EXCERPT

A WEDDING TAIL

A Rescue Dog Romance Book Three

CHAPTER ONE

Top Dog

Zoe stood in front of the church doors, greeting each wedding guest as they arrived, her cheeks aching from her fake smile. She was so practiced at appearing poised that she could act like she was going for a facial while a zombie apocalypse broke out around her. But internally, she paced and bit her nails, cringing at each new arrival who wasn’t her fill-in groomsman, Levi Dolson.

She checked her watch: fifty minutes until “I do” time. She just wished that when Levi finally arrived, he would be on the back of a white stallion. Not because she secretly desired a Prince Charming—that fantasy was ludicrous—but because the horse she’d booked to carry the happy couple into the sunset after the ceremony had canceled. After that first call of the day, everything that could go wrong did. Zoe really needed a win.

She took a deep breath. It would all be okay. No. It was going to be perfect. She wasn’t the best event planner in San Francisco for nothing. And after all the extra challenges this event had presented, she would prove it—to herself, to her meddling mother, to everyone—by pulling it off without a hitch. Well, that anyone would know about, anyway.

“Code red! Code red!” a woman shrieked.

The disembodied voice carried around the side of the building and into the foyer. The bride’s grandparents, who were shuffling up the church steps, exchanged worried glances.

Inwardly, Zoe cringed. Now what?

With barely a flicker of an eyelash, Zoe maintained her poise. God, her cheeks hurt. “Don’t worry,” she told the elderly couple. “Everything’s fine. That’s just my excitable assistant, Natalie. I’m sure it’s nothing. Please, remember to sign the guest book on your way in.”

A moment later, a curvaceous blonde careened around the corner, ponytail swinging behind her. As three more guests filtered inside, Zoe gave Natalie a subtle quirk of her eyebrow. When her assistant noticed her expression, she visibly gulped. Straightening her skirt, she entered the church with reverence.

Tucking a stray jet-black lock of hair back into place, Zoe motioned to Natalie and ducked into a quiet vestibule out of earshot. The epitome of serenity, Zoe rearranged a bouquet of roses on a carved wooden table. However, her insides had cinched together like corset strings.

“We can’t handle a code red right now,” she told her assistant. “We already have an MIA flower girl, a sick priest, in-laws at each other’s throats, busted air-conditioning during a heat wave, and a wild, four-legged ring bearer. Not to mention we’re still waiting on Levi Dolson to replace our food-poisoned groomsman.”

“This tops everything.” Natalie practically vibrated. She took a few deep breaths, but it only made her hyperventilate. “It’s the dress.”

Zoe froze. “What about the dress?”

Natalie gnawed on her lip. “It doesn’t fit.”

The rose stem in Zoe’s hand snapped in two. The words echoed through her mind as it emptied of all other concerns. Family feuds she could squelch, flower girls she could track down, rampant dogs she could bring to heel, but this … And with this bride of all brides?

“What do you mean?” Zoe hadn’t moved, but something in her voice made Natalie take a step back. “How can it not fit? It was made for her.”

“I-I mean, it won’t zip up.”

Zoe’s back straightened. “We’ll see about that. I’ll make the dress fit if I have to staple her into it.”

The Fisher-Wells wedding was one of the most extravagant weddings she’d planned, with a commission to match. Once it was over, she would finally have the down payment to buy a place to call her own, proof she could support herself without a man—no matter how often her mother insisted otherwise.

Zipping down the front steps, she skirted around the outside of the church. Natalie remained close on her heels. The pitter-patter of her assistant’s sensible flats matched the quick beat of Zoe’s heart. The afternoon sun beat down on them. And it was only one o’clock; it was bound to get hotter. Hopefully the industrial fans she’d tracked down at the last minute could keep up.

“How is Juliet doing?” Zoe asked.

Natalie groaned. “Total bride meltdown.”

