Page 29 of My Sweetest Agony
A tear slips down my cheek, and I allow it to fall, not wanting to put the photo down to try to wipe it away.
Why bother when more will just come anyway?
My phone rings out in the kitchen, still somewhere deep in my purse, and I reluctantly set down the photo and hustle back out to drag it from the confines of the bag.
Marlo’s name flashes across the screen.
Why is she calling?
I answer it on the third ring. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Oh, good. Are you home yet?”
“Yeah. Why?” I rest my elbows on the counter, eyeing Cam’s note. “What’s up?”
“I just got a call from Kari Webber. She wants to change the wedding flowers.”
I wince as dread floods my veins that had been warmed so much by the photos Cam left for me. “You’re shitting me.”
She lets loose a low grumble. “I wish I were.”
“Does she realize that her wedding is in five days?”
Marlo offers an incredulous snort. “Apparently, she thinks that’s plenty of time for us to make the switch.”
“Jesus Christ.” I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, annoyance already starting to form a headache right behind my eyes. “What does she want?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“I’m sure I won’t.”
At this point, there isn’t anything I want to do besides get through my first wedding back at work quickly, quietly, and with as little drama as possible.
Unfortunately, this is the wrong bride for that dream.
“She wants to go back to the roses.”
I cringe. “Of course she does.” Letting out a long, slow breath, I try to tamp down my annoyance. “Did she say why?”
The woman has changed her mind four times in the past year that we’ve been helping her plan the ceremony, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that she’s waffled again, but this close to the big day, it could create a big problem for us.
“Said she realized it’s just what she’s always pictured in her head.”
I should be mad about that, but an image of my own ceremony, what it was supposed to be, flashes through my mind instead.
The white and red peonies I had planned to fill the church with, the beautiful corsages and bouquets we had already designed well in advance because I knew precisely what they looked like because they’d appeared in my dreams for years and years and years.
It was always easy for me, maybe because I was raised around flowers, but for Bridezilla, it’s likely harder.
“Okay…did you talk to the distributor we had ordered the lilies from and see if they can get us enough roses?”
Marlo huffs. “You’re not gonna try to talk her out of it?”
I drop my face into my free hand. “There isn’t any point. Let’s just give her what she wants.”
She releases an aggravated sigh that is filled with as much annoyance as I feel right now, but I can’t actually be mad at a bride wanting her day to be perfect.
Not when I wanted mine to be, and instead I got a nightmare.
