Melanie didn’t apologize to Tennyson. She didn’t even look her way.
So this was how they were going to play it—tit for tat? Seemed about right because that was how Melanie had always been. Passive-aggressive should be her middle name. That she had even lost her temper in front of Marc and her daughter, allowing herself to grow angry enough to even say “crap” was in itself a small victory for Tennyson. Not to mention, Melanie hated it when Tennyson used any affectation, so Tennyson’s playing it blasé earlier had likely driven Melanie right off the edge.
Good.
Melanie didn’t get to be any more comfortable than she was about this impending marriage. Tennyson adored Emma—it was hard not to—but she didn’t have to love that her son was marrying into Melanie’s screwed-up family, did she?
After all, Melanie had turned into her own worst nightmare—her mother.
And she’d told her children that Tennyson was dead.
Jesus.
“Yes, we’re sorry, Marc. Emma is right. We’re here for a wedding,” Tennyson said.
Emma gave a tremulous smile. “So let’s get started on the plans. I booked the church for August thirtieth and the Remington Hotel rooftop for the reception. It will be hot, but I like the idea of dancing on the rooftop. All the lights up there are so pretty, and it’s just fun.”
Marc rolled up his sleeves and pulled out a notepad. “We can do some cooler fans outside. Not a problem. Ladies, let’s hammer out the major decisions. I need to know number of people, budget, and things like band or DJ so I can do inquiries tomorrow morning. We’re on a time crunch, so once we decide and book, we stick.”
“Whatever Emma and Andrew want, we can make happen,” Tennyson said, crossing her legs and picking up the album marked for floral arrangements.
“And what they want is something simple,” Melanie said.
“Don’t worry, Melanie. I can help you and Kit pay for the wedding. No need to set a tight budget.”
Melanie’s mouth went flat as a frog’s. “This isn’t about money, it’s about being reasonable. And tasteful.”
Irritation flared inside Tennyson. Reasonable? Now that really could be Melanie’s middle name. How many times had Melanie asked her to be reasonable? Ten? Twenty? A thousand times? She was fairly certain the last time that word had flown from her mouth had been when Melanie and Kit had told her that last summer that they were “together now.” Tennyson had pitched a hissy fit, and Melanie had grabbed her by the shoulders and said, “Come on, Teeny. Don’t be like this. Be reasonable. You don’t want him, but you don’t want anyone else to have him. That’s not fair to Kit.”
To which Tennyson had said, “I don’t mind someone else having him. Just not you.”
Melanie had released her shoulders and cried.
But her former BFF hadn’t given Kit up. Nope. Instead she’d married him.
So saying Tennyson should be reasonable wasn’t something she wanted to hear because she didn’t want to be reasonable. Not for Andrew’s wedding. Not for Melanie or Kit’s pocketbook. Not for anyone in the world. Because reasonable was boring as hell. And trite. And commonplace. And not the way Tennyson O’Rourke rolled.
As for taste, Melanie had a lot of nerve when she herself dressed like a bag lady.
“How about you decide what’s reasonable, Melly, and I’ll add the ridiculous to it so this wedding can be something perfect rather than just tasteful.” She said that last word as if she were spitting out a cockroach. Then she turned to Emma. “Does that work for you, Em?”
Emma blinked once, twice, and finally said, “Uh, thank you, Tennyson.”
“Darling, you can call me Teeny.”
CHAPTER NINE
“I hate her. Like truly hate her,” Melanie said to Kit as they pushed into their favorite Mexican place. They’d just gone to the Remington Hotel to pay the balance on the deposit Emma had put down on the hotel. Her mother was out doing the preliminary scout for wedding dresses with Emma, and they would join them for dinner. Melanie wasn’t looking forward to dining with her mother, but when Emma had suggested they meet up to go over the finalized plans to that point and hadn’t invited Tennyson, Melanie had agreed. Kit would also be joining them because he’d been downtown in a meeting with Hal, who was signing the legal papers giving him the money for the new subdivision.
“You don’t. Not really,” Kit said, a smile flirting with the corners of his mouth.