Zoe had figured as much. She remembered the day the gold-embossed invitations had arrived and Juliet’s name had accidentally been placed last to read Wells-Fisher. To say the least, Fisher was not well that day. Somehow, it had set the tone for their entire marriage—something about feeling inadequate and her mother-in-law’s strawberry rhubarb pie. It all became incoherent once she’d broken down into full sobs.

But a wedding dress that didn’t fit? Despite Juliet’s bridezilla personality, no one deserved a crisis like this on their big day. Having experienced a catastrophe on her own ill-fated wedding day, Zoe had vowed to never let it happen to anyone else.

She mentally reviewed her to-do list.

Double check on bride’s uncle (last seen nursing flask)

Find flower girl

Cough drops for priest

Leash for Juliet’s golden retriever

Replacement horse

Levi Dolson

She added a new item to the list:

Get bride into dress

Zoe’s shoulders relaxed beneath her stylish cobalt blazer as everything fell into place in her mind. She could get through this day. Heck, the year before, she’d thrown a party where someone had kidnapped a bunch of her guests—the four-legged variety, but still … After that, she was officially experienced with any disaster an event planner could face. Only, before today, she’d never faced so many at the same time. And what was she going to do about that horse?

As Zoe and Natalie approached the small office building acting as the bride’s room, a peal of muffled swear words drifted through the door. Natalie’s face paled as she reached for the handle.

Zoe figured they didn’t both need to endure the impending abuse, so she stopped her. “On second thought, could you please call around and find a horse for after the ceremony? Do whatever you can. Get me a zebra, if you have to.” She absently wondered about the weight restriction on miniature horses, if it came to that.

Natalie’s eyes rolled skyward in relief. She nodded, her ponytail flicking, and scrambled away as fast as she could.

“Oh, and Natalie?” Zoe called after her. “If Levi Dolson turns up, send him to me right away.”

Standing in front of the “bride’s room,” she reached inside her bridal utility bag. Truthfully, it was a fanny pack, but it had saved her butt more times than she could shake a bouquet at.

Her fingers brushed against super-soft polyester fur, and her worries melted away. Who could be upset when they were holding an adorable, lovable, huggable Fuzzy Friend?

The collectible line of stuffed animals topped every child’s Christmas list, and apparently the list of stressed-out thirty-year-old Japanese American women too. Or maybe just Zoe’s. The cuddly sack of beans acted as a private solace to her during the worst of times—while doubling as her most embarrassing secret.

Predicting a strenuous day, she’d come armed with Pretty Puppy. Old and well loved, it resembled her late dachshund, Buddy. As she gave her Fuzzy Friend a final squeeze, she took a deep breath and knocked.

“What?!” came a sharp reply.

Zoe cracked open the door to check for airborne shoes or bouquets aimed at her. The coast was clear. She poked her head inside the little office and found a cluster of brightly colored bridesmaids, one for every color of the rainbow.

“Can I come in?” Zoe asked.

At the sound of her voice, the women turned in unison. The rainbow parted, revealing a billowing white tulle cloud: Juliet. However, when the bride spun away from the mirror to face Zoe, her expression looked as tempestuous as a hurricane. And she appeared like she’d been through one too.

Mascara ran from a pair of puffy eyes, leaving black streaks down her flushed cheeks. Wisps of hair escaped her veil and clung to her sweaty neck. Her dress sagged off her body, half zipped up. Her maid of honor struggled to hold it up while Juliet’s body convulsed with sobs.

Zoe didn’t skip a beat. “Look at you!” she gushed. “You look beautiful.” Which was probably the biggest lie she’d ever told in her life, and in a church, no less.

“No, I don’t!” Juliet wailed, wiping her reddened nose on a tissue. “I can’t go through with it. I’m calling the whole thing off.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Zoe dared a few steps into the room. She needed to defuse the situation, brush it off as though this kind of thing happened all the time—which, unfortunately, it did. But why, oh why, did it have to happen today?

Juliet spun to face the floor-standing mirror, elbowing her maid of honor out of the way. “Just look at my dress. It’s a disaster! It doesn’t fit.”

