Lilac
How does one reason with a bride convinced that a garden wedding during the rainy season is a splendid idea?
I'm walking a tightrope here, trying not to undermine what the bride, Amanda Sykes, envisions as the 'wedding of the century.' Who in their right mind plans an outdoor ceremony when the rain has been relentless for weeks?
Kimberly discreetly rolls her eyes, murmuring, "This is such a brilliant notion, isn't it? Marrying Jett Byrd of all people."
Franco chuckles softly, his hand covering his mouth as he interjects, "Well, at least he's a living Adonis. Have you seen those piercing eyes of his? Goodness, I might swoon on the spot if he so much as glances my way. And those forearms..." Franco smacks his lips, savoring the mere thought of Jett Byrd, the groom.
"What's so terrible about him? You're just against marriage altogether! Yes, he may have been a notorious playboy, but he's turning over a new leaf. He's settling down!" Franco argues.
"Enough gossip, you two," I interrupt, sliding a photo album onto the table before them. "We're pressed for time as it is. Let's brainstorm ways to persuade the bride that a garden wedding in this weather is unwise."
"You mean the bridezilla?" Kimberly quips, casting a sideways glance at Amanda, who sits by the window, absorbed in her magazine. Occasionally, she glances outside with an impatient expression, checking her phone repeatedly.
"Seriously, does she think this is a coffee shop?" Franco groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation.
"Enough," I sigh, shaking my head. "At least she isn't yelling at us for snagging lace on her wedding dress."
"Or weeping hysterically because she insists on squeezing into a gown two sizes too small for her. Why would she want to force herself into something that doesn't fit?" I muse silently, though I refrain from vocalizing my thoughts, not wanting to add fuel to their ongoing conversation.
"Let's hone in on our tasks before Anna returns this evening."
I redirect the conversation toward work, instructing Franco to make further adjustments to the fit, while Kimberly should delve into inquiries and calls to secure the necessary materials for the wedding.
"On it," Kimberly replies, elegantly striding back to her receptionist desk. She serves as both receptionist and secretary in our shop, while Franco, despite his title, functions more as a nominal wedding dress designer.
"It's a tragedy to alter a classic Vera Wang gown simply because she can't fit into it!" Franco grumbles. Truth be told, his role as a wedding dress designer is mostly honorary. He lacks a brand of his own, though he occasionally designs and submits his creations to fashion houses.
In our shop, his primary task is making last-minute adjustments or alterations. Amanda, in particular, possesses a discerning taste and insists on modifying the dresses to align with her current whims and fancies.
"I hope she chokes on her coffee," Franco's frustrated whisper echoes in my ears as he retreats to the back of the store where the dresses are kept.
I survey our pristine shop, its soft pink walls exuding femininity and elegance. Delicate laces and shimmering beads adorn the walls, catching the light and seeming to dance with joy. This place, with its sweet floral scent and the gentle flicker of candles, soothes my soul. The soft music playing in the background sets the perfect atmosphere for romance and sophistication.
Shaking myself out of my reverie, I compose a smile, putting on my best professional demeanor, all the while discreetly stealing glances at Amanda. In public, she projects an angelic image, but in the past two months, she has been a nightmare to work with.
Throughout my three years as a wedding planner, Amanda has proven to be the most demanding client I've encountered. She meticulously dictates every detail, prolonging decisions that should have been swift. It took her an entire month to settle on a motif, despite our expedited timeline.
Despite her challenging personality, I can't deny her stunning beauty. With her cascading black hair, soulful blue eyes, and porcelain skin, she could make any wedding dress look breathtaking. I sigh, pondering life's inequalities—some effortlessly enjoy the best while others face constant struggles. Despite Amanda's exasperating demands, I refrain from complaints; this project is my lifeline.
Desperation grips me as I think that my future hangs on the success of this wedding.
Summoning my courage, I approach Amanda. "Ms. Sykes?"
"How do I dissuade her from a garden wedding during the rainy season?" I ponder the challenge ahead.
Initially, she insisted on a traditional church ceremony, only to change her mind abruptly two weeks later. Then, she entertained the idea of a private island wedding, until she discovered that her rival, Georgina Hayes, had chosen a private garden venue. Determined to outdo Georgina, Amanda firmly settled on the garden theme.
