Picture Perfect (Weddings by Design Book #1): A Novel Page 3
“Oh, Hannah is full of stories. But I guess it’s time to shift gears.” Dani flashed a nervous smile and fussed with her hair in a flirtatious fashion. “I hope you don’t mind, Hannah. I just figured, well, both of you made the list . . .”
Yes, both of us had made the list, all right. Despite my best attempts to nudge out the competition, Drew had somehow won the top spot. Seemed like he always managed to steal my thunder. But not for long. No, if I played my cards right with Sierra Caswell, I would eventually knock him off his perch. If I kept my cool and handled things like a pro.
Deep breath, Hannah. Think about the McDermotts of old. Didn’t they end up with the land? Of course they did! This is going to end well, as long as you don’t crater.
I fidgeted with my necklace, a lovely silver cross Grandpa Aengus had given me for my thirteenth birthday. I happened to glance down and did a double take as my eyes landed on my feet. On my left foot—a comfy black flat. On my right—a luscious brown strappy sandal.
What in the world?
I looked again, just to be sure. Yep. Two mismatched shoes stared back at me. So much for looking and acting like a pro.
Stay calm, Hannah. Stay. Calm.
I shifted my gaze back up to Dani and Drew, but they were both staring down at my feet, cockeyed grins on their faces. Now what?
“I, um . . . it’s Wear Your Mismatched Shoes to Work Day. I’m surprised you two didn’t get the memo.” I reached down to grab my now-lukewarm coffee and offered Dani what I hoped would look like a confident smile. “Well, thanks for your time. Have a good day.”
“Happy to meet you.”
Judging from the fact that she never even looked up from my feet, I rather doubted it.
I gave her a curt nod, then pivoted on the heel of my black flat, caught the toe of my brown sandal on the leg of Drew’s chair . . . and promptly dropped my cup of coffee into his lap.
3
I’m a Dreamer, Aren’t We All
There was a young lady named Rose
Who had a large wart on her nose.
When she had it removed
Her appearance improved,
But her glasses slipped down to her toes.
Irish limerick
There are those moments in every young Irish woman’s life when she wishes that whole leprechaun legend was true. I found myself wishing that very thing after dropping a cup of coffee in Drew Kincaid’s lap. Oh, if only I could turn into a leprechaun! Then I could disappear at will. That’s exactly what I wanted to do after making a fool of myself in such a public way—and in front of a reporter, no less!
But dropping a cup of lukewarm coffee in Drew’s lap hadn’t been bad enough. Oh no. I’d followed that act with the grand finale—trying to clean up my mess with several napkins.
Note to self: never attempt to clean another human being’s pants, especially in a public forum.
Oh, how I cringed thinking about it. I wanted to curl up in a ball and admit defeat. Instead, I squared my shoulders, pretended the whole thing never happened, and got right back to work. In fact, I pretty much saturated myself with work so that I could forget about the whole thing. Many times I prayed, Dear God, please don’t let that reporter include my dog proverb in her article, followed by, And if you could somehow coax her into leaving out the mismatched shoe issue, that would be great too. These urgent pleas were capped off with, Oh, and the coffee incident. Yes, Lord, the coffee. Please, please make sure that whole fiasco doesn’t appear in print.
Other than those few things, I felt the meeting with the reporter went great.
Two days later, I pulled my car into the driveway at Club Wed. My three o’clock appointment with Bella would prove to be a challenge, no doubt, since we planned to meet with Sierra Caswell via Skype.
I did my best to remain calm but found it difficult. Meeting with Sierra online felt safer, at least. Connecting with her in person put the fear of God in me and made me question my decision to photograph this wedding in the first place.
Pulling the key out of the ignition, I drew in a deep breath. My gaze shifted to the pristine wedding facility where so many glorious ceremonies had taken place. The butterfly farm in my stomach took to flight as I saw Bella Neeley walking across the lawn, headed right for my car. The gorgeous brunette’s long, dark curls reminded me of a character from a painting. She wore the prettiest blouse—sort of a teal blue—along with a fashionable pair of skinny jeans. And her trademark cowboy boots, of course. I couldn’t help but notice them because the inlaid stones caught the sun and made them glisten.
