Page 12 of Beautiful Revenge
“You think I don’t know they’re waiting?” I hiss. “Today is not going to go the way we thought. The bride got cold feet.”
Felicity lets out a yelp. “Cold feet? That can’t happen! The press is here! It’s a big, big magazine! This is horrible.”
That’s enough for me to stop and turn to her in the middle of the labyrinth that leads to the back lawn. “Quiet. I have to deliver the news. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this livid.”
The woman is anything but quiet. “That’s what you said yesterday when you fired Marsha and the new pool boy.”
As if this could get any worse.
She keeps talking. “And honestly, Mr. Donnelly, you said the same thing the day before when Mrs. Humphries complained that the flowers in her room weren’t fresh enough.”
I press my fingers to my temple. “Well, today I mean it. Go to the kitchen and tell the caterers that we need a distraction. In exactly five minutes, I want the waitstaff circulating with hors d'oeuvres and champagne. We’re moving up the entire schedule.”
Felicity wrings her hands but still doesn’t lower her voice. “Do you think that’s a good idea? Champagne is for celebrations. If the wedding is off, there’s nothing to celebrate.”
“Since I don’t have anywipe-my-tears-awaycocktails ready to go, we have no choice but to stick with champagne.”
“True-true.” she mutters. “My heavens, this is bad.”
“Alert the kitchen manager. Maybe everyone will leave tonight instead of tomorrow so I can put this fucking weekend out of my head for good.”
She nods rapidly. “Yes. Okay, good idea. I’ll do that.”
Felicity, who I hired away from the local mortuary, hurries off and disappears into the maze toward the kitchen.
I drag a hand through my hair, not at all anxious to do this, yet still very fucking eager to get this shit over with.
The orchestra starts a new piece as I turn the corner to the aisle. The sky is clear, the breeze is crisp off the lake, and the sun warms my skin. What a waste of a perfect day to showcase my new venture in the top-rated celebrity magazine on earth. Hell, after this, I’ll be lucky if we stay out of the tabloids.
There’s no good way to deliver this news. The moment I enter the aisle, a few guests start to stand, until I motion forthem to sit their arses back down. Every curious gaze in the garden is on me, but the most inquisitive belongs to Albert Humphries, III. The groom’s entire posture turns rigid as I make the long trek to him—the one where he expected to see his bride making her grand entrance. Looks like I’ll be the only one to experience the beauty in white.
The hushed murmur through the garden becomes more anxious when Humphries stalks toward me. We meet at the first rows where the parents are seated.
Albert hisses in a low voice, “Where is my bride?”
“Mr. Humphries, there’s been a development. If you could step to the side, we can speak in private.”
“Where is Harlow?” This time, his hiss isn’t so low. He also skipped over the concerned husband-to-be emotion and shot straight to furious. He has no clue what happened to his fiancée. This bloke is showing his arse to the world.
Janie Madison jumps from her front-row seat in a panic. “Is there a problem?”
Albert turns to Janie. “Harlow isn’t walking down the aisle. So, yeah, Janie. There’s a fucking problem.”
Janie shifts in front of Albert, and her eyes widen. “Where is Harlow? Is she okay? Maybe I need to check on her.”
I look over her head to the infuriated groom. “I’m not going to ask again for you to step aside so we can do this without an audience.”
Albert moves Janie. It’s not a shove, but it’s not gentle either. “I demand to know where Harlow is.”
Fiona Humphries joins the fray with the groom’s father. “Everyone is watching. What is going on?”
I turn to his parents and open my mouth to speak, but I stop when Albert puts his hand to my chest and grips my suit jacket.
I shift my gaze from his hand and back to him. “That’s a bad idea.”
His mother rests a hand on his arm. “Albert.”
He doesn’t let go of me and gives my lapel a jerk. “Where the fuck is she?”
