

The Wedding Caper

by

Laura Briggs

The Wedding Caper

By Laura Briggs

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Laura Briggs

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com to purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Image: "Ceremony of Confusion". Original art, "Wedding Dresses, bridal gowns, vector" by Beata Kraus. Used with permission. http://www.dreamstime.com/
From the author of _The Wedding Caper_ and _Late to the Wedding_ comes a brand-new series with romance, comedy, and a magical setting 'across the pond' in Cornwall, England!

Find the first book in the series HERE

Find more about the sequel  HERE

Dear Reader,

I'm really glad you've chosen to pick up a copy of The Wedding Caper. I can't believe it's been five years since I introduced the plucky heroine Gwendolen Lynch in a book that became my first ever best-seller. The encouragement of its fans would inspire me to create three more stories involving Gwen and her role in the wedding planning world. Maybe you'll check those out as well, should you enjoy Gwen's first appearance in this fun, feel-good romance. Happy reading!

—Laura Briggs, author of Boyfriend by the Book

Gwendolen Lynch burst from the florist's shop as if escaping a hostage crisis, her arms wrapped around a paper bundle. Pushing her way through the crowded sidewalk, she swerved and dodged to avoid slower-moving businessmen with briefcases, teenagers on cell phones.

Her one advantage over the crowd was her flat, sensible shoes. Hardly the mark of a polished and professional businesswoman. Shoes like that screamed "office errand girl"–which was the only position achieved by Gwen at the age of twenty-nine.

The bus doors were almost closed when she reached the corner of the sidewalk, waving her hand frantically at the oblivious driver. Swinging up on the step, she shoved herself through the folding doors, brushing aside strands of blond hair that escaped from a dowdy little knot at the back of her neck.

"West side and Sixth," she gasped, stuffing a handful of tokens into the change slot. She stumbled her way towards the back, clutching her bundle as she joined a group of businesswomen clinging to the rail. She checked her watch, then re-checked it, her body fidgeting impatiently.

Passengers shuffled slowly through the open door as the bus jerked to a stop a few streets away. Gwendolen fought her way through them with an energy bordering on panic, racing to the office building a few yards away, its glass door swinging open to admit her. She pushed the button to an elevator that didn't respond, then turned and sprinted to the stairwell.

Up one flight of stairs, then two, then three, until she arrived at a carpeted hallway with a single office door, the words "Perfect Vows" etched in the glass. It was through this door Gwendolen stumbled, clutching the package against her chest.

"Ah, there you are." The woman seated in the floral armchair gave Gwendolen a tolerant smile that promised daggers beneath the surface. "Mrs. Wilkins' flowers, I presume?"

"Yes, Ms. Taylor," she answered, trying to disguise her breathlessness as exuberance. With a broad smile, the young woman turned towards the client seated in a rosy wingback chair, her lap occupied by books of expensive fabric swatches. She unfurled the paper package, revealing a small bouquet of white lilies and lilacs.

"This is what you have in mind?" Mrs. Wilkins asked, her lips tightening as she stared at the arrangement. "I don't think this suits my daughter's personality at all. Too much like a commencement corsage for a bride."

"Oh, but this is all the rage this year," purred Ms. Taylor as she rose from her chair and glided towards the bouquet. "Lilacs are the new orchid. Fresh, pure, exotic– everything a bride is looking for. Lilies become the new roses, of course, with a smooth single petal creating a stunning architectural sequence." Her fingers delicately traced the surface of the lily, lifting the head of the lilac blossom as if it were a rare jewel.

Mrs. Wilkins looked persuaded. Even Gwendolen looked persuaded, although she'd been the one who negotiated with the florist who selected the flowers. But speeches like this were what made Grace Taylor so famous. She wouldn't be the premier wedding planner if she didn't know her clients' minds.

"Well, I'll broach the subject with Audrey," Mrs. Wilkins answered. "I'll call you later tonight with a decision." With one last glance lingering on the bouquet, she gathered her fur stole and handbag and made her way to the office door.

The moment the door closed, Grace Taylor's smile vanished. She turned towards Gwendolen with a snarl.

"Next time I say two o' clock, I mean it," she snapped. "Where were you the past half-hour?"

"I missed the bus," Gwendolen answered. "So I ran to–"

"Enough," Taylor interrupted. Storming to the door through which Mrs. Wilkins departed, she opened it to reveal Joan, her harried-looking secretary seated at the formal entrance desk.

"Where is the progress on the list of caterers for the Burkley-Harris wedding?" she demanded. "I gave it to you yesterday, along with the band's name."

The secretary lowered her pen in mid-stroke on the pages of an elaborate gilded appointment book. "I booked the band yesterday, Ms. Taylor. Gwendolen has already spoken to the caterers and set up sample buffets for the bride–"

"But didn't have time to pick up a simple bouquet request today?" Taylor said, shooting Gwendolen a cold glance.

"You didn't sign off on the design until last night, so I didn't phone it in until this morning," Joan said. "Gwen had an appointment to pick up the bridesmaid fabric swatches and your coffee–"

"Next time, I don't want excuses. I want things to happen when they're supposed to, so I'm not stuck with a bored client for twenty minutes." With that, Ms. Taylor slammed herself into her private office again. Gwendolen and Joan exchanged glances of mutual misery.

"Sorry I was late," Gwendolen answered. Meekly, she tucked the loose strands of hair into her bun. "The florist hadn't finished when I arrived–"

"No need to make excuses to me, hon," Joan answered. Now that Taylor was gone, she popped a piece of gum into her mouth from a wrapper in her pocket. "You'll notice she didn't bother to give you credit for finishing that caterer's list when she was done. Why would she compliment us on a good job done when she knows we must be at fault for something?"

Gwendolen sank down on her desk, slipping off one of her flats and rubbing a sore foot. In the nearby gilded mirror, she caught a glimpse of herself. Skinny figure, pale skin, features without makeup. Dishwater blond hair pinned up with an office pencil; the less-than-perfect complement to a plain buttoned sweater and floral dress.

Sighing, she shuffled through the massive to-do pile on her desk. Phone numbers of florists to call, a menu that needed planned with the Darby-O' Hannon family, a cake design that needed discussion with the Gillis-Perkins party. Scores of non-business errands from the boss, such as picking up a tailored dress and scheduling a manicure. She picked up the phone receiver and began dialing.

This wasn't how she pictured her life a few years ago. By now, she had always imagined herself a confident, relied-on "Perfect Vows" wedding planner dressed to the nines and flashing a confident smile at clients. Taking on a load of smaller weddings for the legendary Grace Taylor, whose mentorship would inspire her in the goal of running her own agency–in the distant future, of course.

True, she was a relied-on employee, but just for coffee runs and hours of haggling with bakeries and jewelry companies. Planning weddings in the background by handling all the business negotiations, nagging details and stressful tasks, while the imposing Grace Taylor strutted in pearls and business clothes before clients who marveled at how she found the time to schedule wedding cake tastings and critique flower bouquets by the dozens.

*****

It all seemed very impressive, especially since so much maintenance time was required to make Grace Taylor the flawless package she appeared to be. Hours of trying on shoes and suits, hours spent in spas and salons to pamper her nails, skin, and hair. Various procedures scheduled to "tweak" problems like wrinkles and sagging jowls. And, of course, a yearly cosmetic maintenance, which her secretary surreptitiously referred to as "the works", requiring a two-week vacation to complete.

On Monday, Ms. Taylor's physician phoned and held her in deep discussion for fifteen minutes. She appeared in the lobby moments after hanging up the phone, a silk coat draped over her arm and a designer hat in hand.

"Cancel all my appointments for the next two weeks, Joan," she ordered. "Some idiot in Doctor Ryle's office moved my yearly conference up by three months. Three months! And without even consulting me first, he signs off on it, as if I have no reason why I can't drop everything today and fly to his clinic in Maryland." As she spoke, she stuffed her arms through the sleeves of the coat.

Joan flipped through the appointment book with dismay. "What about the clientele?" she asked. "There's the Johnson-Bruger wedding coming up in a week, and the Forham-Slotsberg is less than a month away."

"Call and have them change agencies," Taylor said. "Phone up Wedding Co-op and send them over there with my recommendation."

"What about the ones on the waiting list? Should I phone them, too?" Joan asked.

"Of course. What a stupid question, I'm obviously not meeting with them now," her boss answered, a look of irritation twisting her features. "Wait–there's already a meeting for two o' clock. With Mrs. Harlett and her daughter." She checked her watch. "They'll already be waiting at the Pointe Hotel."

She whirled towards Gwendolen, who snapped to attention. "Run over to the hotel's business suite and cancel the meeting. Tell them they'll have to find another planner somewhere. We'll return the retainer, of course."

"What should I tell them happened?" Gwen asked. Assuming that mentioning the cosmetic procedures was out of the question. It was only rumored that Grace Taylor's appearance was anything less than good genes and a healthy lifestyle.

"Just give them a reasonable excuse," Taylor answered. "An unexpected family emergency, a speaking engagement rescheduled, whatever. Now hurry up and get rid of them." She scribbled the address onto a file portfolio labeled with the client's name and shoved it in her hands.

Grabbing her sweater and oversized purse, Gwen skirted past her boss and out the office. Racing down the stairs, past the out-of-order elevator doors, and into the street.

Pointe Hotel was several blocks away and without an expense account from the business, Gwendolen took off on foot. Making sure to check her appearance quickly in the glass doors of the lobby before making her way inside. A few strands of loose hair, her sweater a trifle dowdy for this place, but she didn't have a choice. With a tiny smile, she approached the desk manager.

"The Harlett's suite, please," she said.

*****

The room was bathed in bold flowers in contrast to the delicate pattern woven into the antique carpets. A woman in a blue mother-of-the-bride pants suit occupied the sofa, with a delicate brunette in jeans and a tank top occupying the chair.

Gwendolen approached timidly, clutching the portfolio. "Mrs. and Miss Harlett, I presume?" She forced a new smile to her lips.

"We're so glad to finally meet you!" Mrs. Harlett rose from the sofa and clasped Gwen's hands. "After all I've heard about your work, I really can't tell you what an honor it is that you've agreed to plan my daughter's special day."

"Well, I'm–" Gwendolen began. But Mrs. Harlett was not the silent type.

"We can't believe how lucky we were to make your client roster. After Timberson's agency cancelled on us overnight! Our original caterer and florist are down the drain, of course, and the wedding is less than three weeks away!" Her hands fluttered as she talked, displaying shiny red nails. "We're not taking your agency's decision for granted, trust me."

Already, she had pulled the young woman in the armchair to her feet, gesturing towards her proudly as if she were an Honors student on display. "This is my daughter Julie," she continued, as Julie took Gwendolen's hand in a frank, friendly grip.

"The bride to be," said Gwendolen.

Julie laughed. "Are you sure about that? My mother is so enthusiastic about this wedding, it seems as if it's the other way around. But it's such an honor to have you, Ms. Taylor." She gripped Gwendolen's hand as if holding onto a celebrity.

"Oh, but I'm–" Gwen spoke again.

Julie leaned closer to her and lowered her voice."Between you and me, we need all the help we can get. My mother tends to take things too far. Way too far. And this day means a lot to me, so I would give anything to make it perfect. Please, Ms. Taylor, promise you'll work your magic."

She gazed pleadingly into Gwendolen's eyes, as if they were sisters sharing a secret. Despite her better judgment, Gwendolen's heart melted slightly.

"Of course you want it to be special," she answered. "But I'm afraid there's been a mistake."

"I saw your work at the Larson wedding," said Mrs. Harlett. "There's no mistake, Ms. Taylor. The two-tiered wedding cake with golden raspberries? The cinnamon and vanilla blossom table arrangements? It was positively inspired." Her voice dropped to an awed whisper.

That cake was inspired. Gwendolen had seen one similar in an out-of-print cookbook and sketched a quick design for the client's portfolio. Not that they knew the truth when they selected it from the agency's recommendations. Or that anyone knew that she was responsible for any part of that wedding.

As for the flowers, they were a last-minute substitute she worked out with a harried florist disgusted with the wedding's coffee theme. So Gwendolen couldn't help the surge of pride that rippled through her heart with those words.

"Thank you," she answered. "I thought the arrangement was beautiful myself." There was a slight catch in her voice–what on earth must they think, the supposed Ms. Taylor about to cry?

