Knightsen, California is a podunk town. So much so that I couldn’t even get a hotel room here. I’m a few more miles down the road in Brentwood. I drove through it last night, scouting out the area and seeing what my options are for resources. Not fucking much, let me tell you that. It only took me ten minutes to drive through the actual town with one stop sign. I was done and already in the next town before I even blinked.
I guess I should be looking on the bright side of things: it’s a great location to hide a celebrity wedding, but shit. How the hell do you put a celebrity wedding together in a town that’s more suited for a shoestring budget? Well, I pride myself on Cinderella weddings and making dreams come true, so this one will be my greatest wedding yet. Mark my words.
I’m outside waiting in the parking lot of The Beer and Brood Tavern for Aran to arrive. She’s dropping her kids off at her sister-in-law’s parents’ house (God that sounds so hillbilly), but Aran is mostly a city girl with a little bit of country in her so I don’t mind.
Fuck, I’ve put up with all kinds of crazy shit from rich, little bitches or older, eccentric, and spoiled brides-to-be. Doesn’t matter the age, it’s the money that makes them crazy. They know how to blow through it like water from a fountain— it’s a never-ending flow. I try my best to make it at least beautiful. After all, that’s why they sign with me. That, and I get shit done. I’m a drill sergeant, but in this business, you have to be to protect your brand.
But Aran is my friend. I usually bend over backward for my clients, but I only cut planning schedules short for great friends. We have a little less than two months to make this happen, and I’m the one getting antsy. Here’s Aran now. She pulls in racing like a bat-out-of-hell and her tires squeal as she parks next to me.
“Fuck, I’m sorry Isabella,” she fusses. “Sophia begged me not to leave and threw herself down on the floor in a monumental tantrum, and Levi and Liam refused to take a nap with all of Sophia’s noise. God, I long for single days again sometimes...oh wait, I am still single.” She laughs, but her eyes are wild and crinkling from the huge, stressed-out smile she’s wearing.
“Well, let’s get on inside then and remedy that right now,” I insist.
“I thought you would have been inside waiting,” she states.
“Nah,” I explain, “when we enter a resource for business purposes, we enter as a united front together. It gives us more negotiating power.”
She laughs out loud hysterically at my comment. “I don’t think that’s going to work with Uncle Frank,” she says, “but I’d still like to see it attempted in theory.” She winks at me, pulling the front doors open for me to enter first. Well, my brief conversation with that one patron the other night gave me an inkling of what I’m in for with ‘Uncle Frank’. He sounds like a cheap, old bastard that needs to retire.
Aran leads us over to a corner booth by the dance floor, and we both slide in. Holly, the waitress, comes over and takes our drink order and places a basket of pretzels down on the table.
“Hey, Aran. Damn, girl. You still look gorgeous,” Holly says, reaching across the table and giving Aran a hug. They must have grown up together. “Three babies in less than three years would have sucked the life out of me. “
“Well, on bad days it does. Trust me,” she tells the waitress. “But the boys are twins, so it isn’t as bad as it sounds. They entertain each other mostly. I only need to come running when I hear the scream of pain being inflicted.”
Huh? Who is this calm woman sitting next to me when she just lost it outside in the parking lot over the kids? Maybe I shouldn’t have an opinion because I don’t have kids but I don’t know how women do it. I guess the right man would have to come along and change my mind. They’re just like kids, aren’t they? Needy and clingy. I can’t even find one of those, so no practice man-child for me.
“Holly, could you please let Uncle Frank know we’re here?” Aran asks politely. Holly smiles and nods her head.
“Sure, no problem,” she replies. “He’s in the back doing inventory. I’ll send him right out.”
All I can think of right now is the picture of ‘Uncle Frank’ that I’ve got in my head. I bet he comes out here limping on one bad knee, wearing an old flannel shirt that’s seen its better days, and his Wrangler jeans are cinched too tight with this belt making the ass of his pants sag. He’s probably got long gray hair pulled into a ‘party in the back’ ponytail and a scraggly looking beard with both needing a major trim at the barbershop. I bet he smells like twenty packs of nicotine too. Either that or he chews tobacco and spits. Yuck!
“I brought some visuals of the ideas I’ve been kicking around since we changed the venue,” Aran chatters excitedly. “Denver was upscale, and Knightsen will be more...laid back.” Funny how she had to pause to choose her wording. I’m not sure ‘laid back’ is what she meant. Maybe she’s still talking herself into the idea.
She pulls out her portfolio of wedding ideas that she’s gathered over the last few weeks and starts laying them out on the table. She wants to completely change the theme now that we’ve moved the wedding from Colorado to California.
