Chapter 5
Before Gwen knew it, New Year’s Day had slid into the second week of the year. Aubrey had started having contractions on New Year’s Day, and her doctor had put her on bed rest to calm them, which had worked. However, Aubrey was not enjoying being stuck in one spot doing nothing. Gwen was stopping by nearly every day to make certain she didn’t lose her mind with boredom.
Usually January was Gwen’s slow time at work. Holiday parties were finally finished, people were recovering from endless rounds of champagne and hors d’oeuvres, and nobody was ready to cue up another round of festivities just yet. Not this year, though. Gwen was actually juggling six events. The biggest was Leo’s launch party at the end of March and the nearest was Aubrey’s baby shower the first week of March. Gwen’s late winter and early spring would be busy.
She was still searching for the perfect venue for Leo’s launch party. His creative partners, Ilko and Todd, had nixed the last three potential venues, and they were running out of time and options. She leaned over her kitchen table toward her computer as Mr. Mouse circled her legs. She clicked past location after location and sipped her coffee. Flannel pajama bottoms, hair in a sloppy bun, and glasses—it was good to be able to work from home. Her phone buzzed and she picked it up, frowning at the unfamiliar number.
“Gwen Fleming.”
“Gwen, darling, it’s been ages!”
Gwen furrowed her brow and took a moment to place the lilting voice.
“Mrs. Delmont?” Anita Delmont had been one of Gwen’s first clients. If not for her, Gwen might still be extolling the virtues of ugly bridesmaid dresses to picky brides. “So good to hear your voice! I just saw Bianca last week at the Travatis’ New Year’s Eve party.”
“I know, can you believe? How is it possible I have a daughter that old? Do tell me—no, don’t. Bianca is interning at Vogue right now and loving every second. She mentioned seeing you. And how are you, darling? You’re just the rage right now in your business, aren’t you? Completely in demand.”
Heat flamed through Gwen’s cheeks. She was in high demand right now. The years of working and pleasing all her clients were finally paying off. “Thank you. I’m very lucky.”
“No luck about it, darling, you’re good at what you do. You’re professional and timely. I don’t think you realize how many of your peers are flakes, nearly impossible to deal with.”
She’d heard as much from her clients. Horror stories about party planners who promised the stars and the moon but delivered a tired cake and wilted flowers.
“So darling, I’ve called to request a favor, and please do understand that you can say no.”
Gwen tensed slightly, hearing a distinct emphasis on the word no and a change in Mrs. Delmont’s voice. “Okay.”
“Bianca unfortunately mentioned you in front of my goddaughter, Milan Vanderpelk, who just got engaged. Milan says that she simply must have you for her wedding planning. Says she’ll lay down and absolutely die if you’re booked.”
“Oh…” Gwen didn’t plan weddings professionally anymore. She was handling Shelly and Anthony’s, of course, but only because the wedding was small and the Travati family such close friends of hers. “Well,” Gwen ran her hand over her messy bun, “you know I’m not really doing weddings anymore.”
“Oh darling, fine, really, not another word—”
“But for you I will. I mean, this is your goddaughter.”
Mrs. Delmont sighed. “Darling, truly, you do not have to do this, Milan is quite a—”
“I’m certain she must be lovely.”
“Hmm…must be. Yes, well, if you’re absolutely sure. The wedding is in June—”
“That’s awfully soon.”
“Of next year,” Mrs. Delmont continued. “Milan is nothing if not thorough. The budget will be enormous and the guest list huge. An absolute who’s-who of east coast society.”
Gwen would have died for such a piece of business three years ago, but now? Wedding planning came with its own sort of challenges: controlling brides, panicked brides, indecisive brides…basically the primary hurdle was always the bride.
“Shall I call her? Will you send me her contact info?”
“Oh darling,” Mrs. Delmont cooed, “there’s no need. She’s right outside your building.”
Gwen’s stomach wobbled. She got up and pressed her nose to her kitchen window, peering down toward the sidewalk below. “What? How—”
“She’s been cyberstalking you for weeks, trying to figure out her best approach. I did mention that Milan is thorough, did I not?”