Fool for You (Southern Bride 7)

I one-upped his ass and told him I would actually be her free wedding planner.

“Emmerson, are you even listening to me?”

I shook my head and tried to clear my thoughts. Our wedding ceremony had taken place only two hours ago, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how I was now married to Landon.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying, Bea?”

Bea was one of those brides who you really wanted to love, but instead prayed she would elope and not have a grand wedding at all. Her father was filthy rich and basically gave her an unlimited wedding budget, which made my life hell. Every other day, she was changing her mind about something based on what some blogger or actress was doing with her own wedding.

“I said, I think we should have that balloon artist make something for each table. Something grand, maybe clear balloons filled with glitter and sparkly things.”

I lifted one brow. “Instead of the flowers you ordered the other day?”

She looked up at the ceiling as if trying to remember the flowers that had cost her father a few grand. “That’s right, I forgot we ordered those. How can we mix these in?”

“The balloons?” I asked.

She sighed in frustration. “Yes, the balloons. Oh my gawd, are you paying attention? This blogger I follow who just got married had them at her tables. Everyone loved them and went on and on about them. I need them to be a part of the reception.”

I took in a deep breath and slowly let it out as I forced myself to smile. “Well, Bea, with a wedding as classy and sophisticated as yours, I’m worried balloon centerpieces might be…unexpected.”

She drew her brows in, staring at me with a blank expression. “In a bad way?”

From behind me, Bea’s future mother-in-law, Mary, whispered, “For the love of all that is good.”

I had to keep from laughing as I nodded. “People who are coming to your wedding—at one of the most elite country clubs around—are going to expect things like the stunning flower bouquets you picked out last week. Maybe, if you want to incorporate the balloons, we can do them at the kids’ tables?” I suggested, praying she would bite on that.

“The kids’ tables in the other room, right?” This came from Mary.

I had to agree with the woman. When Bea had told me she wanted all kids under the age of sixteen in another room, I had laughed, thinking she was joking. She wasn’t. She was dead serious, and even planned on hiring people to stay in the room to make sure “the littles didn’t get out.”

Bea started to clap her hands. “Yes! Yes, that is perfect. Oh, you are worth every penny I’m spending on you, Emmerson. I can’t even imagine how beautiful your wedding will be!”

I kept my forced smile on my face as I turned to Mary. “Do you have any last-minute suggestions or things you’d like to see at the rehearsal dinner?”

Bea spoke before Mary could. “No, Mary doesn’t have any input, do you, Mary?”

This time, I spoke. “With all due respect, Bea, Mary is paying for the rehearsal dinner, so you’ll forgive me if I think her input is valuable.”

Mary’s eyes widened as Bea’s brows pulled in tight. No one I had met so far in Bea’s circle had the balls to speak up to this woman—not even Mary’s son, the groom.

“Thank you, Emmerson. Everything for the dinner has been planned to my son’s desires and has already been taken care of.”

Bea rolled her eyes and then looked at her manicured fingers as if completely ignoring her future mother-in-law.

“Great. Then everything is ready to go, and in two weeks you’ll be getting married, Bea.”

This time, she looked up at me with a brilliant smile on her face. I had no doubt that Bea was madly in love with Jim, Mary’s son. She was just one of those brides who turned into a monster the closer she got to the big day.

“I’ll meet with you again two days before the wedding,” I said. “And I’ll also be at the rehearsal in case we run into any snags.”

Bea’s phone rang and she quickly reached for it in her purse. “Yep, mm-kay. Talk soon, love!” And just like that, she rushed out of the building and to a waiting car.

Mary and I watched as Bea slid into the backseat of a Maserati.

“I really don’t know what my son sees in that shallow woman,” Mary mused.

Not wanting to admit that I agreed with her, I chuckled. “Love is blind.”

Okay, so I might as well have agreed with her since my comment wasn’t any better than Mary’s.

Mary and I started to walk out of the country club, where we had met with the chef and on-site wedding planner to make sure everything was in order with the venue.