40. Franki
forty
“Istill can’t believe you renovated your cottage for our wedding.” I lean on my mahogany cane. I’m flaring today, of all days, but not only is it not going to stop me from making my wedding vows, it’s not going to keep me from enjoying every second of it.
Bronwyn had the florist decorate my cane with vines and tiny flowers. It’s pretty and gives a bit of a fairy-in-the-wood vibe. It matches this cottage.
Bronwyn looks around the bedroom, with its cream-colored walls and romantic canopy. “This cottage was ugly, and it held really bad memories for Dean and me since this is where he found me. Now, it’s pretty and has new, wonderful memories. Plus, it’s nice because if they want it, our guests have their own cozy little love nest when they come to visit. You and Henry will be the first to stay here.”
“It feels magical now.” Clarissa, wearing a sage-green, polka-dot dress, smooths the quilt under her hand as she sits under the canopy of the white-painted four-poster bed.
The renovation was transformative. Aesthetically, the cottage no longer resembles the original structure that’s been here since the 1950s. Bronwyn had the roofline changed, adding multiple gables. Tall, mullioned windows, their frames painted a deep green, overlook overflowing window boxes. The ones in this first-floor bedroom are thrown open to catch a warm breeze that caresses my skin and sets the sheer pale-green curtains dancing. The light of early evening washes the room in a golden glow. The sun will set soon. Phee took an extra nap this afternoon just so she could stay awake for the party tonight.
Charlotte, wearing a rose-colored tea-length dress, places her hands on my shoulders and turns me to face the cheval mirror. Standing behind me, she leans forward to look at me in the mirror, her soft cheek against mine. The faint scent of Lancome’s La Vie est Belle feels familiar and comforting as she holds me close. “You’re stunning. You belong in an enchanted forest today.”
I meet her pale blue eyes in the mirror. “I feel pretty.”
“Pretty? Good lord, you’re gorgeous,” Bronwyn shouts across the room.
I laugh and turn to face my family. Or most of the female members of my family, anyway. The guys are off doing whatever men do before weddings.
Clarissa nods, a huge smile lighting her piquant face. Auburn curls are piled on top of her head, and her freckles give the impression she’s been sprinkled by a mischievous fairy. “It’s true. You’re utterly lovely.”
Janessa, in scarlet pants and a matching corset-style top, rises from the chair in the corner. I didn’t make a dress code for my bridesmaids. I told them I wanted them to wear something they felt beautiful in. It was my only requirement.
“The dress suits you to perfection,” Janessa says.
I smooth the ivory fabric over my thighs. I decided against a corset to give me a fake hourglass figure, and, instead, had the dress altered to actually fit my body, apple shape and all. The bateau neckline shows off my collarbones, and my hair is in a loose mass on top of my head, exposing my neck. Henry really likes my neck. Henry really likes all of me.
I worried the long sleeves would be too hot, but they’re made of soft, sheer lace, and I’m not overheated. Sparkly crystals encrust my custom tennis shoes.
Phee, a small tiara nestled in her mass of blonde ringlets and wearing a toddler version of my dress, runs to me and tries to pass me my bouquet with two hands. “Penis!”
Sydney’s brown eyes go wide, her eyebrows shooting up, and she leans at the waist to look at Phee.
Bronwyn’s lips twitch as she looks at her officially adopted daughter. “I beg your finest pardon, miss?”
Phee holds up the bouquet to her mother. “Pretty Pe-Nis. Pink penis. Penis. Penis.”
“It doesn’t even sound like a real word, anymore,” Janessa says in wonder.
“Yes, Phee Bee. Aunt Franki has peonies. So do you,” Charlotte says.
Bronwyn straightens and lifts her fingers to her mouth. “That was a poor choice of phrasing.”
Charlotte gives her a confused look. “What do you mean? I was helping her to say the word correctly.”
“AUNT FANKEE HAB PENIS. MOMWYN HAB PENIS. I HAB PENIS.” Phee sings.
Charlotte blinks. “I may have made an error in judgment.”
I pray aloud. “Dear God, please allow me to be present when she tells her father Momwyn has a penis.”
Bronwyn mock scowls. “My brother’s sense of humor is rubbing off on you. You’re supposed to be a calming influence on him, not the other way around.”
“Henry is hilarious. The last thing I want to do is calm him down,” I say.
Everyone, even Charlotte, snorts in laughter.
