Wedding Issues by Elle Evans

Author:Elle Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zibby Books

11

The door to the Evil Empress’s lair swung open.

A sad combination of circumstances had landed me in this predicament. First, Thanksgiving-week hotel rates were sky-high, and my bank account was still recovering from the Delacour Pure Barre bribe. Kali had already promised her couch to another out-of-towner, so I’d had no choice but to shack up with the Empress. Then two separate car crashes on I-75 had added ninety minutes of traffic to the already five-hour drive from Nashville to Atlanta. Leaving me cranky, disheveled, and now staring directly at Charlotte Harlow. Life was not, shall we say, perfect.

“Olivia,” Charlotte said. “Lovely to see you. Come in.”

“Hi, Aunt Lotte. Thanks.”

“Although you’re not exactly punctual,” my aunt added, her mouth curling wickedly.

I feigned deafness and stepped inside, happy to escape the gleaming ruby-eyed stone lions that flanked her doorway. Flying monkeys would’ve been less intimidating.

Charlotte wore a cashmere sweater and pencil-cut black trousers, dressed for a corporate takeover even at eleven p.m. A stark contrast to my jeans and Vanderbilt Law pullover. Underdressing can be a power move, I told myself. Like I didn’t care what she thought of me. I pulled my suitcase behind me, feeling like the world’s most unwanted guest.

She led me through the marble-paneled atrium, which I’d always secretly admired but could never admit. Two arching staircases swung around from a balcony high above us. When we were little, Kali and I used to wrap our sheets around ourselves like ball gowns and practice descending the twin staircases in perfect synchrony. It’d been the only time my cousin ever agreed to put on a dress, pretend or otherwise, and only because of our shared love of all things Happily Ever After. Nostalgia tugged at my heartstrings. Things had been simpler then. Much simpler.

I followed Charlotte into her kitchen, which she’d redone when I was at college. The walls were whitewashed limestone, disappearing behind shiny white granite with van Gogh swirls of grey. The only color came from the overhead exposed wooden beams, which had been painted a brilliant blue that reminded me of Greece. Everything gleamed. Impractical, but Charlotte and Hank seemed the eat-out type, anyway. I was surprised to see an open bottle of merlot and two waiting glasses. Sharing a glass of wine at the kitchen counter felt strangely intimate. Like something I’d do with Leighton. Maybe even Kali.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, please.”

As she poured us each an even portion, my feeling of weirdness intensified. It felt odd to be sitting in Charlotte’s kitchen, sharing wine like old friends.

“The kitchen looks nice,” I offered.

“Thank you.” Charlotte handed me a glass. “Your mother helped me with the design. We were working on it together that summer. I haven’t changed a thing. I only repaint the white every year.” Her voice was quiet. “So it’s as bright as she wanted. She loved Santorini. That was our inspiration.”

My throat tightened, and I took a sip of my wine for something to do. “She always loved Greece,” I said after a moment.

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