Three and a Half Weeks (52 page)

“It’s traditional, Ella,” she insists for the third time.

“Don’t you think it’s a little archaic?”

“No, I don’t. I think it’s a charming tradition.”

“You do know where the tradition comes from, right, Mom? Veils were used in arranged marriages so the husband didn’t see what his new wife looked like until after they took the vows and it was too late to back out.”

“Oh, Ella, that’s just not true. It’s a symbol of purity.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not pure, for one thing. Plus, I’m right about its origin. You can check it out yourself on the Internet.”

She sniffs. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read on the Internet, Ella. Okay,” she says, apparently dismissing my comments, “so I’ve loaned you an ankle bracelet, so that’s old and borrowed, you have a blue ribbon on your garter belt, your jewelry is all new, courtesy of a generous husband-to-be—all bases are covered. You look absolutely beautiful, Ella.”

Uh-oh. The tears are starting already. “Mom, don’t start or we’ll ruin our make-up and I sat in that chair for almost an hour to have it applied. Stop.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Pull on the veil—they’re about to call us.”

We were supposed to get ready in my mom’s hotel suite but things were changed at the last minute. Ian’s parents wanted me to come down their beautiful sweeping staircase a la Scarlet O’Hara. Since that wouldn’t be possible if I arrived by limousine, Faith requested we get ready at the estate.

Four hundred-plus guests could not be squeezed into the entrance foyer so closed-circuit cameras are positioned along my route, with screens mounted outside so the guests can watch my hopefully graceful descent down the staircase. At the foot of it, my father will meet me and escort me outside. Ian won’t be able to see the screens from his vantage point so he won’t see me in my gown until I reach the white-sheeted aisle.

A low but insistent knock on the door snaps me out of my reverie at the mirror. My mom answers it and I can spot Mason just beyond. He smiles and winks at me. Mom turns around. “It’s time to go, Ella.”

Time to go? Already? My heart picks up a warp-speed rhythm and I feel my face perspiring. No! I cannot ruin my make-up. I helplessly look over at Mariah but she can’t seem to rip her eyes away from Mason to lend some assistance. I’m only the bride, after all.

I glance back at my mother. “Shouldn’t I take some Valium or Xanax or something, Mom? I’m terrified.”

“No, honey, because then you’ll be in a drugged stupor.” She looks around. “I know! Hang on for one minute.” She goes to the door and calls for Mason. He returns, they confer, and he nods.

“Just hang tight, sweetie,” my mom says as Mason disappears again.

About three minutes later, Mason returns with a tray of flutes filled with champagne. “Thank you, kind sir,” my mother tells him and accepts the tray. There are four glasses, one for each of us. I should just take Mariah’s and have two since she isn’t being a very attentive maid of honor.

“Give me that glass,” I say, and down it in one swallow.

“Ella, for God’s sake!”

“Mom, what part of
I’m terrified
didn’t you understand? There are four hundred freaking people down there. What if I trip on my gown and dive down the stairs head first? Then what?”

“Then we make a trip to the ER. You’re more likely to do that with the champagne on board,” she says wryly.”

“Then why on earth did you give it to me?” I snap.

“Oh, God. If you’re like this today, I don’t want to be around you when you’re giving birth, Ella. For crying out loud, you’re going to be married, not walking to the electric chair.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” I say, feeling seconds away from breaking down. I am seriously stressed.

Mariah leans in to whisper in my ear. “Just chill the fuck out, girlfriend. You’re getting crazed and frightening your mother. Take a deep breath and think about who is at the end of this walk, waiting for you.” She pulls back to look at me. “Okay?”

I nod. Yes, she’s right. I’m freaking out and have to stop.

We all go into the hallway. I’m relieved to feel comfortable walking in the shoes and the gown.
I can do this
, I think. Too soon we reach the staircase and form a line, starting with my mother, followed by Zoe, and then Mariah. Then… it’s my turn. I should have had a bigger bridal party—easier to get lost in the crowd.

The music begins as my mother descends the long, winding staircase. The volume is low as we all make our way down, ten seconds apart. It was timed so that one would reach the bottom when the next begins her way down. They wanted me on the stairs alone so I have to count to fifteen.

Now I’m at the top and I watch as Mariah nears the bottom of the staircase. As soon as she’s off, my father appears, looking up at me. I take my first step, focusing on nothing but my dad’s face. It helps. In my head, I count the steps. I know there are twenty-four steps. I reach my dad and he takes my hand, kisses it, and passes it through the crook of his arm.

As soon as we reach the French doors, the music picks up volume to trumpet my arrival. Oh, God, this is horrifying. As soon as I spot Ian, I will glue my eyes to him so I can’t see all the people. Just him. Just Ian.
I can do this
.

