Page 19 of Own the Eights Gets Married
Nonchalantly, he sauntered over to the pastry table, bypassed the god-awful pineapple, piled a plate with gourmet doughnuts, then returned like a triumphant explorer.
“Here, eat one of these. We don’t do diets in More Than Just a Number. We’ll stay true to ourselves. We’re mindful and deliberate. No matter what, we’re us.”
She nodded. “Us, okay,” she answered, taking the chocolate sprinkled treat when her mother materialized like the undercover pastry police.
“Pumpkin, no! Think of the wedding photos!” the woman said, knocking the sweet treat from her hand, then froze as the doughnut fell to the polished parquet floor with a sugary thud.
“Is that who I think it is?” Hector said, swooping in alongside Lorraine.
“I’d put out feelers, but the woman is like a ghost,” her mother answered, staring at the entrance to the ballroom.
Hector pressed his hand to his chest. “I’d called a few people, too. She’s an enigma. I’ve heard she has people scrape all her photos from the internet.”
Lorraine shook her head. “I think it’s her! She’s a bona fide legend! She doesn’t even advertise, and word on the street is she’s booked out seven years.”
“Lorraine Vanderdinkle, it appears theblingis here, at your party,” Hector said like the Queen of England had wandered into the room.
The bling? Did her mother hire a rapper to perform? It didn’t seem her speed.
Georgie waved her hands in front of Hector and her mother’s faces. “Hey, what are you two talking about?”
“Me, Cornelia Lieblingsschatz,” answered a husky voice with a thick German accent.
With a shock of white hair cut in an asymmetrical bob and dressed in all black with skin-tight leather pants and stiletto boots, Cornelia Lieblingsschatz was a cross between a dominatrix and a hot grandma.
“And you are?” Jordan asked.
“The wedding frau,” her mother exclaimed in a frantic whisper, then curtsied—actually curtsied.
“We’d heard the rumors. We know of your power,” Hector added with a deep bow.
“Is this a joke?” Jordan asked under his breath.
Georgie chewed her lip. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew she’d heard of this woman. But she couldn’t put her finger onhowshe knew of her.
“I am no joke,” the frau answered, then held out her hand.
A young woman materialized out of the crowd and reverently placed a leather-bound notebook on the woman’s waiting palm. She opened the thick book and stared at the hidden contents.
Georgie glanced at her mother and Hector, clutching each other like two tweens at a Justin Bieber concert while Bobby chuckled.
“You are Georgiana Jensen, and you are Jordan Marks,” the woman said without looking up.
Georgie shared a look with Jordan. “Yes, we are.”
“Why is your engagement ring on the wrong finger?” the woman questioned sharply.
Georgie held up her hand. “It’s a little too big. We’re going to have it resized.”
“Leave that to me,” she answered as the young woman materialized again and slipped the ring off her finger like a pickpocket wedding nymph.
“Wait!” Georgie began when the wedding frau cleared her throat.
“You are a size five and a half, Miss Jensen. That ring is six and a quarter,” she said, gaze still trained on her notebook.
“How would you know that without measuring the ring or even looking at Georgie’s hand?” Jordan asked.
“Like your friend Hector Garcia said. I am CorneliaLie-blings-schatz, known to many as the wedding frau,” she replied, blinging up theblingin her last name. “When it comes to nuptials in Denver, I know everything.”