Bella carried her infant daughter in her arms. And her toddler—what was his name again?—had somehow wrapped himself around her right leg. He jostled up and down as she made her way toward my car, his unruly brown hair standing atop his head—half trendy, half mop top.
I opened the door and stepped out, all smiles, then offered a little wave to win over the rambunctious youngster. The boy released his hold on Bella’s leg, then hid behind her, obviously terrified by my presence. Not quite the reaction I’d hoped for. I reached down to fuss with his hair, messing it up even more, and offered a cheerful, “Hey, you!”
He spouted something in Italian, and Bella’s eyes widened as she turned to admonish him. “Tres Neeley! I’ve told you a thousand times not to say that!”
Tres. That’s it.
The youngster’s lip curled down in a pout, and his gaze shifted to the ground. “But Uncle Laz says it.” The child’s words had a bit of a Texas twang to them, which I found endearing. A little odd after the outburst in Italian, but endearing.
Bella groaned and looked at the baby girl, who stirred awake. “Do you mind?” She placed the little doll in my arms, and I shifted my attention to her captivating brown eyes and lush eyelashes.
Wow. This one’s a beauty. A little on the chunky side, but a beauty.
Bella knelt down and scolded Tres, who offered up a quiet apology in Tex-Italian.
“There, now. That’s better.” Bella rose and sighed as she looked my way. “Just about the time you think you’ve got a handle on life, you throw kids into the mix. I hope you’ll forgive the fact that I’ve got them with me today. D.J. will be here soon to pick up Tres. They’ve got father-son plans tonight.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Yeah. Tres always loves spending alone time with his daddy—who wouldn’t in a family this big, you know?”
“Oh, well, I . . .” How could I explain that I got alone time with my dad most every day?
“Anyway, Tres has been looking forward to this all day, so I hope D.J. gets here soon. He’s got a construction job on the west end of the island, but he knows we’ve got this meeting about Sierra’s wedding, so he should be here any minute, I promise.”
“Oh, no problem.”
“Speaking of Sierra, I got a call from her publicist today.” Bella headed toward the wedding facility, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she glanced back at me. “You won’t believe how picky they’re being about her photographs. Only certain angles, certain areas of her body. It’s crazy. Her publicist said something about some legal forms he’s planning to send your way. Hope you’re okay with that.”
“I’m sure they’re just the usual privacy forms. No big deal.” And by the way, did you realize I’m still holding your baby? My purse slid off my shoulder and into the crook of my arm, but I kept walking.
“Ah. Wonder why he called me, then?” Bella paused at the veranda and shrugged. “Oh well.”
I did my best not to groan aloud. Frankly, I wasn’t sure which bothered me more—the fact that Sierra’s publicist had the nerve to be so picky, or the fact that he’d called Bella, not me. Who was shooting this wedding, anyway?
Deep breath, Hannah. Don’t read too much into this.
“We can talk about all of this when we meet with Sierra online.” She glanced at her watch. “We can hash it all out then.” Bella swung wide the front door to Club Wed and ushered me inside.
Tick-tock, tick-tock. Give the baby back to her mother.
I pressed the little darling into Bella’s arms. “It stinks that Sierra’s going to be in Nashville until two days before her wedding.”
“True, but what can we do? She’s in the middle of a recording session right now. Thank God for video chats, right?”
“Right.”
I took in my surroundings. As always, the beautiful old Victorian home captivated me with its charm and intricate details. The gingerbread trim. The carved wooden door. The peekaboo stained glass window above the front door. The divine chandelier in the lobby. Original wood floors, polished until they gleamed. A girl could get used to a place like this.
I heard the strangest sound off in the distance. I listened more intently. A voice singing. What was that—“Amazing Grace”? Yes, “Amazing Grace.” Sort of. Certainly not like any version I’d ever heard.
