“I thought you were giving away puppies?” Marc joked.
“I seriously considered inviting a local shelter to come and bring their adoptable puppies, but after the engagement party, dogs aren’t welcome at any of the events,” Tennyson said with a smile.
“Word gets around. Janie Thackery wore half that cake, as I understand it,” Marc said, stifling a chuckle.
“At least. Let’s keep it at majestic peacocks wandering the grounds. Prada will be staying in my laundry room in her kennel. I don’t want anyone slipping in puppy pee.”
They walked back toward the house. “Your landscape designer did a nice job. I think we’re good on greenery. I have written out a schedule. It includes Andrew’s arrival, toasts, Cesar’s solo, and the fireworks.”
“Perfect. Do you think the fireworks will be okay? The shower is from six to eight thirty. It won’t be totally dark.”
“They will be perfect against the darkening sky. Everything will be perfect. I promise.” Marc crossed his arms and looked emphatic.
“It better be,” Tennyson said, tempering her words with a smile.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Melanie stopped in the center of the pathway that opened into Emma’s bridal shower, uh, make that extravaganza, and blinked a good three or four times before the craziness in front of her truly registered.
“Whoa, is this for real?” her friend Sandy breathed. The cofounding member of their book club stood beside her, mouth open, eyes wide as she swiveled her head from side to side.
“Eh, I think it’s Tennyson’s reality, which is to say, no, it’s not real for most people,” Melanie said, moving forward so the people behind her could come into Tennyson’s backyard, which did not resemble a backyard. It was more like Disney crashed into Las Vegas while dancing the cha-cha and . . . wait, was someone singing opera?
Melanie tugged a gawking Sandy along the well-lit path. Large urns of flowers spilled out between each oversize lantern lining both sides of the path. Above them, crisscrossed strings of lighted bulbs lent their merriment to the entrance. When they finally stepped onto the patio, a tuxedoed waiter handed them a fluted glass.
“Aperol spritz, madam,” he said with a nod.
“Thank you,” Melanie managed before sidestepping a peacock.
Yep, Kit had been right. Peacocks, for heaven’s sake.
Sandy grabbed her arm, stepping back and almost knocking her Aperol spritz from her hand. “Is that a peacock? Dear lord.”
“Sister, you know your birds,” Melanie murmured, unable to believe her eyes herself. Around her were jugglers, mimes, and an organ grinder? And in the center of Tennyson’s backyard, standing in a gondola that was anchored incredibly in the center of the pool, was a man wearing a tuxedo belting out an aria. She blinked and realized who it was. “Dear Lord, that’s Cesar Santos. I saw him with the Dallas philharmonic last year.”
“Cesar who? She paid an opera singer to stand in that boat?” Sandy asked, giving Melanie the side-eye. Sandy stood six feet in flats and had layered red hair and green eyes that reminded her of her old tomcat Jimbo. Her friend taught French at a local elementary school, and they’d been in the same book club—the Reading Krewe—for ten years. Sandy was as close as she got to “ride or die.” And that wasn’t that close. Not really.
Huge, clear tents soared overhead, and a line of fruit-bedecked, lighted trees flanked the pool. On one end of the rectangular pool was a cascading waterfall with colored LED lights that changed from violet to blue to green. Waiters circulated with hors d’oeuvres, and two large bars anchored each side of the yard. The large oak trees flaunted large, lit Japanese-style lanterns, and tables hunkered beneath the widespread branches, covered in white linens, elegant tapestry, and large crystal hurricane lanterns full of lemons and flowers.
Sandy kept sliding glances to her. Glances that said are you kidding me?
But her expression was one that many wore. Several guests were milling about with wide eyes and whispers.
“Mom!”
Melanie turned to find her daughter, clothed in a simple red sheath and strappy sandals, coming toward her with outstretched arms. “Can you believe all this?”
She grabbed her daughter’s hands and shook her head. “I would say no, but I’ve known Tennyson for a long time. I know she likes to dazzle.”
Emma laughed. “Well, mission waaaay accomplished.”
Emma said hello to Sandy and then looked over at Andrew, who was in a conversation with a group of people Melanie didn’t know. “I wish Daddy were here.”
She did, too.
Melanie had left Kit that morning after one of the best evenings they’d had in forever. After having drinks on the patio back in Destin, she and Kit had returned to their room and had naughty sex against the mirrored closet. Kit had been super into her whole “bad girl with a cigarette” vibe. They’d showered and gone down to meet Charlotte—eye roll from her every time Kit mentioned that woman’s name—only to find out that the girl wonder had a migraine. Or maybe Charlotte knew when she was beat? Whichever. Didn’t matter because Melanie had gotten to have an intimate dinner with her husband. They’d laughed, and everything had felt like old times, like she was back to being the Melanie he loved. After hurrying through key lime pie, they’d rushed upstairs, kissing passionately in the elevator, and again against the wall outside their room, before tumbling back inside and indulging in amazing sex. Like ah-mazing.
So when she’d woken that morning, she’d felt like a new woman, a woman who had made some definite steps in the right direction with her husband.
Thank God.
Kit had gotten dressed and slipped out to go to his meeting, and she’d ordered room service, indulging in waffles because she’d burned a lot of calories with Kit the night before. She lay in bed, singing some of her favorite Broadway tunes, slurping up syrupy waffles, and essentially loving life. But all that came crashing down when she’d rolled her suitcase downstairs and looked for Kit’s meeting room so she could tell him goodbye. When she finally found the boardroom, she opened the door to the sight of Charlotte resting her head on Kit’s shoulder. They were sitting in the back, and he was holding a can of ginger ale and looking very worried.
Melanie narrowed her eyes and caught his attention.
Both he and Charlotte rose and joined her in the hallway.
“What’s up?” Kit asked, looking a bit like he did when he filched the cookies she’d made for the PTA bake sale. He took Charlotte’s elbow and set her against the wall.
“I’m about to leave and wanted to say goodbye. Is she okay?”
“The migraine she had last night is hanging on and making her feel sick,” Kit said, looking back with concern at Charlotte, who did, in fact, look wan.
“I’ll be okay, Kit,” Charlotte said with a wave of her manicured hand.
“Does she need to fly back with me?” Melanie asked, half hoping the answer was no because she didn’t want to deal with a sick person on her flight back to Shreveport. Especially since it wasn’t a nonstop flight. And half hoping the answer would be yes, so she wouldn’t have to leave her husband alone with a heifer who had designs on him.