[3]

Five years later

÷•÷•÷

For me, weddings were the hardest event to plan.

You had to do everything perfectly, from the decorations to the food. And if the tiniest detail went out of the plan, you had the bride-to-be to answer.

But this wasn't the main reason weddings were hard to plan, at least not for me. Almost five years ago, when my career in wedding planning had just begun, I was struggling-struggling to plan the little wedding parties I was supposed to. But then, one particular wedding I planned gained public attention and shoved me into a world of constant wedding planning.

Now everyone wanted the famous Camsy Colbert to plan their wedding. My manager and best friend was always yelling at someone on the phone, trying to explain that I was busy because I was always busy.

Sounds of wedding preparations in progress filled the air around me to the brim. At one corner, the florist stood at the top of a ladder, attaching rows of white, black, and red roses to the wall in a decorative pattern; roses that cost a shit load of money to transport from Los Angeles to Hawaii here.

I winced when one of the white roses fell from his arrangement, twirling in the air and dropping to the floor at my feet, touching the tip of my black Prada sandals. My attention snapped to his figure at the top of the not-so-sturdy ladder.

"Careful with those flowers."

He jumped a little, almost causing the ladder to topple over with him at its peak. After gaining his balance, he looked down at me and bit his lip. "Sorry, Miss Colbert."

I scoffed and walked away.

"Miss Colbert!"

I turned to face the young lady approaching me with identical fabrics hanging from either of her arms. One of my brows raised, urging her to speak.

"I found two different fabrics for the window decorations." She lifted both her arms in the air for me to see. After scrutinizing the two of them and seeing no difference, I frowned.

"They are the same," I said to her, pointing to one of the fabrics. "I ordered identical silk materials because the bride asked for it, and the deliveries were all double-checked."

"Well." She dropped one of her arms, leaving only one hanging in the air. "This one is thicker than all the others."

My frown deepened, curse words flying off the tip of my tongue. From a distance, I heard something fall to the floor with a loud crash that caused the girl before me to wince sharply. I closed my eyes, willing myself not to think about the chaos. I tried to block out the voice in my head, calculating the money someone had just tossed out the window.

"Where's Simone?" I asked through closed eyelids and gritted teeth.

"I-I think she-"

The girl's statement was cut off when the sharp, bossy voice of my best friend and manager, Simone Lancaster, boomed through the ballroom.

"That's coming out of your paycheck, mista'!"

An exhausted sigh left my lips at the sound of her voice, and my eyelids fluttered open. The squeaking sounds her Nike sneakers made as she walked were the first thing I heard before she materialized.

Her brown hair was held in a messy bun, stray tendrils falling out of the bun and framing her oval-shaped face. A phone was pressed to her ear, and her eyebrows pulled together as she listened to the person on the phone. She rolled her eyes. In the process, her gaze locked on me.

Simone threw her head back, eyes rolling to the back of her head as she sighed in relief.

"Thank the heavens."

And then she marched towards me, bouncing with each step. As she closed in, we opened our mouths at the same time.

"You need to handle this."

"Your mom wants to speak to you."

Silence settled on us for some seconds before we simultaneously opened our mouths.

"What does she want to say?"

"What is it?"

Simone put a perfectly manicured hand up, shoving the phone in my face with the other. I quickly leaned away.

"Your mother has been bothering this phone non-stop for the past fifteen minutes, asking me to find and give you the damn phone. I swear, if I hadn't found you when I did, I would have gone crazy," she groaned.

"I don't think you can get any crazier, Simone." The static voice of my mother rang out of the phone in reply, making Simone glare at the device.

I snatched it from her grasp, motioning to the frozen girl beside us. "Deal with her," I mouthed toward Simone before pressing the phone to my ear. "Hey, Mom!"

"Camsy!" my mother exclaimed in her usual light and chirpy voice. "I've been trying to reach you all morning. You have no idea. I had to listen to Simone rant about how busy the both of you were."