Bella must’ve sensed my confusion. She laughed and pointed at a large cage in the adjoining room. Inside it, a colorful parrot trilled with delight, then hollered out, “Go to the mattresses!”
“Sorry about Guido.” Bella chuckled. “He shifts back and forth between choirboy and mobster.”
“Ah.” I took a couple of steps toward the parrot, hoping to get a closer look, but he let out an ear-piercing rat-a-tat-tat sound that reminded me of a machine gun going off, and my heart sailed to my throat. The baby began to cry at once, and Tres put his hands over his ears and winced.
So much for befriending the family’s bird. I’d have to win Bella’s approval some other way.
She released an exaggerated groan. “I’m so sorry, Hannah. It’s my day to watch Guido, but he doesn’t make it easy on me. Ever since Uncle Sal died, the poor old bird just hasn’t been the same.”
I didn’t know who Uncle Sal was, but his death certainly put the bird’s misbehavior in perspective. Sort of.
“Let’s go into my office. It’s quieter in there.” Bella paused and then used the most motherly voice I’d heard in a while. “Tres, be a good boy and let Mommy work. Would you like to watch a movie?”
“Buddy the Warrior!” He ran in circles, making me dizzy. Who had that kind of energy?
Bella’s brows drew downward in a frown. “No, Son. I don’t care what Uncle Lazarro lets you watch when Mommy’s not around, I don’t approve of wrestling shows. They’re not good for you.”
The toddler let out a squall and plopped down onto the floor, dissolving into a tantrum that involved tears and kicking.
This, naturally, made the baby cry even louder. Bella drew her close, nuzzled her nose against the little one’s cheek, and hollered above the noise from the chaos, “I think Rosa-Earline is cutting teeth. She was a little feverish this morning. And you should have seen the fit she threw in the middle of the night. I’ve hardly had any sleep.”
“Ah.” I had to wonder how Bella got anything done around here with these two underfoot.
Bella’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry. What were we talking about?”
“Wrestling shows?” I tried.
“Before that.” She held tight to the baby with her left arm and scooped up the toddler with her right, amazing me with her ability to hang on to both with such precision.
“Um, birds?”
Bella shook her head. “No, before Guido, I mean.”
“Video chats?”
“Right.”
She continued to talk as she made her way through the foyer and into her office. Once inside, Bella put Tres down on the floor and set the baby in some sort of a swing-like contraption in the corner, then inserted a DVD into the player. Minutes later an animated movie filled the tiny television screen in the corner. Not that Tres paid it any mind. Instead, he scrambled up onto the desk and grabbed the cup that held his mother’s pens and pencils. They plinked and plunked to the floor below, a couple of them landing under my chair.
I couldn’t help myself. My hand slipped into my bag and came out with my camera. Just as Tres reached to spin one of the pencils, I snagged the perfect shot of him. Close-up, of course. I caught the sneaky little smile. The wrinkled nose. The mischievous eyes. Caught it all. He turned long enough to catch my eye, then offered a sly grin meant just for me.
You precious, naughty thing, you!
Bella didn’t seem to notice I’d slipped into photographer mode. She scolded her son, lifted him down from the desk, then turned my way and sighed. “Do you mind if I call D.J.? He should be here by now.”
Just as she reached for the phone, a sound from outside caught my attention. I glanced out the window at a large, black Dodge 4x4. It screeched to a halt, and a man—no, make that a strikingly handsome Texas cowboy—stepped out.
“Saints preserve us,” I whispered under my breath as I took in his broad shoulders and lanky gait. Who is that?
“Finally.” Bella rose and gestured for Tres to clean up his mess. “Son, your daddy’s here.”
