Mila

Over thirty-three years of life and this was the first time Mila felt she could depend on her sister, Lido. Her older sister had really come through. Lido secured an appointment at Madame Renée’s, one of the most sought-after designers in Beverly Hills. The vintage boutique was located in a mansion. Wrought iron gates surrounded the place. Four-tier French Renaissance fountains dotted the front yard. Inside the home, there were touches of French oak, along with shiny, shimmery decorations. A butler in a ducktail uniform had greeted them when they entered.

Renee was gravely thin, decked in layers of silk. Long strings of pearls were roped around her finger as she scrutinized Mila, who stood on a platform in a pair of jeans and a shapeless long-sleeve shirt.

“Take it off,” Renee ordered. “Take it all off.”

Her exaggerated, borderline disgust almost reminded Mila of a cartoon character. She couldn’t cop an attitude with the old lady.

“Your clothes.” Lido waved a hand.

Mila was still frozen. Her eyes stayed glued to the regal, silver-haired woman. Damn, am I that pitiful?

“Trust me, young lady, I’ve seen it all.” Renee stepped away.

Mila started out of the shirt. “Shouldn’t I be searching for somewhere to have this shindig?”

“Shindig?” Yasmin took the shirt and folded it. “You are having the wedding of the century.”

“On Valentine’s Day, Yas, which is less than a month away, mind you,” Mila said. With the way Madame Renee had regarded her, she assumed this would take ages. “We could’ve just went to David’s Bridal.”

Yasmin gasped.

Lido gritted her teeth. “At least try to exceed the grandeur of Blake’s previous wedding. Shit, Mila. We have our work cut out for us.”

Mila bit her lip. “I haven’t seen any photos, nor have I asked Blake about his first wedding. Should—”

“Every wedding is different.” Yasmin finally spoke up. For someone whose verbal prowess was likened to jumping into a game of double Dutch, she had been slow to comment.

Mila just couldn’t help herself. She asked, “Lido, where was the wedding held?”

The model’s eyes bugged and either she needed to become an actress, or she was overexaggerating. “Let me tell you how much Blake and Diane’s wedding cost—”

Yasmin cut in. “Lido, shut up,” she said, just as her younger sister broke down the price tag.

“Six-point-five million! Should we adjust for inflation?” Lido dug into her purse for her cell phone. While bringing up the calculator app, she mumbled, “Take off your pants, Mila. Renee is a busy woman. And I’ll have the figures for you . . . in . . .”

“This is about you, Mila,” Yasmin encouraged. “Price is not important. What you want is.”

Unable to get the cost of Blake and Diane’s wedding off her mind, Mila started to shrug out of her baggy boyfriend jeans. She was by no means interested in splurging on that level, yet she slowly became fixated on wanting to know more. “Where was it?”

Yasmin sighed. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Buckingham Palace. I suggest Dubai.” Lido grabbed Mila’s jeans and began to fold them.

Licking her lips apprehensively, Mila caved. “Show me a pic—”

“Lido, I swear, if you pull up a photo of them, I will slap you.” The back of Yasmin’s hand was already poised. Lido stuffed her cell phone back into her pocket.

Renee returned with the clearing of her throat. “Gorgeous. You have impeccable bones and fluid curves. You will wear the dress.”

With her mind inundated now, Mila’s face clouded in confusion. “You have a dress already for me?” Good, on second thought, we can get this over with.

Lido rolled her eyes. “She’s saying that the dress she designs will be perfect for you, Mila. Stop acting like a tomboy, you’re too old for that shit.”

 

A half-hour later, Renee’s assistant had Yasmin and Lido’s sizes, as well as Zenobia’s measurements, which she had texted to Mila. The sisters were headed out the door for lunch when Mila noticed Parker.

For January, the weather was crisp. A small cloud of breathy fog issued from Parker’s thin, dark purple lips. She appeared to have been standing around for a while.

“Hey, Parker, what are you doing here?” Mila asked. “How long have you stood out in this cold?”

“Oh, I was just waiting for you. A few minutes really. I guess that place is exclusive.” Parker nudged her chin to the intercom. “No publicists allowed either.”

Mila wondered why the woman hadn’t called her but invited her to lunch with them.

***

The four of them dined at The Pit Stop, a gourmet burger eatery. The restaurant had distressed wood and metal accents. The seat of the chairs looked like tires but had a comfortable feel to them.

“Little sister, are you honestly gonna eat that entire burger?” Lido asked, with her own veggie burger.

“Every last bite. It’s bison.” Ignoring Lido’s scrutiny, Mila addressed Parker, who sat beside her. “So, what’s on your mind, Parker? You aren’t the wine and dine type. You can hold the conversation while I enjoy this entire hunk of meat.” Mila winked.

Parker had a wedge salad before her and had yet to take a bite. Rubbing her hands together, she began the discussion, which is what she seemed to be waiting for. “I have a very big opportunity for you, Mila. But first, can I get a few details on the dress?”

Mila nodded, chewing food. She was used to Parker offering advice, strongly suggested advice, to Blake regarding his brand and reputation. But the two women had rarely held a real conversation.

“As you know, Renee will be designing our dresses.” Mila spoke of the design, leaving out the real wow factor.

“Sounds like Blake will be in a trance all night long. What’s the venue?” Parker inquired.

