Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

Medora woke alone in her bed. She patted the bed behind her where Jerik had spooned her when she fell asleep. The sheets were cool. Her fingers touched paper. She grabbed it and rolled to her back.

If you meant it, we’re getting married today. I would like my friend Sharkur to attend. I called a Justice of the Peace. Meet me at the City/County Building at 1pm. I studied your tradition and will be bringing written vows to speak aloud. I don’t suppose I’ve been very “romantic” by your terms, and yet you’ve agreed to marry me anyways. I suspect there will be a lot of practicing of all kinds going on. Thank you for bringing a peace to my life I haven’t felt in millennia.

Ever yours, Jerik

Medora clutched the paper to her chest. He wasn’t romantic. He was bossy and blunt. But he had done something to her as well. He brought adventure and spice to her very staid existence.

Was this insane? Was she making a horrible decision?

She lay in bed with eyes closed and thought about last night. They’d showered separately, and she’d put on black silky pajamas while he went home to change and came back. They had a roasted vegetable pizza and Cokes, then talked until she kept nodding off. He spooned her in bed, whispering all the things he was going to do to her for the rest of their lives, and she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

No. She was making the only decision.

Then she remembered the gift she had been working on when Jaz interrupted her. She had to finish it before the wedding! And write vows.

She jumped out of bed and called Daddy and Rosela, inviting them to join their impromptu wedding free of press and notoriety.

Wearing sweats and drinking Coke after Coke, she worked on Jerik’s gift until it was perfect. A little help from the nano-device didn’t hurt, either.

It was time for her vows. She grabbed her notebook and pencil from the office and chewed on the eraser for fifty minutes. She hated writing. It was one thing to take notes. It was completely another to have to come up with something out of her head. She growled in frustration and paced around her penthouse, mumbling to herself. Maybe if she was already dressed for the wedding? She ditched her notebook and retreated to her closet.

She knew Jerik wouldn’t care what she wore. Hell, he’d love it if she was naked. But a girl had standards.

She tore through her vast collection. Being in the city’s upper crust had its benefits. Designers sent her clothing all the time, hoping she would wear them to one of the highly publicized events. The hangers sang as she slid them on the metal rods. Red, no, black, no, gold, no, silver…maybe, white, yes, white yes, pale pink, oh hell no. When she had a handful chosen, she changed out of her sweats and tried on each number.

The silver was a strong possibility. It had a plunging neckline which Jerik would love, and long sleeves with silvery lace hems. It was beaded with Swarovski crystals along the V and at the wrists. The silver crêpe draped over her shapely, if small, butt, and fell to the ground with more crystals at the hem. She did a turn. It was very flattering, but a little too bling-bling for the courthouse. She left it in a pile and tried on the first white one.

This one was tea-length with cap sleeves and a square neckline. It was very 1950s with its wide circle skirt and cinched waist. It was a stiff white satin with a wide belt. She could picture wearing white gloves and a pillbox hat with a veil. It was definitely in the running. She hung it up carefully and chose the last white dress.

This was from a designer she hadn’t tried before, a Valentin Yudashkin. She tried it on and knew immediately it was the one.

She was sure Yudashkin hadn’t meant it as a wedding dress, but it was just too perfect for her and Jerik.

She saw the way he looked at her in her Cubs shirt and at the Winter Ball. In spite of their heavy third base make-out session last night, Jerik was a leg man.

The dress came to mid-thigh. Very risqué for a virgin bride, but hey. It also had long sleeves, but like the skirt, they were skin-tight. It was white Shantung with ruching at the waistline. The two-inch hem at her thighs was crushed white velvet and the sleeves at the wrists matched. It was a pentagonal neckline with a crystal brooch between her breasts. It was sleek and sexy, with a hint of winter because of the velvet. She would wear her Stuart Weitzman nude stilettos with an ankle strap. It was tempting to bling out with some gaudy shiny shoes, but she was going for the long leg effect. Considering how petite she was, the illusion of length in her legs would go far for Mr. Jerik HornyPants. She preened for a full five minutes, then glanced at the time.

