Chapter 52
Other than dragging on the floor a good four inches, Poppy’s tiered, tulle-and-lace gown in a delicate shade of buff fit Ingrid perfectly. The length was easily remedied, thanks to the stylist, whose assistant promptly swooped in armed with needle and thread.
“Size seven, right?” The assistant handed Ingrid a pair of sky-high, silver stilettos she’d seemingly conjured from thin air. Ingrid slid her feet into the strappy platforms and wobbled across the room, holding up the dress. Her ankle turned and she swayed precariously.
“Perfect,” pronounced the stylist.
“Perfect,” echoed the assistant.
“Hem it, steam it, then get her into hair and makeup,” the stylist ordered the assistant.
“Me?” Ingrid asked.
Sailor, on the other side of the room, having her hair blown out by a curvy brunette in a black jumpsuit, nodded. “We’re all getting glam today, babe. And you should definitely get started. Madeline and Calla won’t be here for another hour.”
Getting glam, Ingrid discovered, was actually kind of a soothing process.
She was patted, poked, and dabbed at with brushes, sponges, and fingers.
She had her hair pulled and brushed and heated and curled then pinned and pinned and pinned.
Her nails were shaped to points and polished with a glossy pink.
Throughout the process, people kept offering her tidbits to eat: bagels with salmon, breakfast casserole, cheese biscuits with ham.
Soda and water and glasses of champagne with straws in them so she wouldn’t smudge her lips.
Two photographers snapped pictures of the entire process from every angle, sometimes including Sailor, but Ingrid felt almost too nervous to smile.
These photos were going to be part of Sailor’s wedding album, keepsakes she’d treasure forever …
and Ingrid was included in them. It was almost too much to comprehend.
She was so overwhelmed she almost forgot about Miles, finally thinking to text him to explain she was in the wedding party, and he might not want to come since she would be busy helping Sailor and the other girls.
She secretly hoped he’d decide to stay home, but he texted back that he still wanted to come, as long as that was all right with her.
She assured him he was welcome, of course. What else could she say?
Madeline and Calla arrived with news of Poppy’s condition—the poor girl was hooked up to an IV and by all accounts improving, but it was serious enough that her mother was flying in from Portugal where she’d been vacationing.
The conversation quickly pivoted to eyeshadow shades, contour sticks, and illuminating drops.
Scoot made an appearance, ignoring Ingrid and air-kissing Madeline and Calla.
She inspected Sailor’s intricate updo and suggesting a few adjustments, then took the seat her daughter had vacated.
Scoot gently stretched the skin of her face as she looked in the mirror. “You’ve got your work cut out for you,” she said to the makeup artist.
“Mom,” Sailor said. “You look beautiful.”
“You’ve got to erase the weeks of absolute torture I’ve just gone through,” Scoot said to the artist.
Sailor sucked in her cheeks but held her tongue.
After everyone was done, there were more rounds of photos of the party in various stages of undress, and then the squad hurried Sailor off to the adjoining bedroom to dress her and Scoot left to go put on her gown.
Ingrid, too, was put back into the newly altered dress and stood before the mirror as the assistant fussed with the hem.
After what seemed like an eternity, the door of the bedroom opened again. There was a hushed gasp, then Madeline and Calla slowly rose from their seats.
Sailor stood in her dress, her eyes bright with tears, a smile lighting her face.
The gown was simple yet stunning. An off-the-shoulder, pearl silk wool, with draping at the center front that fell into two swagged sleeves.
At the center of the dress’s neckline, a platinum, diamond, and ruby brooch in the shape of a bouquet of flowers was pinned—her something borrowed.
Ingrid had never seen anyone who looked more elegant or more beautiful.
Ingrid burst into applause and the others joined her.
After another endless round of photos, the group made their way downstairs and piled into the fleet of limousines waiting at the curb ready to whisk them the one block down to Forsyth Park. As they extricated themselves from the limos, Ingrid took note of it all.
The police barricades and velvet ropes cordoned off the north end of the park.