And then my ivory satin shoes are on the white aisle and I can see him. Ian. He’s the most gloriously gorgeous groom on the face of the planet. Standing tall in his fashionable tuxedo, his brother Nathaniel beside him, Ian’s eyes are trained on mine and, yes, I feel empowered. Now I have a purpose to my walk: I need to get to my husband-to-be in one piece. I pace my steps to the music and head for those mesmerizing eyes. Watching me closely, he smiles and that gives me all the confidence I need.

She glides into his line of sight, a vision in ivory satin and he almost gasps.
God, Ella, you look stunningly beautiful
. Outwardly, he’s a study in coolness—years of practice honed in front of boards of directors, and media cameras and microphones thrust in his face allow him to appear impervious. Inwardly, his heart is blasting a jungle tempo as savage as if Dave Grohl is in there pounding on his drumset.

Ian and his two brothers emerged from the house a few minutes ago to find the guests already seated and waiting in the sea of white grosgrain-beribboned chairs. The lawn looked like a green carpet leading to a magical forest befitting of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream,
with pinpoints of white light twinkling in all of the surrounding trees, though the sun had not yet set, and wildflowers sprouting from giant clay pots all around the circumference of the yard, the woods surrounding the property.

Leave it to his mother to create a fairyland out of dirt and grass in just a week or so. The huge awning-covered terrace off the main house was set up as an elegant, candlelit gathering area for cocktails and c
anapés, while the formal dinner would be served in the big white tent, with tables arranged to encircle the huge dance floor. Right now they were on the long expanse of velvety lawn. The chairs were arranged in a semi-circle (a good idea swiped from Derek Girardi). The three men in black tie waited for Ella, Mariah, and Zoe under an arbor, the lattice of which was entwined with vines of white-flowering Morning Glory, the all-day blooming variety.

He watched as first Zoe came toward him, her face barely disguising her merriment, as if she were ready to burst into laughter at the slightest provocation. When she reached her brothers, she made a silly face at Ian, obviously trying to upset his comportment but, pro that he was, he remained statue-like. Frustrated in her attempt, she took her designated place opposite Quentin. Mariah was next down the aisle, looking properly somber, as if it could have been a funeral as easily as a wedding. The thought almost made Ian laugh. Mariah stood next to Zoe, opposite from Nathaniel, his best man. He looked at the two
aubergine
bridesmaid and maid of honor dresses and thought Ella chose very well. The cut of the dresses suited the women who wore them splendidly.

Ian barely heard the music as Ella came into view. She seemed to float down the aisle toward him, in the most beautiful wedding gown he’d ever seen. His nervousness disappeared with her appearance, and now he was just impatient for her to be officially declared his wife.

His
wife
.

And then she was there in front of him and he took her hand.

Toward the ceremony’s close, they each read a few lines of poetry to each other that help express their feelings. Ian recites his first,
a poem by Henry Dumas, entitled
Love Song
.

After a moment of silence, Ella, not as publicly inclined as Ian, begins her recitation in a soft, halting voice
. She recites
100 Love Sonnets XVII
, by Pablo Neruda.

After
the simple poetic lines, quiet descends for moments as they look into each other’s eyes. The moment feels profound to everyone there, as if a spiritual communion is taking place, sealing the vows they just spoke. After a few moments, the reverend takes their hands in his own, looking out at the crowd of onlookers, and says with a smile, “I now pronounce Ian and Ariel husband and wife. Ian, you may kiss your bride.”

Ella did opt to wear the small half-veil over her face so when the reverend pronounces them, Ian turns to her with a beaming smile and lifts the veil. She winks at him, knowing that only he could see it and they kiss lightly. The audience applauds with decorum
as the bride and groom turn toward their guests, radiant with love or maybe just relief that it’s finally over, to walk back up the aisle, this time as a married couple. They stop at the end of the aisle, where they are joined by both sets of parents, forming a line to greet each guest personally as they exit the outdoor chapel. This part will take a while, since over four hundred people are in attendance.

Ian and Ella never did have any particular song they considered their own so they chose to play the standards at the wedding, music that would suit a wide range of ages. Later in the night there would be jazz and some alternative for the younger guests. Selected arrangements were from varied singers such as Sarah Vaughn, Frank Sinatra, Billie Holiday, and Nelson Riddle’s last ones, those he created for Linda Ronstadt. For the couple’s first dance together, the small orchestra plays
I’ve Got a Crush on You
, followed by
Isn’t it Romantic,
and
Round Midnight
. The female singer Faith hired is exceptional, belting out one song after the other, each one sounding better.

Ella looks up at her gorgeous husband.
Her husband
. It sounds strange to her ears. “It’s a very good thing you could dance otherwise we’d have had to take lessons for the wedding.”

As he spins her around the dance floor effortlessly, he grins. “My mother insisted we all learn at an early age so as not to embarrass her on the rare occasion it would be called into requirement. Today is the first time it came in handy.”