"Nothing less than the best could have planned that wedding," said Mrs. Harlett. "We're in your hands, Ms. Taylor. We've blocked out this whole afternoon for you and brought every idea we have." She motioned towards a pile of brochures and drawings.

Gwendolen hesitated. She had to tell them the truth, she had to. Didn't she? After all, she wasn't the famous Grace Taylor and their wedding wasn't part of the firm's client list. She was supposed to crush their dreams here, not play along with a fantasy.

But gone was the mousy assistant from "Perfect Vows." Tossing her head, she drew her shoulders into an elegant posture beneath her plain sweater.

"Absolutely," she replied. She tapped her fingers against the portfolio clutched against her chest like a schoolgirl's books. "So, let's talk about the theme, shall we?"

*****

You are crazy. You are crazy, crazy, Gwendolen Lynch. If you even think you can get away with this...These were the words pounding through Gwen's brain as she exited the Pointe Hotel.

Her heart hammered wildly as she clutched the portfolio between sweaty fingers. For the last half-hour, she managed to pull it off. She managed to be the amazing Grace Taylor in the eyes of innocent clients who never dreamed she was an imposter.

Now was the time to send them an email from the safety of the office, telling them it was all a mistake. That they were bumped from the client list, that Grace Taylor would be nonexistent in this city for the next two weeks.

Practically nonexistent. Gwendolen's footsteps slowed as she imagined the possibility. No one would know, would they? After all, the clients had never seen Ms. Taylor–and her presence at most wedding planning sessions was largely ceremonious, to present the clients with ideas dredged up by her staff.

She paused in front of a window display for Made Modern's chain of women's business apparel. Where patent shoes and tailored wool suits fitted themselves to sleek mannequin figures. She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining herself in one of those outfits.

When she opened them again, she smiled. The picture had been perfect. Pushing open the shop door, she made her way towards the grey A-line skirt and silk blouse.

"They fit perfectly," the clerk declared, snapping her tape measure into its reel. Gwendolen turned right and left before the mirror, admiring the subtle shades of fabric against her skin, the way the suit fitted itself to her curves.

"Shall we ring it up for you?" asked the clerk.

She shouldn't. She should put it back on the rack and go home. But the memory of this afternoon in the suite, of the positive glow in Julie's eyes when she flipped through samples of Gwendolen's work–masquerading as Grace Taylor's–on previous weddings.

She slipped the jacket from her shoulders. "Please do."

By the end of the afternoon, the charges on Gwendolen's credit card exceeded the usual salad and shake for weekday lunch. The chair and sofa in her apartment were draped with blazers and skirts, tailored slacks and fitted blouses. Two pairs of leather pumps with stiletto heels peeked from tissue paper wrapping and cardboard boxes. These were not the kind of clothes that Gwendolen Lynch was accustomed to, with her sensible dresses flat shoes, and plain button-up sweaters.

But they were the kind of clothes the new Gwendolen wore. The Gwendolen turned Grace Taylor, that is.

Ransacking her jewelry box, she unearthed a strand of plain imitation pearls given as a graduation gift. She had seen her boss's wardrobe often enough to know that pearls were the perfect choice for any outfit. The reputation of Grace Taylor demanded at least some kind of jewelry.

She pulled the pins from her hair and let it tumble to her shoulders. Strands of dark blond, soft and shoulder-length; the untidy little knot wouldn't do for her sophisticated makeover.

Practicing with a handful of pins, she wound her hair into a French twist she'd seen in magazines, then into a chignon from a fashion book. The low sweep against her forehead accented her face's angles, transforming her thin features and high cheekbones into the elegant corners of an Audrey Hepburn.

Slipping into a black silk dress, she surveyed herself in the mirror. It was the first time in years she'd worn a dress that flattered her figure. Opening the new makeup kit on her dresser, she applied a little mascara, a sweep of eyeliner.

The transformation complete, she stared at the girl in the mirror, who seemed nothing like mousey and meek Gwendolen Lynch. Not that she ever had anything–or anyone –to impress.

She pulled the dress off and reached for a t-shirt and sweats. Time for homework, if she wanted even a chance of pulling this off. Crossing the room, she plopped down in front of a long bookshelf devoted to binders and folders of wedding material.

Catering menus, restaurants and hotels, florists and gown designers. A rolodex devoted to the contact information and rank for jewelers across the city, rows of books on floral design and table settings. Piles of material accumulated from years of picking up the details for Perfect Vows.

Tomorrow she would have to present forceful ideas, practice a patient smile for difficult moments, and plan on having no free time. After all, the real-life Grace Taylor had a staff who took care of these details. But the faux Ms. Taylor would have only herself.

*****

"So we're thinking of plum as the primary color," said Mrs. Harlett, "with burgundy accents. You don't think that's too much, do you?" She pushed her way between two racks of bridesmaid dresses packed close together.

"Perhaps," Gwendolen ventured. "But two bold colors generally cancel each other out, I'm afraid." She was doing her best to keep up with her client in a dress shop that looked like a war zone. Stumbling along in stiletto heels while avoiding piles of fabric and lace on the floor.

"Oh, but surely you can make it work," Mrs. Harlett replied. She pulled a dress from a pile draped across the back of the chair, inspecting the silk's pattern. "Julie is positively obsessed with having bridesmaids in cocktail dresses, but I think formals are so much prettier, don't you?"

"Well, I–" the wedding planner began. That was as far as she got, since the client tossed aside the dress with disdain as she continued talking.

"I'm thinking perhaps something with small double-puff sleeves, in a rich plum taffeta. A princess-fairytale sort of motif, especially since Julie's dress is so modern. I really couldn't talk her into anything more traditional."

The woman's hands racked through the display until they discovered a dress that reminded Gwendolen of abandoned prom dresses from the eighties.

This was a typical moment spent as Mrs. Harlett's planner, giving Gwendolen the first faint clue of what might have happened to the previous firm. She shifted her aching feet in stilettos, her pen poised above the page of her planner as she waited for a moment of silence in which to skillfully steer her client away from the monstrous dress.

"If Julie prefers cocktail dresses, something in red chiffon would be very chic," Gwendolen suggested. "I know a garment dealer who would offer a discount for three or more–and it's very trendy for the bride to select a similar reception gown to match her bridesmaids." She offered what she hoped was a charming smile as Mrs. Harlett's face grew blank.

"We'll discuss it later," her client answered, her lips tightening. "I intend to talk Julie out of her choice if I can. In the meantime–" she pulled a salmon-colored pants suit from the rack, "–could you see if the shop has something similar in cranberry for the mother of the bride?"

By the time they had toured the racks of dresses, Gwendolen's arms were piled with possible garments. Loud shades of satin, floor-length silks resembling nightgowns, even a few puffy-sleeved gowns with princess skirts.

"Shouldn't we eliminate some of these choices?" she asked her client. "I mean, the elaborate skirts on these dresses threaten to eclipse your daughter's gown." She pulled a piece of green tulle fabric from the bottom of the pile to illustrate her point.

"Of course I don't want that one in green," chuckled Mrs. Harlett. "I was thinking dark red."

Gwendolen checked her watch as she listened, panicking at how much time had passed. At work her desk was still piled with Taylor's current clients whose bills were overdue, with lists of restaurant private dining rooms she was supposed to cancel. She tried to push the thought from her mind as she moved aside a plastic-wrapped hanger poking her in the cheek.

Mrs. Harlett added a cranberry-colored gown to the top of the pile. "Will you see if they can modify this one to be larger?" she asked. "And ask if the skirts on these can be altered to feature trains. I rather see Julie with a parade of bridesmaids with trains."

Gwen hurried through the sea of colors draped and hung from every surface to the clerk's desk. Peering above the top of the stack, she suspected that the eminent Grace Taylor never allowed herself to be piled high with garments for consultation. No, that was a job for assistants like Gwendolen.

She calculated the odds of talking a woman as headstrong as Mrs. Harlett out of this hideous pantsuit. Surely there would be a moment today to pull Julie aside and suggest that she step forward with more of the decisions before her mother consumed the whole wedding.

"The manager is in the fitting room, ma'am," said the clerk, who disappeared somewhere in the store room with a bundle of satin. With a sigh, Gwen turned away, bumping into a man standing behind her, dropping a mound of garments onto their feet.

A tall, muscular build, dark eyes framed by spiky blond bangs. He surveyed her with a lopsided smile that melted the strength in Gwendolen's knees, his strong hands closed over her arms. She tried to steady herself, but her heel was caught in the plastic garment bag and tumbled them both to the floor.

There was a slight groan from her would-be rescuer as she landed on him, her eyes peering into the depths of his dark orbs. Filling her with a strange warmth as she gazed into them.

"I'm sorry," she managed after a moment's time. Pulling away, she scrambled to her feet as he sat up.

"No harm done," he answered. "With an armful like that, I'm surprised you made it all the way to the desk."

She tried to hide her blush as she struggled to gather them up. "That's the curse of the job, I'm afraid," she answered. He knelt down and began untangling the piles of plastic-wrapped garments.

"Oh, you don't have to," she said, hastily stuffing the garments under her arms. "Really, I can handle them. I'm sure you were on your way somewhere."

"Actually, I'm meeting someone here," he answered, draping a few more garments carefully over her arm. He studied the beading on one with a slight grimace.

"Some of them are awful, aren't they?" she whispered with a grin. "I'm hoping to change their minds, don't worry."

"Then they're lucky to have you," he answered, laughing at her remark. She could feel the heat mounting in her cheeks as she watched his face. For a moment, she felt an anxiety that wasn't connected with mousey Gwendolen Lynch pretending to be a famous wedding planner. An emotion that seemed to sweep through her like a fever.

She piled the dresses on the counter and hastily pulled her planner out. "Tell the manager I would like the stock photos of these garments emailed to this address," she said, handing him a card. "I need to discuss some modifications, too."

"I'm afraid that's not my job," the clerk answered. "Any firm has to discuss dress modifications with the designer."

"Is he here?" she asked, doing her best to refrain from looking at her watch. "I have several clients to see today."

As an errand-girl, she was used to begging for attention from clerks, so this was nothing new. This designer was notorious for considering himself an "artist" and preferring his garments to be purchased as-is.

Another voice interrupted the conversation. "I think maybe you should go find the manager for this lady so her time isn't wasted." She turned in surprise to see her would-be rescuer had joined her, adding another dress to her pile.

The clerk rolled his eyes slightly. "I'll go see if he's available." He slinked from behind his desk.

Gwendolen offered a timid smile to the man next to her. "Thank you. Now I really do owe you one."

He shrugged. "I just thought you deserved a good break today." His crooked smile did things to her heart which she had never felt before.

"I see you've met the wedding planner," said Mrs. Harlett, emerging from the fabric store room. She approached the young man beside Gwendolen and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Ryan, this is the Grace Taylor from Perfect Vows."

He took her fingers in a warm handshake. "Very impressive," he said. "But are you sure you want to take on clients this crazy?"

She stared into his eyes again, unable to pull away. "Absolutely."

"Ms. Taylor, this is Ryan Miller," said Mrs. Harlett. "My daughter's fiancé."

The words washed over her like a bucket of ice water. She forced herself to smile as Ryan released her hand, repressing the blush of guilt and disappointment that struggled to rise in her cheeks.

"You must be very excited," she said to him. "After all, the big day is only a few weeks away and there's so much to organize."

Ryan's face changed subtly at these remarks. "Well, when it comes to planning–" he cut off abruptly at the sight of Julie entering the shop. With a smile, he slid his arm around her shoulder as she moved beside him.

"Did you find the perfect dress?" he asked, tucking a strand of dark hair from her face.

Julie rolled her eyes. "We're not dress shopping for me, Ryan. Don't you remember? This is for Katy and Marsha's dresses." She looked at Gwendolen with a longsuffering expression. "Ryan can't seem to keep up with the pace here, Ms. Taylor. I'm giving you fair warning now."

Gwendolen glanced at Ryan, who looked slightly chastened over his fiancé's remarks. Julie gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then disengaged as her cell phone trilled.

"I hope that's not one of your classmates wanting a study conference," her mother said. "We still haven't made a decision on the bridesmaid's dresses or the flower girl's gown."

Julie was busy checking her text messages, glancing up only briefly. "I know, I know, but I only have a few minutes today. You know what I want, Mom. Just something classy and elegant." She pocketed the phone. "I really have to go if I want to make the appointment with the Dean." She gave her fiancé another kiss on the cheek, then hurried out of the store.

