Celebrations and Confetti At Cedarwood Lodge: The cosy romantic comedy to fall in love with!

Edgar went to reply but stopped as Imelda’s hand went to her throat, and her face paled. She let out a small groan, and scrunched her eyes closed.

I dropped to my knees and gazed into her face, but her eyes stayed tightly shut, screwed up in pain. “Imelda? Are you OK?” Panic seized me, but Edgar appeared resigned but calm.

Edgar rubbed her shoulder, “She’s OK. She’ll be right in a moment.” His voice was soft with acceptance at whatever it was causing her pain. He opened a bag hanging on the back of the wheelchair and rummaged around, taking out a pillbox and a bottle of water. “We could fight a war, financial troubles, and everything in between, but we can’t fight time,” he said, sadly.

It was a full minute before Imelda returned to us, “Sorry,” she said, giving my hand a pat. “Another spell I take it?”

Edgar stooped forward and handed her two pills and the bottle of water. She took them with trembling hands and drank, before saying, “The mind is willing, but the body just won’t listen sometimes. Don’t you worry, pet. It’s OK. Nothing is going to stop me from having a party at Cedarwood Lodge. Nothing.” She stuck her chin forward, resolute.

Once Imelda’s color returned to normal they peeked into the ballroom with cries of delight. “I’m so glad you’re not fussing with it,” she said. “It’s like something out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.”

“I know,” I said, her description apt. “Have you thought about themes, colors? Cuisines? I can show…”

She cut me off. “You’re the expert,” Imelda said. “All I ask is that the room is bright and cheerful, think colorful bunting, and streamers cascading down. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I’d love for it to look just like we had it all those years ago.”

An hour later, after firming up more details, we said our goodbyes and I told them to visit any time so they could see the lodge being shaped back into the beauty of its halcyon days.

Hopefully it would return them to their wedding night and their hearts and souls would be young again, with their whole life ahead of them.

I couldn’t wait to call Amory and tell her every little thing. And to see if my name was still making the gossip page…

Chapter Three (#ulink_406c784c-17d7-5136-b431-3e042a0949f4)

“Clio, they sound amazing! So they’ve booked the party?” Amory shrieked as I sat down with a laugh at my desk, ignoring piles of invoices that needed to be paid.

“They did! And get this: they didn’t want to see color swatches and menus, or a song list. They said I was the expert and just make it bright and colorful. Only kicker is I have to get everything finished and organized in six weeks.”

“You can do it, that’s what you’re good at. Deadlines.” She let out a laugh. “You lucky thing not having to consult with them every five minutes – why can’t they all be like that?”

Our clients in New York were pernickety to say the least. Bridezillas were plentiful, and the women weren’t opposed to throwing tantrums a five-year-old would be proud of, but I always rolled with it. It came with the territory to receive phone calls at two a.m. from a blushing bride-to-be, sobbing about centerpieces or tiaras. That’s what separated the good party planners from the bad. My job was to say yes, always.

I could fix anything, especially under pressure.

But then I had opened my big mouth.

Shaking myself out of reverie I said, “I’m sure the next clients won’t be so easy.” In the background phones buzzed and drawers banged. Office life. I felt a pang for it. We lapsed into silence as I debated whether to ask.

“Darling about…” she hesitated and I steeled myself. Amory always knew what I was thinking without me having to say a word.

“Don’t tell me. They’re still talking about it? Still?” It had been months. Months since I’d packed up my desk and hidden in my shoebox sized apartment until the sale of Cedarwood had settled. Surely they’d moved on to newer scandals by now? I’d been avoiding the online gossip sites for months in case I saw my own name trapped in a headline once more.

The previous headlines were still burned into my retinas Party planner to the A-listers tells reality star bride to run from celebrity groom!

Amory let out a nervous laugh. “Well…”

I groaned and cupped my face. “Tell me. I can handle it.”

She took an audible intake of breath before she launched into the whole sorry story. “It seems it’s ramping up. She’s saying you had a thing for the groom, and that’s why you did what you did. Because you were after him and his… money.”

I let out a squeal of protest. “She didn’t!”

“She did.”

“But that’s not true!” I wailed. Outside the sun sank low, coloring the sky saffron.

Her voice came back a hissed whisper. “I know it’s not true. But you’ve really underestimated her. She’s set on ruining your reputation to save hers.”

