First Lady (31 page)

Lauren traced the tiny lines around her eyes and lips with tender fingertips, enjoying the quiet, strangely intimate moment.

The older woman turned her head and brushed her lips against Lauren’s hand, taking her time to place a lingering kiss on a very sensitive palm.

Lauren shivered.

“I always wondered what it would be like to be with a lady of the evening,” Devlyn commented saucily, attaching her lips to Lauren’s throat.

“Hush up, Devlyn,” Lauren laughed. “Or I’ll suddenly grow allergic to those flowers on your arm and make you undress yourself.”

“Perish the thought!” Devlyn glanced down at Lauren’s breasts and began plucking feathers.

Lauren gasped as feathers were removed one by one, tickling her in very sensitive places.

“Oooo… Maybe this dress isn’t so bad after all,” Devlyn said with more than a hint of lechery in her voice.

“Oh, yeah,” Lauren groaned out, sinking deeper into the bed and a sensual haze from which she wanted no reprieve.

“You know,” Devlyn whispered between incendiary kisses, “it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

It took a moment for Lauren to realize that Devlyn was actually talking to her. Devlyn did, she acknowledged fuzzily, have a tendency to ramble at the oddest moments. She sighed when persistent lips moved to her shoulder and began to nibble and her hips bucked forward of their own accord, seeking greater contact with the body astride her. “That may be true,” she gasped when Dev’s mouth trailed even lower. “But somehow I can’t imagine myself… Oh, god. As anything but really, really lucky right now.” She felt a short burst of warm air against her breast as Devlyn chuckled.

“Me, too.”

*
 
*
 
*

Lauren shifted from one foot to the other as she waited for her cue from Michael Oaks, who was impeccably dressed, lording it over the events like King Tut as he strutted back and forth in the rear of the tent. He’s gloating, Lauren thought. But rightly so. The inside of the tent looked amazing and, despite the joke that nearly gave her and Devlyn twin heart attacks, it appeared that things were about to go off without a hitch. She was flanked by the Marlowe children, who were dancing around and chatting with guests who were seated near them. They were so excited that Lauren was sure that one or more of them would need to be rushed to the bathroom at any moment. Suddenly, she had a horrible thought and took stock of her own bladder, pleased that she’d followed an old piece of parental advice and gone before she’d left the cabin.

Much to Lauren and Devlyn’s delight and relief, Mr. Yagasuki’s one-of-a-kind creations had gone in a direction that no one had expected. Lauren’s fingers drifted over the fine silver-colored embroidery that covered her fitted, pale green Celtic wedding gown that, everyone readily agreed, was to die for. Far from feeling like a costume, the simple but elegant dress had Lauren unconsciously correcting her posture and holding her chin a little bit higher.

Her shoulders were bare and her hair was swept up into a simple knot, showing off her slender neck and the plain silver chain that adorned it.
 
The designer had allowed her to escape without a veil or even headpiece, instead insisting that a few simple flowers woven into her wavy hair would be perfect.

He had been right. Devlyn had stopped breathing altogether when she’d first seen Lauren completely dressed.

The tent was well lit with dozens of tall, ribbon-wrapped, honey-scented candles, their sweet scent mingling with hundreds of delicate white roses. It was also darker inside the tent than Lauren had expected, a testament to the storm that still shook the canvas sides of the tent with every great gust of wind.

She could see Devlyn across the tent, flanked by two very proud parents, her pale eyes flicking from person to person as she awaited her cue to begin down the aisle. Somehow, at that exact moment, Devlyn’s head slowly turned, and the women’s eyes met and held for a long moment.

The President’s gown wasn’t in the least bit “poofy.” It was similar in style to Lauren’s, but was the color of warm desert sand. It had a fitted bodice, crepe skirt, and draping chiffon sleeves that hung gently over her slim wrists. Her train was longer than the younger woman’s and the fine, amazingly detailed embroidery that covered the bodice was stitched in pale gold thread.

Lauren admired her lover. She was more than a little star struck with Devlyn, who appeared nothing short of regal, and she couldn’t help but laugh at herself for it. She actually lifted her hand to her mouth to make sure that it was closed and she wasn’t drooling. How, she wondered gratefully, had she ever gotten so lucky as to end up here… on the verge of getting everything she’d ever dreamed of… even though she hadn’t known it?
 
Amazing.

Neither woman could keep from grinning wildly. Both their hearts were pounding, but more from anticipation than fear.

This was it.

