Chapter 9
Catherine had no idea she would be this nervous. The days leading up to the wedding had been smooth sailing. Apart from the annoyances of the press who refused to leave them alone and his mother's constant interference, things had been going well.
After what had happened between them on her front porch where he had lost control, he had stayed away from being alone with her.
He took her to dinner and dancing at fancy restaurants where they were the cynosure of very curious eyes, and to her shock, he had flown her to Maine where they had the largest lobsters she had ever seen.
The closer they came to the date, the more anxious and impatient they both were. Last night he had stayed away completely because his mother had insisted on planning a wedding shower at the manor and had balked when Catherine in turn firmly stated that she was inviting her friends from church.
The women had stared wide-eyed at the stone and glass fortress, their dazed expressions taking in the expensive décor and the maids fluttering around to serve them.
Now she was standing in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom for the last time, staring at her reflection, a dazed expression on her face.
Isobel had sent over her hair and makeup person as part of her wedding present and the man, despite his constant chatter and flamboyant clothing, had done a very good job.
She barely recognized herself. Not that he had made a lot of changes.
As he said when he was examining her skin and hair: "Darling, you have the skin of a newborn baby.
Flawless, smooth and absolutely lovely," he gushed.
"Your skin tone needs very little help; all I need to do is enhance the quality.
And your gorgeous hair! I've seen locks before, but yours is thick and healthy. "
The dress, after careful and thorough consultation with Monique herself, was a mixture of satin and lace.
The straight line gown settled on her curves like a lover's hand, the cinched-in style making her waist look even smaller.
He had gifted her with a stunning platinum necklace bearing an ice-white diamond teardrop that nestled between her breasts. Diamonds also dripped from her lobes.
Her locks were twisted into intricate coils at the left side of her head and flowing down her back.
She looked up at the gasp from the doorway to see Eileen Brady, the principal and friend at her school, standing there, one hand gripping her throat, light green eyes huge.
"My good God!" she breathed. "My dear, you're exquisite."
Catherine pressed a hand to her stomach and let out a shaky laugh.
"Thanks. Help me with this--" She gestured to the flimsy lace veil spread out on the bed.
"That young man of yours is going to be so entranced," Eileen predicted as she moved forward with the delicate material spread over her hands.
"I hope so." She turned so Eileen could settle the veil on top of her head. "This dress took a sizeable chunk out of my savings."
"It's not the dress," Eileen declared stoutly, embracing her. "It's you. Always you. There's this light inside you that hasn't dimmed over the years. It adds to your incredible beauty."
Catherine hugged the woman, eyes moist. "Thanks for being here for me and agreeing to stand with me."
"I'm honored." Eileen blinked her moist eyes and stepped back. "Ready?"
Catherine nodded and looked around the room. She was allowing a young married couple from church who was having a difficult time adjusting because the husband had just been laid off. The only thing they had to do was pay the bills. The gratitude was overwhelming.
"I've lived here, first with mom and then by myself with Galahad. It feels strange that it's no longer my home."
"Home is where your heart is." Eileen squeezed her arm reassuringly. "And I can see clearly that your heart belongs to that beautiful gentleman."
Her smile was radiant and it all seemed so clear now.
"It does."
*****
Standing at the front of the church, Dean was trying to portray a sense of complete and utter complacency.
It would not do for the guests packed in all five seating areas of the church to guess that he was a bag of nerves, that under the impeccably tailored navy suit and pristine white shirt, his heart was thudding and his palms were moist.
Not even his best man, a very good friend from childhood, could tell that he was shaking and wondering if she had changed her mind, if last night had brought her to her senses and she had realized she was marrying beneath her, that she could do so much better.
Life with him wasn't going to be easy. His family was plagued with scandal and were notorious for creating mayhem.
And there was the added factor that he would eventually go back to his dirty ways and start cheating on her.
That fear was tying his stomach in knots.
He could not bear the thought of hurting her.
