Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride Read online

  When Russell began to sing "Waltzing with Matilda" at the top of his lungs, Andy turned to Burkus and frowned, smacking his shoulder several times. "Easy there, Pavarotti. We're trying to keep you under wraps."

  But Russell Walker was not deterred, and Andy stepped up his pace to get him to X-Ray before the whole clinic staff and all of their patients came running to check out the ruckus.

  Once Russell had been safely delivered, Burkus assigned Sean, the large and well-dressed refrigerator who had moved the car, to assist Todd, the somewhat frail radiologist. Andy, Jackson, and Alan Burkus closed the door to Andy's office to discuss what came next.

  "He was apparently involved in a hit-and-run last night while he's here filming a movie," Jackson began. "I don't know much more than that."

  They both turned to Burkus, and he sank into one of the chairs at the corner of the desk. "He's had two DUIs in as many months," he said, massaging his forehead so hard that it turned pale yellow beneath his fingers. "He was a rough sell for the producers to insure him, but they did so with the promise that he'd stay sober for the length of the movie. Which he did."

  "Let me guess," Andy surmised. "The movie wrapped—"

  "Last night," Burkus confirmed. "If he's arrested, he's almost certainly going to do jail time."

  "Was anyone hurt at the scene of the accident?" Andy asked.

  "I don't think so. Danielle was with him, and she thinks that both cars—"

  "Both?"

  "—were parked. But he took out the corner of a store as well."

  "A store?"

  "Near downtown Roswell. She checked him into the nearest hotel, which happened to be—" He pointed at Jackson.

  "The Tanglewood."

  "Yes. She called me, and I called Betty Ford."

  "The rehab center," Andy clarified with a nod. "Good."

  "I think if he checks himself into rehab before he's arrested, we may be able to squeeze him out of the noose."

  Andy felt almost certain that the noose around Russell Walker's neck was already pulled far too tight for any sort of escape.

  "He's been involved in a hit-and-run. You can't just hide him, Mr. Burkus. We need to call the police and let them decide how best to proceed. Rehab is clearly needed here, but I think the law comes first."

  "I told you, we can't do that! But once I have him safely checked into rehab, I'll go to the police myself and tell them the whole story."

  Andy looked to Jackson for help.

  "Meanwhile, we can't take any chances. No one can know about this, or those paparazzi will be all over him. He'll be like Lindsay Lohan at the airport."

  Andy didn't completely understand the reference but, exasperated, he heaved out a sigh. "When can he check in to Betty Ford?"

  "The only one of the clinics that can take him is the one in Texas," Burkus explained. "But not for another two weeks. Russell doesn't have two weeks."

  "Well, we're not hiding him out for two weeks," Jackson interjected.

  "What about something local?" Andy asked.

  "I have a buddy who does some work at the Atlanta Treatment Clinic," Jackson told them. "I can give him a call."

  Burkus rubbed his forehead in angst-throttled silence.

  "Make the call," Andy answered for him. "I'm going to check on our patient."

  Two hours later, Andy helped Sean smuggle a sobering Russell Walker out the back door of the clinic and into a waiting car. Using the staff entrance and a freight elevator, they

  were able to deliver him to his room at The Tanglewood without further incident. All against Andy's better judgment, of course.

  By the time Walker was settled and sleeping, Jackson met up with them in the room, with Sherilyn, Emma, and Fee at his side.

  "Two days," he told Burkus forcefully. "The clinic can admit him in two days. Meanwhile, Sean will stand guard at that door 24/7. He is not to go anywhere in this hotel, is that clear?"

  Burkus nodded tentatively.

  "These are the only three employees who know that he's here aside from myself and my sister. All of his food, towels, and linens will be brought up by one of them."

  Burkus nodded at the women. "Thank you."

  "But just one peep out of your boy there, just one more escape by balcony, one stroll down the hallway, one more deafening chorus of an Australian folk song, and he won't have time to make it out the front door before the police arrive to pick him up. I hope that's clear."

  "Yes."

  "I've got you booked into the room next door. And I'm holding you completely responsible. You and Sean aren't to leave his side until you drop him off for treatment."