Sydney nods. “That right there is proof that there’s someone for everyone, because when I tell you—”
Janessa nudges her elbow into Sydney’s side.
“—how utterly perfect you two are for each other is what I was going to say.” Sydney gives a huge, cheesy smile.
“Good thing you fixed that sentence. I don’t tolerate Henry slander.” Someday, I’ll tell her that Spencer thought she’d make a good wife for Henry. I haven’t managed to find that funny, yet.
I put my hand out, and Phee gives me the bouquet. “Thank you for my flowers. Where are your flowers?”
“My fowers are by the window.” She runs to her basket and lifts it carefully.
“Thank you,” Bronwyn mouths, and I wink in response.
A knock sounds at the door, and I turn to see Henry’s grandmother, Rose, standing in a peacock-blue gown. I’ve attended family functions with her many times in the last seven months, and she’s always been gracious to me. Still, I can’t help but remember the conversation I heard that night in Henry’s penthouse. She thinks I’m a liability. It doesn’t matter how polite she is to me; it’s something I’ll always be aware of.
I swallow and glance around. No one else has tensed the way I have, though Bronwyn sends me a commiserating glance. She knows how it feels to be on the receiving end of Rose McRae’s disapproval, though she has the advantage of also being loved.
Mrs. McRae comes closer, and I step forward, meeting her in the middle. We’re of a similar height, so she looks me straight in the eyes. I fight the urge to look away or down at my feet and keep my spine straight.
My mother was toxic, and a relationship with her was not good for me. I do, however, know how to carry myself to look confident and graceful in nearly any situation because of her. I can be grateful for the good parts, while still acknowledging that I owe her nothing. She’s currently in prison, but someday she’ll get out. Probably as soon as she’s eligible for parole. I’ve asked Henry to leave her alone.
As long as she and David stay away from me, we’ll get on with our lives as though she doesn’t exist. It’s hard for Henry, but he does it for me. I don’t want anything about her tainting our future.
“Mrs. McRae, you look lovely,” I say.
She waves a hand. “Thank you, dear. You make a beautiful bride.”
She runs her eyes over me, and I force myself to hold my smile. “Thank you.”
She lifts her chin. “I won’t apologize.”
Okay. So we’re going there.
“I haven’t asked you to. You’re entitled to your opinion,” I say.
“There are challenges to marrying someone in the public eye. Even when that person is put there through no fault of her own. You’re blameless, but it doesn’t make those challenges less significant.”
I don’t smile in response. I simply watch her and wait.
Charlotte clears her throat and steps forward. Mrs. McRae lifts her hand to wave her off. Everyone is aware, now, that this may not be a “friendly chat.” Even Phee is quiet, clinging to the blue silk of Bronwyn’s vintage dress and watching her great grandmother with wide hazel eyes.
“Henry needed to be resolute. There could be no wishy-washy nonsense. He doesn’t like to be told what to do, but I would only be the first voice. I’d have been disappointed in him if he’d agreed with me.” Her mouth works before she gives a small smile. “You gave him a reason to want a real life, but it takes fortitude to go beyond the wanting to the doing. I was giving him the opportunity to stand up and be a man who deserved to be your husband.”
My own mouth opens slightly before I close it. My eyelashes flutter as I try to make sense of what she’s saying. It’s so similar to something Henry would do. A little manipulative, but, maybe, well-intentioned. I’m not sure if I believe her. Either she’s messing with me now, or she was messing with Henry then.
I can’t wait to ask him which he thinks it truly is.
“I brought you a gift. You don’t have to wear them today if you’d rather not, but I wanted you to have them,” she says.
She lifts a small jeweler’s box. When my hands are too stiff and painful to flip the lid myself, Charlotte reaches over and does it for me.
My breath catches at what I find. Diamond pendant earrings, each with at least a combined total weight of three carats, in a vintage white-gold filigree setting.
Mrs. McRae looks down at the diamond earrings fondly. “They’re your ‘something old.’ They were a gift from my parents to me on my wedding day.”
I take a shuddering breath, and Bronwyn shouts, “No. Don’t cry, yet. Your makeup.”
I laugh. “The makeup artist used waterproof, just in case.”
Bronwyn’s words successfully break the chokehold my emotions have on me, though, and I smile at Henry’s grandmother. “Thank you, Mrs. McRae. I’ll treasure them. Maybe one day we’ll be able to pass these down to one of your great-grandchildren.”
