Doves, she knew, were not impossible—just absurdly impractical in the formal traditional church ceremony Mrs. Costello and her daughter had planned. Father DiAngelo would be forced to dodge bird droppings while he blessed the happy couple.

Annabelle didn’t mind explaining the difficulties one hundred flapping birds would create, but Mrs. Costello was unlikely to stop at doves. Yesterday she’d called to discuss the possibility of a pumpkinshaped carriage pulled by six horses, and the day before that, a skywriter to scrawl, “We Love You, Maria and Rosario,” across an early May sky that would likely be too overcast to see the plane, much less the message.

To further complicate matters, Maria had requested a “simple” wedding, and Mrs. Costello might say that money was no object, but she didn’t mean it.

Annabelle’s headache expanded from her temples to the top of her head.

I’m losing my sense of humor, she thought. A few months ago, Mrs. Costello and her horses and planes and canapés shaped like Maria’s profile would have seemed cute. Unfortunately, Mrs. Costello wasn’t Annabelle’s only problem at the moment.

“I think doves are a lovely idea,” she began care-fully, folding her hands on the lap of her peach linen skirt. “They’re romantic and very dramatic.”

Mrs. Costello beamed and nodded as much as she could over the folds of her heavy chin.

“But it’s just not practical to include them at this point.”

The smile slipped from the other woman’s face, and Annabelle hastened to explain her reasoning.

“The plans for Maria and Rosario’s wedding are already so lovely. And the wedding is less than five weeks away. At this point, it’s really much wiser to set the ideas we’ve already discussed and to concentrate on executing them to the very best of our abilities.”

Mrs. Costello digested this advice. “No doves.” She pursed her lips when Annabelle shook her head. “Tell me, for your wedding, aren’t you going to have anything fancy? A little something extra?”

Annabelle froze. She had mentioned her wedding to Mrs. Costello and her daughter more than four months ago, back in the days when there was actually going to be a wedding. Steven had called a halt to the proceedings two weeks ago today. The “some-thing extra” at this point would be the groom.

Taking a conspicuous glance at her watch, Annabelle gasped loudly. “Oh, dear. The time…I had no idea…I have an appointment with the baker.” She rose, straightened her skirt and reached for the matching peach jacket she’d draped over the back of her chair. “We’re going to discuss your idea of shaping the top tier of the cake to resemble the Vatican.”

Mrs. Costello. smiled broadly as she remembered this bit of inspiration and hastened to rise, also. “Good, good. You tell me what the baker says. I’ll be home all afternoon. My cousin Sophia and I are working on the wedding favors. We’re thinking of using live oysters, so the guests can find their own pearls.”

Oh, dear God. Weakly, Annabelle put a hand to her aching temple. “Have you discussed this with Maria?”

Before Mrs. Costello could justify such a potentially aromatic idea, the door to Annabelle’s office burst open.

The Wedding Belles office was located on the first floor of the large Victorian house Annabelle shared with her sister, Lianne. Working at home had many advantages, but privacy—particularly with a gregarious seventeen-year-old in the house—was not one of them.

Lia stood in the doorway, full of the fire and drama only a teenager could project within the first five seconds of entering a room.

“Have you seen this?” she asked theatrically, holding up an issue of Collier Bay News and Views, the local throwaway paper that came out every Friday.

“Lia,” Annabelle admonished, her eyes darting meaningfully to Mrs. Costello, “I have a client…”

Lia looked at the silver-haired woman.

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Costello. Did you tell Annabelle my idea about the oysters?” Without missing a beat, she shook the paper at her sister and demanded again, “Have you seen this?”

Mrs. Costello craned her fleshy neck to get a glimpse at the newsprint. “Is that the ‘Ask Effie’ column? Is there anything in there about my Maria?”

Each week Collier Bay’s resident society maven— the ubiquitous Effie—chronicled the local doings in a column for her loyal readers. She was especially fond of weddings and frequently highlighted one of Annabelle’s clients. Mrs. Costello had been waiting with bated breath for Effie to focus on Maria.

“No.” Lia shook her head broadly, and Annabelle had to marvel at her sister’s gift for ominous fore-shadowing. “There isn’t anything about Maria. It’s all about Annabelle.”

“Annabelle?”

“Me?”

“Yes.” Lia nodded. “And it amazes me after everything we’ve been through that I would be the last to know!”

“What are you talking about?” Annabelle took a nervous step forward. “What’s in the paper?”

Normally, Annabelle clipped the “Ask Effie” column and posted it on her bulletin board Friday evening. She hadn’t gotten around to it last night. “What does it say?”

Lia handed the newspaper over with a slight frown. “You haven’t seen it?” She watched Annabelle unfold the crackly pages. “I thought you’d seen it and you just weren’t telling me.”

Annabelle scanned the large print. “What are you talking about? Telling you wha—” Her eyes widened and her jaw fell, then clamped shut again. “Oh, my God,” she whispered.

“What? What is it?” Never one to bow to discretion, Mrs. Costello huddled next to Annabelle and peered around her shoulder. “What does Effie say? Is there any news about—Oh, my Go-od.” Her painted lips pursed. She pressed a hand to her chubby cheek.

Silently, Lia and Mrs. Costello waited while Annabelle scanned the awful story:

After a nearly yearlong engagement, local wedding coordinator Annabelle Simmons and city councilman Steven J. Stephens have called it quits barely two months before D day. If you Ask Effie, this turn of events is a blow to Collier Bay, which would have been host to one of the loveliest weddings of the year had the councilman and Ms. Simmons tied the knot. Already local florists are calling this a major financial setback. But not to worry. Councilman Stephens has been seen squiring a striking new lady. A romantic dinner, a stroll along the boardwalk… Perhaps wedding bells will ring by year’s end, after all. Just don’t look for the lovely Ms. Simmons to coordinate the wedding!

The silence that followed was pregnant until Lia offered weakly, “I thought you saw it already.”

Mrs. Costello clucked her tongue. She patted Annabelle’s arm. “Listen, darling, about the cake…So what if the top tier looks like a cake and not the Vatican? The Pope, God bless him, gets enough publicity. Better you shouldn’t get too worked up.”

She shook her head and edged to the door, practically vibrating with the need to share the awful news—with everyone she could find. “When I think of what you’re going through…” She put a hand to her head. “And with the whole world watching yet! It’s a wonder you can plan what to eat for breakfast, much less someone else’s wed—” She stopped herself, pressing her lips together, miming locking them and tossing away the key. “No. I won’t even say the word. Not today. Today we’ll pretend the whole world is single.”

With a fervent “God Bless You,” she opened the door and bustled out.

Annabelle stared at the paper until her vision grew blurry. Two weeks ago Steven had told her he feared they were mismatched and already he’d been seen with a “striking new lady.”

“I’m sorry, Belle.”

Remembering abruptly that Lia was watching her, Annabelle looked up from the paper. Her sister’s pretty face was awash with pity and guilt; she looked miserable. Taking a deep breath, Annabelle tried to muster a smile. The corners of her mouth trembled.