TWENTY-EIGHT
HER DINNER TASTED like ash. She tried not to think about it.
Her bed was cold when she retired. She tried not to think about it.
She tossed and turned all night. She tried not to think about it.
Her alarm went off before the sun was up. She tried not to think about it.
Theresa was on double duty. Not only was she Rain’s maid of honor, she was the second photographer, and that meant she had all the usual responsibilities of being Rain’s right-hand woman plus she was cataloging Rain’s most special day. On one hand, it was a lot of responsibility. On the other, she was grateful for the chaos because it kept some unwelcome thoughts about Alex from creeping in.
Not all of them, of course. He was always there in his own way. If he wasn’t at the forefront of her brain, then he was in the background, demanding some portion of her mental energies. Questions like, “What was he doing?” and “What had he decided?” and “Did he sleep at all last night because I sure didn’t?” plagued her, but she didn’t text him, nor would she. He had to come to her after he’d figured himself out. She’d laid out that rule and she intended to stick to it.
It would have been easier to ignore him and the whole situation if she didn’t have to deal with him during the day, but that wasn’t the case. She dreaded knowing she’d be walking down the aisle with him and then dancing with him during the reception. She probably could have asked Rain for a pass on that, and Rain likely would have conceded it, but she didn’t want to be a squeaky wheel. The day wasn’t about Theresa. It was about Rain.
Rain knew it, too.
“I swear to God, if you don’t get those donuts out of here I’m going to explode out of my dress,” she said, shoving the box at Dora and motioning at the door. “Just make them leave.”
“You ate, though, yeah?” Dora said. “Can’t be passing out—”
“Of course I ate! I ate six of them, for Christ’s sake! I’ll probably be farting my way up the aisle.”
Oh good. Bridezilla.
Dora snickered and tossed the donuts into the trash. When Rain eyeballed them a little too hyena-like, she poured her coffee all over them to ensure they were doubly off-limits. “Whatever you say, buttercup. You’re going to be beautiful.”
“Yes. Beautiful and fat and full of farts.” Rain spun, watching Theresa as she nibbled on a beignet by the window. “And you. You haven’t said two words. Why so glum? We’re happy today. Aren’t we happy? I know I’m happy.”
Yes, so happy you’re screaming at Dora about donuts.
Theresa managed a smile. “Just tired, I think.”
Rain frowned. “Uh-huh . . . what’d Alex do now?”
Am I so transparent?
“Nothing worth worrying about today of all days,” Theresa said. She smacked her hands together to rid herself of powdered sugar and reached for her purse. “We should get going to the salon, I think. Do you have your coat?”
“It’s New Orleans, Theresa. New Orleans at five thirty in the morning is still twenty degrees hotter than anywhere else in the country except maybe Miami. I remember it being crazy hot when I went down there for spring break.” But Rain grabbed a lightweight coat anyway, slinging it over her arm and heading for the door. Lorelai awaited them in the garage, awake far too early because it was the boss’s wedding day, but she put on a happy face all the same. Rain climbed into the car, followed by Dora. Theresa captured as many candid shots as she could.
Posed pictures were nice, but her favorites were the ones where people were at ease, natural.
Rain wasn’t quite at ease, but she did have powdered sugar at the corner of her mouth, and that was cute.
Theresa got into the limousine last, surprised to see Serena DuMont sitting next to Rain. It wasn’t so unusual—Serena was the mother of the groom, after all—but in some odd, roundabout way, it made the Alex situation a bit more uncomfortable for Theresa, like having the woman who birthed him in her presence somehow required her to think about him more.
At least Rain won’t talk about him with her around.
Except.
“Serena,” Rain said, as sweet as candy when she addressed her future mother-in-law. “We need to talk.”
The lovely woman looked up from her cell phone to cast an angelic smile Rain’s way. “Whatever it is Sol did, I’m sure he’ll apologize, sweetheart.”
Wow, Sol. When that’s your mother’s go-to line, you might be an asshole.
Theresa frowned.
“It’s not Sol. It’s Alex.”
Theresa frowned twice as hard.
“Rain,” she said gently, but Rain was having none of it, grabbing Theresa’s hand and squeezing it with all her might.