"We're actually busy," I deadpanned, pointing the electrician's attention to a point on the wall that lacked decorative lights. He nodded his almost completely bald head in my direction before getting to work.

"That's the reason why I called, Cam." Her tone grew genuinely concerned. I pictured her eyes dimming. "Are you okay? I hope you're not enduring too much stress."

The wine man lifted two flavors of red wine and held the glasses out for me to taste.

"I'm not, Mom," I gurgled out, lying between wine tastes. Of course, I was stressed. I was stressed out of my mind!

"Are you sure? You sound uncertain. Do I have to warn Mida?" I nodded towards the wine I tasted last, dismissing the man and turning my attention back to the call fully.

"Don't do that, Mom. You know how she is. It's her wedding, after all."

Mom sighed. "I'm sorry. Your father and I are just really worried about you. You seem too comfortable planning all these weddings while being single yourself."

That was it: The hardest part of wedding planning. The knowledge that you were planning others' weddings and yet remained unmarried. Unlucky in love.

My body froze, but my mouth moved. "I'm okay, Mom. You should see me over here. I'm chill," I lied smoothly.

"I'll take your word for it, but don't hesitate to call me if you ever feel like you want to talk." A pause. "Especially about this topic."

My mother knew about my non-existent love life, which comprised more of one-night stands than any real love. It was hard, I'll admit, seeing others get married while I remained single, but I was okay. Men couldn't hold on to relationships anyway. My thirteen exes were proof of that.

I shook off the thoughts invading my mind. I was a changed woman now. Love was certainly not for me. I'd accepted the fact.

"I'll be sure to call you if I ever feel depressed about the lack of romance in my life."

"Good. Your father sends his love."

"Remind him that I love him." He was always busy with work. It was one quality I'd gained from him.

"I'll be sure to do that, my love. I'll see you in three days."

"Sure thing, Mom. Love you."

I hung up, letting my eyes scan the room. A satisfied sigh escaped my lips. Everything was coming together well. We'd set up the decorations, food, and drinks. And even though there were still workers walking around looking confused and agitated, I could say the wedding preparations were a success.

"I love it!"

Mida, my cousin, and the bride-to-be, wore a face-splitting grin as she approached us. From the way she looked-in a peach-pink fitted dress that clung to her body and accentuated her curves-you could easily tell she was the one getting married.

A pang went off in my chest.

"Everything looks amazing. Just how I pictured it." She sighed and started towards me, Simone by her side.

"Thanks," I replied, wearing a proud smile. "It's why I'm America's best wedding planner."

Mida chuckled lightly, shoulders shaking a little in the process. "And why we're paying you so much."

"Did you think such good service came for free?" Simone smirked beside her.

Mida turned to her and raised a brow. "Don't you have any work to do?"

"Nope," Simone replied, popping the 'p'. "I'm on my lunch break."

"Shame," Mida frowned, facing me again. "Can we talk about the guests now? I have a list so you can know everyone we're expecting."

"I'm really tired," I exhaled, waving a hand in the air dismissively. "Simone could do that."

"Definitely not!" Simone and Mida chorused while I stared at them in amusement.

They shared this small ounce of hatred that only existed because Mida hated Simone's guts and vice versa. Putting them in the same room was practically asking for trouble.

I pouted. "Okay, fine. Simone, grab your lunch and be back in thirty. We still have to round up and dismiss everyone in case we have early guests."

"You're not the boss of me," she grumbled, to which Mida and I raised our brows. "Okay, maybe you are. Professionally. But, you're still not the boss of me." She wagged a finger in my face, an action that was supposed to be threatening but turned out to be funny. Then she spun on her heel and stomped off.

"Oh, thank God," Mida moaned before grabbing my hand and pulling me toward her bedroom. People scrambled out of the way as she tugged me through the path created. "Come on. We have a three-day wedding party to plan."

"I'm adding a few thousand bucks to my paycheck," I grumbled.