Wedding Belles. Beth Albright

the planation since Vivi was a child. They’d always been close, but now that her father had passed away and her mother was living out at Splendor Acres retirement home, Arthur was the closest thing Vivi had to family out at the plantation. Over the summer, Arthur had been building a barbecue business on the side property, getting it ready for the Alabama Crimson Tide kickoff game on the first of September. That would be here before we knew it.

      I drove down the gravel drive to the plantation gates and headed to my grandmother Meridee’s house, thinking all the while about Miss Myra Jean’s comments.

      Heaven help us, they just couldn’t be true. Sure, Lewis did have a reputation as a ladies’ man. After all, he was tall and masculine, with wavy dark hair and adorable dimples, and his blue eyes were just too gorgeous to belong to a man. Women love his confidence and flirty personality, but it was clear to all of us that he really loved Vivi.

      But between managing the wedding planning and an emotionally high-strung pregnant bride, I was beginning to feel like a ringmaster overseeing a three-ring circus gone wild. And now, because of Vivi’s meltdown, I was probably going to be late to meet with the event planning dream team.

      Coco and Jean-Pierre, who we’d hired to plan the wedding and shower, were meeting with me at Meridee’s about Vivi’s upcoming bridal-baby-bash. They owned an event planning and catering business called A Fru Fru Affair, and their choice of a company name pretty much summed up their fun flamboyant personalities.

      In high school, they were known as Craig and John-Paul, but in the process of launching their business, they decided they needed something with a little more style. Now almost no one called them by their given names except for my grandmother Meridee and my mother, Kitty, who had both known the boys since they were children.

      Coco and Jean-Pierre always disagreed about taste and style, but somehow, in the end, they would pull off the most amazing events. Some of their ideas were totally off the wall. Like the time they wanted the groom to skydive into the ceremony...but his aim was a tad off and he ended up in the Warrior River. Another time they threw a Tarzan-themed wedding and the bride was supposed to swing in on a vine. She hit the minister by mistake. Vivi’s dream was much simpler—and a whole lot safer. She only wanted to be a princess, and it was my job to make sure they didn’t have her ride down the aisle bareback.

      A pregnant woman should not be on a horse.

      Yet even with this meeting to keep me occupied, I had to admit, I couldn’t stop thinking about this other woman the psychic mentioned. I had known Miss Myra Jean most of my life and, strange as it may seem, she was usually right...in her own special way.

      Well, I told myself for the hundredth time, Vivi is getting her wedding license in just a few hours and then the other woman, whoever she is, won’t matter. I kept repeating that, but somehow I wasn’t totally convinced.

      2

      I arrived before Coco and Jean-Pierre, entering the kitchen where Meridee was standing in her apron at the stove, humming “Summertime.” I felt that instant sedative that always kicks in the second I enter Meridee’s house and see her busy making something delicious to eat. Being here always settled my nerves, no matter what was going on.

      “Hey, Nanny.” (Hey is the way we greet each other down South. I can’t remember anybody ever saying Hi. And hey is almost always followed by a hug, unless you’re a man.) I leaned in and hugged her hello. She smiled and kissed my cheek just as the Fru Frus rang the doorbell.

      “Hey, baby girl,” Coco called, then shot me an air kiss as he stepped inside. He took in my red pencil skirt, sleeveless navy blouse and white pearls. “You are rockin’ the patriotic look big-time today.”

      He hugged me, then stepped back. “Are you wearing MAC Red Ruby Woo lipstick?”

      Stunned, I nodded my head.

      “I knew it. That is the best 1940s red I have ever seen.”

      Jean-Pierre walked in right behind Coco. “Oh, precious, that red, white and blue outfit is so summer, so July, so America, so...future senator’s wife.”

      Cringing a bit, I hugged Jean-Pierre, too. Harry’s run for senator was exactly the reason we’d kept our separation a secret. Despite our differences, I still wanted to support Harry through this major turning point in his career. And I knew how difficult it would be for him to present himself as Senate material with nasty divorce gossip spreading all over town. We’d decided not to announce anything about our split until after the election. And that meant suffering quietly through awkward moments like this one.

      He inhaled deeply. “Miss Dior perfume. Heavenly,” he said all singsongy.

      He hugged Meridee next. “Oh, my, and you are wearing Charles of the Ritz. I am inspired by you already.”

      They were a sight for sure, both of them tall and skinny and immaculately dressed. Coco had long sandy hair and beautiful ocean-blue eyes. He had an angular jaw and a wide, warm megawatt smile. He was so tan. He loved wearing bright-colored skinny jeans and striped short-sleeved shirts. He usually wore a long knotted scarf around his neck and a beret on his head. He just loved his namesake, Coco Chanel. And French was his style in a nutshell.

      Jean-Pierre was a little more understated. He had long spiky dark hair and green eyes. His clothes were usually less flashy, but still fashionable. Today he wore skinny black jeans and a dark dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his arms full of books and planning agendas. He looked more studious in his black thick-rimmed glasses. He was sarcastic and dry, while Coco was more quick and funny and much louder.

      Coco scanned the room, looking beyond the doorway, as well. “Is this the venue for the big double event? We can work with this, sugar! So much space.”

      “We can even use the big yard outside,” Jean-Pierre said.

      My grandmother laughed. “Oh, gosh, honey, not outside unless you want big ol’ mosquito bites all over our momma-bride. That yard is a feeding ground this time of year!”

      “She sure would be a sight,” Coco said. “I hear welts are the new black.”

      Jean-Pierre smiled. “Very funny. Indoors it is. What are we talking about for space?”

      “Mostly the living room, kitchen and dining room,” I said. “Meridee has given us the go-ahead to decorate anything we want. We should talk about the shower theme, though. I want it to be really fun.”

      “Honey, there’s no way it won’t be a blast,” Coco reassured me. “I’ve already come up with an invitation idea. Picture this...” He gestured as if reading from a theater marquee. “The Bride We Are Lovin’ Has a Bun in the Oven. Don’t y’all just love that?” Coco was so proud of himself.

      Meridee stood in the living room doorway, her eyes bugging out of her head.

      “Oh, my, we’ll have to talk about that a bit later,” I said, trying to be nice. “That theme might need a few revisions.”

      “Can we run down and see the basement?” Jean-Pierre said. “We wanna party all over this house.”

      We all headed downstairs. This had been my playground every rainy day of my childhood, back when the Ouija board was at the height of its popularity. It was a tad musty down there, but it still had the old pool table, TV set and a big octagon-shaped wooden card table. Bookcases lined the wall to the left as you entered the main room. The basement held a lot of memories for me, but I don’t think the boys were too impressed.

      “Oh, dear, that smell might be an issue,” Jean-Pierre said, his nose crinkled with distaste.

      “Sometimes it gets damp down here,” I explained.

      “Well, since the theme isn’t Mildew Madness, I think we need to stay upstairs,” Jean-Pierre said, shaking his head and leading the way back to the main floor.

      Meridee directed us into the kitchen. She had fixed coffee and iced tea and put out some mini coffee cakes she’d just