Ryan's eyes followed her as she disappeared down the sidewalk; something Gwendolen tried very hard not to notice. She turned to the bride's mother, her stylus poised above the keyboard of the planner.

"So, should I go ahead and contact the dress designer about the chiffon?" she asked.

Mrs. Harlett's eyes were latched on the pile of garments she had reserved earlier. "Not until I finish examining the formal dress options. I don't want Julie's wedding to be tarnished by a snap decision." She brushed her fingers along the edge of an empire-waisted maroon gown with a look of satisfaction.

At the sight of her choice, Gwendolen couldn't help but notice the slight wince that crossed Ryan's face.

*****

"I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, sir. Thank you and good-bye." Gwendolen hung up the phone before the manager could scold her any further. He was the fifth in a long line of unhappy food service providers who were informed that their services would not be needed this month by Ms. Taylor.

Shuffling through the papers, she located the list of florists in need of review, the bill for Ms. Taylor's dry cleaning service in need of paying. She tucked aside a few frazzled strands of hair as her fingers flew over the calculator's keys.

"Where on earth were you this morning, Gwen?" Joan entered, carrying a box of client records in her arms. Hidden beneath the stack of papers on her desk was an open box of chocolates and a paperback romance novel–clear indicators that Ms. Taylor was safely away from her office.

"Oh, I had ... an appointment," Gwendolen answered. Was that a nervous tremor in her voice? She hoped the secretary didn't notice the guilty way she averted her eyes. "Sorry about the pile of paperwork. I'll have it in by five, I promise."

"There's still a list of limo services that need contacted," Joan reminded her. "I'm handling the exotic animal services, by the way. It's amazing how many people actually want tigers and dolphins at their wedding. Not to mention trained monkeys." She lifted the phone receiver and began dialing.

Gwen gave a weak laugh and turned back to the restaurant cancellations. Wondering if she would have to arrange anything so nightmarish for Mrs. Harlett in the next few weeks.

"Is that a new sweater?" Joan asked. She was pointing at a somewhat faded green pullover Gwendolen had found in the drawer, now untidily yanked over the silk blouse from her suit.

"No, it's just something I threw on today," Gwendolen answered. In her haste to debut this morning as the eminent Grace Taylor, she had forgotten to bring something less casual for office hours. After all, wouldn't everyone who knew her think something was wrong if she changed her style overnight?

"Well, it looks nice anyway," said Joan, her tone vague as she turned her attention to the open phone book.

At six o' clock, Gwendolen shoved aside the last of the day's bills and sample portfolios, checking the clock with an anxious eye. She still had a pile of work waiting for her in her boss's office– plus, all the work on the wedding to do. At this rate, she would have to come in for at least an hour in the morning before she met with Mrs. Harlett.

It was ten o' clock the next morning before she escaped. She waited until Joan took one of the agency's favorite designers to lunch (an annual ritual on the company's tab) before rushing to the powder room. Yanking off the button-up sweater, she slipped the blazer over her blouse, and pulled the long cotton skirt off to reveal the tailored skirt beneath.

Hopping on one foot as she slipped on the pair of heels, she stuffed her clothes into her shoulder bag and took off for the exit. Three blocks of swift trotting would bring her to the pre-arranged meeting place with her clients.

"There you are, Ms. Taylor!" Mrs. Harlett looked distraught as she stuffed her cell phone in her pocket.

Gwendolen offered her a warm smile. "I'm so sorry. There was another client at the office," she said, straightening her shoulders as approached the umbrella-covered table of the outdoor cafe. Julie was slumped in the nearest chair with an open binder of cake designs before her, a cell phone attached to her ear.

"Thank goodness you're here," she said to Gwendolen. "Hand over the piece of paper and let the wedding planner fix it, Mother." She smiled tightly. "It's just one of those mistakes that happens."

"I scheduled the wrong band," Mrs. Harlett explained. "Or rather, the booking agency misunderstood when I called. Instead of a jazz band they booked–"

"A Ukranian folk trio," interrupted Julie. "How on earth you ever made that mistake, I'll never know, but it's not an option for my wedding, trust me."

"Of course not," said Gwendolen, accepting the slip of paper. Canceling bands was par for the course for an assistant of Taylor's agency. She was relieved it was nothing worse.

"I'm meeting with the baker today about the cake we decided on," Mrs. Harlett continued, "so there's something I simply must have you do. Julie would do it, but she has an economics exam."

"Enough, Mother; no need to tell Ms. Taylor all the personal details of our life," snapped Julie. "Mother wants you to engage in espionage for us. To find out if they're copying Ryan's ring."

"Ryan's ring?" Gwendolen stared. "You mean your fiancé, correct?" Despite herself, she felt a wave of heat creep up to her face at the memory of the young man from the dress shop.

"Yes. Julie designed the perfect wedding ring. All her own idea, really," said Mrs. Harlett, giving her daughter an approving smile. "The trouble is, we think the jewelry store might be offering the design as their own to other clients."

Julie tossed her hair. "I won't have that design on every finger between here and Hoboken. You understand, right?" She looked at Gwendolen and offered a helpless shrug of her shoulders.

"Of course," Gwen answered. "I'll see what I can do." Her voice faltered slightly with the promise. This was something new; until now, her work as an assistant had never required this kind of subterfuge.

"Here's the address; we know we can count on you." Mrs. Harlett offered her a squinty smile as she scribbled the address on a piece of paper. Gwen glanced at it, wincing as she recognized the address of the city's premier jewelry designers. The kind of place that only let prestigious clients waltz through its doors.

"Now, about the flowers. Do you have time this evening to look at a few bouquets I've worked up?" Mrs. Harlett asked. "I've been toying with a few ideas–red carnations and baby's breath, for starters."

"But mother, I told you I don't want hyacinths," Julie said. To which her mother merely rolled her eyes.

Carnations? Baby's breath? Gwendolen sighed. Clearly, she was going to have to talk to Julie alone.

*****

With a deep breath, Gwen straightened her blazer and tried to look like a forceful wedding planner. The darkened doors of Hammond's Jewelry seemed like an inscrutable gaze, reflecting her pale skin and skinny figure.

"Don't spend all day gazing at the pretty girl inside or you'll never make it past the glass." She recognized Ryan Miller's voice as he joined her outside the shop.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

He grinned. "Same thing you are. After about twenty text messages from my fiancé, complaining that her whole wedding was ruined if something happened to her design. So I decided I'd come here myself and find out." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders.

"I see." Gwen hid a smile. "So what's your plan?" In his presence, she felt a little of her confidence returning. She swept aside a strand of hair neatly into the French twist at the back of her neck.

"I thought I'd introduce myself as the groom, for starters," he said, trailing off as she laughed.

"The odds of the clerk telling you anything would be pretty slim, since most of the store's clients prefer the ring be seen only on their wedding day," she answered. "I know a little bit about these things, you know." She tapped the digital planner in her hand, the way she'd seen Grace Taylor assert herself on more than one occasion in her office.

The shop door opened and a solemn store representative surveyed her. "Can I help you, ma'am?" she asked.

Gwendolen straightened her blazer. "If you have a designer available, then yes. I'm interested in seeing some of your latest designs." As the clerk stepped aside, she entered the shop.

Now what? She hadn't thought past the point of gaining access and not being mistaken for her lowly assistant status. But she needed something better if she wanted to attempt to see Julie's design–and being the wedding planner wasn't the best idea.

"Are you looking for something special, Ma'am?" asked the clerk.

Gwen toyed with the strap on her bag. "A gentleman's wedding ring, actually. My friend Mrs. Frobisher recommended your work. You did design her husband-to-be's ring, correct?" She vaguely remembered seeing the firm's name on the Frobisher-Lewis file at the office.

"We were indeed," the clerk assured her. "We have some excellent selections in the display case over here." She moved to the counter. "What size is your fiancé's finger?"

"Oh, well..." Gwen began. Then felt an arm drape itself over her shoulders.

"Really, something this expensive, honey?" Ryan asked. "I think a simple band would be enough. Maybe with a little engraving." He flashed her a warm smile as she turned towards him.

"Do you have anything new in your design department?" she asked the clerk. Modifying her voice with honeyed tones, she added, "Price isn't an object, of course. Something a little modern, a unique design. Only the best for my fiancé."

Ryan's fingers trailed along her shoulder in a careless gesture that made her shiver. The clerk beamed at them as if they were young lovers in the park.

"How long have you two been engaged?" she asked.

"Six months," Ryan answered. "Can you believe it? It seems like a week to me." Gwendolen let out a nervous laugh, trying to seem more like a bride to be.

"I can see that he can hardly wait for the big day to steal a kiss," the clerk teased.

The wedding planner blushed deeply, wondering how many overly-demonstrative couples the clerk had witnessed draped over each other. As if to make the case for their engagement, Ryan reached over and gently tucked aside the strand of hair that kept escaping from her updo. His fingers brushing against the golden strands made her knees wobble slightly.

"I think we have something special that might interest you," the clerk continued. "A new line of simple bands with small stones inset in the gold." She opened a case and removed a series of wedding bands lying on red cushions.

Gwendolen glimpsed a band off to the side in a velvet box, engraved with a series of twining vines like the ones Mrs. Harlett had shown her in Julie's sketch.

"What about that one?" she said. "I love the design."

The clerk smiled sympathetically. "Sorry, but that design is one-of-a-kind," she answered. "I'm afraid it was customized for someone who prefers it to remain unique."

"I see," said Gwendolen. She touched the rings on the red cushions. "Well, these are quite attractive as well." She lifted one and pretended to inspect it against Ryan's finger.

"Slip it on," he whispered. At the sight of confusion in her eyes, he added, "It makes it more convincing."

She let the ring slide over his knuckle, her fingers wrapped around his hand. The touch was perfectly innocent, but her own tingled with longing as his skin brushed hers.

"A perfect fit," the clerk declared.

It would be. If only he weren't someone else's fiancé. Her eyes met his dark ones in a glance, then fluttered closed for a moment, picturing a far different version of herself, with a white dress instead of a frumpy assistant's sweater, a handsome man with a lopsided smile looking at her with longing.

"Is that the one you like?" The clerk's voice roused her out of the split-second daydream.

Fumbling with the band, she slipped it from Ryan's hand. "Perhaps. Of course, I'll need time to consider it." She placed it gently onto the cushion again. "I'll be back," she said, giving the clerk a smile before moving towards the door.

Outside on the steps, she gathered herself with a deep breath. Forget about that moment, forget about those dark eyes. That was the kind of mistake that a legend like Grace Taylor would never make.

She felt Ryan's presence as he exited the shop and turned towards him with a forced smile. "Thanks for your help in there. I think we pulled it off."

"Perfectly," he answered. "I think Julie will be satisfied that her ring is safe after our top-secret spy mission." He followed along beside her as she moved away from the doors and the clerk's curious gaze.

"I assume you let Julie see the ring you chose instead of keeping it secret," she guessed. "Was it when she dropped off the design here?" She imagined that Julie probably selected it herself–or maybe her mother did.

To her surprise, he looked embarrassed. "I didn't select Julie's ring from here," he answered. "Being a web designer doesn't bring in a salary big enough for this kind of place. So I went with something a little more simple." He slid his hands into his pockets again.

"Price tags don't matter, you know," she answered. "I'm sure she knows how you feel, no matter the size of the stone involved."

"Maybe," he answered. "But sometimes I'm afraid she'll miss the lifestyle she's always known. Her high school graduation gift cost more than the first car I bought." He motioned for a cab trolling for customers. "I could see a little disappointment when she saw the size of the diamond in the box."

Gwen offered him a smile of sympathy. "I'm sure she thought it was perfect," she answered softly.

The cab pulled up to the curb and he opened the door. Reluctantly, she climbed inside and let him close it. As he slipped the driver a few bills and gave him directions, she glanced through the window, studying his face closely.

How could Julie feel anything other than lucky? She had someone willing to give her the world, even if it was only a tiny stone in a gold band. The cab pulled away from the curb, forcing her to turn her head in order to watch Ryan walk away, his eyes cast downward towards the sidewalk.

