older and more experienced than they were – it would make sense to ask her for help in dealing with the blogger. But then again, did they really want to disrupt their future stepmom’s serenity right now?
Making a decision, Olivia shook her head firmly at Ivy. They already had Groomzilla on their hands – the last thing they needed was for the bride to stress out too.
‘Lillian? Is that you?’ Charles opened the back door and poked his head inside. ‘I need your opinion on something.’
Still holding Bare Throats at Sunset in her hands, Lillian wandered idly out into the garden to join him. Charles’s voice floated through the open door. ‘If we used Option Three for a marquee and Option Four for the seating arrangements –’ The door closed behind Lillian, shutting off the sound of his voice.
Watching through the window, Olivia saw that, even though Lillian cocked her head attentively as Charles continued to babble, she continued sneak-reading her book.
Then Ivy poked Olivia’s shoulder, distracting her from the show outside. ‘Why did you make me stop?’ she hissed. ‘Lillian would have listened to us. She’s not wedding-crazy like Dad.’
‘Not yet,’ Olivia said. ‘But weddings are so stressful, Lillian’s crazy moments have to be on the way soon – it’s kinder not to bother her with anything just yet.’
‘Well . . . actually, you might have a point.’ Ivy sighed and joined Olivia at the window.
‘I wish I could hear what they’re saying,’ Olivia said.
‘No,’ Ivy said. ‘You really don’t. Trust me.’ She tapped her ears, reminding Olivia that she could hear every word with her vampire super-senses. ‘It’s way too boring and grown-up to be worth eavesdropping on.’
‘Still.’ Olivia leaned companionably against her sister. ‘If I ever get married, I hope I’ll be as relaxed as Lillian and as organised as our bio-dad – the best of both worlds.’ She sighed wistfully, imagining a wedding dress with a huge, sparkly white train. She would feel like an absolute princess as she walked down the aisle to meet her prince – who would not, she told herself firmly, look anything like Jackson, no matter what images her mind conjured up. ‘What about you, Ivy? What kind of arrangements do you want when you get married?’
There was a moment of dead silence. Then Olivia turned to see her twin’s horrified expression, and they both burst out laughing at the same time.
‘Sorry,’ Olivia said, almost choking on her laughter. ‘That was a silly question, wasn’t it?’ The idea of grumpy goth Ivy in a big, billowing white dress . . .
‘It certainly was,’ Ivy said, wrapping one arm around Olivia’s shoulders. ‘Ivy plus meringue dresses equals the biggest, baddest mood. On the other hand . . .’ She licked her wooden baking spoon with an exaggerated flourish. ‘Ivy plus meringues? Now you’re talking!’
With perfect timing, the oven bell dinged. ‘They’re ready!’ Olivia said, and raced to the oven, pulling on pink oven mitts. Why should Olivia care about unavailable dream-boys or vampire-obsessed bloggers when she had a twin like Ivy at her side?
Plus now there were cakes to eat!
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