“Just let me— Serena. Mama,” Rain corrected. “Alex really likes a girl. Like, really likes a girl, a lot more than that girl probably realizes, but he messes up a lot. He says the wrong thing. He pulls back when it gets too hot. If I was going to talk to my future brother-in-law about that, what should I say?”
Serena looked surprised, but that surprise gave way to delight. Her eyes flicked over to Theresa for a heartbeat too long before she turned her attention back to Rain. “Hmm. Well, my Alex isn’t so good with being vulnerable. When he gives his heart, he gives it all, so he takes hurt a lot harder than most. He builds walls because he’s soft and squishy on the inside. When his father died, he shattered. All my boys did to a point, but Alex shielded us from his pain. He just . . . he didn’t spiral like Sol, he went rigid. He got regimented. It was all airs, of course, because he was a mess on the inside, but that illusion of control helped him get by. I wish he hadn’t dropped out of medical school, but he insisted he wanted to take over for his father at The Diamond. It was never his dream, but it was familiar, and familiar was what was comfortable. It was part of a routine, which helped him be less scared of the unknown.”
Serena paused thoughtfully. “I suppose if you were going to talk to him, I’d tell him that it’s okay to not always have an answer. That surprises can sometimes be good. That taking a chance is often worthwhile. I’d also tell him that some risks won’t pan out, but the answer isn’t to stop taking risks. It’s to have a good support system in place for when things go awry. How’s that, Miss Rain? Does that help?”
Rain locked her fingers with Theresa’s and wouldn’t let go, not as she lifted their joined hands to her mouth to kiss the back of Theresa’s knuckles, and not after, either. “I think it’s perfect, Mama. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
Theresa said nothing, looking out the window as the limousine pulled from The Seaside’s garage, past the already swarming paparazzi and away from the pretty hotel’s front facade. She watched the storefronts and gas lanterns on the street. She watched the early risers sweeping their balconies and going for runs.
Perfect, Rain said.
Well, maybe it’s perfect, but it’s useless if Alex can’t figure himself out.
At quarter to twelve, the female contingent of the bridal party was sequestered in the glass dining room on the uppermost floor of the Capulet. Rain looked amazing; her mountain of gold curls was piled high, her tiara glinting in the midday sun. They’d used diamond pins in her hair to add extra glamour, because four thousand carats apparently wasn’t enough. Her wedding dress fit like a dream, since Lucia literally sewed her into it after their salon appointment. The result was a strapless gown with a jewel-encrusted, heart-shaped bodice, a cinched waist thanks to lots and lots of boning for support, and a belled, floor-length skirt made of taffeta that shone like a pearl.
In her ears sparkled diamond stud earrings.
On her neck sparkled Sol’s Kitten collar.
Dora and Theresa had their coifs and makeup from the day before, only this time, Dora had her own minicrown made of pearls that separated the front of her hair, where the big bangs soared to the sky, from the back, where she wore a high ponytail with perfect glossy ringlets. Theresa’s red hair hung long, to her elbows, each of her fat curls adorned with a tiny white rosette that caught her eye whenever she moved her head.
Their bridesmaid gowns matched, and oh, they were beautiful. Theresa would have picked it herself had she been shopping for evening wear. They were simple in design: solid black, with thin spaghetti straps, a V neckline that was just a little daring, a simple silk belt without a buckle, and a gauzy layered skirt that hung to the floor with a risqué slit up the thigh. It was elegant and flirty at the same time, and looked lovely with both Theresa’s more plush figure and Dora’s reedy one.
“I have something for the two of you,” Rain announced. She motioned at Patrice, whom Maddy had loaned to the bridal party as a rent-a-personal-assistant for the day. Patrice herself was all dolled up for the festivities in a tropical print dress with heels so high Theresa would have fallen on her face had she tried to wear them. The heavyset woman pawed through her duffel bag to produce two long velvet jewelry boxes, handing them to Rain, who ran her delicate gloved hands over the soft exteriors.