She nods. “Call me Grandmother now, girl.”
“I will.” I give her a cheeky grin. “You can call me Franki.”
“I’ll try to remember,” she says. “Feel free to remind me.”
Oh. “I will.”
I look at the earrings and contemplate how I’ll get them on my ears. “Bronwyn, could you . . .?”
She removes the pearl earrings I’d been wearing, then replaces them with the ones from Grandmother. I look in the mirror.
“Pwitty,” Phee breathes.
Another knock, and we all look to the door. Arden stands, holding his arm out to me. “Your golf carts await.”
The sun has set.
I take his arm, my flowers in the same hand, and my cane in the other. We troop outside to the row of golf carts. The guards are our drivers, and when Arden settles me on the seat with a kiss on my cheek, Ryan smiles at me from behind the steering wheel. “Nice to see you right-side-up today, Franki.”
I grin, and we set off, headlights illuminating our way, as I brace myself, my veil flying in the wind. A short drive on the winding paved road, surrounded by mostly mature oaks, lightning bugs flickering in the darkness, then Ryan pulls up at the side of the house with the terraced flagstone patios.
Ryan assists me to stand. It takes more help than I like, but I push worries about the pain aside. I have more important things to focus on.
Janessa flicks my fingertip veil into place in the back, and Bronwyn fluffs out my small train. A combination of pillar candles in large glass vases on the path and strings of fairy lights overhead glow in the darkness. The wedding planner set up an elaborate trellis on the stone walkway that leads up to where Henry stands at the top, but a row of guards dressed in suits form a phalanx in front of me and my bridesmaids while we get settled in the darkness.
Our approximately forty guests, not counting the bridal party, sit on white wooden chairs near Henry and his groomsmen. Henry and I know every person here. Most of them are his aunts, uncles, and cousins. Clarissa’s husband James is here. Grandma and Grandad Miller sit in the front row next to Nanny Lisa, who is simply Lisa to me now.
I decided to walk myself down the aisle, but as I step onto the stone pathway, I immediately realize my mistake. I was fine last night for the rehearsal, but my knees are rougher today than I expected them to be.
Clarissa leans in. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t do this alone. I’m going to fall on my face.”
“Will you let us walk you up the aisle?” Clarissa asks.
We won’t all fit together through the trellis, but we’ll be fine once we get past it, at least until I get to the chairs. “Yes, please.”
Ryan informs the musicians of the change in plan. Then we line up at the trellis with Sydney and Janessa slightly behind. The string quartet transitions to the song we chose.
Bronwyn crouches next to Phee. “Time to walk and sprinkle your flowers until you get to Daddy.”
Phee bounces. “Ready!”
Bronwyn comes back, and I slide my arm through hers. My left arm hooks through Clarissa’s. Janessa, who carries my cane for me, and Sydney, who holds my flowers, fan out to either side.
The guards separate, and we step forward.
Our guests rise with an audible shuffle, though I only notice in my peripheral vision. Phee makes a meandering path as she tosses handfuls of flower petals on her way to the men at the front. Oliver, wearing his bow tie, sits politely on the flagstones between Henry and Gabriel. Dean, Noah, and Dante make up the rest of the groomsmen.
I don’t have eyes for anyone but Henry. He got a haircut sometime today, and he stands with his hands clasped in front of him. When he sees me, his palm flies to press against his heart, and his smile fights with tears.
Joy so profound that it almost hurts bursts through me.
Bronwyn and Clarissa keep me steady as I go, though I lean into Clarissa harder each time I have to take one of the steps that occur approximately every ten feet.
Henry lifts his glasses to wipe under his eyes.
I’m halfway up the aisle when Henry takes a step forward, then another, and another, until he’s jogging toward me.
I laugh when he meets in the middle of the path, and I lean toward him, whispering conspiratorially, “Did you forget you were supposed to wait at the end?”
He never breaks eye contact as he smiles back. “I’m done waiting.”
He speaks to my bridesmaids, though he never looks away from me. “Thank you, ladies. We’ll see you up there.”
They pile onto me in a two-second group hug. Sydney passes me my bouquet, and when Henry has his arm around me, they file around Henry and me to walk to the front.
Henry lifts me into his arms. “I’m not supposed to kiss you yet either.”
I lean in to press my lips to his lean cheek. He turns his head at the last second and catches my mouth, instead. Our guests chuckle.
Then he carries me to the bower on the patio.