  "All right."

  Without another word, Jackson turned away. With one hand on Fee's shoulder and the other at the small of Emma's back, he guided them out of the room.

  Sherilyn stood by the armoire in silence. When Andy's eyes met hers and she arched one eyebrow at him, he almost felt like laughing.

  "I'll be back to check on him at the end of the day," he told Burkus before he led Sherilyn out the door. Once he closed it, Andy turned to Sean, the other member of Russell's entourage

  now posted like an armed sentry. "You've certainly got your hands full."

  With a glimmer in his eye, Sean sighed and answered, "Yes, sir."

  "Good luck with that."

  "Thank you, sir."

  A few yards down the hall and a quick right toward the elevator, and Andy poked the call button.

  "This place is a zoo. What have we gotten into?" he whispered, and Sherilyn stifled her snickers.

  "I'm sure there's a flight back to Chicago within the hour," she offered.

  "I think we should be on it."

  The Wedding Planner's Ultimate Bridal Checklist

  Part II

  3-6 Months Before the Wedding:

  Wedding Planner:

  ___ Nail down the menu

  ___ Choose and book the photographer

  ___ Choose and book the videographer

  ___ Finalize the wedding party

  ___ Provide each member of the wedding party with a detailed list of his or her responsibilities

  ___ Select and purchase/rent attire for bridesmaids, groomsmen, flower girl, ring bearer

  ___ Select and book the music for the ceremony and reception

  ___ Select and meet with the florist

  ___ Finalize bride's floral choices

  ___ Finalize bridal registry

  Bride:

  ___ FIND THE DRESS!

  9

  Too frou-frou."

  "Okay. How about this one?"

  "Looks like a pile of meringue."

  "And this one?"

  "Are you serious? You can't be serious."

  Emma stepped back from the rack, her hand on her hip.

  "Sherilyn. Why don't you tell me what you are looking for."

  "Nothing I see here."

  "Dude!" Fee exclaimed, and they turned around to find her collapsed in a chair, her head tilted backward. "What have you got against wedding dresses?"

  "Nothing," she said with a sigh.

  "Then what have you got against us? Give us a clue, huh? What do you want?"

  Sherilyn dropped to the chair next to Fee. "What about you? You're engaged. Why aren't we looking for a dress for you?"

  Fee curled up her face slightly and shrugged. Lifting her ringless hand, she wiggled her fingers at the both of them.

  "Fee and Peter broke up last night."

  "What?!" Sherilyn gasped. "Oh, Fee? Are you all right?"

  Fee nodded. "It's been coming for a while."

  Sherilyn looked to Emma, and she nodded knowingly.

  "What . . . happened?"

  "Well, that's the deal," Fee told her. "Nothing happened. Even though we get along great, and I adore the guy, I guess I just realized it wasn't enough for wedding bells."

  "No?" Sherilyn asked softly, and Fee shook her head.

  "I don't know if I'm capable of the whole fireworks kind of thin
g," she admitted. "But I'd like to hold out a while and see."

  "I'm so sorry," Sherilyn said, and she rubbed Fee's hand.

  "It's all good," Fee told them. "Let's get back to the business at hand. Unlike me, you, my friend, have fireworks with your guy. Let's find you a wedding dress, huh?"

  Sherilyn looked up at Emma standing over her. "I'm sorry. I really am. I'm just not feeling any of them."

  "What would you feel then?" Emma asked her, and she caressed her shoulder sweetly. "What does your perfect wedding dress look like?"

  "Nothing with a train," she stated with conviction. "We want a small, intimate wedding, so I was thinking something floor length, or tea length even. Simple, elegant, and just a little . . . I don't know . . . extraordinary. Like something out of an Audrey Hepburn movie, only a dozen sizes larger."

  "Stop it."

  "Well, I'm not a size six anymore," she admitted. "On a really good day, I'm a twelve. Which, in wedding designer speak, is like a twenty."

  "Not all designers," Fee assured her.

  "What else?" Emma asked.

