Chapter 11

eleven

ELLA

Holy pumpkin pie.

We have defcon one in the bridal suite.

Since it’s my last wedding with Gilded Vows, it only makes sense things are more chaotic than usual on Wedding Day.

Bridesmaids are chattering at an unhealthy decibel level over the Taylor Swift playlist that’s pumping through the suite’s speakers, chiffon swishing around their legs as they scurry back and forth in a panic. A pop sounds from somewhere behind me as another bottle of champagne opens, followed by the clinks of bottle against glass.

“It’s going to be fine,” one bridesmaid assures my bride as she hands her a drink.

Jessica lets out a wail. “But my whole day is ruined! I can’t walk down the aisle without a dress.”

With every large exhale, I’m struggling more and more to hold her corset together.

“Somebody take that drink from her before it gets on the dress,” I command around the needle clenched between my teeth .

“Oh! Right.” Marie, her maid of honor, quickly takes back the drink and sets it on a nearby table.

“Matthew would marry you in a paper sack. But it won’t matter, because your dress is going to be perfect.” I wobble just once on my shiny black heels, and remind myself I can burn them after tonight if I want to.

I run through the quick list of what needs to be done in my mind: fix the zipper. Call her makeup artist for touchups. Check the arbor. Meet the photographer back here for the first look with her dad.

One step at a time, all the way back down to defcon five.

Odd how defcon one means crisis and five means safe, isn’t it? So weird.

“Jessica, I need you to take some deep breaths for me.” I try to speak as soothingly as possible, like I’m coaxing a terrified kitten out of the corner. “I can fix this zipper, but it’s really important that you stop moving.”

“You’re sure you’ve done this before?” A dark-haired bridesmaid eyes me warily. “That zipper looks pretty gone to me.”

“I’ve fixed worse. Both of you get over here and keep this pulled together for me. Do not let it loosen up. Understood?”

Both Marie and a nearby bridesmaid rush to positions on either side of me and take over while I shift my focus to the rhythm of the needle moving in and out of the fabric. Out of the corner of my eye, I see them exchange a panicked look and resist the urge to chuckle.

I suppose I would’ve figured it out eventually, but this career has taught me I thrive in the chaos. My ability to look past the problems and search for solutions has made me an asset, and fantastic at this job.

Why?

Weddings are the living, breathing example of Murphy’s Law. It doesn’t matter how meticulously a bride can plan for the perfect day; something will invariably go wrong. Rain instead of sunshine. Technology breaks. A member of the bridal party enjoys the festivities a bit too much.

And then, every once in a blue moon, there’s the unthinkable: a mishap with the bridal gown. In today’s case, my bride’s zipper is a disaster. She’s supposed to be walking down the aisle in thirty minutes, and enjoying the countdown with her bridesmaids.

In just a few minutes, I’ll have her back on track.

On days like today, I like to think of myself as a fairy godmother of sorts. They got a bad rep at home for all their nosiness. But they often flipped a situation from bad to good.

Unless you got one in training and sometimes it went from worse to worse until a seasoned one came along.

This boy I went to middle school with once lost something really important to him. I can’t remember what it was, but supposedly, they found it. Only for it to sprout bunny legs and hop around until someone could get the situation under control.

I probably look the part of the trainee godmother right now with my disheveled bun and dirty paw prints on my black sheath dress. But I just rescued a racoon out of the groom’s suite kitchenette while they were outside getting wedding party photos. There might have been grapes involved.

And grateful snuggles.

“This is just a minor speed bump.” I pause, concentrating as I continue my way up the back of the dress. “Just think about Matthew and the look on his face when he sees you at the end of the aisle. A little longer and he’ll be your husband, and you both can dance the rest of the night away.”

“I really hope he cries,” she half laughs, half sniffles.

Honestly, so do I. There’s nothing like watching a usually stoic groom crumple at the sight of his bride. Sometimes it feels a bit like an intrusion of a private moment between the two of them, but I’m always honored to be a part of this chapter of their love story.

Love is the strongest magic that exists, after all.

“Is he normally a crier?” Her breathing is evening out and the women at my sides aren’t white-knuckling the fabric anymore. A few more inches and this crisis will be averted. The show will go on.

