the wall. Like the time they wanted the groom to skydive into the ceremony...but his aim was a tad off and he ended up in the Warrior River. Another time they threw a Tarzan-themed wedding and the bride was supposed to swing in on a vine. She hit the minister by mistake. Vivi’s dream was much simpler—and a whole lot safer. She only wanted to be a princess, and it was my job to make sure they didn’t have her ride down the aisle bareback.

A pregnant woman should not be on a horse.

Yet even with this meeting to keep me occupied, I had to admit, I couldn’t stop thinking about this other woman the psychic mentioned. I had known Miss Myra Jean most of my life and, strange as it may seem, she was usually right...in her own special way.

Well, I told myself for the hundredth time, Vivi is getting her wedding license in just a few hours and then the other woman, whoever she is, won’t matter. I kept repeating that, but somehow I wasn’t totally convinced.

2

I arrived before Coco and Jean-Pierre, entering the kitchen where Meridee was standing in her apron at the stove, humming “Summertime.” I felt that instant sedative that always kicks in the second I enter Meridee’s house and see her busy making something delicious to eat. Being here always settled my nerves, no matter what was going on.

“Hey, Nanny.” (Hey is the way we greet each other down South. I can’t remember anybody ever saying Hi. And hey is almost always followed by a hug, unless you’re a man.) I leaned in and hugged her hello. She smiled and kissed my cheek just as the Fru Frus rang the doorbell.

“Hey, baby girl,” Coco called, then shot me an air kiss as he stepped inside. He took in my red pencil skirt, sleeveless navy blouse and white pearls. “You are rockin’ the patriotic look big-time today.”

He hugged me, then stepped back. “Are you wearing MAC Red Ruby Woo lipstick?”

Stunned, I nodded my head.

“I knew it. That is the best 1940s red I have ever seen.”

Jean-Pierre walked in right behind Coco. “Oh, precious, that red, white and blue outfit is so summer, so July, so America, so...future senator’s wife.”

Cringing a bit, I hugged Jean-Pierre, too. Harry’s run for senator was exactly the reason we’d kept our separation a secret. Despite our differences, I still wanted to support Harry through this major turning point in his career. And I knew how difficult it would be for him to present himself as Senate material with nasty divorce gossip spreading all over town. We’d decided not to announce anything about our split until after the election. And that meant suffering quietly through awkward moments like this one.

He inhaled deeply. “Miss Dior perfume. Heavenly,” he said all singsongy.

He hugged Meridee next. “Oh, my, and you are wearing Charles of the Ritz. I am inspired by you already.”

They were a sight for sure, both of them tall and skinny and immaculately dressed. Coco had long sandy hair and beautiful ocean-blue eyes. He had an angular jaw and a wide, warm megawatt smile. He was so tan. He loved wearing bright-colored skinny jeans and striped short-sleeved shirts. He usually wore a long knotted scarf around his neck and a beret on his head. He just loved his namesake, Coco Chanel. And French was his style in a nutshell.

Jean-Pierre was a little more understated. He had long spiky dark hair and green eyes. His clothes were usually less flashy, but still fashionable. Today he wore skinny black jeans and a dark dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his arms full of books and planning agendas. He looked more studious in his black thick-rimmed glasses. He was sarcastic and dry, while Coco was more quick and funny and much louder.