Hmmm. More laid back. We’ll see what that equates to in dollars. Laid back can be more expensive when you have to cart everything in from a distance. Speaking of which, I’m so glad we only lost a few deposits and nothing more major than that. With the downscale in theme, facility, and catering we may still end up just on the inside of this massive budget.
“Hey, Ladies,” I hear the deep, sexy timbre of a middle-aged man and not the crotchety, weak voice of an elderly man. “Mind if I join you?”
I look up to place a face with that voice and my eyes round out. It’s the bar patron from the other night. The sexy one that I had to get close to and see if he’d offer to buy me a drink. Sadly, he did not. The pheromones he was putting off the other night had my panties soaked clean through. “I’m sorry, Sir, but we’re waiting for someone to join us,” I inform him and go back to looking at Aran’s color swatches for ribbons.
Aran pinches my thigh under the table. “Isabella, this is Uncle Frank or Frank Rex to you,” she says and hops up from her seat to give him a big hug. He lifts her high off the ground, and she’s tall for a woman. He’s definitely got to be close to 6’3”, maybe 6’4”, but he’s nowhere near her husband’s height. Uncle Frank is the perfect height. I love a tall man, but not too tall that they’re awkward.
Correction, I love a tall, burly man. He’s thick with wide shoulders and a massive chest that’s covered up with a plain, black, cotton T-shirt pulled tight across his chest. I can see his pec muscles and I want to run my hands up his chest, over his shoulders, and maybe, just maybe, scratch the back of his neck with my long nails. Stop it, Bella.
A small sheen of sweat forms at my temples just looking at the man. I half stand and stretch my arm out over the table, offering him my hand to shake. “Hi, I’m Isabella Asante— the wedding planner,” I croak out my words. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“You sure about that?” he asks, raising an eyebrow in doubt of my words. Is he trying to catch me in a lie? “When you were in here the other night, you didn’t like my choice of music playing or the state of my bar. You said I wasn’t catering to all of my clientele with the heavy metal music, and you hinted that it stunk in here— that it smelled like a bar with the alcohol and cigarette smoke stench.”
I look over at Aran and see the smile she’s hiding behind her hand. She’s enjoying this immensely. Now I see what she meant about my united front comment not working on him.
“Well, I see you’re calling me out on my sugar-coated bullshit,” I smile, praying my attempt at light-hearted humor will work. “It is nice to meet you. We’ll talk about the music and the smells here at some point in this process— just not today.” I wink and beam my smile at him, but the corners of his lips turn down slightly. He’s holding back the words on the tip of his tongue. I know it.
I hope he’s not normally this hard to please, and that he’s just a tad pissed off about my comments the other night. I’ve got plenty of time to win him over with my Brazilian charm. He slides into the booth next to Aran and sets down his drink. Damn, he didn’t look this good the other night. I’ve got butterflies in my belly.
“Alright, let’s hash this out,” he says. “What’s on the agenda, and how much is it going to cost me?”
I pull out my planner and notebook from my purse since it looks like this will not be the loose and casual meeting I was prepared for. He’s all business, going full throttle on the gas pedal.
“Uncle Frank, first I’d like to thank you for letting Kyle and I use the bar for our wedding,” Aran chimes. He flashes her a warm smile that sends a low burning heat to my panties, while I get a simple and emotionless eye dart in my direction. What the fuck? He’s going to be a hard-ass I guess.
The cross tattooed near the corner of his eye draws my attention. As I try not to stare at it or him, I wonder who it’s for. A little piece of my heart breaks for him. It must be someone very special to emblazon your body with a small representation of that lost soul. Is that why he’s such a hardass? Is he that way with everyone or just women...or just me?
“It’s my pleasure, Aran,” he assures her. “You’re family, and I’d do anything for family. I’m donating the use of it as my wedding gift to you both.”
“Oh, please,” she blurts out, “You don’t need to do that.” I pat her on her hand trying to stop her words, but she ignores me.
“I’m doing it, and we’re not going to argue about it,” he states sternly, and that’s the end of that argument, loud and clear. “You can decorate however you want, as long as it doesn’t involve any type of construction on my part or removing any current decorations. And I’m sure there’s other shit I’ll think of as this process moves along— I will advise of any issues as they come up.”
Damn, I’ve heard of Bridezilla, but I’ve never experienced Resourcezilla. My mouth falls open in shock. He’s going to control this to the bitter end. I can see it coming at me and falling apart in my hands as I try to bobble the many moving pieces that it takes to put on a successful wedding.