*****

"Thank you," breathed Mrs. Harlett. "You are a lifesaver, dear. Julie hasn't been able to concentrate on anything at all with that ring on her mind." She was relaxing in her hotel room in a silk robe, sipping a cup of herbal tea. Julie was nowhere to be seen, apparently still enjoying a massage in the hotel's luxury spa.

"You're welcome," Gwendolen answered. She perched on the edge of an armchair, keeping her ankles crossed in a show of elegant style and posture a la Grace Taylor. "Now, about the flowers. I called a premier florist and arranged–"

"Oh, the flowers. I did ask you to look at those arrangements for me, didn't I?" Mrs. Harlett chimed in. "The sketches are over there, including a few made by a friend of mine, a budding horticulturist, if you will. She crossed these streaked hyacinth blossoms with a buttercup yellow and the result was stunning."

"Did you ask her yet, Mother?" The room door opened to admit Julie in a fluffy terrycloth robe, toweling her dark hair. Mrs. Harlett stared at her daughter blankly for a moment.

"What?" asked Gwendolen, feeling a slight twinge of apprehension. Julie and her mother exchanged glances.

"It's something rather delicate, I'm afraid," said Mrs. Harlett. "More than the ring, really..."

"It's about the best man," said Julie. She poured a cup of tea from a pot on the table and seated herself across from Gwendolen.

"You see, I need you to fire him." She took a sip from the cup cradled in her hands.

Gwendolen stared at her, momentarily taken aback. "Fire him?" she echoed. "Are you sure that's what you mean?" She released a little laugh of confusion, to cover the awkward silence in the room.

"It is," Julie answered. "Ryan asked this friend of his, a coworker, really. I know they spend a lot of time together, but Dave is such a bore. He's got this annoying habit of whistling through his teeth, he's never used a dessert spoon in his life." She glanced guiltily at the carpet. "He's just completely inappropriate, really. So I want him out."

"It's a little bit of an awkward subject," Mrs. Harlett added in a hushed voice. "She can't ask Ryan to give up his friend and this...young man, apparently, would never dream of refusing."

"So you want me to persuade him to give it up on his own," Gwendolen answered slowly.

"If it's at all possible," answered Mrs. Harlett. "If you could just convince him that it's not his kind of event, really. He could still come to the wedding, of course–just make an excuse about being unable to serve as best man."

"My cousin's already agreed to take over," said Julie. "Ryan knows him, they met at soccer camp years ago. So everything's arranged up to this point."

"His number's on the contact sheet we gave you at the first meeting," Mrs. Harlett added. She offered Gwen a toothy smile. "If you can handle it, of course."

Gwendolen drew a deep breath. "Of course."

*****

Dave's cell phone rang several times before he answered it. "Pritchard," he said, in a voice muffled by chewing sounds. Gwen hesitated a moment before speaking.

"David?" she said. "This is–" she caught herself before saying her own name, "– Grace Taylor, the wedding planner for Ryan and Julie."

"Wow, really?" Dave's smacking sounds made her imagine a sack of potato chips being devoured on the other end of the phone. "So what's up?"

"We need to talk," she answered. "Are you free this afternoon?"

The restaurant where Dave agreed to meet her was a barbecue joint. Not the perfect place for a pressed business skirt, she noticed, as her cab pulled into the parking lot. For a moment, she wished she'd transformed herself back into Gwendolen Lynch the sweater-clad assistant before leaving her client's hotel.

In a corner located close to the blaring jukebox, sat the man she assumed was Ryan's choice for best man. He was short and heavyset, clad in a wrinkled business shirt and pocket protector that screamed "tech job", as he sampled a buffalo wings appetizer.

"Hi," she said, sliding into the booth. "Gwe –I mean, Grace Taylor. We spoke on the phone about Ryan?" She held out her hand as a look of comprehension registered on his face.

"Sure," he said, taking her fingers in a strong grip. "You want something to eat? They've got great cheddar fries, baked potato skins, you name it."

"No thanks, actually," she answered. "I don't want to keep you too long. I know you must be busy, so I'll try to be quick."

He shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I don't have anything important. This is where I spend most of my after-work hours. When there's not a Star Trek marathon on TV, that is."

She laughed, but couldn't help feeling that he wasn't joking. He must have noticed the look on her face, because his features shifted into a sheepish grin.

"Not many 'cool' people hang out with computer geeks, as I'm sure you know. It can be a lonely life, unless you end up lucky like Ryan did." He pulled apart a greasy strip from the basket.

"You mean finding Julie," said Gwendolen.

Dave nodded. "Ever since they met, she sucked him into a new world. He went from a guy who played Cranium on his lunch hour with a bunch of techies to formal dinner parties. I'm sure you see a lot of that in your line of work. I mean, guys and girls getting hitched, starry eyes and all that."

She glanced away from him, feeling guilt surge in her chest. How could she tell him the truth about what she was doing here? Clearly, he cared about Ryan as a friend. Nothing about this request would make sense to him.

"Dave, there's something you should know about the wedding," she said. "I know you're good friends with Ryan. But they've requested a formal ceremony, a certain tone in the proceedings. And that means they want the wedding party to reflect that." She took a deep breath. "That's why I'm here to ask you to step down as best man."

Dave stared at her. "Are you serious?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know it's wrong. Ryan chose you and there were good reasons why he did. There's just ..."

"You don't have to say it," he answered, interrupting her. "I know what you mean." His voice was sharp, filled with hurt. "I get it, I get it. It's me. I don't fit with the new look, that's all." He wiped his fingers on a napkin, avoiding her eyes.

"Don't be angry at Ryan," she pleaded. "It wasn't his idea. Me coming here like this, I mean..."

He shrugged his shoulders. "But he was okay with cutting me from the ceremony, huh?"

She shook her head. "Not that, either. In fact, I'm pretty sure he doesn't know anything about this. It's just that Mrs. Harlett is very particular–"

"Sure, sure," he cut her off. "Julie's mom. I've heard she can be pretty controlling."

That's putting it mildly. "I'm truly sorry about this," she said, rising from the table. No need to drag out something this awkward. "You're still invited to the wedding. As a friend," she added.

He nodded. "Thanks." Although she could tell he was far from thrilled by the idea. Glancing over her shoulder as she left, she could see him slumped in the booth, brooding over his appetizer.

She pulled out her cell phone in the parking lot and dialed Mrs. Harlett's number. "It's all taken care of," she said, the moment her client's voice answered.

"You're such a lifesaver," breathed Mrs. Harlett.

*****

"It's not supposed to be amaryllis, it's supposed to be hyacinths!" Julie's voice was reaching a frenzied pitch. "We discussed this a thousand times, Mother. And we agreed on it."

"I specifically heard you say you disliked hyacinths! Ryan will back me up on this one–Ryan, where are you?" Mrs. Harlett rose from her chair and moved towards the door. Slumped on the sofa of the hotel suite, Julie stared at the carpet like it held the secrets of the ancients.

"Maybe it's time I called the florist," Gwendolen began. She re-crossed her legs for the thirtieth time in the last hour's conversation about wedding details. They were supposed to be discussing the cake's design and delivery, but the age-old battle of the floral arrangements was well underway.

"If you could just excuse us for a little while, Ms. Taylor." Mrs. Harlett said. She opened the door and allowed Gwendolen to slip past her before closing it again.

"Do not suggest that the flower choice was somehow my fault ..." the sound of her client's voice was muffled by the suite's heavy oak door. Releasing a long sigh, Gwendolen moved away from the noise.

She tread the carpeted hallway towards the elevator, her fingers struggling to pull the digital planner from her purse. Life was certainly easier, if less glamorous, when she carried an oversized leather granny purse.

She flipped through the daily appointments in the planner, switching from the bakery sample runs of Gwen the assistant to the hectic day of Grace the wedding planner.

As she rounded the corner to the elevator, she spotted a figure seated on the carpeted hotel steps. Ryan, his elbows resting on his knees, his posture slumped. She paused, her finger poised over the elevator button. Moving away from the doors, she stepped closer to him.

"I think Mrs. Harlett is looking for you," she said, offering him a friendly smile. "Something about flowers."

He glanced at her, his expression tired. "Thanks, but I'd rather hide out here." His phone lay on the steps beside him, Dave's name highlighted on the contacts list.

With a sigh, he stuffed the phone in his pocket. "Why didn't she ask me to take care of it?" He shook his head. "I thought this one thing was mine to handle and if she wanted to make the decision..." His voice trailed off in frustration.

Gwen bit her lip. "I think she didn't know how to tell you. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." He was quiet for a moment as he snapped his phone shut. Glancing at Gwen, he curved his mouth in a half-hearted smile."So where are you off to? A coffee run for my future mother-in-law? A quest for the perfect pastel candies for the reception?"

"Actually, I'm off to a balloon farm," she answered, stuffing the planner into her bag somewhere between her mini makeup kit and extra hairpins.

"A what?" he asked, staring at her in confusion.

She smiled, realizing how her statement sounded to outsiders. "It's a place where hot air balloons are available for rent; I'm supposed to test one for your departure for the reception. After all, if you guys are planning to avoid the traditional limo ride, you have to have some transport."

He groaned. "Julie's idea. I was sort of hoping she'd settle for a white horse."

"Are you much of a horseman?" she called over her shoulder, making her way down the steps. In her head, she was picturing him in a tunic and feathered hat, sweeping a white-gowned Julie into the saddle before him. Only Julie was blonde in her imagination, and doing her best to toss a dowdy old sweater out of the picture.

"How about a ride?" Ryan's question froze her in mid-step, a scarlet sheet spreading across her cheeks. She noticed a similar shade on his own as she turned towards him, seeing him a few steps above her.

"I mean, in my car. To the balloon farm," he continued, "I mean, unless you mind me tagging along to see how this thing works." He averted his eyes from hers, as if embarrassed by something. Her own cheeks were still warm from the previous mistake.

"Sure," she said. "I would love one." He came downstairs to join her, his arm brushing against her as he opened the door.

She tried to tell herself she agreed for the sake of saving cab fare on her meager credit card budget. She tried to pretend it was just for the company after days of loneliness as the prestigious Grace Taylor.

But she knew that wasn't the case, as she settled into the seat beside Ryan. The sight of his crooked smile as glanced her way melted her heart.

She was falling in love with the groom.

*****

"Lovin' the view up there?" the balloon operator called. "The red and white stripe is our most popular rental–other than the smiley face, that is."

"It's great," Gwendolen called back. Yes, they were only twenty feet in the air, but her heart had plummeted to the bottom of her stomach. No doubt in an attempt to escape this contraption. She tightened her fingers around the basket's rope trim until her knuckles were white.

"Are you okay?" Ryan asked. The wind swept his hair back from his face as he surveyed the field and trees in the countryside below.

She shook her head. "Nope." Drawing away from the side, she bumped into him. Automatically, she buried her face in his shirt, her hands pressed tightly around her eyes.

"Afraid of heights?" he asked.

She nodded without lifting her head. "A little. I'm not exactly comfortable with being off the ground. It's cold, it's windy, and it's kind of far to fall." Her voice was muffled in the folds of his shirt, where she inhaled the faint scent of aftershave and coffee.

The same scent wafted from the coat he wrapped around her, an overstuffed blue parka. She felt his hands rest lightly on the fabric, the only thing separating his touch from her shoulders.

"Good thing I still had my ski jacket in my trunk," he said. "Otherwise, you'd be freezing." He rubbed the back of her coat lightly. "Do you usually do things this crazy when you plan weddings?"

She laughed. "You'd be surprised what I do sometimes. Clients have all kinds of wild ideas." She lifted her face, giving him a quick look. "Not that I'm saying the balloon idea is crazy."

"It's all right," he said. "It's a little different, I know. Not exactly what I had in mind when I told Julie we should skip the limo."

Gwendolen brushed the hair from her face. "It's not the craziest thing I've ever arranged. I've scheduled trapeze artists, performing monkeys. Even a boa constrictor once." She giggled, then wrapped her fingers around the balloon's ropes to steady herself as she swayed away from him.

Ryan grabbed her arm. "Steady, there. I know wedding planners lead adventurous lives, but you don't want to live too dangerously by taking a tumble." He kept his hand on her arm as he moved her towards the center again. "So, do you think this idea is going to work. I mean, a balloon departure from a country club course?"

