R O S A L I E 

Wedding Planner Rule Number 2

Your clients' private lives are private.

When I finally stumbled into my apartment that night, my arms laden with files and folders of the next week's wedding, it was past eight in the night and the whole apartment sat in darkness. The lack of any light, save for the lights outside that I could see through my glass windows, made everything feel so lonely.

Ian was out with his friends, which meant that he probably would be too busy to check in with me.

I unloaded everything I was holding on to my coffee table and checked my phone. My last message to Ian at around six had gone unanswered. I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on to the couch, absolutely exhausted from the day.

I decided that I would change, order some dinner and get cracking on some of the things I needed to do. Caroline Baxter would want to see dozens of ideas by the time we met again next week.

Which is why I found myself, an hour later, in a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt, my hair probably a complete mess, eating sushi right out of the take-out container while I made dozens of notes everywhere, sorting out through every detail.

Caroline and Aiden hadn't seemed to be most in love of the couples I had seen walk in through my doors, but they were far from the most incompatible. I chalked it up to the fact that maybe they didn't like public displays of affection and preferred to keep their affectionate behaviour to a minimum when in the presence of a stranger. Then again, it really wasn't my place to ponder about their private lives.

I stared at my open folders, blankly for a few minutes, my mind completely blocked as to what I should do, so I told myself that I would go to sleep early so that I could wake up on time and get some work done.

Which is probably why I found myself awake at two-thirty in the morning, stuffing my face with Doritos, my YouTube video about how to pick a lock with a hairpin on pause, my Buzzfeed quiz on which pasta sauce I was depending on the house I designed forgotten, my searches on what to name my hypothetical future children discarded, googling to find every single thing I can about the lives of Caroline Baxter and Aiden Carlisle, knowing I'd regret my decision of not going to sleep on time in the morning.

"I shouldn't be doing this," I told myself as I scrolled through pages and pages of pictures of Caroline.

Her various pageants winnings, her dozens of magazine covers, photoshoots and runway work. I watched all the interviews I could find to try and piece together what sort of a person she was. I wasn't the biggest fan of her, based on how she dressed. She seemed to think that the only way to look put-together would be to wear the most expensive clothes from the hottest brands, which was simply not true.

With Aiden, there were so many pictures of him, always looking completely, devastatingly handsome. Rarely did he not have a charming, mischievous smile, a well-fitted outfit and a beautiful girl on his arm. There were dozens of articles about him being a "Businessman Extraordinaire", who bought a part of his father's company when he was just twenty-three and built it up to become a self-made billionaire, like his father before him.

"The younger Carlisle has completely taken after his father," one article said, "His business-savvy mind and undeniable charm and charisma has gotten him to the top of the list of businessmen. His fascination with sports cars, love for travelling, impeccable suits and suave manner make him a swoon-worthy eligible bachelor."

Curiously, I searched for both their names together to see if there was any evidence of any sort of relationship. They had been pictured together at multiple different events, probably because they both had celebrity status and were invited to many of the same events.

There was just one article from many years ago that questioned the possibility of a relationship, but pretty much everyone in the comments had debunked the theory. I assumed most of that was because the girls behind the comments were completely smitten by Aiden and wanted more than anything to be Mrs. Aiden Carlisle.

The most recent picture of the couple was taken months ago at an event, where they were surrounded by so many other people that it didn't seem in the least like they had any idea of being pictured together.

By this time, it was past three in the morning and that's when the reply from Ian came through.

Hey, Ro, he texted, just got home. Going sleep and won't wake up on time tomorrow. Will see you Sunday.

I sighed and shut my laptop, completely fed up of the day. Even though I had seen Ian's message, I wasn't particularly in the mood to reply, and anyway it's not like he would even see it till he woke up the next day, late afternoon.

I wandered over to bed and made a list of the things I needed to do by Sunday to be ready for the wedding on Monday, until I fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning to my phone ringing furiously near my ear.

"Hello?" I said, groggily, just wanting to go back to sleep.

"Ro!" Ian shouted in my ear. There was a lot of noise around him as well.

"Ian? What time is it?" I asked, not opening my eyes.

"It's nine-thirty," he shouted over the commotion on his end of the phone.

"How come you're awake?" I questioned, "Last night you said you're sleeping in."

"Yeah, listen, Ro, I'm on the way to the Valley with the boys. It was such a spur of the moment thing." There was a huge cheer from all of his friends. "Listen, we're going to be gone all weekend, okay, sweetheart? But I'll see you on Monday. We can have dinner or something."

"But I have a wedding on Monday," I said to him.

"Oh, cool," he replied, "Let's do that. I have to go now, okay? I'll text you. Love you."

"I love," he had already hung up, "You."

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