Marc rolled up his sleeves and pulled out a notepad. “We can do some cooler fans outside. Not a problem. Ladies, let’s hammer out the major decisions. I need to know number of people, budget, and things like band or DJ so I can do inquiries tomorrow morning. We’re on a time crunch, so once we decide and book, we stick.”
“Whatever Emma and Andrew want, we can make happen,” Tennyson said, crossing her legs and picking up the album marked for floral arrangements.
“And what they want is something simple,” Melanie said.
“Don’t worry, Melanie. I can help you and Kit pay for the wedding. No need to set a tight budget.”
Melanie’s mouth went flat as a frog’s. “This isn’t about money, it’s about being reasonable. And tasteful.”
Irritation flared inside Tennyson. Reasonable? Now that really could be Melanie’s middle name. How many times had Melanie asked her to be reasonable? Ten? Twenty? A thousand times? She was fairly certain the last time that word had flown from her mouth had been when Melanie and Kit had told her that last summer that they were “together now.” Tennyson had pitched a hissy fit, and Melanie had grabbed her by the shoulders and said, “Come on, Teeny. Don’t be like this. Be reasonable. You don’t want him, but you don’t want anyone else to have him. That’s not fair to Kit.”
To which Tennyson had said, “I don’t mind someone else having him. Just not you.”
Melanie had released her shoulders and cried.
But her former BFF hadn’t given Kit up. Nope. Instead she’d married him.
So saying Tennyson should be reasonable wasn’t something she wanted to hear because she didn’t want to be reasonable. Not for Andrew’s wedding. Not for Melanie or Kit’s pocketbook. Not for anyone in the world. Because reasonable was boring as hell. And trite. And commonplace. And not the way Tennyson O’Rourke rolled.
As for taste, Melanie had a lot of nerve when she herself dressed like a bag lady.
“How about you decide what’s reasonable, Melly, and I’ll add the ridiculous to it so this wedding can be something perfect rather than just tasteful.” She said that last word as if she were spitting out a cockroach. Then she turned to Emma. “Does that work for you, Em?”
Emma blinked once, twice, and finally said, “Uh, thank you, Tennyson.”
“Darling, you can call me Teeny.”
CHAPTER NINE
“I hate her. Like truly hate her,” Melanie said to Kit as they pushed into their favorite Mexican place. They’d just gone to the Remington Hotel to pay the balance on the deposit Emma had put down on the hotel. Her mother was out doing the preliminary scout for wedding dresses with Emma, and they would join them for dinner. Melanie wasn’t looking forward to dining with her mother, but when Emma had suggested they meet up to go over the finalized plans to that point and hadn’t invited Tennyson, Melanie had agreed. Kit would also be joining them because he’d been downtown in a meeting with Hal, who was signing the legal papers giving him the money for the new subdivision.
“You don’t. Not really,” Kit said, a smile flirting with the corners of his mouth.
“No. I do. She implied we couldn’t afford to pay for our daughter’s wedding just because I said we should be reasonable. I was so embarrassed in front of Marc. Not to mention, Emma had that look in her eye. You know, like she doubted we could do this . . . and that she trusted Tennyson could.”
“If Tennyson wants to pay for some of the wedding, let her. I’m not going to lie—I’m not really looking forward to the total waste associated with weddings. You know how I feel about them. We witnessed firsthand how they can tilt into disaster faster than a fart in a whirlwind.”
“Our wedding was fine until the end.” She approached the hostess stand. The older woman behind the stand arched a brow in the universal how many? inquiry. “Four, please.”
“Better make it six. Charlotte’s coming and bringing her friend Brendan.”
Melanie gritted her teeth and tried not to frown. “Sorry. Six.”
The hostess nodded, gathered the menus, and proceeded to the large metal table at the front of the eatery. All that without a single word.
“Juan will be your waiter,” she said, finally finding her voice.
“I’ll take a margarita,” Melanie said, throwing her diet out the window. She needed a drink if she had to dine with her mother and Charlotte. And Brendan. Whoever the hell he was. She could hope it was a boyfriend who would screw Charlotte seven ways to Sunday so she would stop looking at Kit like she’d like to dine upon him. Three cheers for Brendan being a stud in the sheets.
“Um, I’m the hostess,” the woman said without a smile, disappearing before Melanie could respond.
“Well, she was rude,” Melanie said, pulling out a chair next to Kit and sitting.
“But not a waiter,” Kit replied.
“Can you never take my side?”
He looked up. “I didn’t know there were sides.”
“Didn’t you?” Melanie said, lifting her gaze from the cheese- and sour cream–laden dishes pictured on her menu to her husband’s face. “You never agree with me. You always discount what I say. Like with Tennyson. Or the kids. Or even the stupid hostess. I’m just asking if you are ever on my side?”
“Mel, of course I am. I’m your husband.”
“Let’s hope Charlotte remembers that. And why is she coming to dinner, anyway? Who invited her?” Melanie sounded grumpy but didn’t care. Everyone was pleased in life but her. Everyone got the benefit of the doubt from Kit but her. With her, he constantly pointed out how crazy she sounded, placating her, reminding her how “blessed” they were, like she had to take everyone’s crap because she drove a Lexus and had two healthy children.
What-effing-ever.
“Char was there when you called to see if I wanted to meet you. She said something along the lines of loving Caliente and not having eaten here in a while. So I said she was welcome to join us, and she said maybe. I was being polite. I mean, that’s okay, right? Charlotte is merely a friend, and I think if you could become friends with her, you’d see that your fear that I would cheat with her is unfounded.”
“You admitted to wanting to sleep with her.”
“I did not. I admitted to being attracted to and flattered by her. Those are two different things. The therapist said as much. Remember, we have to trust each other and know we have the other’s best intentions at heart.”
Melanie blinked away the sudden tears. Yeah, therapy was fun. Because the therapist also made her female intuition about Charlotte sound like someone going off her rocker. Melanie wasn’t crazy. Even Tennyson had seen the way Charlotte overstepped when it came to Kit. But her husband hadn’t cheated, and he was right—everyone is flattered by the attention of an attractive person. “Fine.”
She looked up to Emma pushing into the restaurant with her mother on her heels.
“Mom!” Emma said, weaving around diners who’d paused mid-chimichanga to watch her progress. “I found it! I found the dress!”
Melanie set the menu down. “I thought you were just scouting to see which shops you wanted to visit. You said you weren’t trying anything on.” Her heart clenched at the thought of Emma committing to a dress without her even seeing it.