The Engagement

Chapter One

Surrounded by color swatches, invitation samples and decorative charts, Emme Dalton shoved a pen behind her ear and threw her arms above her head, stretching. A glance at the clock told her it was well past 5 o'clock. Her paltry lunch of salad and bottled water long ago left her system, and her protesting stomach reminded her dinner should be around the corner. But this wedding was giving her fits, or more to the point, the bride was.

Lenny Winston called at least once a day, if not more. It was getting to the point where she looked at her caller ID on her cell and debated whether it was worth it to answer. Bridezilla changed her color combination three times and her location twice. She wanted roses, then she wanted sunflowers, and finally, settled on roses mixed with lilies and five other flowers. Emme even had to mediate when she got in a fight with her maid of honor.

Sometimes, she questioned her sanity for getting involved in this business. But then a wedding came together, glowing bride and smiling groom, a smashing reception and happy parents, and she remembered why she started to begin with. If she had to remind herself several times a day lately, well, it was part of the package. And eventually, this wedding would end and she could catch her breath for a moment or two.

What she needed, was a larger studio and more employees. That required money she didn't yet have, but hopefully would once the Winston wedding finished. Word of mouth was the ticket in this business. It kept her holding her tongue, holding her breath and holding her temper when she received the fifth call in one day. She solved everything from wedding day pimples, to alteration disasters, to drunk wedding guests. And she dried more tears than a mother with cranky toddlers.

Leaning back in her chair, she arched her aching back and reached for her bottled water, wishing it contained vodka. Her cell phone vibrated, dancing across papers on her desk, before the ring tone blared "Barracuda".

She lifted it, glaring at the screen. "Great. Just what I need."

She considered not answering it, but the fall-out would be worse. A five minute voice mail, calls from her beleaguered brothers and finally, her father, begging she call her mother before he buried his wife in the back yard. It was tempting to tell him to just do it. They could have a nice funeral, and she wouldn't have to listen to a lecture on why she couldn't be married like her friends, with five kids, a mortgage and a mini-van.

"Hello mother. To what, do I owe this illustrious call?"

"Don't be sarcastic, Emme. It's not very becoming."

It was tempting to tell her mother they didn't live in the 1950s, but it would be a waste of breath.

"Anyway, you probably heard, but your oldest brother got engaged. His wife is very lovely. You'll do the wedding, won't you?"

She doodled on a spare piece of paper. "Mom, you know I don't do family weddings. That's just asking for trouble."

"But you did your friends' weddings."

"That's different. Besides, if you knew I knew, then why are you calling to tell me?"

Silence on the other end, then, "Well, I was just wondering, when are you going to get married?"

They had this conversation at least once a week. "Mom, you have to be engaged to get married. Better yet, you have to be dating. You know I'm not dating. I don't have time for that right now."

"It's such a pity. You plan such beautiful weddings, yet..."

Emme rolled her eyes, though she knew her mother couldn't see. "I'm 25 years old. I don't think I'll be an old maid anytime soon."