you’re not supposed to congratulate the bride, only the groom, but I didn’t think Portia would mind.
Sure enough, she didn’t. “Well, I am getting married,” she confessed. “And we decided to have a double ceremony with Andy and Halleigh. The reception will be at the house.”
Of course. Why have a mansion, if you couldn’t have the reception there?
“That’s going to be a lot of work, setting up a wedding by—when?” I said, trying to sound sympathetic and concerned.
“April. Tell me about it,” Portia said, laughing. “Grandmother is already half-crazy. She’s called every caterer she knows to try to book someone for the second weekend, and finally landed Extreme(ly Elegant) Events because they had a cancellation. Plus, the guy who runs Sculptured Forest in Shreveport is coming to see her this afternoon.”
Sculptured Forest was the premier landscape planning center and nursery in the area, at least if you went by their omnipresent ads. Hiring both Sculptured Forest and Extreme (ly Elegant) Events meant that this double wedding would be the primo social occasion of the Bon Temps year.
“We’re thinking an outdoor wedding at the house, with tents in the back yard,” Portia said. “In case of rain, we’ll have to move it to the church, and have the reception at the Renard Parish Community Building. But we’ll keep our fingers crossed.”
“Sounds wonderful.” I really couldn’t think of anything else to say. “How are you going to keep working, with all this wedding stuff to do?”
“Somehow I’ll manage.”
I wondered what the rush was. Why weren’t the happy couples waiting until summer, when Halleigh wouldn’t be working? Why not wait, so Portia could free her calendar for a proper wedding and honeymoon? And wasn’t the man she’d been dating an accountant? Surely a wedding during tax season was the worst possible scheduling.
Oooo . . . maybe Portia was pregnant. But if she was in the family way, she wasn’t thinking about it, and I hardly thought she would be doing otherwise. Gosh, if I ever found out I was pregnant, I’d be so happy! If the guy loved me and would marry me, that is—because I wasn’t tough enough to raise a kid by myself, and my grandmother would roll over in her grave if I was an unmarried mother. Modern thinking on that subject had completely passed my grandmother by, without even ruffling her hair with its passage.
While all these thoughts were buzzing around in my head, it took me a minute to process Portia’s words. “So try to keep the second Saturday in April free,” she said with as close to a charming smile as Portia Bellefleur could manage.
I promised I would, trying not to trip over my own tongue with astonishment. She must be high on wedding fever. Why would my presence be desired at the wedding? I was no big buddy of any of the Bellefleurs.
“We’re asking Sam to bartend at the reception,” she continued, and my world realigned into a more familiar pattern. She wanted me there to assist Sam.
“An afternoon wedding?” I asked. Sam sometimes took outside bartending jobs, but Saturday was usually our heavy day at Merlotte’s.
“No, night,” she said, “but I already talked to Sam this morning, and he’s agreed.”
“Okay,” I said.
She read more into my tone than I’d put there, and she flushed. “Glen has some clients that he wants to invite,” she said, though I’d asked for no explanation. “They can only come after dark.” Glen Vicks was the accountant. I was glad I’d retrieved his last name from my memory. Then everything clicked into place, and I understood Portia’s embarrassment. Portia meant that Glen’s clients were vampires. Well, well, well. I smiled at her.
“I’m sure it’ll be a lovely wedding, and I look forward to being there,” I said, “since you were kind enough to invite me.” I’d deliberately misunderstood her, and as I’d foreseen, she flushed even redder. Then a related idea occurred
Sure enough, she didn’t. “Well, I am getting married,” she confessed. “And we decided to have a double ceremony with Andy and Halleigh. The reception will be at the house.”
Of course. Why have a mansion, if you couldn’t have the reception there?
“That’s going to be a lot of work, setting up a wedding by—when?” I said, trying to sound sympathetic and concerned.
“April. Tell me about it,” Portia said, laughing. “Grandmother is already half-crazy. She’s called every caterer she knows to try to book someone for the second weekend, and finally landed Extreme(ly Elegant) Events because they had a cancellation. Plus, the guy who runs Sculptured Forest in Shreveport is coming to see her this afternoon.”
Sculptured Forest was the premier landscape planning center and nursery in the area, at least if you went by their omnipresent ads. Hiring both Sculptured Forest and Extreme (ly Elegant) Events meant that this double wedding would be the primo social occasion of the Bon Temps year.
“We’re thinking an outdoor wedding at the house, with tents in the back yard,” Portia said. “In case of rain, we’ll have to move it to the church, and have the reception at the Renard Parish Community Building. But we’ll keep our fingers crossed.”
“Sounds wonderful.” I really couldn’t think of anything else to say. “How are you going to keep working, with all this wedding stuff to do?”
“Somehow I’ll manage.”
I wondered what the rush was. Why weren’t the happy couples waiting until summer, when Halleigh wouldn’t be working? Why not wait, so Portia could free her calendar for a proper wedding and honeymoon? And wasn’t the man she’d been dating an accountant? Surely a wedding during tax season was the worst possible scheduling.
Oooo . . . maybe Portia was pregnant. But if she was in the family way, she wasn’t thinking about it, and I hardly thought she would be doing otherwise. Gosh, if I ever found out I was pregnant, I’d be so happy! If the guy loved me and would marry me, that is—because I wasn’t tough enough to raise a kid by myself, and my grandmother would roll over in her grave if I was an unmarried mother. Modern thinking on that subject had completely passed my grandmother by, without even ruffling her hair with its passage.
While all these thoughts were buzzing around in my head, it took me a minute to process Portia’s words. “So try to keep the second Saturday in April free,” she said with as close to a charming smile as Portia Bellefleur could manage.
I promised I would, trying not to trip over my own tongue with astonishment. She must be high on wedding fever. Why would my presence be desired at the wedding? I was no big buddy of any of the Bellefleurs.
“We’re asking Sam to bartend at the reception,” she continued, and my world realigned into a more familiar pattern. She wanted me there to assist Sam.
“An afternoon wedding?” I asked. Sam sometimes took outside bartending jobs, but Saturday was usually our heavy day at Merlotte’s.
“No, night,” she said, “but I already talked to Sam this morning, and he’s agreed.”
“Okay,” I said.
She read more into my tone than I’d put there, and she flushed. “Glen has some clients that he wants to invite,” she said, though I’d asked for no explanation. “They can only come after dark.” Glen Vicks was the accountant. I was glad I’d retrieved his last name from my memory. Then everything clicked into place, and I understood Portia’s embarrassment. Portia meant that Glen’s clients were vampires. Well, well, well. I smiled at her.
“I’m sure it’ll be a lovely wedding, and I look forward to being there,” I said, “since you were kind enough to invite me.” I’d deliberately misunderstood her, and as I’d foreseen, she flushed even redder. Then a related idea occurred
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