"Why not? You're only planning to travel a few hundred yards anyway." She stared at the sky, avoiding looking towards the ground. "It's a romantic idea, really. Soaring over the crowd, just the two of you. Nothing but clouds and sky and green." Pulling the parka close around herself, she inhaled the subtle taste of Ryan's skin. Indulging in a moment she knew she should avoid for her heart's sake.

"It could be," Ryan answered. "Trouble is, it gets lumped in with all the other things. The cakes covered in flowers, the hundreds of bags of birdseed, all the hours of planning and arguing." He released a deep breath as he moved towards the edge, staring at the ground below.

"All the hurt feelings," Gwen said. Guessing what was on his mind. "The wedding process tends to take it out of the couples involved. Believe me, I've seen it all–and sometimes it's not pretty."

"Did they all live happily ever after?" he asked. Meeting her eyes with a teasing glance. "Do they come out of that wedding war zone intact?" Despite his tone, she saw something serious in his eyes.

"Some do," she answered. "More than statistics would have you believe." She succeeded in breaking away from those dark eyes after a long moment.

The balloon lurched suddenly in a crosswind, causing Gwendolen to stumble. She fell to her knees, crouching there with her fingers clutching the spare sandbags tucked inside.

"I think we're ready to come down," she shouted, hoping the balloon operator would pull them down by the safety rope. Or give them instructions to turn this thing off somehow, anything to get out of here.

"Okay," he called back. "Just roll that ladder down the side of the basket and I'll be up in a jiffy."

"Roll him the ladder," Gwendolen moaned. Ryan reached for the rope ladder coiled along one side of the basket. He flipped it over the edge, where it snaked its way towards the ground. There was a strange ripping sound as the ladder's knots burst free of the side and tumbled to the ground below.

"Uh oh." Ryan's tone forced her to look up from her concentrated stare on the floor of the basket.

"What?" she said. Then swiftly glanced at the side of the basket. "Oh, no." Her breath escaped in a soft moan. "What should we do?" she shouted. There was a long moment's silence from below.

"It could be a few minutes," the balloon operator called back. Gwendolen felt her hands tremble, a nervous tingle invading her mouth. Only this time not from the close proximity of Ryan, who was kneeling next to her now.

No doubt about it–this was going to be the longest few minutes of her life.

*****

The table was piled with thousands of tiny birdseed sacks wrapped with red ribbons. This was something Gwendolen was used to as an assistant, but not as a wedding planner, buttoned into a sleek party dress and seated at a table with clients whose income outnumbered hers by six digits.

"I can't believe I've never done this before, this is so much fun," said Julie, tying an artful little bow on her latest sack.

"Sure is," Gwen replied, her voice a trifle too chirpy. She wondered how Julie would feel if she were forced to tie thousands of these at a time, instead of a few dozen in between classes and academic meetings.

"All of my friends always hired people to do busy work for their weddings," she confided to Gwen. "You know, licking envelopes, picking out bridesmaid gifts, that kind of stuff."

"Speaking of bridesmaids, the restaurant called to confirm your bridal shower." This from Katy, who was Julie's maid of honor. A plump girl in jeans and a tank top, she and Julie had spent most of the latter's free time pouring over issues of Vogue on the hotel suite's sofa.

"I hope I don't get any of those icky lace nightgowns," Julie moaned. "Somebody please think spa membership." She added another bag to the pile of twenty or so at her elbow.

Gwendolen's pile was twice that size, spilling onto the menu for tonight's rehearsal dinner. She had spent the better part of the morning on the phone with the caterer, begging for a last-minute goose pate as requested by Mrs. Harlett.

The heartbreaking announcement that the stuffed mushroom order had been dropped had kept her client near tears until she consoled her with news that pat a choux puffs had been arranged instead.

Exhausting, emotional, and almost life-threatening. Was this what Grace Taylor endured on a regular basis?

"Have you written up the rules for Ryan's bachelor party yet?" Katy teased her friend.

Julie rolled her eyes. "Not since the stupid thing got cancelled. Although that's way better than the alternative. Some icky arcade joint where twelve year-olds have their birthday parties."

"Ryan's bachelor party got cancelled?" Gwen interrupted. Heat washed over her along with the realization of what she'd said. "I mean, there's no bachelor party for the groom?"

Katy shrugged. "Dave quit, you know, to go on vacation; he was the one arranging it. Steve's the new best man, but he won't be in town until the night before the wedding."

"It doesn't matter," said Julie. "It was just a hangout night for Ryan and his buddies. He can just spend the evening with me instead. We'll go furniture shopping, maybe." She trimmed the ribbon's end with a pair of scissors.

Keep it to yourself, Gwendolen. Just keep it to yourself. She repeated this mentally as she added another birdseed bag to the pile. It wasn't any of her business whether Ryan celebrated his wedding with his friends or not. It was Julie's business and clearly it wasn't bothering her.

"Special delivery," Mrs. Harlett trilled, flourishing a plastic garment bag as she entered. "Guess whose couture gown just arrived?"

With a squeal, Julie scrambled from her seat and grabbed it. "I can't believe it's here!" She pulled off the plastic cover, revealing a slim, white evening dress studded with sequins and pearl beads. It was delicate, beautiful, and obviously expensive.

"Keep it covered until the wedding day," Katy scolded her. "I mean, what if you get makeup on it before the ceremony?"

"I know, I know," Julie answered. "I'll be keeping it in the suite under the watchful eye of Ms. Grace Taylor." She cast a beaming smile in the direction of Gwendolen, whose eyes widened slightly.

Her? In charge of a gown that expensive? In her years of experience, nothing that costly had ever been her responsibility. It was the unwritten rule of the Taylor agency that the gowns passed only through Ms. Taylor's hands.

"Just keep the suite door locked during the dinner party and everything will be fine," said Mrs. Harlett. "Do you have the list of confirmations, Ms. Taylor? If so, we need to add an extra name. Just a teensy change, since Julie's cousin has decided to come after all..." Her voice droned on as she flipped through the seating chart for the rehearsal dinner.

The wedding dress was draped over the back of a chair, its fabric shining beneath the plastic cover. Gwendolen ran a finger over the transparent surface, imagining the silky feel of the satin beneath.

What would it be like to wear a dress like this? To have someone love you so deeply that they wanted to see you walk down the aisle in satin and a lace veil? She glanced towards Julie, who was chatting with Katy about bouquets as she shouldered her bag for class.

"Julie, come with me to the dining room before you go," said Mrs. Harlett, waving the seating plan for the dinner party. Rolling her eyes, her daughter trailed after her, her maid of honor in tow. Gwen let go of the garment bag and grabbed the menu selection from the table, doing her best to shift her thoughts to something else.

Keeping the dress safe. That was her job, not worrying about the feelings of the parties involved. With her mouth drawn in a firm line, Gwen followed her clients from the room, making sure to close the door behind her. One last glimpse of the white gown, then the door was closed and locked.

Made safe by the capable work of Ms. Grace Taylor. Even if she was a thousand miles away. Or at least that's what Gwendolen was hoping as she bypassed the broken elevator and climbed the stairs two at a time to the Perfect Vows office.

Tugging her sweater into place, she checked her reflection in the glass door. Her figure looked bulky with the party dress concealed beneath the blue cardigan and patterned skirt. She turned the knob and opened the door, offering a smile to the harassed secretary who was sorting through fabric samples.

"You're late again," Joan reminded her. "The pet ring bearer service called to reschedule their demonstration. I left a memo on your desk, since Ms. Taylor wanted it taken care of before she got back."

She flicked aside a satin sample and glanced at Gwendolen. Who kept her eyes averted as she slid behind her desk.

"I heard from our prestigious boss this morning."

Gwen's head snapped up at the words. "Really? How is she?" Her heart beat a rhythm of panic beneath her sweater.

"Swathed in bandages, sipping cleansing teas, and feeling cranky. So almost normal, except for the bandages," Joan answered. "I'm betting she changes hair shades before she comes back, too."

Gwendolen breathed a sigh of relief. "Good," she answered. She missed the perplexed stare on Joan's face as she turned her attention to the memos on her desk.

*****

Guests in formal attire streamed through the doors of Pointe Hotel's dining room. Stationed in the entryway was Gwendolen, her sweater gone to reveal the lavender cocktail dress beneath.

She craned her neck at the approach of each guest, afraid that she would recognize a face in the crowd. Her clients had told everyone that Grace Taylor was planning their wedding, so if any friends or former clients of the agency were here...She didn't let herself think too hard about it.

"Are you Julie's wedding planner?" A heavyset woman squeezed her hand. "I'm her aunt, Lois Hayferd. Of the Connecticut Hayferds." She added the last part with emphasis. "Julie's been telling me how impressed she is with you. You're so ... focused. And capable."

"Thank you," Gwen answered. "It's been an experience, I assure you." She tried to draw away from Aunt Lois's grip as the woman's costly rings dug into her knuckles.

A younger woman joined them, surveying Gwendolen coolly. "So what are the rates for your agency?" she asked, parting her lips in a polite smile. "I'm planning a spring wedding. If Julie's goes well, then I would consider hiring you."

She made it sound like a privilege instead of a business transaction, but Lois seemed impressed. "Wouldn't that be nice? The premiere wedding of the season paired with the premiere planner in the city." She patted Gwendolen's arm. "Such a nice addition to your firm."

"Isn't it, though?" Gwen's smile was frozen in place, a trifle too pleasant, perhaps. Even with the success and reputation of Grace Taylor, there was still a line drawn, apparently, between client and planner.

In a room full of city elites like the Harlett's extended family, she felt very small and insignificant. Glancing around for a friendly face, she saw nothing but pursed lips in expensive lipstick and silk ties pinned with diamond studs.

"Isn't that a lovely dress." Mrs. Harlett joined her after weaving through circles of pre-dinner conversation. She skirted to avoid the flower girl, a diminutive eight-year old smeared in chocolates from the appetizer table. "I see you met Julie's cousin Margery a few minutes ago. She was the last-minute addition to the party–engaged to a state representative last week."

"I see," Gwendolen answered. "I haven't met any of the groom's family yet. Are they here?" Her eyes wandered in the direction of Ryan and Julie, who were posing for a photo. Ryan's arm was draped around his fiancé's shoulders, her fingers twisting a piece of her hair into a mock curl.

"Ryan doesn't have much family," Mrs. Harlett answered. "And his friends ... well, you know. Technology people tend to be the video game crowd, not the black tie types." A sad little smile crossed her face. "I guess you could say we're his family now."

"I see." Gwen tried to keep the note of sympathy from her voice. She watched as Ryan intertwined his fingers with Julie's, only to have her pulled away for a bridal party photograph by her friend Katy.

Beneath the crystal chandelier, the caterers served sliced pheasant and duck to the guests assembled around the dining room table. An elegant occasion like this was something Gwendolen had only imagined when she booked restaurants and caterers on behalf of the agency. But tonight she was here, in a beautiful dress, surrounded by the upper crust. Everything was perfect, down to the pecan-crusted cheesecake served for dessert.

Her phone beeped with a text message from the agency. She discreetly pushed her chair back and made her way out of the dining room, searching for the phone wedged between makeup and nail polish.

No doubt Joan was reminding her that tomorrow morning was the scheduled pick-up for Grace Taylor's scented soaps, imported once a month from a cosmetic company in Sweden. Maybe if she called and pleaded, she could reschedule it for ten o' clock, giving her time to finish meeting the caterer with Mrs. Harlett.

Upstairs she could have privacy for a phone call, without worrying about someone overhearing her begging a supposed employee for help. Her fingers closed around the key in the bag, preparing to unlock the suite's door. Until she noticed the door was already ajar.

Julie must have come back at some point and left the door unlocked. That was what raced through Gwendolen's brain as she pushed the door the rest of the way open, praying that nothing had happened during that time.

The dress was still draped across the chair. The plastic cover had been pulled back, the white fabric beneath it garnished with chocolate fingerprints that brought the wedding's flower girl to mind instantly.

Oh, no, no, no. What would they say when they saw this? It didn't matter that she had locked the door before she left: she was the wedding planner, the person they could easily claim should have double-checked the door before the guests arrived.

Worse yet would be the damage to the firm. It wasn't Gwendolen Lynch, hapless assistant who ruined the dress–it was Grace Taylor, elite wedding planner. If the dress was ruined, word of this disaster would circulate back to the office in no time. And Taylor would be merciless when she learned the truth about the affair.

