My Big Fat Fake Wedding - Lauren Landish Page 0,16
to fully envelope the cavernous great room we’re standing in. “Ta-da!”
Archie, who initially said I was batshit insane for making such a cheery design for a client he termed ‘the handmaiden from hell’, gawks in disbelief as he scans the final product. A smile lifts his lips and he offers a quiet golf clap with a head shake.
“Brava! I don’t know how you do it, but you weren’t lying! It all came together in the end. You are a magician, and I, but your humble assistant. Ta-da, indeed.”
His accent sounds like some version of fancy British as he compliments me and bows to my greatness.
“Told ya!” I say with a wink, a surge of satisfaction running through me at a job well done.
The rush I receive completing my creation is the perfect antidote for the terrible news I received from Colin and the extra whammy from Mom this morning.
News I have yet to tell Arch or Abi.
The wound’s still too fresh, the shock too potent, and telling them right now after just looking at wedding dresses for ten hours, and still failing to find The One, may cause a breakdown.
Mine or theirs? Maybe both?
Which I refuse to do.
Right now, I just need to focus on my work and forget about all the negative things going on in my life. It’s admittedly a bit like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, but it’s the only way I’ll remain sane today. It’s one of the things I love most about my job. When I’m creating homes and spaces that uplift the spirit and inspire, I feel centered and at peace.
And I badly need to feel both right now.
I shove my dark thoughts aside and appraise my latest creation with a critical eye.
Fresh cream-colored paint adorns the walls with matching luxuriously welcoming furniture carefully staged around the room, while vibrant pastel colors provide the perfect contrast against the light-colored decor.
The accents are just right—blues, pinks, and yellows.
It gives the room a gorgeous pop.
It’s young, feminine, and expressive.
And perfect.
Except for the fact that it might not be what my client wants.
“I’m bored,” my client, Lydia Montgomery, said when she hired me for the job. “Surprise me.”
And that’s all she gave me to go on. No theme ideas. No colors she wanted. No direction.
No nothing.
To be clear, a seventy-year-old multi-millionaire heiress is hard to surprise. She’s seen it all, done it all, and from what I can tell, hasn’t liked much of anything in her pampered life.
Usually, I can figure out things about a person using cues they don’t even know they’re sending. Their clothes, their car, or the rest of the spaces in their home says a lot. But Lydia is a blank slate of black designer clothes, architectural but simple, and a chauffeured car that doesn’t speak to her likes at all. Her whole house has been piecemealed, room by room, by different designers.
All together, I had nothing but my own instincts to go on.
Given her attitude and what Archie likes to call ‘permanent resting bitch face,’ I chose to ignore Arch’s suggestion that she needed some dick and instead decided she needed a little warmth and softness in her life to temper her sour disposition. And maybe an update of a generation or two.
I think the ultra-light and colorful design is just what Ms. Montgomery needs, if only she likes it.
“How could she not love this?” I ask myself as much as Arch, staring critically at my creation with pride. I so love it. The room just seems so alive and vibrant, compared to the dull, gold, overly ornate decor Lydia had before. “We did a terrific job.”
Archie dips his chin, his lips pursed. “Let’s be honest. You did a terrific job. I just looked pretty and did what I was told. You know you’re the only one I do that for, right?” His ring-decorated hands on his hips, his tapping boot, and the look of fierceness on his face definitely tell that tale easily.
I laugh, though he’s basically right. Archie has a lot of personality, blunt and big and take no prisoners. Why he deigns to work for me, I’ll never know, but he certainly never defers to anyone else. Ever.
Truth be told, I’m terrified Lydia’s going to trash my design. And maybe I shouldn’t have taken a risk with something chic and modern, but my gut said Darth Vader’s sister needed some colorfulness in her life.
“Normally, I’d say this room is an easy slam-dunk. But that woman is