For Better or Worse

Danica lifted her slim shoulders in a little shrug. “I look good in most all colors,” she explained to Heather in a matter-of-fact tone.

“That’s great!” Heather said with false brightness. “It’ll make finding the right dress color easier.”

Danica gave her a snotty sneer. “I’m going with white. I should think that’d be obvious.”

Heather couldn’t help the little surge of smugness she felt at knowing something this snobby woman didn’t. “Actually, the nuances of the wedding white are a good deal more complicated than most people realize. There’s white versus ivory, yes, but then there are also multiple shades on that scale. Plus, when you start to play with textures, lace versus silk, et cetera, it can be important to know what works best with your complexion.”

“Oh.” Danica blinked. “Well, I think it’ll all work well with my complexion. And my figure, too. I may not even need alterations.”

Her mother nodded in agreement.

Seriously? Were these women for real?

“Actually, speaking of alterations, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you ladies,” Heather said as she stood and picked up the champagne bottle to refill each of their glasses. She noticed Danica didn’t protest despite her disdain for the fact that it wasn’t Dom Pérignon.

“Are you absolutely positive about this three-month timeline?” Heather asked once she’d sat back down.

“Why, can you not do it?” Mrs. Robinson pounced.

Easy there, tiger.

“Of course I can do it,” Heather said smoothly. “We’re absolutely committed to making our clients’ dream weddings come true within any timeline. But the Monteith wedding you mentioned was a fourteen-month timeline. To get that level of customization, it’s going to take—”

“Money isn’t an issue,” Danica interrupted.

Heather nodded in acknowledgment before continuing. “It’s going to be rushed. I won’t lie to you. There will be something wedding related to handle every day of the week. You may not be able to get your dream designer to put something together on that timeline, that sort of thing.”

Danica snorted. “I don’t think there’s a designer alive who wouldn’t drop everything to have me wear their dress. I have fifty million Instagram followers.”

“That may very well be the case,” Heather said in what she hoped was a measured tone that belied her increasing dislike for this person. “But that doesn’t change the fact that the wedding-planning process will be more enjoyable for you if you’re not making big decisions in haste.”

The stubborn expression on both women’s faces told Heather she was wasting her breath. Clearly beating Heidi Rivera to the altar was more important than their sanity.

Or Heather’s.

“Okay, then,” she said. “Three months it is. As I said, I’m confident we can get your dream wedding in that time, but one hurdle even your Instagram followers might have no sway over is the Plaza. Are you open to a non-weekend wedding, or—”

“No. It has to be on a Saturday,” Danica said, already shaking her head.

Of course it does.

“I’ve already called,” Heather said quietly. “They don’t have any Saturdays available until April.”

“April?” Mariah Robinson screeched. “That’s way later than we wanted.”

“Which is why I’m bringing it up,” Heather said calmly. “There are plenty of venues in the city that are every bit as beautiful and classic, and we’re sure to find an open date at one of them—”

“No. The Plaza,” Danica said as though she were a five-year-old talking to the mall Santa Claus and had zero doubt that he was the real deal and could deliver on her wish for a pink pony.

“Ms. Robinson—”

“Call me Danica,” she said, her tone indicating that this was a great privilege.

“Danica,” Heather said, her smile growing more and more strained by the minute. “I’ve of course put us on their waiting list, and they’ll let us know if there’s a cancellation, but we really need to have an alternate in place.”