The press had called her an "unlikely bride," but how wrong they were! He was the "unlikely husband," the anomaly, the outcast, the misfit, and he should have left her alone. He should have--
The gasp from his friend had him lifting his head and he lost his train of thought and his breath.
"My good Christ!" Evan breathed, breaking the charged silence.
Ignoring him and everyone else who had risen as soon as the bride made her way in and the music changed, he automatically moved towards her. Nodding to the woman who accompanied her, he reached out and took the hands of the breathtaking vision in front of him.
"I didn't know if you'd show." He strove to control the tremor in his voice but could not quite manage it.
"There's nowhere else I would rather be at this moment." Without question, she had understood his uncertainty.
His hands tightened on hers and for what seemed like minutes, they just stood there staring at each other.
"While we're enjoying the fact that these two are enjoying each other, we would love to get on with the ceremony," Pastor Eric said in an amused tone, which had them turning around. His eyes glimmered as they came to a stop in front of him. "Now that we have your attention, let's commence."
*****
She was finally Mrs. Dean Andrew Collier.
After the poignant exchange of vows where they had stared into each other's eyes and solemnly vowed to stick with each other through thick and thin until death parted them, after the exchange of rings, the blessings on their union, and the deliberately chaste kiss that had the guests protesting, they had walked out as husband and wife.
Then came the frenzied picture-taking at the manor with the professional photographer taking advantage of what he referred to as the wonderful light filtering through the rose bushes, beneath the pergola, and the quaint bridge over the stream.
There was the cutting of the enormous ten-tier almond cake with white chocolate ganache, the champagne fountain, and the sumptuous feast that had been catered by the best.
She was pleasantly tired and had danced with all the male wedding guests. It was now time for them to make their departure.
"How about a dance for the father-in-law?" Martin Collier, looking resplendent in an ash gray suit, caught her around the waist as she was about to make her way over to her groom.
"I think I'm all danced out," she told him with a friendly laugh. The man creeped her out, but she was doing her best to try and like him for her husband's sake.
"One dance." He smiled down at her from his lofty height, his arms going around her narrow waist. She had shed the veil as well as the overskirt that had subtly hidden the sexy lines of the dress.
She had also taken off the satin and lace heels, a direct replica of the dress, and had on flats for comfort.
His eyes skimmed over her face and touched for one uncomfortable moment on her lips.
"My son chose very well. You're quite the beauty," he said, swinging her around and bringing her up against his body, much too close for comfort.
"I would like to think it's more than looks that interested him," she replied, putting a hand on his chest as she fought to put some distance between them.
"Oh, it's looks," he murmured with a soft laugh. "You're a captivating creature and the first woman to get him to propose. It must be a proud moment for you." He was staring at her lips again, his expression one of lazy approval.
From across the immaculate lawn, Dean lifted his head just in time to see his father trailing a hand down his wife's back. Fury came first, blinding fury that had his body trembling. He was about to march over there and haul him away from her when his sister touched his arm.
"You don't want to create a scene with all these people and reporters present," she warned. "Calm down."
"That son of a bitch," he said harshly. Taking a deep breath, he calmed down sufficiently to walk across the lawn. Before he could reach them, his bride had already disentangled herself from his embrace.
"If I see you touching her like that again, we're going to have a problem," Dean gritted as he wrapped his arm around her waist.
"I was just welcoming her to the family.
" His father's smile slipped a notch at the murderous look on his face.
Holding up his hands, he took a step back.
"There was a time when we used to share women.
" His gray eyes drifted to Catherine. "Did he tell you about that momentous time when we bonded as father and son? "
If he had hoped to shock her, he was in for a big disappointment.
"He did. He was a child who did not know any better, but you were a grown man and a father.
You should be ashamed of yourself. And if you ever try to feel me up again, I'm going to forget we're related by marriage and knee you in the place you value the most."
Turning to her husband, she gave him a sweet smile. "I'm ready to leave."
*****