Elly Jordan, the owner of Posies Florist in Clayton, Missouri—a swank St. Louis suburb—wondered if she had just broken a very large and expensive-looking piece of erotic art. She looked down at the rusty metal arch, now laid out before her on the ground, and made a small circle with her foot in the dark soil. Well, this is crap. The hot sun beat down on her neck, warming her blond curls while a cold panic rushed through her body. It was March, middle of the day, in Laumeier Sculpture Park in St. Louis. Elly would rather be anywhere than here. This was turning into the worst wedding ever. Then she thought about that for a minute. Nope. Not even close. There had definitely been worse weddings. That had been last October, when her ex-husband Aaron had married his redheaded mistress Lucia, the woman who had broken apart their marriage. That had definitely been the worst wedding ever. This wedding didn’t really compare. She looked down at the metal twisted on the ground. It still wasn’t great though, that was for sure. Elly heard the echo of footsteps on gravel behind her and arranged her mouth into a grimace. She could hear her clipped voice now….
“Oh. My. GOD. What did you do?” Snarky Teenager, her adolescent assistant, sauntered up next to her, a pink potted azalea balanced on her bony hip. “How did you manage to knock this over? Is it broken?” She paused. “Did your butt hit it?”
Elly ignored her rapid-fire questions and took a deep breath, taking her mind somewhere else, instead of standing in the middle of a park next to a broken art piece. Instead of sweating to death in a park, she was with Keith, her handsome boyfriend. Maybe on a beach somewhere. Like in Antigua. Antigua had beaches right? Or was that land-bound? Never mind, it didn’t matter. Keith walked up to her and stared intensely at her face, his eyes a deep, riveting blue. His hand rested gently on her cheek for a split second and then forcibly struck her face. Wait, what? Again and again. Worst fantasy ever. Elly opened her eyes to see Snarky Teenager staring down at her, patting her face gently. “Um, yeah, hello? Elly, now is not the time to fantasize about a ganache waterfall or whatever it is you are thinking about. We have this god-awful broken arch, a ton of flowers hanging out in buckets, and a very pissed off mother of the bride that is bearing down on us at twelve o’clock.”
Elly’s bright-blue eyes focused. “Sorry. I was on a beach—okay, never mind, you’re right. Help me get this up.” Snarky Teenager gave an exaggerated sigh as they grabbed at the outlying rims of the arch. Elly’s clients for this particular wedding were artists, wildly in love, and totally unattached to reality. They had hired her immediately on one condition: that she decorate and set up their original art piece that symbolized their life together. At the time, it seemed devastatingly romantic. Now Elly had her face mashed up against some sort of metal faun and her hand wrapped around…. Oh dear. Yup—that was definitely a metal expression of male virility. The sculpture had turned out to be more of an expression of their bedroom life then their impending marriage.
Snarky Teenager’s lips coiled into a snarl. “Ugh. I hate modern art.”
“Amen,” Elly breathed. Exerting tremendous force, they heaved the heavy, twisted piece to its feet. A large metal breast was pressed next to Snarky Teenager’s temple, and Elly suppressed a laugh.
“What can we use to stabilize this … monstrosity?” The lean teenager asked, grunting as she braced her shoulder against the giant bosom.
“Be nice. They’re artists.”