I reflect on the evolving meaning of weddings, now synonymous with status, fame, and power. I clutch the photo album tightly, a symbol of our shop's name, Happily-Ever-After, conceived with the aspiration of guiding every couple toward their fairy tale ending. But lofty ideals alone won't sustain us or alleviate my struggles.
"It's not just the ocean that harbors sharks," I remind myself silently as I approach her.
"What's the matter?" Amanda's tone remains dismissive as she flips through her magazine. "If you're here to talk me out of a garden wedding, spare your words and leave," she says, tossing her hair and meeting my gaze.
"It's your job to ensure perfection and keep the rain away on that day!" she snaps, her voice sharp with frustration.
How am I supposed to control the weather? I possess no supernatural powers or the ability to forecast rain.
My sanity hangs by a thread, threatening to snap with each passing moment. I force a strained smile, gritting my teeth in frustration.
"$500,000.00," I remind myself, the sum a temporary relief from my pressing concerns.
"Ms. Sykes," I say, taking a deep breath. "What if we transform it into an indoor garden wedding? We still have two weeks to pull it off."
I hastily present the photo book, flipping it open and indicating the enchanting scenes captured inside. "We can bring this vision to life."
As I flip through the pages of the photobook, a striking image grabs my attention—an elaborate garden-themed wedding held indoors, nestled within the luxurious confines of a hotel.
"We could enhance the grandeur, lay down plush, lifelike grass flooring, and infuse the scene with even more vibrant flowers, perhaps even transplanting a few trees," I propose confidently, brimming with ideas.
Determined to sway her opinion, I brainstorm the logistics, prepared to go to great lengths to fulfill her vision.
"But what about the sunlight?" she sighs, fixing me with a stern gaze, expecting a solution.
"There won't be any sunlight if it rains!" I respond passionately, suppressing my frustration at her apparent disregard for practicality.
Suggesting an alternative, I offer, "How about utilizing artificial lighting?" Her disapproval is evident as she slams the photobook onto the table, catching me off guard.
In my peripheral vision, I notice Kimberly gesturing with a slicing motion across her throat, but I ignore it. The stakes are high— if this woman doesn't agree and something goes wrong with the wedding, it won't just be my responsibility.
"You're the planner!" Amanda snaps, rising to her feet and looming over me, her 5'11" figure towering above my 5'3" frame.
"I want the wedding outside!" she insists, snapping her fingers as if expecting instant compliance.
Left with no choice, I reluctantly concede but add as a last minute ditch effort, I say, "Ms. Hayes opted for an outdoor garden ceremony during the summer."
A tense silence descends upon the shop, Kimberly's incredulous gaze boring into me from the side. Mentioning Georgina's lavish wedding feels like breaking a taboo, yet it slips out, hanging in the air like a forbidden secret.
Amanda's face reddens, her mouth opening and closing in disbelief. She invades my personal space, staring me down with fury.
"You think she's better than me?" she shrieks, her spit landing on my face. At least her breath smells of freshly brewed coffee from the neighboring shop.
"You!" she gasps, her finger trembling as she points at me. Her face and ears flush with embarrassment, and she clutches her heart in an overly dramatic manner that could put Oscar winners to shame.
"Ms. Sykes, please consider it," I plead. "Having a garden wedding during this season is risky. I'm afraid it might rain, and the wedding could end up being a disappointment."
Amanda's eyes widen as she accuses me, "You're cursing my wedding day! This is too much! I'm going to tell Jett—"
Before Amanda can dial Jett, he arrives, leaning against the door. I steal a glance at him and quickly avert my eyes, blinking rapidly to compose myself.
"Why do his eyes speak volumes?" I wonder. It feels as though he can peer into my soul, making me want to confess my deepest, darkest secrets. I avoid him as much as possible because he unsettles me in ways a wedding planner shouldn't be concerned with.
"And in an utterly inappropriate manner at that! Good Lord, he's the groom!" I scold myself silently, willing my signature professional smile to endure.
"Good morning, Mr. Byrd," I greet him with a courteous nod.