“Only for the special stuff. He cried when he asked me to marry him.”

“Tell me about that. How did he ask?”

She launches into her engagement story, and Marie grins down at me. “You’re good.”

This time I can’t help but return the smile. Getting a bride to focus on the person she’s about to marry is hardly rocket science, especially when I love the stories I get to hear as I help plan weddings. If anything, my love for romance has only gotten stronger as time marches on.

There’s an involuntary clutch in my chest as I think about my parents, and I shake it away as I ceremoniously tie off the knot at the top of my work. Cheers erupt as I stand, and Jessica whips around to hug me.

“You’re my hero,” she whispers, squeezing me.

“All in a day’s work,” I reply. “Now toast with your bridesmaids and I’ll send makeup back in for a touchup, then be back in a few to get everyone in position.”

She pulls away and her emerald green eyes shine with unshed tears. “I’m getting married today.”

“You sure are. Celebrate.”

Marie hands her a stemless champagne flute with ‘bride’ scrawled across it in a loopy script font, and her bridesmaids crowd around her. She’s chosen a deep forest green for their gowns, a perfect complement to the burnt orange and rust-colored bouquets waiting in the kitchen fridge. As the women erupt into cheers and giggles, I grab my tablet off the table by the door—aka my lifeline—and take the opportunity to slip out of the bridal suite.

A quick glance at my watch confirms I’m only a few minutes behind, a small miracle considering how the day has gone so far. Before I have to check on the ceremony site and check in with the photographer, I step into an alcove and set the tablet on the ground while I fix my hair.

Image is everything at Gilded Vows, so it won’t do for the head wedding planner to be running around looking like I lost a battle with wildlife. Though, to be fair, it was a close call.

Choosing to work for Charlotte—because yes, it was a choice—has been a wild ride. As soon as we arrived in Colorado, she dropped my dad’s last name and took back her maiden name of Mitchell. I can’t say I was disappointed with the change. The way she stepped right into the position of an owner of a wedding planning company was pretty suspicious though. Until she named the business Gilded Vows with a tagline of: ‘Where every vow is wrapped in gold’.

Now I know exactly who was behind her opportunity of a lifetime, or whatever she called it. I’m not surprised. Still, I have to wonder if she realizes that eventually, her favor will be called in by whichever member of the Gold family she made a deal with.

I considered making my own deal once, that fateful afternoon in September.

At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing by choosing not to. I didn’t want to be in debt to anyone in that family. Now I wonder where my life would be if I had. It’s not a thought I entertain often, but it still creeps in now and again.

“You were supposed to be at the arbor at four forty-five. Where are you?” She snaps at me loud enough that I pull out my earpiece. Until she’s done.

“There was an emergency in the bridal suite—which is all fixed now—and I’m almost to the ceremony site.” Without a mirror, there’s no way to be sure I’ve erased the proof of my tussle with the local wildlife. But I’ve gotten pretty awesome at styling my hair without a mirror over the years, so I’m just going to trust that I look fine. I snatch my tablet up and hurry toward the ceremony site.

“You’ve only got five minutes before the first look with the father,” she warns.

“I’m on top of it.”

Okay, I’m barel y on top of it. But I’ve perfected the art of faking it until I make it. Whether this is a good thing is still up for debate.

First looks with the father of the bride are a mix of joy and heartache. I’ll never experience that moment where my dad sees me for the first time in my dress. How would he react? Would he cry? Would he hug me? He was the biggest romantic I’ve ever known.

Dad continued to tell me stories about my mom long after she was gone.

“ Sometimes you just know Ella-Belle. You don’t need long to figure out that the person right in front of you will be the rest of your life,” he’d say.

I wish time travel was real so I could go back and get a few more minutes with them. Or that I could sneak a peek at the moment they met, a story I’m sure that he exaggerated every time he told it .

Right in the fields of Ever After Farm during the events of Autumn Enchantment, she stumbled over a pumpkin and into his arms. As she was grasping at him and trying to find purchase on the ground, she’d laughed and told him he made a good scarecrow. Supposedly, he’d responded with a line about it only being because she fielded all his attention.

To this day, it’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard some whoppers. Yet it worked for my parents. They remained inseparable. They remain the whole reason I’ve made it through the last decade of my life.

