Epilogue
MADDIE
“Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous,” says Janie, standing back from the full-length mirror of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel.
Instead, we’re in the bridal suite of the hotel. It’s located on a lower floor. Yet it has a more direct view of Central Park, with its charming horse-drawn carriages and laughing children.
Having my best friend and now former roommate at my side gives me courage.
“If Joseph saw you just now, I bet he’d kick himself for leaving you at the altar,” Janie says. “
I shudder to think that if he had the courage to go through with it that one time, you wouldn’t be here today marrying Rio.“
“Life has a way of working out.”
“Did he at least let you keep that ring from his second proposal?
“Didn’t want it. Gave it back,” I say. Joseph did insist I keep it. Said it was the least he could do.
But I didn’t want that ring to remind me of an experience I’d rather forget.
I turn my attention to my wedding dress. It’s the same one Bianca Jagger wore to her marriage to Mick way back in 1971.
“This dress is so lovely,” I tell the pint-sized vintage fashion expert who found it for me. She goes by the impossible moniker of Pip.
“But I’m not as tall as Bianca. Do you think I can really carry it off?”
Pip’s petite like me. She’s the wife of one of Rio’s best friends, DJ Snickers.
Even before she met Snickers, Pip made a name for herself finding and restoring vintage clothes.
Bianca’s wedding dress was a particularly lucky find.
I know I should be grateful to be wearing it now, on the morning of our wedding day.
“Of course you can carry it off,” says Pip.
I look at myself in the mirror. The dress is showy. I would have preferred something more simple.
“Aside from not being tall enough. I’m not beautiful enough,” I finally say, revealing my self-doubts.
“This dress was designed for the stunning bride of the Rolling Stones frontman.”
Janie spins me around to face her.
“Madison A. Smith,” she says sternly, using my full name. “We went through this. You just so happen to be the most beautiful woman in this entire hotel. Maybe even the city.”
My eyebrows shoot up at that one.
We both break down in laughter.
“But even if you weren’t, you deserve your happily ever after. You deserve your rock god of a husband. Especially after all he put you through.”
I embrace her gently, so as not to crush my dress.
“You’re right about that. Rio did put me through the wringer.”
But all is good now, I think to myself.
Midnight Records signed Rio and the Wilders to a multi-million-dollar deal.
It’s only been six months, but if Rolling Stone magazine is to be believed, they’re heading for their first gold record.
Rio’s already rehearsing his acceptance speech at the Grammys.
“And let’s hope your wearing Bianca Jagger’s wedding dress will bring Rio the same good luck as Mick. Wouldn’t it be great to see Rio shaking his tail feather in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame when he’s 70?”
The image of Rio at 70, thrusting his hips on the stage to screaming fans, makes me laugh.
But the image of Rio beside me at that time in our lives fills me with warmth.
I see an image of us posing with our adult children and grandchildren on the expansive lawn of some giant Connecticut mansion.
I see my mother in the picture too. Thanks to her attentive medical care, she’s overcome her illness.
Just last week, after a six-month course of treatments, we visited the doctor.
He was happy to report the treatments were a success and all danger gone.
So of course she’d be there, standing proud, surrounded by her grandchildren.
“Okay, Maddie, time for the wedding,” says Janie, pulling me away from my reflection. “Time to get you hitched.”
Janie guides me to the ballroom, where the guests already wait for the wedding to begin.
“Ah, the blushing bride,” says Antoine, standing with Prince Michael. The two of them have agreed to walk me down the aisle, since my own father is out of the picture.
Rio’s manager wears a tuxedo, but in his signature color of purple.
“Are you ready?” Prince Michael asks me. “It’s my first and maybe only time to walk a bride down the aisle.”
“You’re not an old man yet,” I joke. “There’s still time for you to marry, settle down, and have a daughter of your own.”
“Not me,” he says, shaking his head. “My children are the superstars I create. And Rio is my number one son.”
The familiar melody of the iconic “Here Comes the Bride” song begins, and the two men take my arm.
As we float down the red carpet inside the ballroom, I see the faces of friends, family, and coworkers.
Mr. Walker is there, and beside him, Henry Lemon, wearing a bright yellow tuxedo that matches Prince Michael’s purple tux in intensity.
Mr. Lemon had responded well to my proposal. He was able to use his authority and influence to reverse the school board’s decision.
And impressed by my innovative methods to help the kids, he even offered me a high-paying position as chief of research at his foundation.
I snap my focus to the present as Prince Michael and Antoine leave me at the altar next to Rio.
He must be the most handsome groom ever.
All eyes turn to us.
I’m looking at Rio so intensely I’m not even hearing what the justice of the peace is saying when he clears his throat.
Then he poses the same question again.
“Rings?”
That’s Snorty's cue. Our little Frenchie trots down the aisle and stops right in front of us.
The rings are secured around his waist on a small pedestal attached to his back. Safe and steady for the big moment.
Rio slips the gold band on my finger.
“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride,” the officiant says.
Rio peels back the vintage lace obscuring my face and gives me a kiss. It’s incredibly delicious.
I can feel his desire for me in the heat he radiates. And in that naughty devil look in his eyes.
His soft lips barely touch mine. Yet it’s enough to send a current ripping through every nerve.
The magnetic attraction we share is so strong I want to grab his hair and yank him down toward me for a real kiss.
It’s all I can do to restrain myself.
Once we’re named man and wife, the party starts in earnest.
The band plays, and everyone dances.
I know later on in the evening we have our chance to dance the traditional "slow dance" and all eyes will be on us.
But I can’t wait until then. Rio senses it too.
He takes my hand and leads me away from a group of well-wishers to the still-empty terrace.
“Prince Michael thought a big public wedding like this would help push our new album off the charts.”
He pauses, tracing my lips with the top finger of his right hand.
“But if I had my choice, I would marry you on the beach of a small, unknown island. Where I'd have you all to myself, 24 hours a day.”
“And what would we do all day?”
“I can think of a few things,” he says, tilting my face to his.
Now, away from the crowd, he kisses me deeply. Almost hungrily.
At our feet, Snorty yips.
I take my now-healthy dog into my arms and hug him, while Rio puts his arm around us both.
“Smile!” says a passing wedding photographer, catching our happy faces.
“So Mrs. Wilder,” he says. “Do you have a quote I can use for the photo’s caption? Maybe about your future lives together?”
So many things flash through my mind. Explaining that I had an odd inner feeling Rio would ask me to marry me when he spun me around the dance floor on my 13th birthday.
That I had always known we were meant to be together.
But all of that was too long for a caption.
“Let’s just say ‘the future looks a little wild, very bright and exactly right.”