Page 46 of The Heiress

“Lorde?” My mother answers on the first ring, suspiciously alert for someone who usually answers video calls in a robe and a cucumber mask.

“Hey.”

There’s a pause. “What did you do?”

“Why do you assume I did something?”

“Because you only call when you’re in either the drunk tank or telling me you can’t make it to my birthday soiree because you’re taking a pair of Spanish twins to some villa you’ve rented undermyname.”

“Okay, whatever, sorry for all that. I need a favor.”

“Does it involve bail money? Oh, honey, there better not be a yacht involved.”

“Nope. But it does involve Vegas. And a wedding.” I clear my throat. “Mine.”

Why the hell is this the first thing out of her mouth: “You’re pregnant? I always knew you and Angus were suspiciously close.”

“Jesus, Mom, no. Gay wedding. Remember? I’m the lesbian daughter. They compare me to Katherine Moennig.”

Another pause. “I worked with her once. Lovely person. Always had groupies hanging around the perimeter of the shoot. Oh! Like you! Except you don’t even have a job.”

Come on, Mom.“You always said if I ever settled down it’d be with someone insane or someone perfect. Daisy’s the latter.”

“I want to meet her. Bring her by after the honeymoon. I have a TV guest spot shoot this weekend but should be available from Tuesday.”

“I want you to be my witness.”

There’s a longer silence this time. Suddenly, she’s realized I’m dead serious. Years of cracking jokes and sneaking snark with my mother (who taught me everything I know) have taken their toll. “You sure about this, hon?”

I swallow. “No. But also yes. I feel like I’m skydiving and I’m about to pull the pin.”

My mother chuckles. “Text me the chapel. I’m booking the next flight out of LAX.”

By the time we’re zipping across town in a vintage white Cadillac provided by Diamond’s mother – who is also her manager, apparently – those butterflies have increased.

Daisy squeezes my hand. “You’re quiet.”

I glance over. Her dress is tea-length, vintage ivory, off-the-shoulder with a scandalous slit and princess-like heels peeking out from beneath. Everything about her is straight out of my fantasies of the perfect girl I’d like to fuck-up. Except instead of showing her a good time and ensuring she never forgets me,Iwant to never forgether.

“You look like the girl I didn’t know I wanted to marry,” I say. “It’s fantastic.”

She grins. “You should see yourself. You look like something Cristiano would wear to my funeral.”

“That is the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

We both dissolve into laughter. The nerves don’t go away. But they start to morph – from what if this is a mistake into what if this is the first thing I’ve ever done right.

The chapel is a converted police station with soft lighting, a neon sign that says Love is Never a Gamble, and two officiants: one in a top hat and one in a velvet suit. We pick the one in velvet. I can’t look at the top hat and not start laughing.

The waiting area has a record player spinning old love songs and a stack of rainbow marriage certificates bound in glitter ribbon. Diamond is hovering, handing out tea, and slapping people’s wrists if they try to use flash photography.

My mom shows up fifteen minutes before the ceremony, wearing something she stylishly slapped together for either a high-end wedding in the Hamptons or a drunken rager in a biker bar. She’s the kind of flawless beauty who can pull off either look in one outfit.

She kisses my cheeks before pulling Daisy into a hug like they’ve known each other for years.

“You’re braver than I was at your age,” she whispers to Daisy, loud enough for me to hear.

“Wow. Way to make my elopement about you.”

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