Weddings of the Super-Rich Aren't Like Yours... and That's a Good Thing(!)-- (review of A Killer Wedding)

Who doesn’t love a great big wedding?

 

The idea of two people, symbolically sharing their Happily-Ever-After with those nearest-and-dearest... even for the semi-cynical amongst us, it’s hard to resist.

 

But make it a celebrity to-do—where one of them is famous (or infamous), or insanely-wealthy—and suddenly, it’s a whole different ballgame.

 

[Plus, zero chance most of us would merit an invitation...]

 

If any of us had the opportunity to attend The Wedding of the Year, we’d RSVP “Yes!”, wouldn’t we?

 

Especially if we had no clue, going into it, that we’d be RSVPing to the scene of a murder... as in Joan O’Leary’s A Killer Wedding.

 

 

It’s quite a coup when Christine, a lowly staff writer for elite Bespoke Weddings magazine—which only covers the most-fabulous nuptials—is singled out to cover the Wedding of the Year, the Ripton-Murphy union. 

 

Grandmother-of-the-groom, octogenarian Gloria Beaufort, is the founder of global cosmetics conglomerate, Glo (an über-trendy premium beauty brand)... and she’s handpicked Christine to be the sole reporter present during the lavishly-festive weekend.

 

Why Christine? No one—including her editor—has a clue, but the twenty-something isn’t about to question it... especially not when everything’s taking place in Ballymoon, an Irish castle-cum-luxury hotel (and notably distant from the Eastern U.S. seaboard, where the Ripton clan, most of the guests, and Bespoke’s offices are all located). 

 

Of course, all that glitters is not gold... and Christine’s first day is bonkers.

 

Dealing with the neurotic event planner. Attending dress fittings for the jittery bride and her coterie of champagne-gulping bridesmaids. Sitting down to a fractious dinner with the entire Ripton clan (who seemingly can’t stand each other)... honestly, there aren't enough glasses of champagne to begin to deal with all of that.

 

The only thing missing is Gloria, who wasn’t feeling well and asked for a tray to be sent up, instead.

 

Anxious to interview the grand dame, Christine consoles herself with the knowledge that tomorrow will be better anyway, after she sleeps off the  jetlag.

 

But when morning dawns, it isn’t the gentle sound of Irish rain which pulls her from slumber. It’s a piercing scream—coming from Gloria’s room.

 

The assorted pajama-clad Riptons—and Christine—stumble down the hallway from their rooms,  to find bride-to-be Jane kneeling over Gloria’s very bloody—and very dead—body. 

 

Obviously, a murder.

 

And the family’s immediate consensus? That no one—NO ONE—will know about Gloria’s untimely demise... until after the weekend is over.

 

Which means a gag order on Christine... aside, of course, from happy wedding chatter to titillate the magazine’s avid readers.

 

So, while the weekend stretches on—seemingly endlessly, now—Christine watches as nerves fray to the breaking point... and finds herself wondering which of the assembled family or invited guests might’ve had the most to gain by Gloria’s death.

 

The uptight son, recently named Glo’s CEO... who’s finding the position comes with more headaches (like a huge lawsuit) than perks. His wife, an artist (with no actual talent), who doesn’t seem particularly happy... although a glass (or three) of bubbly makes things better.

 

One grandson, who can’t stay clean and sober to save his life... and his beautiful, long-suffering society wife (who’s harboring a massive secret of her own). 

 

And then there’s Graham, the handsome grandson-who-can-do-no-wrong... and his betrothed, Jane, a grade-school teacher with a modest background, whom everyone writes off as “boring” and “plain”... but what do they know, really?

 

Throw in the family’s priest, clearly making the most of the high life and celebrity status granted him, as such. And one very famous (erm, infamous) movie star,  flown out on Gloria’s command, to be a bridesmaid... despite the fact that she and Jane had never even met.

 

The more Christine chats with and observes the various family and wedding party members, the less appealing she finds their lives... full of backbiting, infighting, grubby little secrets, and outright unpleasantness.

 

The deeper she digs, the more she realizes the story she really wants to tell actually has nothing to do with another over-the-top wedding... and everything to do with revealing the tarnish and rot beneath the glo(w).

 

There’s just one big question: will the person responsible for Gloria’s murder let allow her to live long enough to tell that tale..?

 

 

A Killer Wedding has similar vibes to a handful of HBO (Netflix, Amazon Prime)—shows over the past several years (often starring Nicole Kidman, plus a handful of other accomplished, successful, mid-life Hollywood beauties)—wherein Very Wealthy, Privileged People Behave Badly (but Possibly Redeem Themselves... Somewhat). 

 

[That isn't a diss. As humans, we have a very long history of wanting to see what the “fancy people” really get up to... and it makes for some highly-entertaining viewing/reading today, as much as then.] 

 

So yes, it’s a  guilty-pleasure kind of effervescent fun... with a good helping of humor, sustained suspense, and a protagonist who, herself, isn’t precisely lily-white (because who'd want that?!).

 

Throw in a solution to the whole thing that I really didn’t see coming, and you’ve got a cracking mystery, that’s a pretty fabulous take-me-away-from-it-all-(to-Ireland-if-you-please) bit of yummy escapism.

 

Go ahead. Put A Killer Wedding in your cart (on your list), posthaste. Whether you fall on the side of dewy-eyed, HEA-lovers or wedding-averse cynics, this one delivers. 

 ~GlamKitty

[Thanks to William Morrow for providing this book for review consideration via NetGalley. All opinions are, as always, entirely my own.]