Zoe crossed the office full of tense bridesmaids. “I’m sure the zipper’s just stuck. Let me have a look.”

“See? I told you it was the zipper,” Juliet snapped at the woman in the orange dress.

Zoe grabbed the two pieces of fabric at the back and pulled them together. Extra hands joined in the battle, tugging on the dress. As they struggled, beads of sweat formed along Zoe’s brow.

Juliet sucked in, flushing red, then purple, then blue. When she’d turned every color of her bridesmaids’ dresses, Zoe admitted defeat; it wasn’t going to close.

She frowned at the gown. “Hmm.”

Juliet eyed her in the mirror. “Hmm? That doesn’t sound like a good ‘hmm.’”

“The zipper’s not the problem. But it will be all right,” Zoe added quickly. “We’ll just have to make some emergency modifications to the design. How do you feel about a corset-style back?”

She dug through her fanny pack and drew out a roll of thick, white silk ribbon and a small pair of scissors. Fanny pack to the rescue!

Juliet’s hopeful look darkened. “You want to ruin my dress?”

“Would you rather cancel the wedding and wait for a few months? What’s more important about today? The dress? The perfect ceremony? An equal number of groomsmen to bridesmaids? This specific location?”

“But it had to be this church,” Juliet whined. “My parents got married in this church.”

“I know. I totally get it.” Grabbing a wet wipe from her fanny pack, Zoe dabbed the mascara streaks on the bride’s cheeks. “And we made it work, didn’t we? Now we’ll make the dress work too. Today isn’t about the details. It’s about getting married to the man you love. This is only the first day. It’s the rest of your lives that matters.”

Whenever Zoe put it that way, it usually brought any errant bride back down to earth. Juliet’s eyes, however, burned with an argument. Like when she’d argued to keep the same venue even with the heat wave and lack of air-conditioning. Like she’d argued to push her already-strained budget to accommodate three more tiers on the wedding cake. Like she’d argued against the first two dresses that seemed perfect but she’d ultimately sold.

Zoe could sympathize, though. There was once a time when she’d gotten caught up in the fantasy of it all: the silk dress, the gardenia arrangements, the old familial tortoiseshell kanzashi comb passed down by a proud mother. But at the end of the day, there was just a man and a woman, and no amount of planning, organizing, and dreaming would force him down that aisle if he changed his mind.

Despite her best efforts, there were some things in life she couldn’t control—like when her groom didn’t show. But it was for the best. She should thank him, really. She’d walked away a stronger person, more levelheaded. Because of it, she could organize the best damned wedding a bride could ever dream of—at least that was in her control.

Finally, Juliet let out a breath like a deflating balloon. “Fine. I suppose. Do what you need to do.”

Zoe checked her watch: thirty-nine minutes until go time. Her fingers flew, cutting holes on both sides of the zipper, beneath the folds of the ruching detail. With long, deft fingers, she threaded the silk ribbon through the cuts, crisscrossing them in corset style.

When she pulled it through the last hole, she instructed the bridesmaids to hold the bride steady. “Brace yourself,” she told Juliet.

Heaving on the ribbon, Zoe cinched it tight, sucking the bride into the dress. Juliet gasped. Zoe grunted. She yanked and pulled, maintaining tension until she could tie the bow. At the last second, she added a double knot.

Wiping her brow, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. “There. That’s better, isn’t it? I think it adds a certain sexiness to it, don’t you?”

The bridesmaids parted so Juliet could scrutinize her reflection in the mirror. Her narrowed eyes roved up and down the laced ribbon, eventually softening. She beamed, and the bridesmaids released their held breaths.

Zoe had to admit, it looked pretty damn good. As she stared at her bride in self-congratulations, she glimpsed something white soaring past the window: a white dove. And considering her day so far, she just knew it was a white dove meant for the newlywed’s grand exit.

She rubbed her temples. What else can go wrong?

The door burst open. Natalie practically fell into the room, gasping for air. Her wide eyes fell on Zoe, and she made an attempt—however poor—to act naturally.

