Say Yes to the Death Read Online Free Page A

said for my archenemy. I hadn’t laid eyes on Olivia in over a decade, but she’d hardly changed a fig. She was still tall and broad-­shouldered, just as she’d been when she captained the tennis team at Hockaday. The only difference I noted besides vague crow’s-­feet and frown lines was that she’d cropped her white-­blond hair from the shoulder-­length bob I remembered. Her head now sported a pixie cut framing a face that would have been pretty in that vacuous Texas pageant girl way if it hadn’t been so viciously scowling.
    â€œI’m sorry, Olivia,” Millie apologized and wrung her hands. “I did my best, but it took every spare second to finish up. I did the whole cake myself, and it had to be absolutely perfect—­”
    â€œIt had better be perfect,” Olivia cut her off. “If I hear one guest complain that their slice is dry or the fondant’s too thick, you won’t get a penny.”
    Millie blanched. “But that’s a ten thousand dollar cake!”
    Ten grand for a cake?
    My mouth fell wide-­open.
    â€œGo on now, boys, and set it down on the round table on the patio that’s ringed with orchid petals. I’ll bring the servin’ pieces out,” Olivia told the two waiters. Then she reached into a suitcase-­size satchel and removed a robin’s-­egg-­blue box. The recessed lights glinted off sterling silver as she plucked a long, sleek cake knife from within.
    â€œDo you want me to stay and cut?” Millie asked, though her meek tone suggested she’d like to do anything but. “Once the bride and groom get their pictures, I mean. Because you’ll need to be careful with—­”
    â€œAre you nuts?” Olivia cut her off with a little shriek. “Do I want you to stay and cut?” she repeated, her tone ugly. “Over my dead body,” she hissed, and she waved the cake knife in the air for emphasis. “Now get out of my sight, you old bag, before I say somethin’ I’ll really regret!”
    Poor Millie’s hand went to her heart and she swayed.
    That did it.
    I was no longer a scrawny teenager with braces and an inferiority complex, and I wasn’t about to let my old bully push around a nice woman like Millicent Draper. It was sort of like watching the devil make mincemeat out of a sainted grandmother.
    My feet started moving, and I did a Texas two-­step around the waiters hauling out the mile-­high cake. My chin up, I strode toward the wedding planner with my hands clenched into fists.
    â€œBack off, Olivia,” I barked in Millie’s defense—­something I’d wanted to say for a very long time—­nearly forgetting in my rush of anger that I seriously had to pee. “If you’re in the mood to pick on someone, go ahead and pick on me. But be warned that I just might bite back.”
    â€œOkay, that’s it,” Olivia shouted at someone over her shoulder. “Turn it off, Pete,” she ordered, and I realized there was someone standing not six feet behind her. He’d been so quiet back there in the shadows, stalking Olivia with a handheld camera. “Take ten while I put a cork in this nutcase.”
    Pete nodded but didn’t speak. I noticed his beard and plain black T-­shirt—­and the tattoos of roses and thorns wrapped around his arms—­as he lowered the camera and walked away.
    Was Pete chronicling the wedding for the family or was Olivia taping for her silly reality show? I assumed it had to be the former. It was hard to believe the senator would allow Olivia to record private moments from Penny’s wedding for a reality TV show when the security detail was confiscating cell phones at the door. Then again, I wouldn’t put anything past Olivia La Belle. She’d never cared about other people’s rules.
    â€œJust who do you think you are in your bad shoes and ill-­fittin’