“I couldn’t have done any of this without you,” she said, blinking fast. She looked like she’d cry, but she’d also looked like she’d cry fourteen times that day already, so Theresa did what Rain told her to do and reached out to pinch her. Rain squawked and swatted at her, then frowned at her, but at least it stopped the waterworks, and she roughly shoved the boxes Theresa’s and Dora’s way.
“Sorry,” Theresa said.
Rain grunted and impatiently motioned at her to open the gift. Theresa did, and the moment she looked inside, her breath caught. Nestled on a swath of black silk was a necklace and earring set loaded with diamonds and rubies. It was obscene, with three big bloodred oval stones and oodles of silver-toned filigree that was more than likely platinum.
Dora must have received something similar, as she let loose with an unladylike, “Holy fuckballs.”
“Rubies for Theresa, sapphires for Dora. You’ve both been wonderful this week,” Rain said, smiling fondly. “I wanted to give you something memorable. Something as beautiful as both of you are, inside and out.”
It’s too much. It’s so beautiful and it’s just too much.
“Rain, I can’t—”
“I swear to God, Theresa, if you don’t shut up and take the gift, I’ll throw you off this boat,” Rain interrupted. “Or, no I won’t. I’ll have Patrice do it, because I can’t mess up my hair.”
Theresa laughed, because how could she not, and she helped Dora don her finery before Dora returned the favor. Both sets matched save for the color of the jewels, and both sets were ridiculously beautiful—truly the finest thing Theresa had ever owned, and possibly ever would own.
“Thank you, Rain. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now shut up and accept your present.”
Their banter ended when Richard Barrington emerged from the lower deck in a perfect black tux, a white rose tucked into the lapel of his suit coat. A gray vest with white and pale blue paisley. A coordinating tie. He looked ridiculously handsome as he let himself into the dining room, a broad smile stretching his mouth upon seeing his sister.
“I’m here to collect a bride,” he said. “It seems it’s time to get married. You’re glorious, droplet. Truly beautiful.”
“Oh. Oh.” Rain practically hopped up and down with excitement. She darted over to Theresa and grabbed her hands, her eyes big in her face, her flush peachy and making her glow. “I’m gonna go get married now, okay?”
“Okay,” Theresa said, leaning in to kiss her friend on the cheek. Rain squealed and jerked away, and Theresa rolled her eyes. “Liquid lipstick. No smudging.”
“Well, yeah, I know, but . . . it’s the principle. Not the face, you know?”
Yes, Rain, I know.
Richard held open the door of the dining room to let them all pass, and when it was time to go downstairs, he offered his arm to his sister so he could escort her to the ballroom. Theresa followed, passing the primary photographer, who snapped their pictures as they descended into the belly of the ship. Passing a few security guards as they rounded the corner to the next staircase. Passing a videographer. Passing . . . a tiger playground jungle thingie?
She’d heard Maddy had a pet tiger. Apparently that pet tiger got her own playroom.
Finally, on the bottom floor, passing an easel with an enlarged print of the wedding announcement. The double doors to the ballroom were closed, the trim decorated with white roses, silver ribbons, and ivy. Theresa smiled at it, smiled at all of it, knowing that behind those doors were loads of adoring family and friends there to witness Rain and Sol’s day. And the best part? Nowhere, not in any part of that ship, were the stupid goddamned paparazzi.
They’re probably crawling like ants over the original reception site wondering just what happened.
Good.
Patrice ducked inside the closed double doors to take her seat. A string quartet played, voices lowered to hushed tones. It smelled of fresh flowers and candle wax. Dora took her position at the head of the line and Theresa fell in behind her. Richard stayed back with Rain, ready to give her away, whispering encouragement in his sister’s ear the entire time.
Which was probably good. She looked like she was shaking all over.
A minute later, a silver head poked outside of the ballroom. John Spencer smiled at them, and then smiled wider when he caught his first glimpse of Rain in her princess gown.
“Looking gorgeous, kiddo,” he said.
“I am not a kiddo,” she responded primly, which only served to make him laugh.
“Yes, you are, and you always will be as far as I’m concerned. And on that note, it’s time.”
John disappeared and let the door close behind him.
Which was probably good. Because with a closed door, there was a far lesser risk of any of the guests hearing Dora’s not-so-whispered, “All right, girls. Let’s get this shitshow started.”