Unforgettable: Book Three (A Hollywood Love Story #3)(36)
“Fine,” I mumble, responding to the AD.
“Just answer my questions, but make sure you repeat what I say. For example, if I ask you how do you feel…you respond by saying I feel blah, blah, blah, blah. And be sure to look into the camera.”
I nod. “Got it.”
“Great,” she says with a smile and then gets right into it. “Brandon, how do you feel about marrying America’s It Girl?”
“I feel very excited and nervous. This wedding is going to be unforgettable.”
“Are you marrying the girl of your dreams?”
I twitch a half smile. “I’m marrying the girl of my dreams.”
Before she can ask another question, Enid shouts into a megaphone. “Listen up, people. The procession is about to start. When I give you your marching orders, file out the door. Be sure to smile.” Her eyes dash around the expansive room and land on Scott.
My manager, the best man, is in a far corner, pacing and talking on his cell phone. His face pinched, he seems to be spewing some angry words at whoever is on the other end. A lit cigarette dangles from his other hand.
“Scott, put the phone away and get rid of that awful cigarette,” chides Enid. “You’re first. Let’s move it.”
Slipping the phone into the breast pocket of his tux, my manager takes one more inhale of his cigarette before tossing the butt to the floor and stamping it out. His left eye is twitching and a deep frown line is etched across his forehead. He seems on edge. Passing by me without as much as saying a word, he heads out the French doors to the garden. Blowing an air kiss to Enid, Monique, the maid of honor, follows him outside.
Enid does a headcount of the groomsmen, who all look like Ken dolls. Seething, she lifts her walkie-talkie to her pursed lips. “Where the hell is that replacement? What do you mean he’s stuck in traffic? You’re fired!” She hurls the handset across the room. “Screw it.”
“Groomsmen, move it!” she shouts out with a loud snap of her bony fingers. “Let’s go. Chop chop!”
My stomach tenses as I watch them file out the door.
The dozen blond, busty Barbie-lookalike bridesmaids are next. Followed by two professional children who have been hired to be the flower girl and ring bearer. Then it’s my turn. I can’t get my feet to move. It’s like they’re stuck in cement.
“Jesus, Brandon. Move it already!” Enid yells.
Katrina fires me a scathing look. “What the hell are you waiting for?”
Taking a deep breath, I finally get up and amble toward the exit. Here goes nothing.
I take slow, hesitant steps down the flower-lined aisle as a harpist with an angelic voice performs “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes” from Disney’s Cinderella. Inside, my heart is beating a hundred miles an hour. I call upon all the acting skills I have to act the part of the excited groom. My eyes dart left and right to meet the celebrity-filled crowd—a glittering blend of men in black tie and women in dazzling gowns and jewels. The Hollywood elite. There’s only one special person I’m searching for. My wishful heart’s only dream. She’s nowhere in sight. I do, however, spot the cast and crew of Kurt Kussler among the gazillion guests as well as Blake Burns and his wife Jennifer. They meet my gaze, and by the concern written on their faces, I know they sense my anxiety. Two cameramen flank me as I head up to the canopied altar, capturing my movements and expressions for the live televised event. The walk to the altar seems like an eternity. I just want this day to be over.
I join a very anxious Scott, beaming Monique, the plastic bridesmaids and groomsmen, the bickering children, and the craggy preacher, who looks to be an out-of-work actor in need of rehab, under an extravagant gazebo draped in tulle and a multitude of exotic white flowers. Several photographers and cameramen surround us, including one who is operating an overhead camera. As the orchestra starts playing “The Wedding March,” I turn to watch my Cinderella-bride stroll down the aisle arm in arm with her mother. In her free hand, she holds an extravagant bouquet along with a leash that’s attached to Gucci. The poor little dog seems freaked out. My bride, however, is enjoying every glorious minute and mugging for the cameras that follow her march down the aisle. I wonder if the real Cinderella—my beloved Zoey—is watching. That night after our James Bond marathon, she promised she’d be here, but I have no hope she’ll show. Why should she? My already rapid heartbeat speeds up as Katrina reaches the altar. While her mother steps to the side, she sidles up next to me. We turn to face the preacher. The scent of alcohol on his breath is so thick I can taste it.
“We are gathered here today…” His slurred words go in one ear and out the other. My brain is focused on only one thing. I’ve got to do it. I’ve got to! Every nerve in my body is buzzing with anxiety. Every muscle clenched. Before I know it, it’s vow time.
“Do you, Brandon Taylor, take Katrina Moore to be your lawful wedded wife, for richer or poorer, in sickness and um…hiccup…in health until death do you part?” Gucci growls at the drunken preacher. Sic him!
I can feel Katrina’s eyes on me. In fact, the whole world’s eyes are on me. I draw in a sharp breath, and on the exhale, I ready myself to face Katrina and respond. My heart is hammering like a jackrabbit’s. I hesitate.
Katrina grows impatient and hisses, “Brandon, just answer his question. For God’s sake, how hard is it to say ‘yes’?”