Page 9 of The Runaway Bride of Blitzen Bay (Blitzen Bay)

Chapter Five

NOELLE

December 20

Los Angeles, California

“Mom! We don’t need any more lights on the chairs. It’s starting to look like an airport runway in here.”

We’ve only been at the wedding venue for an hour and Mom’s already turned it into a circus. People are running everywhere. Connor’s spray-tanned face is somehow turning pale. He’s tried to talk Mom out of every order she’s shot at him. He has so much to learn.

“Noelle, it’s Christmas. Christmas is made for lights.” Mom looks back at me briefly from where she’s directing the florist to remove the cacti and replace them with a row of miniature Christmas trees she shipped in from Georgia. The trees are shockingly white with blue ornaments—only blue ornaments. It’s Mom’s preferred color pattern for Christmas.

“Mom,” I say, grabbing her arm to get her attention. “Steve’s family is more religious than we are. I’m sure they don’t want the room to look like the North Pole.”

She whips around to face me, her hands on her hips. When her body stops quickly, her elbows keep moving back and forth. She looks a little like a blender.

“Our family’s plenty religious, Noelle. Even if we don’t have to show it by all the kneeling and bowing. You know Jesus is at the center of everything I do to celebrate the season.”

“Really?” I say as she walks away. “Because Jesus was born in a dark, dirty manger. I don’t think he had twinkling lights and tinsel.”

“They think they’re so important to this wedding. Do they know the bride’s family makes all the calls?” she says to no one in particular. I follow her.

“Mom, Steve’s dad is the only reason we got into this estate. They only accept two weddings a year.”

“That’s just because he’s obscenely rich, but we’re one of the richest families in Atlanta.”

“We’re not even one of the richest families in Alpharetta,” I say under my breath. I regret it instantly. I know Mom has bionic hearing.

She whips around again. “Alpharetta is a very wealthy suburb.”

“I’m not saying it’s not.” I can hear my dad’s voice in my head telling me to let her have her way. I ignore it. “We’re just not one of the richest families there.”

“Your dad works very hard, Noelle! You’ve always been much too entitled.”

I watch her walk away again and say to her back, “Mom, I know he does. I don’t care how rich we are. You’re the one who’s always bringing it up.”

I look at my phone. I’m twenty-three minutes from my next relaxation break. I close my eyes anyway and take a deep breath. It’s not working. Mom blasts through Zen like a tornado flattening a Midwestern town. I slowly open my eyes. Mom’s standing inches from me.

“Noelle! What is wrong with you? Open your eyes this instant! I asked you if you thought the lilies would be too fragrant for Grandma Nan. You know she always complains about the honeysuckle off our back terrace. She can wear her perfume that smells like she just stepped out of a brothel, but one whiff of my flowers and she’s ‘highly sensitive’ to smells. I swear I don’t know why your father insisted we invite her. She’s too old to get on a plane anyway.”

She walks away again without waiting for my answer and zeros in on the increasingly wide-eyed florist. For a second, I think about saving the florist, but honestly, she just has to deal with Mom for two more days. I’ve dealt with her for a lifetime. The florist can take her turn.

“Noelle!” I turn around to see Steve power-walking across the room. He’s the slowest person I know. I can tell by his pace that his parents are on their way here.

He leans over to kiss me but doesn’t even notice he misses my entire face. He’s looking up at the winter wonderland Mom has created.

“Babe,” he says without looking at me, “my parents are going to hate this. You know how religious they are. They’re still mad we’re not getting married in a church.”

“I know, babe. I know. I told you we shouldn’t get married in December. You know how Mom abuses Christmas. Let her have her way. It will be over in forty-eight hours.”

“Aww. ‘It will be over in forty-eight hours.’ I hope you had that printed on your cocktail napkins.”

The voice coming from behind me sounds familiar. My childhood flashes before me.

“Kitten?” I say as I slowly turn around to see my cousin Kit standing a few feet from me.

I haven’t seen her for two years since she left to take a job in Spain. Her long hair is now robin’s egg blue, but her devilish smile hasn’t changed a bit.

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