Chapter Eighty-Three Adrianna
Chapter Eighty-three
ADRIANNA
I close my eyes as Ophelia sprays a shimmering mist of dewy foundation on my face. She has already spent an hour fitting a heavy piece of chestnut hair into my own curling tresses, pulling and shaping with brush and tongs.
As she finishes, I sit staring into the mirror.
‘I am Adrianna Fucking Kensington,’ I mutter, at my reflection. ‘I’m getting married today.’
‘Ready?’ Ophelia’s beaming smile is fixed in its usual place. She wears the magenta gown I carefully picked out, so as not to complement her skin tone. I wonder, briefly, if I should have been kinder.
No, I remind myself, it’s not about me. It’s about the Kensington brand. The Kensington brand has to be perfect today.
‘Did you see Petra?’ I ask.
‘Not yet.’ Ophelia shakes her head, still smiling. ‘She stayed up pretty late. I’m guessing she’s nursing a sore head this morning. I’m sure she’ll be here on time for the pictures.’
‘Petra stayed up late?’ I don’t remember that. But then again, I don’t remember much at all from last night.
‘How is your head?’ Ophelia stands just a little too close.
‘Fine,’ I say, slightly unnerved. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Want me to check your breath?’ she suggests. ‘Be sure you’re not breathing tequila fumes on your groom?’ She says it lightly, like a joke. Almost. But then, without waiting for my response, she leans in an inch from my face, and inhales.
I sit rigidly in my chair.
‘You smell gorgeous,’ says Ophelia, her head back, but not far back enough to be a normal distance. ‘He’s lucky to have you,’ she whispers.
Confusion is knocking my mind around. Things are fitting together.
‘Ophelia,’ I say quietly, ‘why did you get into my bed last night?’
There’s a long, tense moment where our eyes lock. Her narrow, freckled forehead puckers.
‘You asked me to,’ she says, mouth downturned, eyes flitting around the room. ‘Don’t you remember? You didn’t feel safe.’
‘But you told Mark you were afraid I would vomit.’
‘I …’ She nods. Two tight inclines of her head. ‘Of course I told Mark that,’ she says. ‘I didn’t want him to think you’d invited me into bed with you, the night of your wedding.’
I take in her amber eyes. Everything there suggests truthfulness. Dedication. Devotion.
And yet … It’s all so confusing.
There’s a knock at the door. I look up to see Dad. He has a small smile on his face.
‘Well, you look beautiful,’ he says gruffly, ‘but that was never in any doubt.’
Dad always was terrible at delivering compliments.
‘I got rid of the security like you wanted,’ he says.
I smile at him in surprise.
He shrugs. ‘Maybe you were right. Times have changed. You’re taking the brand in a new direction. We don’t need to be so heavy.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘I … I got something to say …’ He’s rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Won’t take long.’
I arch an eyebrow. Sounds like this will be good. He doesn’t even seem to have registered Ophelia as a physical presence, and talks on without regard to her hovering uncertainly in the room. It’s easy to do that, with Ophelia.
‘Georgia says I never told you girls I was proud of you,’ he says.
‘Dad, is this going to be a speech? Because—’
‘When I married your mother, I thought that day was going to be the making of me. I changed my name from Leopold Kolowski to Leopold Kensington, and I was so sure the wedding would be us all coming together.’ His mouth twists.
‘’Stead, my father said I’d betrayed his name and refused to attend the ceremony, and your mother’s family didn’t even show up. ’
‘I know this, Dad,’ I say. It’s an old story.
‘Then we had your christening,’ he continues, ‘and I thought, this would be the one. The big family gathering. Your Polish grandpappy was dead by then. Grandma Kensington was actually going to attend. Along with a lot of newspaper reporters.’ He chuckles.
‘You know that lady didn’t look in my direction once, for the whole service?
That’s quite a feat. The papers ran with “The Big Freeze: Lady Kensington Ices the Fish Vendor’s Son”.
’ He shakes his head. ‘My guys found out later it was your grandma’s people who gave them that headline. ’
‘Granny can be mean.’
‘You don’t know the half of it. Don’t worry,’ he adds, ‘I’m nearly to my point.
This isn’t some story bad-mouthing your mom’s family, though God knows,’ he brushes a hand through his dark hair, ‘I have a lot of ’em.
’ His eyes drift to the window. ‘All those years, trying to get with those people. Now fate conspires to keep the mighty Kensingtons from my daughter’s wedding.
And the best thing is, you don’t care.’ He beams suddenly.
‘And I couldn’t be prouder. You taught me something today that I should have learned years ago.
The Kensington name, you’re bigger than that now.
’ He grips my hand tight. ‘You’ve made your own name. ’
Tears leap into my eyes.
‘Thanks, Dad.’
He stands in awkward silence for a moment, as if deciding whether to speak.
‘I do have one last thing to say,’ he adds.
I roll my eyes. ‘Dad, you can make a speech at the wedding.’
‘I messed up.’
He can’t meet my eyes. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Dad never, ever admits to being wrong.
‘With Petra,’ he says. ‘I messed up.’
This time I can feel Ophelia tense beside me. Every part of her body is radiating high alert. I guess Petra’s name has that effect on all of us.
‘Me and Petra are done,’ he says. ‘And I should have listened to you when you were at school. I was too busy, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care. I would kill for you and your sister.’
There’s a long pause as we look at one another.
‘I know, Dad,’ I tell him. ‘I know. Now quit making me cry. It took two hours to get this make-up right.’
I don’t risk a glance at Ophelia, but I notice her chest is high like she’s holding her breath.
‘So,’ Dad stands, his voice back to normal, shaking his head like he’s getting himself in the game, ‘you ready to get married?’