  "I don't want anything strapless or with teeny little spaghetti straps. I need a sleeve, even if it's just a cap. Or a thicker one, like this." She used her fingers to draw out a wide tank strap pattern on her shoulder. "I have these pockets of fat right

  here." She punctuated the point by pinching an inch of flesh just beneath her shoulder.

  "When did this happen to you?"

  "I don't know. I've always been able to eat what I wanted, but one day I just started—"

  "No," Emma stopped her. "I mean, your self-esteem."

  "Oh."

  Sherilyn fell silent and set about examining the toe of her shoe.

  "It's just that . . ." she said in a raspy splinter of a whisper, "sometimes I wonder . . . you know . . . how someone like Andy . . . can . . ."

  "Sherilyn, no."

  "I can't help it, Em. How did I score someone like him?"

  "Dude," Fee interjected in monotone. "Get over yourself. You're a catch."

  Sherilyn couldn't help herself, and the laughter burst out of her. When Emma leaned over and hugged her, she reached out and included Fee in the embrace as well.

  "I love you guys."

  "Yeah, yeah," Fee sang. "Now let's find your dress. It's in here somewhere."

  "Yes. But where?"

  "I think I might know."

  The three of them glanced up in tandem. The clerk stood over them, smiling.

  "I heard part of your conversation, and when you described the dress you're looking for, it occurred to me that you might not know we have a vintage section upstairs. And there's a dress up there that I really think will suit you to a tee."

  Emma jumped to her feet hopefully. "Will you show us?"

  She took Sherilyn by the wrist, and they filed up the stairs behind the young woman whose nametag dubbed her Sarah.

  When they reached the top landing, Sarah turned back to them and smiled at Sherilyn.

  "It's a vintage design, circa 1960," she explained. "Fitted bodice with short lace sleeves, A-line satin skirt, empire waist with a ruched sash that ties in the back with a long bow. Very simple, very classic, a beautiful shade of antique ivory."

  She was almost afraid to ask the question, but before she allowed her enthusiasm to grow another centimenter . . .

  "What size?"

  Sarah went straight to it and plucked the hanger from a dozen others. She fluffed the simple skirt out toward them and displayed the dress. "I think this will fit you."

  "Are you sure?"

  Fee ran her hand along the skirt. "Dude, this is a killer dress."

  "Really? You think so?" Sherilyn asked. It was a bit plain, but then . . . if it fit . . .

  "Yes. Size twelve," Sarah told them.

  Brightening, she asked Fee, "You really like it?"

  "I want to buy it, and I'm not even engaged."

  "It is in my size," she reasoned aloud.

  "Sher, don't choose what fits you. Choose what you love, and we'll go from there."

  "Let's get you into a dressing room and see what it looks like on you," Sarah suggested.

  And the moment that she slipped into the dress, no trouble zipping it at all, Sherilyn gasped through the fingers that covered her mouth. Her eyes popped open wide, and she let out a soft coo of ecstasy at the sight of herself in the mirror.

  It fits! Oh, thank God!

  "This is it."

  "It's perfect," Sherilyn purred, and she reached across the table and squeezed Andy's hand. "After something like twentyfive dresses, I finally found it. Right here in Atlanta, tucked away in the vintage section upstairs. Simple and sweet, and it's just my size. Seriously, it fit like a glove!"

  "Right there, waiting for you," Andy said with a smile.

  "Yes. And I like it so much better than any of the others in my size, even my AWOL dress from Chicago!"

  He watched her as she sighed and leaned back into her chair. It was the closest thing to peace that he'd seen in Sherilyn since they'd arrived in Atlanta. And all it took was a dress.

  "I should go up and look in on Russell," he commented, and she popped to attention again.

  "No. Not yet. Give dinner time to digest or something. Let's at least have a cup of coffee together." His expression apparently gave her the idea she'd have to fight for her cause, and she switched to a different tack. "We've had no time together lately." She traced around his fingers on the tablecloth, and then caressed his hand with her thumb. "Can't we just enjoy it a few more minutes?"

  Andy smiled just as the waitress approached the table. "Anything else for you? Would you like to see the dessert cart?"

  "No, thank you," he replied. "But how about a couple of cappuccinos?"