Soft evening light filtered through the oaks and the lacy moss.
A gentle breeze blew in from the river, with just enough force to produce a continual gentle shower of flower petals that drifted down on everyone’s heads.
Violetta, the harpist, played. The gathering crowd was seated in gold chairs lining the walk leading up to the fountain and the bower of blooms that arched over it.
Look, Edie. Look how far we’ve come …
From his seat on the back row, Miles, in her grandpa’s old burgundy suit, spotted Ingrid and gave her his familiar grin.
She smiled back at him, the fullness of her heart almost too much to bear.
Hadn’t he always been there for her? Always believing and trusting in her?
If he really had helped her spells along, he’d only done it to help Ingrid get what she wanted. Because he loved her.
She should hold onto that love as tightly as possible.
“Ingrid?”
She turned. Rill, in his elegantly simple tuxedo, was standing a few feet away, gazing at her with an inscrutable look on his face.
She gave him a nod. “Hello, Rill. You’re looking handsome.”
His eyes lit up. “You’re looking lovely yourself, if you don’t mind me saying.” He thrust his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to apologize for the other day. At Lombardy’s. I got carried away. I hope you’re not angry.”
“No,” she said. “I’m just very happy for Sailor. That’s all.”
“Good.” He looked into her eyes, letting the gaze linger too long. “That makes two of us.”
He was pulled away by one of the coordinators, and she caught sight of Cas then, standing apart from the wedding party.
She inhaled swiftly. His trim tuxedo fit him like a second skin and his usually ruffled hair had been carefully styled.
Scoot was standing beside him. She had her hand on his back and was whispering up into his ear, but Cas wasn’t looking at his mother.
His eyes were roving the crowd, searching.
When they landed on Ingrid, he straightened, his eyes locking on hers.
She felt a thrill as he took in the sight of her, then broke into a smile. The next second, he was easing around Scoot and making his way in her direction.
“Beautiful,” he said when he reached her. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “You look incredible, Ingrid.”
“Poppy was sick—” she began.
“I heard,” he said. “Lucky Sailor, that you were there for her. Lucky all of us.” He took her hand. “You’re walking with me. I’m the best man.” He led her toward the spot at the rear of the chairs where everyone was gathering, and she told herself to breathe.
Because there was Miles again, twisting in his seat, watching Cas lead her by the hand.
He frowned momentarily, then turned back to face the fountain.
Cas deposited her at the group where the coordinators Francesca and Courtland were organizing the processional.
They distributed the bouquets of rare jade vine flowers, while bridesmaids and flower girls—who’d appeared from nowhere, looking adorable with their baskets of jade vine flower petals—cooed over each other and swapped compliments.
No one spoke to Ingrid, but she was fine with that. Being quiet calmed her jitters.
The harpist launched into a new piece—“Hey Jude”—and Ingrid saw Jude, Cas, and two other men she’d never seen before step out in front of the fountain beside the purple-robed pastor. Jude looked handsome in his tuxedo, but nervous.
Courtland herded the trio of little girls toward the aisle and Francesca waved for the party’s attention.
“Ladies, over here please.” Ingrid followed Madeline and Calla into position.
At Francesca’s nod, she started down the aisle toward Jude, mindful of the towering heels she was wearing.
Beside Jude, Cas was now not even attempting to hide his delight at the sight of her, grinning like a kid.
Ingrid felt the eyes of every one of the guests focus on her, and as if the sun was coming out from behind a cloud, she felt the light inside of her now begin to radiate outward.
She felt its beams shooting in every direction, bathing the crowd in her happiness and glory.
Because it was glorious, this moment. It was everything she’d fought for in the past months. She’d sacrificed her own feeling of safety. She’d risked it all. And she’d done it for Sailor. As she neared the fountain, she caught Cas’s eye and smiled at him.
I gather you, Cas Loeffler.
I gather you to me.
I gather you for all time …
How could he resist the power coming from her? How could he resist the light? He couldn’t. That was the answer, plain and simple. He was hers, and the details of what that meant were unimportant.
She had won.