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Save the Date

Save the Date by Tamara Summers
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Victoria Finnegan to marry Kevin Ork in the Rose Bower of Cynthia Flair Botanical Gardens
Sunday, June 17, 3 p.m.

Dress: very flowery.

Yay.

Paris Finnegan is marrying Jiro Kuan on the beach at Huntsville National Park
Saturday, August 11, 1 p.m.

Dress: Um . . . she's not really making me wear overalls, right???

Hideous bridesmaid dress fitting #6

Calm Victoria down

Try not to kill Paris

Try not to think about wedding planner's hot son

Do not date wedding planner's hot son

Stop kissing wedding planner's hot son!!!

HarperCollins; June 2009
336 pages; ISBN 9780061947780
Read online, or download in secure EPUB
Title: Save the Date
Author: Tamara Summers
 
Excerpt

Chapter One

It's a Saturday in early May, and Mom is organizing and hosting Victoria's bridal shower at this fancy tea room in town. It couldn't be more Victoria. All the chairs have big puffy flowered cushions on them and all the teacups come in different sizes with little matching plates—all covered in flowers, of course. When I walk in the front door, I nearly impale myself on a giant angel that takes up the entire foyer, its massive marble wings blocking the entrance to the tea room. It stares at me forbiddingly. Even the enthusiastic arrangements of fresh flowers piled on top of its head don't make it seem any friendlier.

"Can I help you?"

I jump and look around. As far as I can tell, I'm alone in this very pink room. I squint at the wallpaper, which looks like a rose garden went mad and tried to escape by climbing the walls. I kind of know how it feels.

"I said, can I help you?"

I turn slowly and look at the angel. It's definitely glaring at me. But it also definitely looks like it's made of marble. I glance around to make sure I'm alone and then lean toward it.

"Are you talking to me?" I whisper.

"Ahem," says a sharp voice, and I suddenly realize it's coming from above the angel.

I look up. I stand on tiptoe. Impatiently, the person scoots some tall vases to the side so I can see her, and I realize that the angel is sort of a reception desk, with the welcome person standing on a step behind it and leaning over its head.

Although "welcoming" isn't exactly how she looks by this point.

"Um, hi," I say. "I'm here for the—um, the bridal shower."

"Which one?" Grandmother Grumpy snaps.

There's more than one? "Victoria Finnegan?"

I say.

"Really?" says the old woman with, I think, unwarranted skepticism. It's true Victoria and I don't look much alike, and I also don't fit the spacey, hippie-skirt-wearing, Elvish-speaking mold of most of her friends. But hello, we are sisters, so yes, I do deserve to be here, Madame Grouchypants.

"My sister brought my mother over earlier," I say lamely, wondering if I should have come with Alex and Mom. I'd opted for the extra half hour of sleep instead, plus the bonus of getting to drive the car over by myself, which I can finally do now that I have my license instead of just a permit.

"Oh, there you are, Jakarta," my mother says, bustling into the lobby. I shoot the receptionist a fierce look to make sure she isn't laughing at my name. My mom and dad never remember to call me Jack, and I don't want to hurt their feelings by making a fuss about it. But they're the only ones who can get away with it.

"Did you bring the favors?" Mom asks, her voice already full of panic, even though I am clearly holding two giant shopping bags.

"Of course I did," I say. After spending the entire night wrapping translucent lace and lavender ribbons around lilac candles, I hardly think I'd then be dumb enough to leave them at home. Oh, and if you're curious about which of the other bridesmaids suffered through this along with me? None of them. Alex had too much work to do at the firm, Sydney was on call, Sofia was clever enough not to come home from college until this morning, and nobody's heard from Paris in about a week.

Don't worry, that's not unusual. She's a freewheeling crazy-artist type, after all, and she's actually sold a couple of big pieces so she can afford to do freewheeling crazy-artist-type things (especially since she still lives at home and doesn't pay rent, ahem). She usually leaves us notes like: "Absolutely must see Chihuly exhibit in Philadelphia. Be back Friday. Toodles!" or "Have fallen desperately in love with baby panda. Off to re-create it as a vase. Call you from China!" The most recent one said cryptically: "Found something hotter than glass. Will share with you all next week. See you then!"

Mom takes the bags from me and sticks her nose in them, inspecting the candles to make sure I haven't crushed them on the way over.

"Where are your sisters?" she frets. "Paris and Sofia both promised they would be here before the shower started."

"There's still half an hour to go," I say. "Don't worry . . . Sofia will be here." That's about the best reassurance I can muster. Paris could easily be windsurfing in Australia for all we know. It would be fairly typical of her to forget Victoria's bridal shower. I've been getting this weird vibe that she's jealous of all the attention Vicky's getting, but Paris is too loud and flashy to let anyone know what she's really feeling. And seriously, has she met Vicky's fiancé? You'd have to be crazy to be jealous of Kevin. He is the world's weirdest guy.

"Alexandria is finishing the decorations, and Sydney is on her way with the cupcakes," Mom says anxiously. "I think. I hope she is—I didn't call to remind her—do you think she forgot?"

"You did call to remind her," I point out. "You called her this morning at seven o'clock, and you're lucky, because of all of us, I think Sydney's the only one who'd actually be up at that hour. Jogging or weight-lifting or throwing javelins or whatever."

"Yes, but then I meant to remind her again and I didn't. Maybe I should call her. She's supposed to bring the monogrammed lavender napkins, too . . . I'm sure she forgot those. Oh, I'd better call her."

This is why we hired a wedding planner for Victoria's wedding. Sydney tried to do her entire wedding herself, and it nearly made Mom's head pop off. For some reason navigating foreign countries doesn't faze her, but choosing between orchids and calla lilies sends her right out of her mind.

ISBNs
0061947784
9780061366321
9780061947773
9780061947780
9780061947797
9780061947803