Blood pounded in her ears as she gathered the dress up. No one but her knew about this–yet. If she hurried, she could still save the dress before they had time to panic. Checking her watch, she calculated the time. Less than an hour, but she could make it.

She raced down the stairs, feeling her shoes wobble in the carpet and the plastic garment bag billow behind her like a transparent cape. Stumbling to a halt just outside the dining room door, she pressed herself against the wall and peered inside the room. Mrs. Harlett and Julie were still deep in conversation, too deep to notice she had disappeared.

"Hey, what are you doing out here?"

She whirled around to see Ryan emerge from the hotel kitchen, carrying a bottle of wine. "Do they need a second bottle?" He stared at her as she clutched her chest, feeling relief that no scream escaped when he startled her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his brows drawn down with concern. Her mind raced for an answer, but only one thing came to mind. Ryan had a car.

"Give me your keys," she whispered. As confusion appeared on his face, she added, "Please. I need to borrow your car. It's an emergency."

The smile vanished. "Sure," he answered. He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a keychain. As she grabbed them, he held onto them for a moment.

"What's wrong?" he whispered.

She hesitated. "I have to take the dress to the cleaners. Now." She looked away, feeling tears of panic gather beneath her lashes. "Somehow, someone got into the suite earlier and there's chocolate stains all over the fabric. If Julie sees it–"

Ryan sucked in his breath as he glanced at the garment bag on her arm, the brown spots visible through the plastic cover. "Yeah," he said. "I see what you mean." He shifted the bottle in his hand, silent as the sound of laughter echoed from the dining room.

"Wait here," he said. He ducked through the door and disappeared from sight.

Checking her watch, she tapped her foot impatiently, imagining the cleaners closing early. Winston's Dry Cleaners would be the best, but they were almost twelve blocks from here. Anderson's was closer, but if she wanted to use the agency's account instead of her almost-maxed-out credit card, they weren't a possibility.

Ryan reappeared, shrugging on his blazer. "Let's go," he said. She watched in confusion as he made his way towards the kitchen door.

"Wait, what do you mean?" She followed, the keys dangling from her hand. He pushed open the swinging door and navigated his way between the busy activities. She ducked to avoid a worker pulling a large pot from above the stove.

"I'm going with you," he answered. "I told Julie I need to run an errand and I'll be back in half-hour." He pulled the keys from her fingers and opened the door, ushering her into the alley behind the hotel.

"But Ryan–" she began, struggling to process what was happening. "That's your rehearsal dinner. It isn't your job to help fix this."

He followed the line of cars parked discreetly in the alley until he reached his own, unlocking the passenger door before moving to the driver's side. "Does it bother you that I'm coming along?"

"Of course not," she answered, hiding her face by pretending to adjust the passenger seat belt around herself. "I just–I just don't think it's right, that's all."

He smiled. "Sorry. I can't help it if it's wrong to help you out." He turned the key in the ignition. "So, where to?"

*****

The clock read thirty minutes to closing when Gwendolen hurried inside the cleaners, her stilettos clicking across the tile floor. She wished for the mobility of her plain office dress instead of the tightness of the party skirt as she skittered to the counter and laid the dress across it.

The girl behind the desk looked up from her computer screen, offering Gwen a smile.

"Hey, look who's here," she said. "We haven't seen you in weeks.

Don't say my name, please don't, Gwendolen thought. "This is an emergency," she pleaded. "These stains have got to be removed right now or I will have one very unhappy client on my hands." The girl inspected the fabric, motioning for the store manager to join them.

"These are pretty nasty," he said. "I don't know if we can spot remove them in less than two hours."

"Please, please try," Gwendolen said. "Believe me, I'll pay for the time, I promise." Mentally, she calculated how much extra she would have to charge to her credit card to make this possible without creating a receipt Joan would question in an accounting session.

"I can try," he answered, pulling the garment over the desk. "Have a seat over there." Gwen sank down on a plastic chair near the door, staring anxiously at the curtain that led to the cleaner's workroom.

Ryan slid onto the seat beside her. "You look like you're waiting for a doctor to bring you a report from surgery. Relax, it's just a dress." He reached over and touched her shoulder.

"It's more than that," she answered. "It's my reputation. If that dress can't be fixed, then the agency will be blamed. That means unemployment for some people." She didn't mention the people involved was herself.

She checked her watch, trying to remain calm. How quickly could they clean the dress? Would Mrs. Harlett go upstairs before the party was over? Because if she or Julie visited the suite before then, they were bound to notice the dress was gone.

"Ever been to Hawaii?" The sound of Ryan's voice sucked her back to reality. His elbows rested on his knees, his body leaning forward in the familiar posture from the time she encountered him on the hotel stairs.

"No," she answered. "I've never been anywhere. Except my home town and here, that is."

"That's where I wanted to go for the honeymoon," he said. "Kind of a cliché, I know, but it always sounded so perfect. Pineapple pizza, Hawaiian barbecue, walks on the beach. Maybe even a luau." He laughed. "I tried to talk Julie into it, but no luck."

"So where are you going?" Gwendolen asked. She leaned back in her seat, sliding her feet free of the pinch of stiletto heels.

"A safari in Madagascar," he answered. "Apparently, African tours are in this season. And Julie read somewhere that your first vacation together should never be in a resort location."

"Seriously?" Gwendolen couldn't help the incredulous look that crossed her face. "I mean, I'm not trying to question social science or anything, but I always thought people seemed more relaxed when they were somewhere ... relaxing."

"That's what I thought when I picked Hawaii," he answered. "I just kept imagining the beaches and the sand." He leaned back until his shoulders were level with hers. "Maybe I'll have better luck with the first anniversary trip."

"Maybe so," she said. She met his eyes, hoping that something in her voice sounded reassuring instead of doubtful. "Sometimes I think couples are afraid to really talk about these things, so they end up getting hurt."

"You mean Julie running the wedding, right?" he answered. "I know. That's what everyone thinks when they meet us."

She blushed. "It's not any of my business. I shouldn't have said anything." She slid her shoes back on, embarrassed at how comfortable all this seemed a moment before. What would he think of her, the wedding planner who criticized her clients' relationship?

"No, it's okay," he answered. "It's partly true. Sometimes to make peace in a relationship, you end up giving in on some things that seemed important at first."

"But sometimes they are important," Gwen answered. "When people let go of everything important to them for somebody, they fade into the background." She paused for a moment.

"Take this assistant I knew," she continued. "She worked hard for years for a woman who ran an agency. A really strict boss. And she did everything that was asked of her, all the really hard stuff. She spent hours planning weddings and making decisions and negotiating with businesses."

She knew he would never dream she was talking about herself. That Grace Taylor was really a dull assistant at the bottom of the office food chain.

"This assistant never had a life of her own because of her work but she never got credit for anything she did," she continued. "So in the end, she never had anything to call her own."

She glanced at Ryan, who was listening silently. After a moment, his lips parted.

"I wonder if..." His voice trailed off as he shook his head. "Forget it." He climbed to his feet and moved to the windows, staring out at the street.

"You know, in all the time I've been working on this wedding, you've never asked me for anything," she said. "I don't think I've ever heard your opinion on anything, from the cake to the corsages."

He gave a short laugh. "I got the impression it wasn't really the groom's role to make those decisions."

"You'd be surprised," she answered. "Sometimes they have pretty definite opinions about what happens on the biggest day of their lives."

Her skin tingled as he turned towards her, half-expecting him to snap at her for crossing the line. She deserved it; she shared an opinion that, professionally, she should keep hidden for everyone's sake. Given the way her heart quickened every time she met his eyes, this conversation was dangerous for her emotions.

Instead, he sank back down in the chair, taking a deep breath as he met her eyes. "Do you want to know the truth about something?"

She nodded, barely realizing what she was doing. Her mouth was suddenly dry, her skin hot beneath its surface.

"We've got your dress here." The girl from the desk reappeared with a plastic garment bag. "Stain-free and ready to go. Will that be charge or are you using the business tab?"

"Business tab, please," said Gwendolen, crossing her fingers that the receipt wouldn't be noticed in the pile of business expenses. Hastily, she signed the receipt for the company tab, taking care that Ryan wouldn't see her real initials.

She clutched the dress in her hands as the car turned onto Pointe Hotel's street, her eyes examining the fabric for any sign of cleaning or stains. She avoided glancing at the car's digital clock, her mind invariably calculating how much time had been available for Julie or her mother to visit the suite and see the dress was missing.

Ryan eased into a parking space and shut off the ignition. "Give me the dress," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because it's time for you to go back to the dining room and keep my future mother-in-law entertained," he answered, "while I take the key to the suite and put the dress back where it belongs."

"You don't have to do that," she said, as he pulled the bag from her hands. His fingers snapped open her purse and drew the suite's key from inside.

"I know." He climbed out of the car and walked towards the kitchen entrance without waiting for her.

When she pushed open the door to the dining room, she anticipated a jury of angry guests, with Mrs. Harlett presiding at the head of the table. Ready to convict her for stealing a couture wedding gown.

But the dining room was now bare of food, the dinner party transformed into an after-dinner cocktail lounge. The double doors were thrown open to the neighboring room, where guests stood in clusters making conversation as a piano throbbed gentle show tunes from a corner.

"There you are." The hand on her shoulder was friendly, instead of accusing. Julie was cradling a glass in the hand sporting Ryan's engagement ring. "Do you know if Ryan's back from his appointment? He rushed off to do something with a client–I forgot the details exactly." She took a sip from her glass.

"I think so," Gwendolen answered. "Do you want me to look for him?" It would give her a chance to escape, to find Ryan and thank him for what he had done.

And for something else he would never know about, if she could help it.

"No, I'll just wait for him," Julie answered. "Would you run upstairs and fetch the sketches of my ring from the suite? Mr. Foster wants to see them–he's an incredible jeweler, you know. He said he might even be interested in crafting a line of jewelry inspired by it." Her voice rose with excitement.

"But I thought–"Gwendolen began. Was this the same girl who demanded espionage to protect her design? Julie's face was positively glowing as she waved a hand in the direction of the jeweler, a heavyset man loosening his tie.

"I'll go get them for you," Gwen answered. She slipped from the hotel lounge and made her way towards the stairs. Ryan would be inside the suite, no doubt draping the dress over its chair at this very moment. It might be her last chance to see him face-to-face alone. Something that meant more to her than she could explain.

The door to the room was unlocked, the dress laying across a chair. She smoothed the garment bag, the surface of the dress spotless beneath the brilliant overhead light. The tiny sequins winked like diamonds in the glow.

She crossed the room to the table where her key lay, still warm to the touch from his fingers. Beneath was a folded piece of paper that seemed covered in scribbles when she opened it, until she turned it to the side. Where she could make out the sketch of a smiley face winking at her.

A tiny smile crept across her lips as she gazed at it, until a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"It's perfect, isn't it?" Mrs. Harlett peered in the open door, cradling a glass in her hand.

Gwen turned towards the note in her hands, the pencil scrawls across it. "Yes, it is," she answered.

*****

In her apartment that night, Gwendolen sat cross-legged on the carpet, surrounded by wedding portfolios and brochures. Her digital planner screen displayed palm trees and ocean waves instead of the last-minute crunch a week before the wedding.

Sighing, she ran her fingers through her hair. Her mind was drifting away from her work, towards the little piece of paper tucked beneath her purse.

If only he wasn't in love with someone else. If only he wasn't the client of a wedding planner. But even if he wasn't, what were the odds he would have fallen in love with a dowdy assistant who spent her days collecting dry cleaning and phoning up bakeries?

Tonight he had saved her job–and the Grace Taylor charade that had given her the first taste of life in the spotlight. In a way, she owed him more than she could ever repay.

As she reached for her planner, the palm tree and ocean scene caught her eye. The blue waves rolling against the sand as green palms waved in the breeze. A perfect snapshot of Hawaii's splendors.

The first spark of an idea flickered in her brain as she gazed at it with a dreamy smile.

Maybe there was a way to thank him after all.

*****

"I think you should arrange a bachelor's party for Ryan," said Gwen.

She was following Julie through a music store, where they were last-minute shopping for CDs for the DJ to play for the "girl's night out" bridal shower. Katy's science exam prevented her from handling this part of the arrangements for the party, which was supposed to have a 90's theme.

"I doubt he cares," Julie answered, flipping over a Bon Jovi album. "He'll just spend the evening tinkering with some of his model kits or something.

