Powerful (The Driven World) - Kathleen Kelly Page 0,43
door is Claude.”
I do a sort of half-wave at them and put my hands in my back pockets. “Hello, nice to meet you.”
Sophia has rollers in her hair, and Judy is painting her nails.
“What time are you picking me up?” asks Sophia as she watches Judy.
“About that.” I smile at everyone in the room. “I’m obviously going with TB.”
Sophia’s head snaps in my direction. “What about me?”
“Sophia, I am the best man and—”
“Of course, I forgot about that,” says Claude as he taps a finger to his lips. “No matter. I’ll take you, and that way I can make sure you look fabulous right up until you enter the church.” He turns, winks at me so only I can see, then turns back around and claps his hands. “This is going to be epic!”
“But Claude, he’s supposed to take me.”
“Sophia, he is the best man, the press will expect him to be with the groom. Come on, darling, what happens if your lipstick smudges? I’m sure he’s good at some things, but I’m betting makeup isn’t one of them.” He has his hands on his hips and is slightly bent over as he talks to her as though he’s talking to a child.
“Fine.”
Claude claps his hands again, then looks at me. “Now, I took the liberty of bringing you a tie that matches Sophia’s dress. This you will put on after you’ve had photographs taken with the happy couple. We’ve arranged for you two to have some happy snaps taken two hours after the wedding down on the beach.”
Sophia makes a noise, and Claude rolls his eyes and looks down at her.
“The carpet?”
“Yes, Sophia, I told you there will be a carpet for you to walk on, so you don’t get sand anywhere you don’t want it.”
Sophia smiles at him, and he shakes his head at her like she’s a demented child.
“Well, looks like you’ve got everything under control, Claude.”
“You have no idea,” he replies cheerfully.
I look at Justin. “You must be the hairdresser.”
“I certainly am. Claude and I run a boutique in LA, Style and Glamor. He does the makeup, and I make you look fabulous.”
With a hand on his hip and the other on his chest, Claude says, “I believe that’s my job?”
“It’s all our jobs,” interjects Judy.
“And you’re all doing great.” They all look at me. “Okay, well, I’ve gotta go. Good luck, and I’ll see you at the chapel.”
Claude sighs and puts both hands on his chest as he looks all romantic.
“Good. See you there,” replies Sophia, without looking up.
A frown creases Claude’s face as he looks from her to me, then he shrugs and walks over to the door to see me out.
“Thanks, Claude.”
“You’re welcome, I’m used to handling queens,” then more quietly, he whispers, “drama.” And mouths ‘queens’ again.
I grin at him and walk out to the ever-present press.
Chapter Eighteen
Athena
Ashlea is wearing an ivory lace wedding dress. It has an off-the-shoulder neckline with long sleeves, the bodice fits her perfectly then falls to the floor. The dress is simple and elegant, much like the woman who is wearing it. Manda, from the local hairdressers, has tamed her red curls that now hang down her back, swept off her face by the pearl tiara she’s wearing. With the dress, her hair and makeup, Ashlea is a vision. I pale in comparison, which is how it should be on a bride’s wedding day.
“Do I look okay?”
Shaking my head, I smile. “No. You look far better than okay. You are beautiful.”
“Stop it.”
Ashlea looks at herself in my full-length mirror and smiles. “I feel pretty.”
“You look it, honey. Now, I’m off. Do you two need anything else?” asks Manda.
“No, thank you, Manda. You did an awesome job,” I reply.
Manda looks from me to Ashlea. “It was my pleasure. See you both at the chapel.”
I walk Manda to my front door and then go to the refrigerator and pull out a bottle of Moët. The sound of the cork popping has Ashlea walking down the hallway and into the kitchen.
“I thought we could both use something to calm our nerves.”
Ashlea nods. “Yeah, but I’m not nervous, I’m excited.”
Pouring us both a drink, I hold up my glass and say, “To you and Ares, may today be the start of your new lives together, and may there be more happy days than bad.”
Ashlea picks up her glass, “Amen.”
“Can you sit?” I ask.
Ashlea nods. “Yeah.”
“Take the big chair, it’s more comfortable.”
Just as Ashlea is about to sit, the photographer, Henry, walks