“But my reputation is already ruined! Why does she have to continue with it?” The whole sordid thing was so unfair, and I kicked myself for believing in the blushing bride-to-be when she’d poured her heart out to me minutes before she was supposed to walk down the aisle. I was appalled by her confession – how could she marry someone she didn’t love when her heart belonged to another? With the clock ticking I advised her to run, get out of that church before she made a huge mistake because I believed her tale of woe and didn’t want to see her waste her life with the wrong man! And it turned out to be the stupidest thing I’d ever done.

Really, I should have known. It was Dealing with Brides 101. Never, ever advise them. Wedding day jitters and cold feet can make a person say the craziest things. It was my job to reassure them, not tell them to run! And these were not your average Manhattanites. He was a millionaire movie star, for God’s sake.

“She’s vindictive.”

“I can understand why she’d try and save face. What she told me was pretty damning, but to turn it around like that…” I was bewildered by it. I had only met the groom twice and one of those times was on the aborted wedding day when I had to tell him she’d taken flight. Because of my advice… stupid, stupid, stupid.

Amory clucked her tongue. “It’s a simple case of: you know too much. She’s got to make you the villain, so nothing rubs off on her. It wouldn’t take a genius to unearth her real story … but it’s juicier with you cast as the crazed infatuated wedding planner.”

It was so damn ridiculous I could only sigh. Something like this would only happen in New York. “She’s so bloody cunning. I wish I’d shared my side of the story earlier. But it’s too late, no one would believe me now.”

“She’s called Flirty McFlirtison for a reason,” Amory said sadly.

I couldn’t help but giggle. Amory had disliked the reality star bride Monica intensely and given her the nickname. It had been tricky to mask our true feelings around her because she’d been the client from hell, unless a man happened to walk by and then she’d bat her lashes, leaving us shaking our heads.

I should have known never to trust her. The day after the wedding Flirty started doing some major damage control and piling the blame on me. Once the news broke no bride would go near me with a ten foot pole.

“Jesus, Amory, I thought it would’ve all blown over now,” I said, slumping in my chair and gazing out at the beautiful explosion of color as the sun sank below the mountains.

“Here’s an interesting twist… it’s come out that he had her sign a watertight pre-nup the night before the wedding, so that’s why she did a runner. You were just the perfect scapegoat. She’s denying that of course.”

I groaned. “Celebrities. I will never understand them.”

Still, even after all the A-list weddings I’d planned, I believed true love conquered all. Nothing would take away the pleasure I got out of organizing nuptials between two people who were truly smitten, even if they were on the never-heard-of-you list. Monica was driven by greed – she was just a reality TV starlet whose show was cancelled after one season, but she still craved the limelight and would do anything she could to get tabloid attention. I was unlucky to get caught up in her schemes.

“Celebrities,” she agreed. “You don’t know how lucky you are, Clio. Granted it wasn’t an ideal exit from the agency but look where it’s taken you! I’m wildly envious. In time you’ll see it was the best decision you’ve ever made, and you’ll think of us scrabbling after every high profile party with pity.”

This was Amory’s way, to silver line every cloud. “I hope you’re right. Otherwise I’ve bought a lodge on a whim because of what happened. In Evergreen. A town with a population of five hundred and three people!”

“That’s the spirit!” she shouted and I could just see her swinging in her office chair, throwing her head back and laughing, as if I was sitting across from her. “Now turn off Bonnie Tyler, please, I can almost hear your sobs from here – leave Bonnie for the broken hearted. And get back to work. You’re the boss now, darling, so square those shoulders and own it.”

She knew me so well, even what my choice of music meant.

Once I hung up, I turned the volume up and listened to Bonnie’s gravelly voice, not sobbing… not quite.

After all, what did I have to cry about? My reputation in New York was ruined. I’d invested every last dollar into a rundown lodge in a small town. There was nothing to worry about!

When I did something, like mess up my life, I did it right. And that included listening to music and crying like it was an Olympic sport. Who cares if they said I loved some random celebrity and ruined his marriage? It would be yesterday’s news eventually, right? And being blacklisted by every New York event planning agency? Pffft. Big deal. I’d make my own success. In a town with five-oh-three people. Easy.

Oh, god, what had I done?