Own the Eights Gets Married - Krista Sandor Page 0,9
and make an appearance at your party!”
3
Georgie
Georgie cringed.
She’d know the haughty huff of the Denver socialite Lorraine Vanderdinkle, aka her mother, anywhere.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe if she didn’t officially see the woman, she and Jordan could take off running down the street.
“Georgiana? Pumpkin?” came the familiar chime of her mother’s voice.
“You told my mother?” she whispered.
“Of course, I did! I went to see her and Howard to ask for their blessing. And I’ve got to tell you, Howard is a pretty great guy. I’ve never talked that much with him.”
“Me neither, actually,” she answered.
“It wasn’t like I could go to Lizzy Bennet, Jane Eyre, or Hermione Granger and ask for their approval. But I did reread Pride and Prejudice. So, there’s that,” he whispered back.
Her trifecta shrugged.
Dammit! Going to her mother and stepfather was the honorable thing to do.
“But there’s more,” Jordan said, keeping his voice low.
More? What more could there possibly be than knowing her mother had probably already decided this wedding was going to be Denver’s next big social event?
She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. “What kind of more?”
“I’m pretty sure she’s been in contact with Bobby and Hector.”
“Oh, my God,” Georgie whisper-shouted as her eyes fluttered open.
Jordan cringed apologetically, and she held his gaze, her eyes growing wider.
“It’s like we’ve got our very own Hydra of Lerna.”
Jordan cocked his head to the side. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s from Greek mythology. It’s—”
He gasped. “I remember. It’s a three-headed monster.”
Georgie risked a glance and found her mother flanked by Bobby and Hector.
“The Hydra of Denver,” she said with a gulp, fearing the power of three.
“The Hydra of Denver? Is that a fancy cocktail or a new spa treatment at the Ritz, pumpkin?” her mother asked with a frown in her voice.
Knowing her mom, Lorraine Vanderdinkle probably thought she was frowning, but with the Botox, all that happened was a slight twitch to the corner of her mouth.
Muted frown or not, if she thought Hector and Bobby’s involvement was bad, the addition of her mother to the wedding planning mix would be absolutely catastrophic.
Georgie caught Jordan’s eye, expecting to find the same level of dread she was sure burned in her gaze when the man winked at her. He actually winked! The thing is, it was just what she needed. That tiny gesture helped ease the surge of frantic energy she experienced whenever her mother was in the vicinity.
“Come on, you two. You don’t want to keep your guests waiting,” Hector added, waving them toward the entrance.
Georgie shared a look with Jordan as they followed the wedding brigade into the hotel.
“I hope they didn’t go too crazy on this champagne breakfast thing,” she said, mustering courage.
“Would a champagne fountain the size of a skyscraper count as too crazy?” he asked.
“Why?” she questioned, as a wave of apprehension washed over her.
But Jordan didn’t need to elaborate.
They entered a room that could only be described as Willy Wonka meets pretty, pretty princess. Square in the center of the grand space, a tower of champagne bottles and crystal flutes formed what looked like a Dom Pérignon monster Christmas tree.
But that wasn’t all.
In each corner stood giant fountains, flowing with chocolate and littered with strawberries and other fondue delicacies.
Georgie gasped when she caught a glimpse of a man dressed in a pink chef’s uniform. He stood behind a table teeming with polished silver chafing dishes. Brandishing two large knives, the man held them over his head like a culinary samurai before turning his attention and knife skills on a giant hunk of meat.
And the baby pink! It was inescapable. From the bouquets of flowers placed on every flat surface to the tablecloths to swaths of fabric draped between the chandeliers, they’d walked into a Pepto-Bismol champagne party prison.
“It’s so pink,” she uttered.
“But you like pink, pumpkin,” her mother replied with her signature tinkling laugh.
“I like the color rose, Mom,” she muttered.
“And there are a lot of people here,” Jordan added, taking in the masses, mingling in the opulent room.
Her mother waved him off. “It’s only family and friends. And, of course, everyone from the Country Club and Howard’s venture capitalist chums. Oh, yes, and the media!”
“As well as CityBeat and all their subscribers,” Barry added, holding up his phone.
Startled, Georgie shrieked. “When did you get here?”
“I was behind you the whole time.”
Jordan tensed. “You followed us?”
Barry raised a hand in mock defense. “Only to get some shots of you two walking. I wasn’t close enough to hear you.”
She gestured to