Zoe suppressed an eye roll. Her assistant needed some acting lessons in cool.

“Sorry to interrupt, but—”

Zoe held up a hand before she could finish; the white feather stuck in her hair said enough. “Perfect timing. Can you please touch up the bride’s hair and makeup for me? We’ve only got …” She checked her watch again. “Thirty-three minutes.”

Natalie clung to her arm. “But the—”

“I know.” Zoe plucked the feather out of her hair. “I’ve got everything under control.”

Ready to deal with the next disaster, she yanked the door open. A flash of white. Violent gusts of wind flapped in her face. Feathers tickled her cheek and stirred her long hair.

She cried out and threw her hands up. When the flurry dwindled, she cracked an eye open to watch two more doves escape down the street.

“What’s wrong?” Juliet spun just as Natalie held the eyeliner to her lid, leaving a thick ebony streak across her face.

If the bridesmaids had noticed Zoe’s feathered attacker, fear of Juliet’s reaction kept their mouths shut.

Zoe rearranged her shocked expression into fake outrage. “Who put the rose topiary out here?” She gestured to the front steps. “This isn’t where it should go. Do I have to do everything myself?”

Juliet rolled her eyes at the dramatics. “It’s okay. They’re just flowers. You know, you’re kind of high strung.”

Zoe gritted her teeth. Look who’s talking.

“Everything is perfect,” Juliet sang, the perfect example of a blushing bride. “So long as you have the horse for after the ceremony, that is. You do, don’t you?”

Zoe quirked her eyebrow at her assistant in question. But Natalie gave a subtle shake of her head. Zoe’s smile only wavered a little.

“Absolutely,” she said. “You can count on me.” Though, how she was going to pull it off, she wasn’t sure.

As she slipped out the door, Natalie called out, “Oh, Zoe! I almost forgot. Levi Dolson is waiting for you in the foyer.”

“Thank you. I’ll take care of it.” Shutting the door, she went to go wrangle a seriously late groomsman and some unruly birds. Yet another thing to put on the list for the day: bird herding.

Zoe took a shortcut through the sanctuary and nave. Her heels clicked steadily on the hardwood floor, echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

How could Juliet call her high-strung? She was nothing if not levelheaded, cool, and collected, emotions always in check. At least, they had been ever since her own wedding day. That day itself, however, was an entirely different story. But who could blame her?

Since then, she’d vowed never to let herself lose control like that again. Especially not over a man. Instead, when her temperature rose, her emotions bubbling to the surface, she pushed them down. Deep, deep down. She imagined bottling them up and screwing on the top. Which sounded perfectly healthy, right?

Zoe never let her bottle-o-crazy get too full, however. She had a way of safely releasing the built-up pressure. That was the benefit of being a Purely for Pleasure sex toy representative: an arsenal of free merchandise at her disposal to “test.” What better way to prevent herself from blowing her top than … well, blowing her top?

To everyone else, she appeared tranquil beneath that layer of ice. No one could make waves in waters they couldn’t touch. More than one bitter man she’d rejected over the years had called her an ice queen. And because she was so cool, they never knew how much it hurt.

Marching through the church, she shooed doves down from curtain rods, off St. Mary’s shoulder, and away from the topiaries. So far, she’d counted twelve feathered fugitives. The more she chased out an open window or door, the more Zoe’s cool thawed.

At least her substitute groomsman had finally arrived—and not a moment too soon. But when Zoe reached the foyer, chasing yet another dove away, there was no groomsman.

There was, however, a man in his mid-thirties, wearing ripped jeans and a wrinkly T-shirt. His blond hair stuck up in a tangle of gelled curls, mashed on one side.

He turned at the sound of her footsteps. A dreamy smile lit up his unshaven face like he’d just stumbled out of his bedroom and not into a church.

For a second, Zoe hoped the man was just sleepwalking and needed directions back to his bed, but then he said the words she dreaded to hear.

“Zoe Plum? I was told you’re looking for me.” He held out a hand. “Levi Dolson.”