Forward presentation wasn't working. Gwendolen switched to more subtle tactics.

"I think it would be better for the image of the wedding," she added, in a lower voice. "After all, a bride with three wedding showers, but a groom with no major event? Smacks of 'desperate' in social circles, really."

She slid past Julie and made her way towards the classic rock section. Cutting her eyes in the direction of her client, she noticed a little frown forming around her lips.

"I always hate bachelor party themes," Julie complained. "I mean, a group of guys getting together in some final desperate binge-and-party mode." She shoved the CD back into the shelf. "Plus, Ryan's geeky friends can be complete losers. Even if they didn't do something crude, it would have, like, a space camp theme or something."

"I could handle it," Gwen suggested. "Arrange something tasteful and quiet. A reasonable package can be thrown together in a single day when a professional is behind it."

Julie shrugged. "All right," she answered. "If that's what you think is best. Besides, if someone said something to Mother about Ryan's lack of friends, she'd probably die."

*****

The pathway to the Kulua Hotel pool house was lined with tiki torches ablaze in the darkness. In the faint glow, Gwendolen could make out Ryan's figure as he followed them. In his hand was a piece of paper -- the anonymous message she had sent, instructing him to arrive at a specific hour.

She waited at the head of the path, wearing an island cloth pool dress and lei. She had pinned her hair up in a casual knot for a change, an island flower positioned to one side, opting to skip the hula skirt and shell top for something a little more sophisticated.

As soon as her figure came into view in the torchlight, he froze, staring at her.

She parted her lips in a warm smile. "Welcome."

"What is this?" he asked. "I thought this was a meeting about the catering staff." He clutched the piece of paper as if holding the proof.

"Well, it's not," she answered. "It's your bachelor party." She stepped aside, allowing him to pass her and enter the grounds surrounding the pool house. His gaze widened, taking in the soft glow of lanterns inside the glass pool house, the faint strains of Hawaiian music.

"It's the best I could do in less than twenty-four hours," she said, stepping forward and draping a second lei around his neck.

"You did this?" he asked. Before she could answer, Dave emerged from the party. He had traded his pocket protector for a Hawaiian shirt and shorts, the buffalo wings for a coconut martini.

"Dave?" Ryan moved towards his friend, a wide grin breaking across his face. "Hey, man, I can't believe you're here." He gripped his friend in a bear-like hug, almost spilling the coconut drink.

"Yeah, well, she talked me into it," Dave said. Ryan let go, glancing over his shoulder at Gwen standing in the shadows.

"She promised no suits, no silverware, and no rules," Dave said. "So you better keep your end of the bargain." With a mock warning glance, he steered Ryan in the direction of the party.

Inside, tribal drums pounded a beat beneath a mellow flute and acoustic guitar, in the hands of a band in beachwear. Paper lanterns were strung over the bright blue water of the pool, surrounded by tropical plants in pots and lush native flowers.

She had arranged for the drinks and appetizers to occupy one side of the room, with space for moving and playing on the other. The smell of pineapple and barbecue hung heavy amidst the smoke.

She had rounded up Ryan's friends, mostly coworkers, who appeared within a few hours' notice in Hawaiian shirts and beach trunks. Several of them were occupied with water-themed games in the spacious pool house, including a slip and slide and lawn bowling.

"Hey, man, you're here!" Several of Ryan's friends crowded around, practically carrying him off. Someone had already set up the limbo bar, the band taking the cue to strike up a mambo.

Gwendolen surveyed the scene from her station near the doorway until one of his friends dragged her into the midst of the party. In between bowling coconuts and agreeing to a few dances with strangers, she kept a watchful eye on the buffet as servers in Hawaiian dress replenished the food.

With the party in full swing, she slipped outside into the cool evening air. The torches had burned low, the primary glow cast by the moon and the hotel's outdoor lamps. Hugging her arms, she strolled towards the potted twin palms casting shadows over the path.

"Grace." A moment after Ryan spoke, a shiver passed through her. The sound of his voice saying her first name–even an assumed one–had a powerful effect on her heart.

He moved closer to her, the scent of coconut oil and pineapple mixed with his familiar aftershave. Even in the dark, she could make out the curves of his face, the shape of his smile. All dangerous things to remember at this moment.

"I can't thank you enough for this," he said. "Having all of them here. I never expected it."

"You're welcome," she answered. "I didn't want you to miss a final opportunity to spend a night out with friends. After what Dave told me–I mean, post-wedding life isn't always friendly to separate groups of friends." The last part of that statement sounded lame to her.

"Anyway," she continued, "I just wanted to thank you for all you've done these past two weeks. Helping me when I needed someone." She played with the orchid tucked in her hair, trying to seem casual despite the rapid flutter in her chest.

"You needed someone in your corner," he answered. "I saw how you've been working. The way you're on your feet for hours, following my future mother-in-law all over town." He laughed. "And in those pointy little shoes designed to destroy your feet, too."

"Well, that's the job," she answered. "It's not so bad, really. In fact," she added, "these last two weeks might be the most rewarding of my career." She was thinking of the subterfuge as Grace Taylor; but her heart was thinking of something else. Something that made her cheeks burn with shame.

"I can't imagine anybody being unhappy with your work," he said. "You remember everything anyone ever tells you. You remembered a dumb story I told you in a dry cleaners and turned it into all this." He gestured towards the party, where the roar of laughter rose above the music momentarily.

She shook her head. "It was easy. And I thought it was the least you deserved after helping me save your wedding a time or two."

His face clouded for a moment. Releasing a long breath, he turned his gaze towards the darkness."Have you ever regretted something you've done?" he asked. "Something you wish you could take back, but you feel you can't. Because if you did..." He stopped. "That's too personal. I'm sorry."

His words stabbed her. There was no possible way he could know that she was playing pretend as Grace Taylor. But it was as if he read her mind.

"I do regret some things," she answered, slowly. "If I could take back some of my stupid decisions, believe me I would."

She met his eyes, feeling her gaze locked with his. He reached over and softly touched the orchid in her hair. "There are some things I wish I could say," he whispered. His fingers tucked the flower gently into place.

Her eyes closed. She wished this moment could last for hours. It was wrong of her to want it, even if it was the last one she would enjoy with him. His breath brushed against her cheek, stirring the loose strands of her hair. Opening her eyes, she found his own searching her face intently. They were only a kiss apart, her hand already sliding its way up his arm.

"No," she whispered suddenly. Removing her hand, she pulled a few steps away. "We should go. Back to the party, I mean." She forced her lips into a casual smile.

"Of course." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Can't leave my guests waiting, can I?" As she moved towards the pool house, he followed along. Keeping his distance from her, she couldn't help but notice.

Tears began to blur her eyes as she passed through the lighted doorway. She heard the sound of some of Ryan's friends congratulating him on the upcoming wedding as they took their leave from the party.

In a way, she couldn't help but envy them for doing so as she forced herself into the midst of the crowd of guests. At least somebody believes it's a happy occasion.

*****

Five days to go. That's what Gwendolen reminded herself as she slumped at one of the tables in the reception hall. Before her was a stack of R.S.V.P.s and a massive seating chart that Mrs. Harlett hovered over every few minutes.

It would have been easier to seat the guests by astrological signs, Gwen decided, rather than use the social clues her client provided. Between the mother's subtle little hints and Julie's non-presence at most of their planning sessions, Gwendolen was left to second-guess most of the final details. Now that the big decisions were over, her clients were losing steam and prone to squabbles.

Not that it mattered, since the brilliant Grace Taylor was on the job. The confidence Gwen had feigned the first few weeks was finally taking permanent hold, grafted over her formerly meek self. Not to mention the relative ease with which she finally maneuvered the wedding planning scene in less-than-sensible heels.

"The hyacinth arrangements are for the wedding party and family tables," Gwendolen explained. "The gladiolas are for the friends and social guests seated at the smaller tables." Armed with a seating chart, she moved between tables, directing the staff on setting up the reception hall.

Back in the world of Gwendolen Lynch, Tuesday was typically a half-off day to make up for all the Saturdays she spent working. But in the world of the pretend Grace Taylor, days off were a thing of the past. At two o' clock, she had a final meeting scheduled to go over the details of the cake delivery, a towering four-layer version featuring candied roses. Then at four, a meeting with the minister.

She could hear the sound of voices in the foyer. Her clients had apparently returned from a final photo session for the society column. Footsteps clattering on the tile floor drew near as they entered the reception hall. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Harlett appear around the corner, guiding another person behind her.

"We're so pleased with the grounds, since the landscaping scheme is in red. Plenty of room for the guests to gather with drinks and see the bride and groom off," Mrs. Harlett was saying. "Plus, we have space for an outdoor orchestra at the opposite end."

"And there's the woman who's behind all the details–she replaced the agency I first told you about," Mrs. Harlett continued, spotting Gwen amidst the busy staff. "Mrs. Lowitzer, this is the wedding planner, Ms. Grace Taylor."

Mrs. Lowitzer? It took only a split second for Gwen to recall where she'd encountered that name before. On a client file in the agency's office. She froze, face to face with a heavyset woman in peacock blue who stared at her with dismay.

"This isn't Grace Taylor," Mrs. Lowitzer announced. "I don't know what you mean by introducing her as your wedding planner."

Mrs. Harlett let out a short laugh. "I beg your pardon? Are you accusing me of hiring a fake wedding planner?" She glanced at Gwendolen, who dropped her gaze to the floor, heat engulfing her face and neck.

Obviously her client thought this was a joke. But Mrs. Lowitzer thought otherwise.

"Grace Taylor planned my wedding and this definitely is not the same woman," Mrs. Lowitzer snapped. "As a matter of fact–"

Another pair of footsteps sounded in the foyer, the persistent click of stiletto heels. A figure in a salmon-colored business suit and mink stole appeared, slightly out of breath from her walk.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Janine," she said. "I can't imagine why you insisted stopping by here before the restaurant, there's absolutely no parking at this place before six." Her heavily lipsticked mouth formed a smile for the benefit of Mrs. Harlett. Then her eyes fell on Gwendolen.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she asked. Staring at her as if a wild animal was running loose in the reception hall.

"This is Grace Taylor," said Mrs. Lowitzer. "I have no idea who your wedding planner really is, but she's definitely not who you thought."

The color drained from Mrs. Harlett's face. She turned towards Gwendolen, who stood clutching the seating chart with both hands.

"It's true," Gwendolen answered. Her voice wobbling with the admission of guilt.

"How dare you assume my name and try to steal my clients!" Taylor's tone was sharp. "You realize what this means, don't you? You're fired." She moved away from Gwen, giving her a look of disdain.

Mrs. Harlett cleared her throat slightly. "The same here." She reached over and pulled the seating chart from Gwendolen's hands. With a final cold glance, she marched from the room.

"If you'll excuse me, I should go consult with my client," Ms. Taylor added, pulling off her wrap. She took no notice as Gwendolen turned to go, hurrying towards the exit. Ryan and Julie were in the foyer, talking earnestly as Gwen brushed past them.

"Where are you going?" Julie called, irritated. Gwen didn't answer, practically running as she pushed open the door and escaped from the building.

The truth was finally out now. It was too late to stop it, but she didn't have to be here when the news spread to the bride and groom. Especially the groom.

*****

Pajamas and chocolate were supposed to be comforting. Probably true if you were recovering from a standard heartache, but Gwen's was no ordinary case. Her job for the biggest wedding planner in the city was gone; and she knew that Taylor would make it impossible for her to land one at another firm.

Her pride had vanished, along with the stiletto shoes she kicked into the closet when she arrived home. The blazer lay crumpled on the bed, beside the frumpy skirt-and-sweater combo that defined Gwen the assistant and her sad little life.

And in three days, Ryan would be gone, too. Married to perfect Julie and celebrating their union somewhere in Madagascar. He would come home to culture, society, and life as part of the upper crust. No need for him to ever give a lowly wedding planner's assistant a second thought.

Climbing to her feet, she reached into the cabinet and pulled out a black trash bag. Gathering up the tear-stained tissues and empty potato chip bags, she began stuffing the debris of the past two days into its depths.

She reached for the blazer and dress piled with the rest of her faux-Grace Taylor fashions. Maybe a charity shop could get some mileage out of them; all she could see in them was the massive credit card bill that awaited at the end of the month.