“Didn’t you go to your senior prom in high school?”

“Yes, but there was very little slow dancing. How are you feeling, Mrs. Blackmon?”

Smiling, Ella begins singing the lyrics. “I’ve Got a Crush on You, Sweetie Pie,” and Ian swoops down to kiss her.

“Now you can’t escape me ever, Ariel. You’re officially mine.”

“Wasn’t I always?”

“I don’t know. Were you?”

She bats her eyelashes. “I’m afraid so.”

“Didn’t you think to tell me?”

“Of course not. A girl never gives up her secrets, silly.”

“So I chased you to Britain for nothing because you were always going to come back to me?”

“Well, you might have expedited the timetable if you’d shown your ugly mug.”

“Hmmm. Well, I could kick myself now. All those months kickboxing out my frustrations. I could have been having my evil way with you.”

She looks up and smiles. “Yes. Silly you. But look at the bright side: all that kickboxing did marvelous things for your legs. And you got a much-needed lesson in self-control. Didn’t you?”

“I suppose so…” he leans in to whisper in her ear, “but now I have an irresistible urge to spank you for making me suffer for so long.”

“I suppose then it’s lucky for me that I’m wearing this long and hard to remove wedding gown.”

“Oh, ye of little faith. Is our song over yet?”

She laughs. “You still have to dance with your mother and mine and I have to dance with our fathers. Remember?”

“Fine. Immediately afterward, we rendezvous at twenty hundred hours, upstairs in my old bedroom. Got it?”

Her cheeks flushed pink, Ella peers up at him, trying to decide if he’s kidding. “Twenty hundred hours, upstairs, your old bedroom. Got it.”

The rendezvous is not to be, however, since they have hundreds of guests to see to. After the dances, Mariah grabs Ella to scold her.

“Why did you push me at Mason so soon? I mean, there is a virtual
smörgåsbord
of men here, Ella. A cornucopia. Quentin and Nathaniel, for example, are rather stunning specimens of the male human. And that Daniel Butler
, ooh la la
.”

Ella rolls her eyes. “Keep those little purple panties on, Mariah. First off, I told you that Daniel is oh so happily married, newly married at that. And—”

“Pish-posh, he might change his mind. Can’t a marriage contract have a period of rescission like other legal contracts? Anyway, Ian’s brothers aren’t married, are they?”

“No, but I don’t know them very well. For all I know
, one or both might be gay. And what’s wrong with Mason, pray tell? He’s strong, handsome, buff…”

“True that. It’s just that I’m like a hungry girl at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Seems a shame to focus on just one dish, delicious though it may be, you know? That Quentin is smokin’, don’t you think?”

“He’s not bad looking,” Ella replies dryly.

“Ha, the queen of understatement. Hey, your dad is adorable by the way, Ella. And I promised him a dance so I’ll go make good on that. Ta-ta.” She sashays away in her short little dress, men’s eyes following her closely as she makes her way.

Gasping, Ella sees why, when Mariah gets ahead a few paces: the little slut is wearing a thong under that slinky dress so one can see every jiggle as she walks.

She feels hands from behind her, wrapping around her waist. “Do I have to guess who?”

“There’d better be only one guess or I’ll have to fight in my tuxedo. How are you doing, love? Feet hurt from dancing?”

“Not yet. These glass slippers are way comfortable. Hey,” she spins around, “I noticed that Jeff Benson, your dad’s partner, is here solo tonight. How did that happen?”

Ian’s eyes are twinkling. “I hear tell his lovely wife is feeling poorly today and couldn’t make the festivities. She sends her apologies.”

“Oh? And what, pray tell, is ailing her?”

Grinning wickedly, Ian shrugs. “Perchance, she had a visit from a rather large gentleman suggesting she send her regrets?”

“Aha. Of what large gentleman do we speak?”

“I believe his name is Justin Mason, if memory serves me correctly.”

“Oh, I’m going to have to give him a big, sloppy kiss for that kindness.”

“Better not make it too big or sloppy or I’ll have to take him on… and that I wouldn’t bet odds on in my favor.”

“Okay. A peck on the cheek it is.”

“Do you think we can get away soon? The plane is fueled, ready and waiting to whisk us to the Emerald Isle, and Scott’s spinning his wheels in the cockpit.”

“I think in another half hour we’ll be able to slip out.”

After saying goodbye to their parents and the wedding party, Ella throws her bouquet—it’s caught by one of Ian’s young cousins—and they wave goodbye to their guests and take off for the airport. They’re spending their honeymoon in Ireland with a foray into Scotland, since neither have ever been there, so they have a long flight ahead of them. Fortunately, there is a small, private bedroom on the Gulfstream where they could celebrate their nuptials in the way they know best.