“Blake and I haven’t chosen one yet.”

Parker tapped a finger to her lip. “Blake and I chatted a few days ago about how your wedding and how his business could work hand in hand.” She began to pitch the same idea to Mila as she had offered Blake.

Mila had stopped eating to listen, leaving half of her burger uneaten. Lido began to slide the plate away from her. Mila slapped her hand, and Yasmin chuckled. Hefting up the bison burger, Mila asked, “What does Blake think?”

“He was blown away by the concept.”

“Why didn’t he just say yes then?”

Parker was smooth in her response. “Because you are so very important to him, Mila. Weddings are all about the bride. The only thing a man needs to pick out are his groomsmen, his tuxedo, and his cake—if he has a cake.”

“Sheesh, we’ve gotta get a move on it, ladies.” Mila sighed. “I’ve already called around to a few venues, such as the golf course down the street from our,” she gulped, “our home in the Hills. It’s booked for two years. Alright, Parker, I agree. Blake and I will have dinner with the new wedding planner tonight, but I suppose the planner shouldn’t have a problem with a few leads. Start posting on his social media app.”

“Great.” Parker grinned. “This route, you’ll have vendors begging for you to marry at their locations. With all the traction you receive, you’ll still be able to choose what the wedding planner comes up with anyway. It’s just a publicity and social media stunt.”

***

A while later, Parker excused herself from the table. Lido ordered some sort of churro thingy. “So, whose house am I staying at tonight?”

“Come again?” Mila’s eyebrow arched. The horror of moving her older sister into her home a few years ago flashed before her eyes.

“Don’t you own a house out here?” Yasmin questioned.

“No.” Lido pointed the cinnamon delight at them. “What’s with these questions? I just asked a question.”

Mila asked. “Where’s your luggage? We assumed you checked into a hotel or were returning to New York after the fitting?”

“My luggage is in the rental car. Damn, Mila. I’m guessing one of your fiancé’s many bedrooms in his two, mind you, Los Angeles homes is out of the question?” Lido’s ever-rolling eyes landed on Yasmin before Mila could offer the home with the crime scene tape. There was a limit to how nice Mila was capable of being. Lido under the same roof as Blake—not gonna happen.

“Humph, don’t look over here. Faaid’s mother moved in after his father died last spring. That was the last guest room.”

Mila sighed deeply. “Lido, the last time you lived with me, it didn’t work out. You couldn’t keep your clothes on in front of my man! I can forgive but forgetting would be a shame on me.”

“Simmer down. I just wanted to gauge how much he cared.” Lido sank back in the chair, dipped the churro into the creamy hot, spicy chocolate and took a bite. “I like this, not the food—actually I do like the food—but I like this new Mila. All that weight on your engagement finger must’ve given you a . . .”

“Given me a what?” Mila’s head tilted somewhat.

The middle sister’s shoulders rose in a careless shrug. She scarfed down the rest of the churro like it was nothing. “I just like you, Mila. You are so sweet.”

“I always hate when you call me that. I am not sweet.”

“And spicy just like this chocolate. You’ve got a little kick to you. Shit, we bump heads like bulls. Or rather, I never made it easy on you, my gorgeous little sister. I’ll just hit up Veronica. And yes, Yasmin, I have a home. I just haven’t been there in a while.”

“Good—” Yasmin smirked.

“Sorry, not good.” Mila cut in. “The moment you bought that pad in Manhattan and moved out of the other house the two of you owned, Veronica has . . . she’s changed.” At least, Mila hoped the girl had grown a backbone.

“So, what? I bought my new place a few months ago because she and I came to an understanding.”

Mila wasn’t stupid enough to encourage a response. Yasmin rarely spent much time with Lido, so she took the bait and asked, “What is this understanding?”

Lido smiled as she often did while saying something outrageously raunchy. “I needed a lil’ bit of space. I moved, so she could understand that, although pussy is sweet, I can always welcome a side of dick too.”

Lido’s vulgar response had Yasmin up in a nanosecond, shrugging into her jacket. “You should’ve been a son. Lunch is over ladies.” Done with her sister, she addressed the baby. “Mila, I need periodic updates on the meeting you and Blake are having this evening with the wedding planner.”

Mila smiled at their waitress across the way and received a nodded gesture that the check would be on its way. Teeth clamped shut, she tried biting her tongue, literally biting it, to keep from speaking. But after so many years of Lido saying how much she loved Veronica and dogging her out in the next breath, Mila couldn’t contain herself.

Thoughtfully, she inquired, “Are children in your plans one day? One child or more? Because I’m confident that you wouldn’t want any man or woman treating your child the way you’ve treated Veronica.”

“What?” Lido’s finger dipped into the spicy chocolate sauce. It looked like she was determined to get the last bits of smooth goodness. “What sorta question is that? I’m 35, Mila. I have too much going on for me than to fuck it over with some snotty nose, shitty little kids.”

“Wow, one phrase and an arsenal of cuss words.” Mila scoffed. 

She was silent for a second. Although Lido hadn’t flipped out since her heat stroke, Mila wasn’t entirely too sure about her sister’s frame of mind. For the most part, Lido had been very helpful, which technically was saying a lot. By Lido’s own personal standards, she was doing well. But Mila wasn’t in the position to hope for the best. After all, the most important day of her life was well on its way.