Ack. Should’ve seen the resemblance between the father and the children. Bella ushered her husband into the room moments later and introduced him as D.J.—Dwayne Neeley Jr. The thick Texas drawl held me under its spell for a moment as the handsome blond cowboy laid out his plan for the evening—taking Tres to visit his grandparents in Splendora, about an hour north of Houston up Highway 59. I’d never been to Splendora myself, but listening to D.J.’s deep twang made me want to grab my cowgirl boots and scurry on up there as quickly as I could, especially if it meant finding a fella like this.
Do you have a brother, perhaps? A distant cousin?
Turned out he did have a brother. A happily married one named Bubba.
Why, Lord? Why?
By the time D.J. left, my nerves had dissipated. And when Bella finally got our video chat going, I felt my confidence return.
Until Sierra Caswell’s face came into view on the screen. Then I felt a little shaky once again. Why did this girl have that effect on me? The petite blonde with the big Texas hair dove right in, her words coming at us a mile a minute. I found the tiny dimples on either side of her mouth fascinating. They would photograph well. And those big blue eyes would be great in print too. Just for grins, I squinted to see if I could find any wrinkles around them. Nope. Not a one.
Bella kicked off the conversation, making light chatter about the ceremony—a country-western extravaganza, of course. She and Sierra talked with big smiles about the food, the decor, the order of events . . . everything. Well, everything but the photography.
By the time they got around to talking about the photographs, Sierra’s smile had disappeared. Now I saw the crinkles around her eyes. Hmm. Well, thank God for Photoshop.
Sierra’s eyelashes took to fluttering as she spoke. “I won’t lie, Hannah. When I got the call from Drew Kincaid a few weeks back, I was really tempted to go with him. He shot Brock Benson’s wedding, you know. Brock’s getting more famous by the day. And he’s on Dancing with the Stars this season. You know what that does for a person’s career. So I would have to say that Drew is very well connected, while you’re . . .”
Her words drifted off, taking all of the air from my lungs. “Well, yes, but . . .” I began.
If you knew our clan’s history, you would know that I win in the end. So there.
“Well, I went with you because I liked your portfolio better.” She sighed. “Especially that one picture of the bride from the Irish wedding.”
“Thank you. She’s my sister Deidre. She—”
“Anyway, I’m counting on you to do your very best, which means you need to stay focused.”
“I—I am.”
“You should be studying my photos on my website and looking at the angles.”
“What?”
“Prep work. Getting ready. It’s important that you study the photo links I sent you so that you know my best angles.”
What makes you think I
haven’t looked over those photos?
“George says he hasn’t heard from you.”
“I called him yesterday. And a couple of days before that. And responded to an email from him this morning.” Suddenly I felt like a suspect in a whodunit. Hated that feeling.
“Well, he’s really busy right now. But we’re taking this photo thing very seriously. Just be aware that I’ve got to approve all of the photos before any are leaked to the media. You know that’s kind of the reason for the great photo angles, right?” Her cheeks flamed pink. “George plans to slip them to the national media, then create a scandal, saying they were leaked against my wishes.”
“Wait.” My heart fluttered into my throat. “You’re not going to pin that leak on me, are you?” A thousand thoughts shot through my head at once, none of them good.
“Oh. Hmm.” She shrugged, and a little giggle escaped. “I don’t think so, silly. I’m sure he has a plan of action for all that. You know George.”
Yes. I knew George, all right. And I trusted him about as far as I trusted my younger sister’s so-called potty-trained Pekingese on our mother’s carpet.
“I’m not sure about all of that, Sierra.” Bella’s brow wrinkled, my first sign that she didn’t care for the idea either. “Let’s talk it through the next time we meet, okay?”
“I guess.” Sierra rambled on, oblivious to my ponderings, and ended with, “I just know George is super picky about the shots you take.”
“Well, I got his email this morning and—”
“I’m sure everything will work out fine.” Off she went on a tangent, talking about her preferences for the photographs. Nothing terribly unusual, unless you counted the whole “don’t shoot me from the left side because my nose is crooked” thing.
I’d just opened my mouth to respond when Bella shot a warning glance my way. I clamped my lips shut.