Her fingers closed around the slinky shoes, feeling the smooth patent leather beneath them. Her lips pulled into a sad smile at the thought of strolling through the Pointe Hotel suite in them. They represented a whole different world from the sensible flats she had worn as an office assistant.

Wasn't that the dream she had wanted? When she was a starry-eyed new employee at Taylor's firm, she had always assumed that someday a promotion would be hers. Someday she would handle big events for small clients and receive praise for her work. Gwen Lynch is a fantastic planner–absolutely hire her for your wedding!

She hesitated, turning the shoe over in her hand. She glanced towards the pile of brochures and wedding notes on her living room floor. There was no reason why all those years of experience should go to waste. Not when it was her hard work that pulled together so many weddings in the name of Grace Taylor.

Crossing the room, she opened her laptop and swiftly clicked a few keys. "Build your own website for a flat fee!" proclaimed one site near the top of the search listings. Clicking on it, she scrolled through the backdrops and templates until she found a wedding bells and pink roses motif.

Why not try it? Why couldn't she accomplish the same thing her boss did–taking a one-person agency from the bottom of the pile to the top in a few years time? She already knew half the city's wedding-themed businesses. Now if she could just convince them to give her a chance on a few special events.

She picked up the phone and dialed. "Mario's Bakery?" she said. "Hi, it's Gwendolen Lynch–formerly of Perfect Vows, remember? I'm working on my own as a special events planner and was wondering if I could add a business card to your roster..."

*****

Gwendolen had a meeting at ten o' clock with a businessman to arrange a company anniversary party. She had an hour to spare in between picking up her business card order and posting an ad in the local paper. Perfect time to do something she had been putting off for the last two days: picking up her things from Perfect Vows.

She had managed to avoid thinking about the wedding or glancing through the paper's society section when it arrived on the doorstep. The thought of seeing Ryan's smile in their engagement photo would be too much to bear.

Tomorrow it would all be over. He would be long gone and the photos of the country club dining room and balloon departure she had helped plan would disappear from the public eye.

Taking a deep breath, she climbed the stairs to the Perfect Vows office. Her high heels sank into the soft carpeting in a way her sensible flats never did. Tucking her empty cardboard box under her arm, she pushed open the agency's door.

The sound of voices shouting was audible despite the closed doors to Grace Taylor's private office. Joan was seated at her desk, sorting through piles of receipts with a giant calculator in front of her.

"I heard about what happened." Joan offered her a sympathetic glance. "Can't say I blame you, if it helps."

Gwen smiled faintly. "Hi, Joan," she said. She patted the side of the box. "I'm here for my things." She motioned towards her desk, which was still piled with work despite days of her being absent.

"Just be glad you missed the last few days," said Joan. "It's been a real nightmare around here, trust me. She's practically shoved clients out the window for making stupid suggestions. And as for–" she cut off abruptly. "Let's just say I think she'll regret firing you when she did."

"Forget it," Gwen answered. "Believe it or not, I'm actually glad it happened. Now I can do something other than run errands and micromanage projects for someone else's career." She placed a coffee mug into her box beside a ratty paperback book and a tissue holder.

"I'm glad," said Joan. The sound of the voices growing louder interrupted their conversation, as two shadows loomed on the other side of Taylor's frosted glass pane.

"I'd get out of here now, if I were you," Joan whispered. "She had a meeting this morning with Mrs. Harlett–that's who's in the office right now."

"Thanks," Gwen whispered back, grabbing her box and making tracks for the door. Not fast enough, however; the knob turned and Mrs. Harlett marched out.

"You would have thanked me later for firing them!" Ms. Taylor snapped. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed defiantly.

Mrs. Harlett whirled around. "I never dreamed you would go behind my back and make a decision like that without consulting me first!" she accused. "My daughter had her heart set on that band and now they're booked for six months."

"The whole event was destined to be a disaster," Taylor replied. "I have instructed my clients time and again to avoid using dumps like the Wester Country Club–"

"How dare you insult my husband's club!" Mrs. Harlett's face was flushed with anger. She turned towards the door again, pausing only for a moment to face Gwendolen.

"Clearly, I should have left you in charge of this whole event," she said. "Maybe then my daughter would still be getting married tomorrow." With that, she exited and slammed the door.

The color in Taylor's face darkened to a dangerous shade of red as she clutched the door frame.

"Get out," she hissed at Gwendolen, before retreating into her office with an equally-loud door slam.

"I suppose I'll be going, then," said Gwen, glancing at Joan with sympathy. The secretary reached out and grabbed her arm.

"When you have an opening for an employee," she said, "let me know, will you?"

*****

There was no column for the Harlett-Miller wedding in the society pages the following day. That's how Gwen confirmed that Mrs. Harlett was telling the truth. The wedding was off–and Grace Taylor's firm had received their first-ever dismissal from a society wedding.

Gwen had little time to think about her former boss as she arranged a quinceanera for a prominent businessman's family and a bridal shower for her friend's sister. Money was small and hours were long, but for once it didn't matter. As she tallied up the cost of her latest purchases and checked off reservations on her schedule, she smiled with the satisfaction of knowing that, for once, her name would be the one receiving credit.

Friday night she slipped into a not-too-expensive evening gown she had recently purchased for social events. A good event planner needed something to wear on an evening out–especially if she planned to accept every social invitation received in hopes of drumming up future business.

Tonight was a charity dinner for cancer patients, arranged by a florist whom Gwen met through her work at Perfect Vows. As she rolled a curling iron through her hair, she tried not to think about the last dinner she attended. Particularly the part she spent with her rescuer for the evening, even in the unromantic atmosphere of the dry cleaners lobby.

She kept her day planner handy in her bag as she mingled among guests, sampling a shrimp and rice appetizer from one of the circulating waiters. With a deep breath, she summoned the courage of the new Gwendolen Lynch and made her way into a circle of charity volunteers and businesspeople in conversation.

She felt the hand on her shoulder, a soft touch brushing against the strap of her dress. Turning around, she expected to see a former client from Perfect Vows, shocked to see the mousey little assistant at a dinner party.

It was a former client, all right. But the last one on earth she expected.

"Hi," said Ryan, softly. "Gwendolen, right?" He shifted his weight awkwardly as he spoke. "Not Grace. I know that much."

"Right," she whispered. "Please, I'm so sorry–" Her voice cut off, unable to finish. A strong feeling that she was going to cry was choking off her speech.

"No, no," he said, his fingers touching her hand. "That's not what I meant. I–I wanted to apologize for your being fired."

"You don't think I deserved it?" She released a short laugh, despite her tears. "I think most places of employment fire office assistants who pose as the boss."

He took her elbow and drew her a little ways away from the group conversation. "You did exactly what you were supposed to do," he answered. "No matter what name you were using. And the wedding you planned would have been perfect."

Was he going to ask her to do it again? Re-hire her for the new wedding? She had a fleeting thought of herself trailing behind Julie and Mrs. Harlett for months, catching an occasional glimpse of Ryan as he lingered in the background of her life.

He was silent for a moment, his hand lingering on hers. "There's something I wanted to say to you," he began. Her heart pounding, she drew towards the safety of the group again.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I have a business thing. Tonight, I mean," she said. "Perhaps some other time we can talk." She gave him a polite smile, although her thoughts were far from pleasant. Please, please don't let him ask me to do this.

He nodded. "I see," he said, his eyes drifting towards the group of businessmen. "Later, then." He took a few steps away, towards a group of guests near the buffet.

She sighed with relief, her eyes drifting closed for a second. Her knees were trembling, forcing her to remain in one spot when she wanted desperately to hide somewhere.

Surely she was safe now. He barely knew her, he didn't know the name of her business. In the months to come, they would forget all about her and hire someone else. She would never again be forced to watch him disappear in a sea of wedding details, while her heart slowly crumbled.

"So, about your rates, Miss Lynch," said the man standing at her elbow. "I have this idea for my wife's birthday party." He took a sip from the glass in his hand.

"Really? Tell me all about it," she answered. Forcing a smile to her face as she turned away from the sight of Ryan disappearing into the crowd.

*****

The sound of dogs yapping issued from Gwendolen's rented office as she climbed the back stairs to the door. The space was only temporary, since she needed a place to meet with a part-time staff of college students helping coordinate a fundraiser for a local business.

"Is that a golden retriever?" she asked, closing the door behind her. She took a few swift steps to the side to avoid a cloud of golden hairs wafting towards her business skirt.

"It is," Mindy answered, who was seated at a folding table that served as a receptionist's post. "Alan and Therese are taking it to the photographer's in an hour. For the fundraiser's posters."

"I guess dogs and animal shelters go hand in hand," Gwen answered, pulling off her blazer and steering around a table filled with charity auction items.

"There's a guy in your office, waiting to see you," Mindy added. She pointed to a partitioned-off space designed to give Gwen privacy when making phone calls to their client.

"Who?" she asked. "Sutherland and his board aren't scheduled to meet with us until tomorrow. And as for the charity auctioneer..."

"Oh, it's not any of them," said Mindy. "It's some guy who says he knows you. Miller something."

Gwen's heart skipped a beat. "Ryan Miller?" she asked. There was no answer from Mindy, who was now trying to untangle the dog's leash from the nearest table leg. Gwendolen moved slowly towards the folding screen, swinging its panel open to reveal Ryan seated at her makeshift desk. One foot resting casually on the opposite knee, his fingers tossing a toy dog ball that somehow wound up on her table.

"Hi there," he said. She hesitated for a moment, before entering.

"Hi," she said. A slight tremor had crept into her voice. She moved around the table to her chair, shoving aside a stack of business forms.

"It took me a little while to find out where you were," he laughed. "I finally wheedled an address out of the secretary at Taylor's agency. She told me you have your own business now. Special events, weddings, birthday parties–you do it all."

"That's me," Gwen answered. She was trying to look busy by re-stacking her client files, but the movement made her feel more nervous. "I guess I thought it was time I made my own future."

"Like your friend the office assistant," he said. "Remember, the night we were in the dry cleaners? You told me that story." He tossed the ball lightly into the air.

She shrugged. "I guess you figured out that was me we were talking about." With a sheepish smile, she shoved a stack of files into a box next to the table.

His expression clouded. "I don't think you were the only one we were talking about that night," he answered. "Since then, I've been doing a lot of thinking. About the past year or so of my life, that is. You said some things to me that I couldn't get out of my head, Gwen."

It was the second time she had heard him say her name. Her real name. Her hands trembled as she let go of the files.

"I needed to make some hard decisions and face up to some mistakes," he continued. He stood and paced the room, running a hand through his short hair. "And after things fell apart at the hotel that afternoon, I knew I had to come see you."

Here it came. She shoved aside her chair and climbed to her feet before he could say anything.

"Ryan," she began, "I can't do it. I know it worked out fine last time. I made Julie and her mother happy by doing everything they asked. But this time–" she drew a deep breath, "–I can't go through with it. There were things that just made me too unhappy." Her eyes filled with tears as she brushed aside strands of gold from her face.

His dark eyes locked onto hers as he moved towards her. "You don't understand," he whispered. "I'm not here to hire you. I'm not getting married. What Julie and I had–"

"You're not getting married?" she repeated. "But I thought Taylor's agency just broke the wedding date. Not the engagement."

He shook his head. "The differences between me and Julie are just too much. The wedding proved it, instead of making them all go away. When we finally fought about what our future would look like, I remembered what you said about losing yourself in trying to please other people. So I let her go."

Gwen stared at him, uncomprehendingly. "Then what are you doing here?" she asked. She felt his fingers closing around her hand.

"I'm here for you." Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against hers.

Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. The distance between them vanished as she felt his arms around her, holding her close.

"So, are you free this week?" he whispered, as their lips parted. She shook her head.

"I'll have to check with my secretary before I can answer for sure," she teased. "But I think there's a pretty good chance I can squeeze you in for a lunch."

"That's the curse of dating the city's best wedding planner, isn't it?" he said. "Hours of trailing around behind her, carrying bolts of fabric and bags of pasty little candies until your feet are killing you."

Laughing, she pulled him closer, pressing her face against his. "Now that's something I can promise you will never happen." As she shoved her digital planner out of sight, its palm tree and ocean screen vanishing beneath a sea of paper white.

If you liked _The Wedding Caper_ , please spread the word! Maybe even tweet about it—suggested hasthags #weddings and #feelgoodread!

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