Page 97 of Say Yes to the Death

The lights in the banquet room dimmed, and the room quieted. Could everyone hear her heartbeat? Sawyer rested a hand on her arm and squeezed.

Wendy’s proposal played first. An overly cinematic narrator droned over B-roll of chopsticks being unsheathed. He narrated the couple’s love story and the events as they unfolded as if it were a nature show, adding unnecessary enthusiasm.

“Crikey,” Sawyer whispered in Claire’s ear. “The wild female sits unaware in a two-star pan-Asian restaurant as the male prepares to make her his mate for life. Little does she know her engagement ring is almost as microscopic as his genitalia.”

Claire snorted, earning a disdainful look from one of the country club gentlemen next to her. Oops.

As the rest of the video unfolded, the groom-to-be predictably slid the waiter the ring. The waiter brought it out, baked into a brownie on top of a sundae. The bride bit into the brownie, clearly thought she broke a tooth, and drew out the fudge-covered ring. She immediately started crying. Her boyfriend got down on one knee, and everyone in the restaurant turned to stare.

Just as the on-screen participants began to clap, a smattering of polite applause littered the banquet room.

Across the room, Wendy preened, stroking her hair and laughing loudly at something Jason said. Claire, ever the professional, fought the urge to roll her eyes and leaned forward as her submission began to play.

Nicole and Kyle’s engagement unfolded onscreen, a brief super-cut that Luke had put together. Her stomach clenched again. Every second was expertly edited, each frame beautiful and poignant. Luke might have been an asshole, but there was no denying he knew what he was doing behind a camera. Each detail was expertly captured, from the long-awaited “yes” to the B-roll that artistically captured the details—the shoes, the carriage, even the way Nicole’s dress swirled around her in slow motion when she twirled.

When the video ended, the applause was thunderous. Claire wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt, preparing to stand up. Eunice reached across the table and patted her on the arm. “Beautiful, dear,” she said.

“And the winner of the Planner of the Year Award is…”

Why did the announcer pause? Was he doing this dramatic effect, or was he genuinely confused? Hartley wasn’t a difficult name to pronounce.

“Wendy Flutter?” He looked offstage and cocked his head.

What. The. Fuck. How was this possible? It couldn’t be. Who could have possibly preferred a generic restaurant proposal to Claire’s beautifully crafted and hand-tailored expression of love and friendship? Her hands clenched into fists. Her face must have been the color of a fire hydrant. She was going to schedule a meeting with the town council who voted on the entries. Something had clearly gone wrong. Wendy was not going to win. She couldn’t.

The room fell silent as Wendy stood. Someone coughed, and eventually some applause broke out, but it died before she even made it to the stage.

Sawyer rubbed Claire’s back, but no amount of comfort was going to calm her down. She was going to explode. She was going to stand up, smash this chair over the table, and stage an impromptu cage match with Wendy. Who needed one lawsuit when you could have two?

Wendy tripped over the hem of her dress as she climbed the stairs to the stage, overhead lights glaring off her purple sequins and blinding the front row. She grabbed the diamond-shaped glass award from the presenter and fist pumped with it.

“Look who’s Planner of the Year now, Claire,” she slurred into the microphone, brandishing the award.

Claire moved to stand up, but Sawyer pushed her back in her seat.

“Not yet. Breathe.”

She froze even though every muscle in her body screamed for her to flee. Okay, so this wasn’t the Oscars. There probably wasn’t a camera zooming in on her face to showcase her humiliation to the world. But dammit, she was a professional. And she cared about her reputation in the small business community. She fought to fix a pleasant, neutral expression on her face as the treacherous, fiancé-stealing, carriage-tampering sewer rat began her monologue.

“You look like you’re trying to hold in a sneeze. Try again.” Sawyer whispered.

She un-pursed her lips.

“I’d like to thank everyone who helped make this possible. My parents, for giving birth to an event planning genius.” Wendy giggled. “My boyfriend, Jason, for always being so supportive and having the biggest dick this side of the Mississip?—”

The award fell from her hand and hit the floor with a thunk.

Unlike Claire’s hopes and dreams, it refused to shatter into a thousand pieces. Great.

“Oopsie,” Wendy said, bending over to pick it up. When she rose, her sweetheart neckline had dipped even more dramatically, leaving one breast completely exposed.

A gasp split the room. The country club owner at Claire’s table leaned forward intently. His wife swatted him with a program. One balding man at the next table removed his glasses and cleaned them to get a better look.

Wendy appeared to be so intoxicated that she didn’t notice her wardrobe malfunction. Her eyes were slightly crossed as she continued. A lone camera shutter clicked.

The emcee approached and tried to whisper in her ear, but Wendy fought him off with the award.

“Get off, I’m not done. And thank you, Chamber of Commerce,” she said, waving her arm grandly, “for recognizing my potential and my true talent in the field of event planning. I guess the best woman finally won this year,” she said, turning on her heel and walking offstage.

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