Shoot!

She sat in the closet chair and put on her shoes, thankful she shaved last night. She pranced to the bathroom and bent over, brushing out her blonde hair. She sprayed and moussed it, then swept it up into a French twist. She had a pearl headband she could attach some white tulle to for a make-shift veil.

She looked in the bathroom mirror, and her palms began to sweat. Was he serious? Krinar didn’t get married. Jerik had been with a crap ton of women—and men? Good lord, what did he see in her? Jaz’s words clanged in her head like demented church bells.

She closed her eyes and took several cleansing breaths. Good breeding could overcome anything, even a case of pre-wedding jitters. Composure restored, she resumed her toilette.

When she was ready, she paused with her finger on the nano-device, ready to pop in to the courthouse. Her cell phone buzzed. Considering it might be Jerik with last-minute instructions, she grabbed it out of her silver clutch.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ms. Rothchild? This is Nurse Steve in the ER from Chicago’s Lakeshore Hospital.”

“Okay,” Medora breathed. Her mind raced.

“You’re listed as an emergency contact for a Mr. and Mrs. Martin. Can you get here as soon as possible?”

“I’ll be, I’m, yes, I’ll be there right away,” she rushed, and let her phone drop into her bag. She may not have even hung up yet. She paused and on a whim, ran to her office to grab her teddy bear. She programmed the nano-device and was in the ER lobby in seconds. She ran in heels, a contestant for Miss Universe if ever there was one, up to the counter.

“Nurse Steve called me,” she gasped. “The Martins?”

She hadn’t had time to worry yet. Was it Caterina? Oh God.

It wasn’t completely unheard of for families to list her as an emergency contact. Usually it was to aid in clearing the red tape so that she could do her work with as much ease as possible. But she hadn’t expected to hear from the Martins again until maybe Christmas time. Humans still liked to send cards, even if the world’s religions had faded to miniscule populations.

The nurse raised a brow at her couture, and Medora looked down at herself. “Oh,” she said with a wince. “I’m getting married at 1.”

The nurse slid her eyes to the time and frowned. Medora peeked. It was 12:50.

“It’s okay. The Martins?”

The nurse nodded and gestured around the corner where a handsome young man in scrubs approached her. His dark brows were pinched; he frowned.

“Come with me, Ms. Rothchild.”

She followed him, her heels clicking on the shining linoleum. She had it on good authority the hospital had been upgrading. He led her to a small unoccupied triage room.

“Have a seat, and someone will be with you momentarily.”

“What’s going on? Where are the Martins?” She used her imperious tone, the one that got things done. If it didn’t inspire friendship, it did inspire action.

“Someone will be here any minute to talk to you.” He left to her disappointment.

Minutes later a woman in charcoal slacks, black flats and a slightly too tight pinstripe blazer came in the room and slid the curtain behind her with a ringing noise. She wore a lanyard and cat’s eye glasses, and her black wiry hair was secured in a tight bun.

“Ms. Rothchild,” she said and held out her hand. “I’m one of the hospital’s social workers. We have terrible news. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Medora sat, knees together and hands clasped on her clutch. Teddy bear tucked under her arm. Finishing school posture, head balanced perfectly over spine, shoulders poised, face relaxed. On the inside, she was shaking in terror.

“Mr. and Mrs. Martin and Caterina were in a terrible car accident. Caterina is in the ICU. As is her mother. Mr. Martin passed away at the scene.”

Medora’s eyes filled with tears, but she only nodded.

“Mrs. Martin is requesting to speak to you. But we wanted to let you know that she is in dire straits. We need you to remain calm,” she paused and looked her over. “Much like you are now, would be perfect.”

“Of course,” Medora said. “Take me to Alexandra.”