  "Certainly."

  "Thank you." Sherilyn's grin lit up the immediate vicinity like a Roman candle. "So tell me about your job. You've hardly mentioned it. What do you think of the place?"

  "It's fine, I suppose. Very different from where I've been, that's for sure."

  "How so?"

  "I'm used to a much faster pace. Most of my time was spent at the hospital with surgeries and consults and on-call. I only took appointments two days a week in the afternoon."

  "A little more relaxed can be good, right?" she asked.

  "I thought so." Did he dare tell her the truth? That he missed Chicago? He missed the job, the people, the pork sandwiches at The Boundary.

  "Well, it's just a matter of adjustment, right?" she asked hopefully.

  "Yeah," he nodded. "Oh, yeah. I'm sure it is."

  "You're not having second thoughts, right?"

  He held still, mid-shrug. The concern showed a little in those tell-all eyes of hers.

  "It's going to be fine," he reassured her. "It's just a matter of getting into a routine. What about you? How are things here?"

  "Same thing. But there's no routine whatsoever." She chuckled. "Although I have to admit that I kind of like it."

  "While we're talking about the unexpected," he interjected.

  "Why don't you come upstairs with me? If nothing else, I'm sure Russell Walker will provide a good shot of surprise."

  "That's a pretty safe bet."

  "Two cappuccinos. Will there be anything else?"

  "Thanks, no."

  The light streaming from the window of the restaurant seemed to bend toward Sherilyn. She looked radiant, and so beautiful. Andy's stomach squeezed a little when she smiled at him; a mixture of love and guilt, he supposed. He still hadn't worked up the best way to tell her about running into Maya,

  but then he wasn't entirely certain that he needed to. It wasn't like they went out for coffee or a meal or anything. He'd just run into her unexpectedly. It was no more than five minutes out of his life. Did honesty really mean full and complete disclosure about absolutely everything?

  Andy looked down at their hands on the table, fingers entwined, her thumb caressing him. It was like one complete sculpture rather than two s
eparate ones joined together.

  If she ran into one of her old loves, wouldn't I want her to mention it to me?

  His thoughts paused momentarily. Had she ever actually mentioned anyone with whom she'd been deeply involved? Who had she dated before him? He stretched his memory in all directions, and he couldn't seem to come up with a name.

  "What are you thinking about?" she asked, jiggling his hand a little.

  "I'm sorry. What?"

  "Where did you go?"

  "Oh, I was—Well, actually, I was thinking about Chicago."

  "Don't worry, Andy," she teased. "I'm sure Jeff will be here for a playdate very soon."

  He chuckled. "Are you ready?"

  She nodded, sipping the last of the liquid from her cup. "Ready."

  Her hand felt particularly tiny in his as they strolled through the lobby and to the elevator. He told himself to just be out with it, quick and easy, like pulling off a Band-Aid. It wasn't any big deal; but if it wasn't, why was it so hard to say it? He told himself he didn't want to upset her, he didn't want to make it seem like it meant anything, but something whispered to him from the very darkest recesses of his mind.

  Did he still have feelings for Maya?

  No! Impossible.

  "Andy!" Sherilyn exclaimed. "This way."

  "Oh. Sorry."

  They turned the corner and found Sean seated outside Russell's door, the chair tilted back on two legs as he read the folded newspaper in his hands. The moment Sean saw them, he stood up and tossed the paper to the seat of his chair.

  "Evening, Doc. Ms. Caine."

  "How's our patient, Sean?"

  "Restless, sir."

  "I can only imagine."

  Andy rapped his knuckles against the door twice before turning the knob and pushing it open. By the time he realized Russell was completely nude except for the guitar across his lap, Sherilyn had already followed him inside.

  "Whoa, whoa," he exclaimed, spinning her around and leading her right back out the door toward Sean. "You'd better wait outside."

  "Whadja do that for?" the unkempt actor asked.

  "My fiancée doesn't need to see how indecent you really are, Russell."

  "Indecent." Russell shoved the guitar to the bed beside him and leaned back into several pillows, stark naked and unashamed. "That's not a very nice thing to say, now is it?"