Amanda shamelessly clings to him, her body molding against his as she sensually traces his chest and forearms. It's as if she's a boneless fish shamelessly flopping around. Mr. Byrd grimaces, visibly uneasy.
Amanda delves into the details of the wedding theme, punctuated by tearful accusations of my "forceful" attempt to change it. I'm left grappling; reasoning with her seems futile as she sobs as though I've murdered her beloved pet.
Mr. Byrd regards her with an indifferent expression, treating her troubles as inconsequential, like a scientist observing something trivial. His demeanor suggests a lack of interest in the wedding altogether. Encountering a groom so disconnected from the preparations is unprecedented; it's as if he's not the one on the brink of exchanging vows.
Perhaps it's because he occupies a different echelon than most men. After all, he's graced the pages of famous magazines and news reports as one of the wealthiest and most handsome men in the country. Undeniably, he epitomizes wealth and status.
He pivots towards me, his face rife with questions. Inhaling deeply, I articulate the entire situation, yearning for his attentive ear.
After enduring three agonizing minutes of my explanation, his gaze fixed on me, I can finally release the breath I felt suffocating me, my heart racing as if I were engaged in a triathlon.
"The wedding planner makes a valid point," he asserts, redirecting his attention to Amanda. "It's not a good idea."
"But it's..." Amanda's voice deflates gradually, akin to a balloon punctured by a pinprick.
"Trust the wedding planner. She's a seasoned professional," he insists. "I'll buy the bag you want."
"Sure!" Amanda giggles, her spirits lifting, though she shoots me a disdainful side-eye.
As I clear the table, Jett and Amanda depart, and Kimberly and Franco rush to my side. They start mimicking Amanda's words, playfully teasing each other about Jett's allure.
"That guy should be at the bottom of your list. He'll use you and bolt," Kimberly warns Franco.
"Says the one who's a pro at using and bolting," Franco retorts, rolling his eyes.
I chuckle at their banter while tidying up. "He's way out of our league, so let's drop it. Men like him are meant for women like her."
Kimberly's phone rings, and she glances at it, whistling softly. "Looks like I've got a date tonight," she announces.
"More like a fuckdate," Franco comments with a smirk.
The two of them continue their playful banter.
"Franco, pull that stick out of your ass and find a real man," Kimberly remarks.
"Kimberly, at least my ass is as plump as a cherry, unlike yours, which is as flat as a baking pan," Franco retorts with a harrumph.
"Lame," Kimberly responds, rolling her eyes.
"Enough, you two," I sigh and roll my eyes playfully. "Why don't you make yourselves scarce now? I'll lock up."
"I love you, Lilac!" They both embrace me, and I nod.
"You're an angel," Franco adds as he scampers to the back of the shop.
Five minutes later, they burst out the door as if their lives depend on it. I chuckle, shaking my head in amusement. Now that I'm alone, the weight of my situation settles in, and I feel ensnared in a quagmire of problems, sinking deeper.
"What's my next move?" I mull over, scanning the shop's interior. The once cozy ambiance now smothers me with its silence. I wish I could untangle my jumbled thoughts in a snap of a finger. I enter my office and settle at my desk, fixating on the wedding planner binder.
Inhaling deeply, I confront the negative circumstances that have led me here: financial problems, mounting debts, and overwhelming responsibilities. The success of this wedding is not merely advantageous for my career but essential for my very existence.
I need to strategize and find a way to ensure that everything goes smoothly. It's clear that Amanda is a difficult client, but I can't afford to let that deter me. I'll need to assert myself with finesse, seeking compromises that accommodate her desires while maintaining practicality.
I grab a notepad and start making a list of potential solutions, considering alternative options for each aspect of the wedding. I brainstorm ideas, research, and make phone calls to suppliers and vendors. With only two weeks left, time is of the essence.
As I delve into the planning process, I find a renewed sense of determination. I won't let the challenges and the demanding nature of this client break me. I've faced obstacles before, and I've always found a way to overcome them.
With each decision and action, I inch closer to turning this wedding into a success. I'll work tirelessly, utilizing my expertise, creativity, and problem-solving skills to create an unforgettable event that surpasses Amanda's expectations.
I take a deep breath, promising myself that after this is all over, I'm going to have my well-deserved break.