Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(49)

“Why bother?” Frances says acidly. “This situation is eerily similar to a bank robber who goes back to the bank he robbed to open an account for his stolen money.”

“I have no idea what that means,” I say, distracted as I examine the tear.

“Well, you obviously did something to the dress.”

“Me?” I exclaim.

“Yes, you. This wedding is a disaster, and it is entirely down to you.”

“Oh, Mummy, shut up.”

We all look around for the source of the loud voice. Incredibly, it’s Erica.

“I beg your pardon,” Frances says.

“No, you don’t. You never do. Joe is not to blame for this. I don’t know any other person in the world who would have the fortitude to deal with you.”

“It’s a shame Joan of Arc is dead,” I say.

Erica snorts as her mother stares at her, open-mouthed.

“Now,” Erica, says, smiling prettily, “maybe you and Mary could go and order a tray of tea, please.”

To my astonishment, Frances nods obediently and moves away. The door clicks behind her and Mary, leaving the room in stunned silence.

Then Paula whoops and does a clumsy cartwheel across the room, showing off a great deal of flesh in the process. “Yes!” she shouts. “You go, girl.”

Erica shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips. “Shut up,” she says affectionately. Then her expression clouds. “Can you do anything, Joe?”

“I think so.” I look at Paula. “Pass me my messenger bag. There’s a sewing kit in there.”

“You can sew?” Paula says incredulously.

“No, I just like having a sewing kit.” She rolls her eyes and I smile. “I taught myself when I became a wedding planner. These things happen all the time.” I fold my arms. “So you haven’t had a boob job and yet I can’t fasten your dress, Erica.” I narrow my eyes and realisation dawns. “Are you—?”

She nods. “Yes, I’m pregnant but we’re not telling anyone yet. I just didn’t expect my boobs to erupt like—”

“Like strawberry muffins,” I say admiringly. I hug her. “I’m so pleased for you, lovely.”

“Thank you, Joe.”

We both grunt as Paula enfolds us in a hug. “Fucking epic,” she says happily.

Finally, I stand back. “Okay let’s get this show on the road.”

Half an hour later, my phone rings and I stand up hearing my knees crack like I’m eighty years old. “I’ll just take this outside,” I murmur, looking with satisfaction at the dress. “Do not breathe too deeply while I’m gone,” I instruct Erica. “In fact, try not to breathe at all.”

Letting myself out into the corridor, I look down at the phone and grin when I see Gabe’s name. I organised his wedding a while back and he’s become a good friend. I like his dry sarcasm and the way he loves his husband. It’s a bittersweet example of what a relationship should be.

“Alright?” I say.

“I’m just ringing to say Happy New Year.”

“You’re a few days late.”

“Ah, my husband demanded my attention.”

“I imagine he is very demanding,” I say in a dreamy voice.

“I wouldn’t sound so breathy. You should try decorating or food shopping with him.”

“Please stop talking. You’re spoiling the images in my head.”

“I feel dirty and degraded.”

“You’re welcome. Anyway, it’s perfect timing actually, because I’ve just finished sewing the bride.”

“Are you making the brides now? That’s got to be easier on your nerves.”

“You have no idea.”

“No, and I don’t want them. So, how’s everything? Did Lachlan sign the papers?”

“He did,” I say evasively. Gabe will not approve of the latest development.

His voice is concerned when he speaks next. “And how do you feel?”

“You know you try so hard to be nasty, but you never quite succeed.”

“That is not the compliment you think it is.”

“Anyway, I’m fine,” I say breezily. “Scotland is lovely, the hotel is very luxurious, and Lachlan is here, and we’re pretending to be still together. Okay. Bye.”

“Hang on,” he snaps. “What did you just say?”

“It’s a very nice hotel. They have a sauna.”

“Your soon-to-be ex-husband’s there, and you are pretending to be together?”

I wince. “Yes,” I say, a question in my statement. Silence falls. “You okay? Have I broken you?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Dylan did that years ago. I can’t believe what I just heard. Have you gone out of your mind?”

“It’s so stupid,” I say slumping against the wall. “I’m an idiot.”

There’s a short silence before he says slowly, “Not necessarily.”

“What?”

“Don’t mind me. I’m just thinking.”

“I wondered what that noise was.”

He continues undeterred. “I think that man is a fucking genius.”