Chapter One
“I realize that this is your wedding, and of course we want
it to be exactly what you want.” Jillian chose her words carefully, grateful
the client couldn’t see her face over the phone. The last thing she needed was
for Bridezilla to ramp up into uber-bitchy mode. “But everything we’ve planned
is wonderful. Just last week you said it was going to be the perfect wedding.”
“I know what I said last week.” Marianna Carter adopted her
most condescending tone, one that Jillian had become familiar with over the
past year. She felt a headache coming on and opened her desk drawer, looking
for painkillers. “And last week I believed it. But now that I know how attached
Michael is to his home, I just have to respect that and his roots.”
With anyone else, Jillian would have found it amazing that a
woman could be with someone for three years and never realize that he missed his
homeland, but Marianna was totally self-absorbed. She closed the drawer and
leaned her head on the desk. No, no, no. There was no way she could move
a wedding for six hundred guests from New York to Ireland in three weeks.
Besides, she had an inkling that this sudden change of mind had more to do with
Karlie Foster’s Fiji wedding over the weekend than anything else.
“You know, Marianna, destination weddings are losing their
cachet,” she began. “And if we move the wedding at this stage, a lot of the
guests are going to be unable to come. Not to mention the society media we
invited. Do you really want to risk a poorly attended wedding that gets no
attention from the press? Plus, think of all the arrangements we’ve made—the
flowers, the cake, the decorations. There’s no guarantee we could get the same
services in Ireland. Especially at short notice.”
“Oh, that’s no problem,” Marianna burbled. “My father agreed
to fly everyone involved in the wedding and all the guests over to Ireland and
put them up. You’ll need to organize that.”
Fuck the painkillers, she’d need Scotch. A tank of it. What
was she, a travel agent? “It’s not that simple,” Jillian protested. “Where are
Michael’s family from? Are there enough hotels in that area to house all your
guests? Are the grounds of his home big enough for the wedding?”
There was a moment of silence, and hope sprang in Jillian’s
heart. Please let her be rethinking this. “No, I don’t think you
understand, Jillian. We’re not going to get married in someone’s backyard .
We’ll get married in a castle.”
A castle. “Is there a castle near Michael’s home? What’s it
called?” And what were the chances that it would be available for a June
wedding only three weeks away? Jillian reached for her notepad. She’d been
given carte blanche for this wedding—maybe she could write a check and
convince some bride and groom to move their wedding.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Jillian could practically see Marianna
dismissively waving her hand. “There might be a castle near there. It doesn’t
really matter. Just find a castle—something spectacular. Anyway, I have to go.
I know you’ll take care of everything. It’s not really that hard, Jillian, the
rest of the wedding is already planned. Just find a castle and move everything
over there.” There was a click as Marianna disconnected the call, and Jillian
sat there with her phone in her hand and visions of her business failing
dancing in her head. Marianna could ruin her. No, she could destroy Jillian Baxter Events, and she would, if this wedding didn’t go perfectly.
She heard a knock, and looked up to see her assistant, Kate,
standing in the doorway. “What did she want?” Kate asked.
Jillian sighed and stood. “We need to find an Irish castle.”
* * * * *
Early the next morning, Jillian and Kate huddled over a list
of castles that had been turned into event centers, hotels, and/or were
otherwise suitable for a wedding. There were well over fifty of them, and
eleven had been
“I realize that this is your wedding, and of course we want
it to be exactly what you want.” Jillian chose her words carefully, grateful
the client couldn’t see her face over the phone. The last thing she needed was
for Bridezilla to ramp up into uber-bitchy mode. “But everything we’ve planned
is wonderful. Just last week you said it was going to be the perfect wedding.”
“I know what I said last week.” Marianna Carter adopted her
most condescending tone, one that Jillian had become familiar with over the
past year. She felt a headache coming on and opened her desk drawer, looking
for painkillers. “And last week I believed it. But now that I know how attached
Michael is to his home, I just have to respect that and his roots.”
With anyone else, Jillian would have found it amazing that a
woman could be with someone for three years and never realize that he missed his
homeland, but Marianna was totally self-absorbed. She closed the drawer and
leaned her head on the desk. No, no, no. There was no way she could move
a wedding for six hundred guests from New York to Ireland in three weeks.
Besides, she had an inkling that this sudden change of mind had more to do with
Karlie Foster’s Fiji wedding over the weekend than anything else.
“You know, Marianna, destination weddings are losing their
cachet,” she began. “And if we move the wedding at this stage, a lot of the
guests are going to be unable to come. Not to mention the society media we
invited. Do you really want to risk a poorly attended wedding that gets no
attention from the press? Plus, think of all the arrangements we’ve made—the
flowers, the cake, the decorations. There’s no guarantee we could get the same
services in Ireland. Especially at short notice.”
“Oh, that’s no problem,” Marianna burbled. “My father agreed
to fly everyone involved in the wedding and all the guests over to Ireland and
put them up. You’ll need to organize that.”
Fuck the painkillers, she’d need Scotch. A tank of it. What
was she, a travel agent? “It’s not that simple,” Jillian protested. “Where are
Michael’s family from? Are there enough hotels in that area to house all your
guests? Are the grounds of his home big enough for the wedding?”
There was a moment of silence, and hope sprang in Jillian’s
heart. Please let her be rethinking this. “No, I don’t think you
understand, Jillian. We’re not going to get married in someone’s backyard .
We’ll get married in a castle.”
A castle. “Is there a castle near Michael’s home? What’s it
called?” And what were the chances that it would be available for a June
wedding only three weeks away? Jillian reached for her notepad. She’d been
given carte blanche for this wedding—maybe she could write a check and
convince some bride and groom to move their wedding.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Jillian could practically see Marianna
dismissively waving her hand. “There might be a castle near there. It doesn’t
really matter. Just find a castle—something spectacular. Anyway, I have to go.
I know you’ll take care of everything. It’s not really that hard, Jillian, the
rest of the wedding is already planned. Just find a castle and move everything
over there.” There was a click as Marianna disconnected the call, and Jillian
sat there with her phone in her hand and visions of her business failing
dancing in her head. Marianna could ruin her. No, she could destroy Jillian Baxter Events, and she would, if this wedding didn’t go perfectly.
She heard a knock, and looked up to see her assistant, Kate,
standing in the doorway. “What did she want?” Kate asked.
Jillian sighed and stood. “We need to find an Irish castle.”
* * * * *
Early the next morning, Jillian and Kate huddled over a list
of castles that had been turned into event centers, hotels, and/or were
otherwise suitable for a wedding. There were well over fifty of them, and
eleven had been
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