I coordinated a spectacular wedding for a rich lady, which I helped prepare down to the last detail. I almost fainted when I saw the groom. His name was Jacob.
Rachel is 28. I arrange luxury parties for wealthy clientele as a private event planner. Professionalism, secrecy, and magic on tight timelines are my strengths.
My worst fear occurred on the day I was scheduled to execute my most lavish wedding, not due to weather or last-minute modifications, but because of the guy who exited the groom’s vehicle. The bride was 38-year-old fashion company heiress Victoria Halston. I flew two hours across the country to oversee her wedding, excited to execute her exquisite and detailed idea.
Victoria understood what she wanted and spent to get it. Andrew Wallace, a young software entrepreneur with a developing reputation and increasing financial account, was her groom. Never met him throughout planning months.
Victoria nonchalantly said, “He’s very busy, always traveling,” during our meetings. “He trusts my taste and lets me lead.”
It seemed weird. What groom doesn’t want to review the band or wine list?
I questioned her, “Are you sure he doesn’t want to join us for the tasting?”
She laughed. “He’s not like that. If I’m pleased, he’s happy.”
I walked on, assuming affluent folks were quirky.
As the wedding neared, my interest about the enigmatic groom intensified. Like any high-end event, the wedding day began with excitement and beauty. I was in control, planning every detail.
Floral arrangements were abundant, white linens clean, and crystal dinnerware caught the chandeliers’ mellow radiance. I strolled between stations, headset on collar, checking every detail. “The seating chart is final— switch cards only if I approve,” I instructed ushers.
Keep the cake chilled until the photographer comes. Buttercream layers prevent melting.”
Late afternoon people filled the beautiful garden location, drinking champagne and enjoying the quiet harp music. Then truth struck.
In front of the main door, a black limousine stopped. Everyone faced it. The crowd quieted.
Please welcome Mr. Andrew Wallace, the groom! Emcee announced.
I watched, hoping to meet the enigmatic man who had given his whole wedding to a stranger. I choked on my breath as the vehicle door opened. Jacob emerged.
My Jacob. Jacob Rivers, the guy I knew who left six months ago, leaving me distraught and practically destitute. He smiled at the throng in a superbly cut tuxedo like a prince entering a fairy tale.
I wasn’t tricked. My mouth dried and legs felt stone. After a casual look, his eyes met mine.
Lack of recognition. No response. He saw through me.
The guy I planned my wedding with was now at another wedding under a different name and identity. I was speechless. Unable to move.
My world spun slowly. As he boldly entered the event, greeting hands and taking compliments, I was brought back to the day everything went wrong. Six Months Before
Jacob and I lived together nearly two years.
I wanted a small, romantic wedding, so we planned it. We cuddled up on the sofa with wedding brochures and spreadsheets one night. Budget-wise, how are we?
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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