too much. Two vodka martinis at lunch and two champagnes since we’ve been here.”
Tennyson crossed her arms. “If you’re inferring I have a drinking problem, you’re wrong. I can go without booze. And really, it’s not your place to say anything to me about what I do and don’t do. And what you just said to your mother is not very well done of you.”
“Maybe not, but you still drink too much. I share the garbage cans with you, and I know. Besides, I’m about to be part of your family, so maybe someone has to say what needs to be said here.”
“Emma,” Melanie said, her voice a warning shot fired as she struggled to her feet. “That’s enough. Tennyson brought you over here, did all this for you, and you’re going to be rude? No, ma’am.”
Emma laughed. “Well, that was easy. You just stuck up for each other after tearing each other down only minutes ago.”
Tennyson frowned. “If you think you’re going to play games with me and your mother, think again. You weren’t meant to overhear us. Besides, what passed between us years ago won’t be something to disrupt this wedding.”
Emma arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Because every time we have gotten together for anything since Andrew and I announced we were engaged, you two have been uncivil and uncontrollable.”
“We have not,” Melanie said, her expression growing more and more perturbed.
Tennyson felt the same way. She didn’t need some knock-kneed twentysomething telling her how to behave. They hadn’t done anything too wrong. Okay, there had been a smashed cake, a near dogfight, and some choice words tossed about, but no harm had befallen either of their children. In fact, considering she and Melanie were pretty much enemies, they’d done fairly well. “Melanie’s right. We have not.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “You two need to figure out how you’re going to survive because in two months, Andrew and I are going to be promising forever to each other. And forever is a long time . . . Teeny . . . and Melly.”
“Okay, ladies,” Becky said, breezing back into the salon with a tall, thin woman who carried a case and looked pretty much like a runway model. “Here’s Lisa with some of our finest pieces.”
Emma stepped off the platform and turned to Becky. “Before we go much further, I would like to see the Caroline Castigliano ‘En Fleur’ dress. It has pockets.”
Becky looked confused. “But, this dress . . .”
Emma held up a hand. “I love this one, but I want to be certain.”
Becky shrugged. “Let me go pull it.”
Tennyson stepped in front of Becky. “No. Wait. Emma, the one you’re wearing is perfect. I mean, I have never seen a dress be more you than that one, and I can tell you love it. When you came in, it was like magic.”
Melanie nodded. “She’s right. The one you’re wearing is the one. Emma, it’s perfect. It was your dress the moment you put it on.”
Emma gave them another smile. “So you both are once again agreeing? This is the dress?”
Tennyson and Melanie looked at each other. No one liked to be manipulated by a twenty-two-year-old who thought she was smarter than them combined. Melanie ripped her gaze away.
“Yes. We agree. The one you’re wearing is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen on you. I can’t imagine another dress, even one with pockets, overshadowing the sheer beauty and rightness of this dress,” Melanie said.
Emma’s grin was triumphant.
“We’ve been played.” Tennyson sucked in a deep breath and then flounced back to her seat, wishing she’d seen through Emma’s machinations earlier.
“Sorry,” Emma said, her grin not disappearing. “I just needed to make sure the last time you agreed wasn’t an aberration. Try to do that more. Now, let’s see what works for my hair. I’m thinking a low gathering of my hair into . . . well, let me show you.”
Emma pulled out her phone, ignoring both Melanie and Tennyson as she showed Becky and Lisa something no doubt on a Pinterest board. After a few minutes of checking her email and scanning Facebook, Tennyson rose. “I’m going to look for a dress for myself.”
Melanie set the phone she was using to take pictures of Emma in the dress on the table and nodded.
“You want to come look, too?” Tennyson asked.
She could tell that Melanie wanted to go with her. Melanie had never been good at waiting. By nature she liked to move and have purpose. “I don’t know. Emma