God. I have to fight to keep my expression from betraying a sudden wave of anger. Another in her mother’s web of lies. The bracelet couldn’t be from my brother. He died before knowing Trish’s mother was pregnant. With another man’s child.
But I’m lying, too.
Every minute of every day. Because I’ve perpetuated the lie.
When I look at the strong, courageous young woman Trish has become because of that lie, though, I know I made the right choice.
I accept the bracelet with a smile and slip it on.
Trish holds out the last package. “Your fiance picked this out,” she says with a mischievous smile.
“He did, did he?” I tear off the paper. A blue garter. I hold it up. “Hmmmm. Now whatever is he going to do with this?”
Trish is laughing and Mom motions for me to put it on so I slip the garter over my knee. Then she waits until I’ve made the last adjustment, putting on the earrings, to stand back and give me the once-over.
“You are a beautiful bride, Anna.”
“Take a picture, take a picture,” Trish says excitedly. Then, “Wait, wait. We forgot the bouquet.” And she’s out the door running down the hall for Mom’s bedroom. There’s a gasp as we hear her say next, “No. Don’t look in. Aunt Anna has her gown on. It’s bad luck. Go on downstairs.”
Mom and I smile at each other. Frey must have snuck upstairs for a peek. He grumbles something, but we hear his tread on the stairs so he’s heeding Trish’s heated admonition.
Trish is back with the bouquet. Roses. The same pale color as my dress. When I’m holding the bouquet, Mom starts snapping. After half a dozen shots, I’m too impatient to wait any longer. “Let me see,” I say, almost dancing with excitement. I haven’t seen what I look like in over a year . . . and that was a fuzzy newspaper photo.
Mom hands me the camera and stands back to watch, her arms around Trish’s shoulders, her eyes shining.
My hands tremble as I work the display. I can’t believe I’m looking at my own image. My hair is lighter than I remember, honey blonde, with even paler streaks highlighting a face I expected to look drastically different. It doesn’t. My eyes are softer than I would have imagined, still human, even after all they’ve seen. Lisette did a great job with a simple, subtle application of makeup that gives my tanned skin a glow. The dress hugs the curves of my body, my legs look long and lean, my arms toned.
“I don’t look half bad.” I don’t realize I’ve said that aloud until Trish snorts.
“Are you kidding? Didn’t you look in the mirror? You’re drop-dead gorgeous.”
Mom winks at me over her head and goes to the window. “I hear the orchestra. I think everyone’s here.” She hustles Trish out the door. “Go see if it’s time, will you?”
When Trish has left, Mom takes my hands and stands back as if taking her own mental snapshot. We don’t speak, don’t move, either of us. She looks happy, content. I
If only it could last forever.
CHAPTER 31
I PEEK OUT THE WINDOW WHEN I HEAR THE STRING quartet begin to play what I’ve chosen as my processional: Bach’s Prelude in C.
Mom looks at me, her eyebrows raised.
I grin at her. “This is my surprise for you. I remember you saying it’s what you chose when you married Dad.”
Her eyes fill with tears, but I shake a finger at her. “No crying, remember? Your crying will ruin my makeup.”
Another glance out the window. Trish is walking down the aisle hand in hand with John-John. They take their places in front, John-John at Frey’s side, Trish to the left. I look at Mom. It’s our cue. She takes my hand and we go downstairs to where Dad is waiting at the gate to the garden.
Mom gives my hand one last squeeze before she places it in Dad’s. He leans over and pecks my cheek. “Your hands are cold as ice. Don’t be nervous. You look beautiful.”
Mom winks at me. “Here we go.”
She precedes us down the red carpet that’s been laid from the edge of the garden to a flower-strewn pergola. The officiate is waiting for us on the steps. It’s Pierre. I wonder with a grin if Frey will be disappointed that it’s not Hot Lips performing the ceremony.
This is the first time I’ve seen the garden since the workmen arrived yesterday. Three rows of chairs have been placed in a semicircle facing a raised dais. The chairs are filled with Mom and Dad’s friends and neighbors and at the front, David and Tracey. Lots of flowers. Everywhere. I sense Chael, too, though at the moment I’m too excited, nervous, terrified to look around.
My eyes focus on Frey. He’s waiting for me, John-John at his side. He steps forward to give Mom’s cheek a kiss and when she’s taken her place in the front row, his gaze turns to me.
In that moment, all our history, all our mistakes, all our past evaporates. It’s as if I’m seeing him for the first time. He reaches out a hand and Dad places my palm in his. Then Dad kisses my cheek, too, and joins Mom.
I can’t take my eyes off Frey. His wonderful familiar face suddenly looks different. It’s not a reflection of his clothes. He’s handsome in his tux, but he’s handsome in jeans and an old sweatshirt. It’s something new in his gaze when he looks at me.
It’s devotion. In his eyes. Shining from his face. A promise that he will never let me down. I knew he loved me. I didn’t know until this minute how much. Or realize how much I loved him. It’s magical. Joyous. I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ve found my soul mate.
He bends his head and whispers in my ear, “You are even more beautiful than I imagined you’d be.”
And in that instant, nervousness and fear disappear. I throw my arms around his neck and hold him—so tight I feel his breath catch. And then he’s hugging me back and I’ve never felt so safe.
Suddenly, laughter erupts from the guests seated behind us, and the officiate pulls us gently apart. “That’s at the end,” he quips.
And so I disentangle myself from Frey and we’re both grinning as the ceremony really begins.
The vows are simple, promises to be faithful, to love each other through dark days and light, to protect and defend each other. Uncomplicated concepts to mortals, but to us, vampire and shape-shifter, they take on a special meaning. We repeat them solemnly, together, eyes locked. We exchange rings, gold bands each engraved with one word:
“
And so Frey does. A deep, lingering kiss that has my heart pounding until the sound of applause brings us up for air.
The recessional blasts from speakers hidden among the foliage. Frey watches my face as I recognize the song. Since I picked the processional, he insisted on choosing the appropriate recessional. “It’s perfect,” I say. “But who picked it out, you or Dad?”
Then there’s another gale of laughter and applause when the audience, too, recognizes the familiar composition.
What could be more fitting than the “Hallelujah Chorus”?
I’M MARRIED. I HAVE TO KEEP REPEATING IT LIKE A MANTRA TO BELIEVE IT. EVEN WITH ALL THE PEOPLE OFFERING CONGRATULATIONS AND MY FOLKS BEAMING, IT doesn’t seem real.
Chael approaches with his guests. Plural. He not only has a very young, very human, very French model type on his arm, but he’s brought someone else, too.
Vlad’s eyes twinkle as he bends low to kiss my hand. “You make a lovely bride,” he says.
