Page 26 of 4 Weddings and a Feud
“It’s no problem,” he said. “You’re right on time.” He pressed a button on the phone. “Hello, Rochelle. And is Rohaan there, too?”
“We’re both here,” a low voice rumbled through the speakerphone.
“Hi, Alex,” Rochelle said. “Is Mary with you?”
“I’m here,” Mary said. “Hi, Rochelle. And it’s nice to meet you, Rohaan.” She pulled the binder from her satchel, wincing when her pinky finger twinged. “Let’s get started. First, we’ll confirm your date. It’s the last Saturday in July, right? July 26th?”
“Wow, that seems really close,” Rochelle said. “We’re a little over a month away. Are you sure you can pull it off in time?”
Mary circled the date on the fact sheet, then smiled at Alex. “Of course. We’ve got the hotel owner right here. There’s nothing he won’t do to ensure everything is in place for your special day.”
“Absolutely,” Alex said. “And Mary will handle anything La Villa doesn’t already have.”
“Okay, next up is the number of guests. Rochelle, you said about five hundred?” Mary held her pen above the figure on the sheet.
“That’s what I was thinking, with all of Daddy’s business contacts,” Rochelle said, “plus our families. How many of your family do you think will travel, babe?”
“It’s not far from LA to Vegas,” Rohaan rumbled.
“You could charter a bus,” Mary said.
They were silent. Had they never ridden a bus?
She added, “Or reserve a car on the train?”
“You could charter a plane,” Alex said.
“Yes,” Rochelle said. “Don’t you know someone who runs a charter service, babe?”
While Rochelle and Rohaan discussed the merits and drawbacks of offering their guests air transportation, Mary let her eyelids close for a moment. She couldn’t imagine the cost of flying over a hundred people from LA to Vegas. Or having five hundred people to invite to her wedding.
The Forza family was scattered. Her grandparents were long gone, though she had some cousins somewhere near Chicago and some others up in San Francisco. They’d never been close. She had friends at church and plenty of business acquaintances, but she didn’t need them to be part of her wedding. She’d need only her brothers, Gabe’s fiancée, and her groom to make the day perfect. There was a perfectly serviceable room at the courthouse where she’d have a brief, fuss-free ceremony, then they’d go to her favorite Italian restaurant and stuff themselves with pasta and braciole. Tiramisu was even more delicious than wedding cake.
The honeymoon, though? That’s where she’d spend her money. If they couldn’t afford to get away, they’d get a room at the Bellagio and pretend they’d gone to Italy. They’d lounge by the pool, then wander through the gardens, and have a romantic dinner on the terrace. At night, they’d make love while they watched the fountain show from their hotel room window. She and her groom would fondly remember the romantic getaway years later as they rocked on her front porch, hand in hand.
Something hot and smooth nudged her hand, and she flicked her eyes open. Alex nodded at the cup of coffee he’d set in front of her.
Crap, had she fallen asleep, dreaming of her own wedding, and missed what Rochelle and Rohaan said about theirs? She opened her mouth to apologize, but Alex laid a finger across his lips. Rochelle and Rohaan were still debating whether their guests would appreciate the convenience of a chartered flight or prefer to make their own ways to Vegas.
She sighed and mouthed, “Thank you,” as she lifted the porcelain cup printed with La Villa’s crest to her lips. It was just how she liked it, the coffee strong and lightened with a touch of cream, no sugar. An almond biscotti perched on the saucer. She dunked it into her coffee, then bit into the crunchy cookie as she half-listened to the bride and groom.
“What if we work with a travel agent instead?” Mary asked. Alex looked up from his phone. “That way, your guests could make their own schedules, but your travel agent could track when everyone is coming in. I know someone great who’s local.”
“That could work,” Rohaan said.
Before Mary could make a note of the decision, Rochelle said, “But wouldn’t it be easier if everyone came on the same flight? Then we could charter some party buses from the airport to La Villa.” They were off again. Though Rochelle and Rohaan seemed to really listen to each other and want to reach an agreement they could both live with.
Alex sighed and cracked a knuckle. It rocketed her back to their high-school days, when he had to run through the knuckles on both hands before every test. He said it helped when he was stressed. What did he have to be stressed about? All the planning was on Mary.
When he glanced at his phone, it clicked. This meeting was taking him away from his regular work, which was probably frustrating.Too freaking bad, Alex.He’d dragged her into this. She should be back at her office helping Evie and her brothers and working on her two other weddings. He could suck it up and be here with her.
Huh. Which was exactly what he was doing. Why did he care so much about this wedding? Sure, it was big, and it would make La Villa a lot of money. But couldn’t he have sent what’s-his-name, Evie’s assistant? Joey. That’s who should be here, not Alex.
While the couple continued to debate charter flights, she rolled back her chair and stood. The caffeine and sugar were helping, but moving would keep her awake. She wandered to the seating area and sniffed the flower arrangement. Heavenly. Peonies always made her think of weddings. She wondered if Alex knew they were said to bring financial success and happiness to newlyweds.
She meandered to his desk. It was solid, with a thick slab of wood on the top and a front that went all the way to the floor. Mahogany, if she wasn’t mistaken. She trailed a finger across its smooth, clutter-free surface. Alex must keep his keyboard and papers in the drawers on the other side. A flat-screen monitor stood in one corner and a pair of paper trays occupied the other side, currently empty.
There was exactly one framed photo on the desk. She picked it up. She remembered Alex’s mother from high school and church events long ago. Mary hadn’t seen her in years, not since her father’s funeral. From the photo, she guessed why. Mrs. Villa looked wafer thin, her skin practically translucent. Her hair and clothes were gorgeous, like always. But her smile was crooked, only one side turning up.