As soon as the arbor is in sight, I can barely hold in my sigh. A combination of oranges, pinks, burgundies, and deep teal greenery cling to the wood like a floral fall fairy wonderland. Fall weddings will always top my list, with the deep greens and the rich colors of the trees just about to turn, in the muted golden light of sunset. This floral artistry is exceptional, though, so I pull my tablet out from under my arm to take photos and make a note. The Flower Cafe here in Pine Cove Springs, Colorado just shot itself to the top of my recommendation list.

I turn and sweep back up the path to where the long wood tables sit for the reception. The blend of elegant and rustic with the pops of fall color turned out even better than the bride’s Pinterest board, which is the ultimate compliment. It’s one of many reasons why Gilded Vows is a top rated company on The Knot. We’ve even won the Couples Choice Awards. Twice.

I change the channel on my headset to address my step-sister. “Laila, the photographer is in the bridal suite. Are the bridesmaids at the processional entry point?”

“Ready to go,” she answers cheerily. “We’ve got Dad waiting outside the entry and I’m stocked with tissues.”

“Perfect. The groomsmen? ”

“Just wrapped their time with the second photographer and are back in the groom’s suite,” she replies.

“Fantastic.”

Somehow, we’re back on track, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Laila probably whipped the groomsmen into order—a talent of hers—and made up for those few lost minutes.

“You know, there are some really cute groomsmen, Ella. I bet a couple of them are even single.”

Of course, that’s where her mind would go. She’s always trying to set me up with someone. In her mind, she’s doing me a favor.

“You know the rule, Laila: I don’t date anyone I meet at weddings. It wouldn’t matter if Glenn Powell himself was here. If he’s at a wedding, he’s off-limits.”

Well, maybe not completely out of the running.

I’m not sure I’d be strong enough to turn down Glenn Powell. But the fact stands that Charlotte has fired people for less than flirting with wedding guests or members of the wedding party.

I’m not willing for the sacrifice I made to be for nothing.

The most surprising thing to come out of this era of my life is Laila. Not long after the move, she apologized to me for not being a better sister. That moment changed the entire course of our relationship. While Bridget and I also settled into a more comfortable friendship, Laila I had the most in common.

Charlotte handed us lemons when she drastically uprooted our lives, but we made lemonade. I’ll miss them both when I go back home, but I’ll miss the camaraderie with Laila the most.

“I don’t know how you expect to find your Prince Charming when you won’t date. We’ll move on from the ‘I don’t date wedding people’ rule for a moment.” I can practically hear her eyes roll through the headset. “Ella, you don’t date anyone . What was wrong with the guy Bridget and I set you up with?”

I think back to the blind date she’s referring to. He was decent looking and our conversation over dinner was easy enough. We had little in common, but it wasn’t awkward. Which should’ve put him in the plus column. There really wasn’t anything wrong with him. He just didn’t spark my interest. Or anything else, for that matter.

Zero chemistry is a problem for me.

I want someone who can challenge me, but is also easy to just be with. Someone that can make me laugh, but also isn’t uncomfortable when I’m sad.

The bottom line is really simple: I’m not cut out for casual dating.

Or maybe the bottom line is that I’ve already met him. And every man I’ve met since has fallen short on the bar he set for my expectations.

Or maybe I can slip back into denial. Maybe I watched too much Princess Diaries and got it into my head, like Mia, that a first kiss should be magical. Even without her influence, there’s a whole genre of books that have encouraged me to believe there should be a foot pop. Or fireworks. Or brain-melting attraction to a man’s personality and his looks.

There’s a whole package man out there somewhere.

He just lives a few states away.

Days like today remind me that my flash-in-the-pan romance experience stemmed from enchanted pen pals and stolen moments in a pumpkin patch. While it was unique and magical, there are regular men out there that still set the bar high for people that still believe in love stories.

The problem is that my bar is set high. Really high.

Like any man who wants to win my heart needs to have experience in pole-vaulting .

“I’m at the bridal suite and the bride and dad are ready to go,” I reply. “We need to make sure everyone is in their places, snag any stragglers in the cocktail area, and get them seated. Let’s get this happily ever after on the road.”

“Nice subject change,” Laila teases.

I smile, knowing I won the battle…for now.