Above the steady patter of rain on canvas came the gentle strains of a string quartet situated near the front of the tent, and suddenly she was walking down the aisle without feeling her feet touch the ground. Then she was standing next to Devlyn, who grasped her hand with a sure, firm grip. She let out a slightly shaky breath, feeling much better in the company of her tall friend.

Dev smiled appreciatively at Lauren and whispered, “Fancy meeting you here.”

Lauren squeezed Dev’s hand, her lips curling upward. “Don’t tell me you were expecting someone else?” she whispered back, as Devlyn’s parents took their seats in the front row and the children found their places next to David, Beth and the minister.

There were a few seconds of silence as the minister, a friendly looking young man who Devlyn suspected was barely old enough to drive, looked over his notes. Or maybe I’m just getting really, really old, she mused privately, making a mental note to ask her mother what Boy Scout pack the older woman had borrowed this boy from.

“Dearly beloved—”

“Wait!”

The band stopped playing.

A hundred pairs of eyes swung to the far right, rear side of the tent and landed on a short, chubby woman with a head of short, white hair.

Everyone on Devlyn’s side of the family closed their eyes and moaned silently, and Michael Oaks collapsed into a chair, looking as though he might burst into tears.

“Devlyn?” Lauren questioned from the side of her mouth, her voice barely audible.

“Lord, help us. It’s Aunt Myrtle,” she explained, tempted to sick an agent on the old woman.

Myrtle stood up, clutching her enormous handbag. After the Secret Service forced her to allow them to search it, she refused to put it down for fear it would be stolen. “What’s going on here?” the old woman asked, clearly confused.

“Hi, Aunt Myrtle, ” Aaron piped up cheerfully. “This is the wedding.”

“Shhh!!” Christopher and Ashley scolded simultaneously, their voices managing to carry all the way to the back of the tent. “No talking or we won’t get cake later!”

Aaron’s eyes widened and he clamped his mouth shut. Aunt Myrtle would have to figure things out for herself. Nobody was getting between him and a four-foot cake. Nobody.

“Why are these women dressed as if Robin Hood is going to burst into this tent and save them?” Myrtle looked down at the guest in the seat next to her, who happened to be Howard Strayer.

“Don’t ask me,” he said a little defensively. “Like I understand. I’m a plumber.”

Janet stood up and quickly scrambled towards Myrtle. “Carry on, carry on,” she said, waving at the minister. “Don’t mind us.”

“How can you carry on without a groom?” Myrtle asked reasonably.

“You aren’t the only one who’s wondering that,” Howard muttered under his breath.

“Myrtle,” Janet warned, thinking that Frank really should have disclosed a list of all his insane relatives before she’d agreed to marry him.

“What the hell kind of messed-up wedding is this?” Myrtle continued, not worried one bit that she had interrupted the entire ceremony. “Why is that other woman standing so close to Devlyn? Did the groom stand poor Devlyn up?” She scanned the audience for the dastardly coward, ready to hit him with her purse.

“Aunt Myrtle,” Devlyn suddenly said, trying to muster more patience than she knew she had. Myrtle never could figure out who Samantha was and why she kept appearing at Marlowe family functions. Then when she found out she had the name “Marlowe” she surmised that Janet and Frank had secretly adopted her, and no one could convince her otherwise. “There is no man, Myrtle. Remember how we’ve talked about this before?” She turned to Lauren and mouthed “Sorry.”

Lauren only smiled and shrugged. There was no need to explain crazy relatives to a Southerner. They were to be expected.

Myrtle made a sour face and addressed Devlyn as though she were an errant child. “I always told you that men couldn’t stand tall, mouthy women.” She waggled a gnarled finger at her great niece. “Now look what’s happened! You’ve been stood up at the altar.”

Lauren and Beth snorted loudly, unable to contain themselves any longer.

Dev tilted her head skyward and whimpered. Then she addressed God. “This is because I was secretly considering raising taxes, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you tell me to be quiet, Janet Marlowe,” Myrtle complained, her voice drowning out Devlyn’s conversation with the Divine. “Is this how you treat your guests? Why, not half an hour ago I was molested by that handsome young man in the black suit.” She motioned at a Secret Service agent. “He made me open my purse!”

Janet fought hard not to roll her eyes. “I know, Myrtle. I know,” she soothed.

“Do you suppose he’s single?” Myrtle asked, sincerely. “Devlyn’s gonna be an old maid soon, if you’re not careful. People will talk.”

Most of the guests were laughing now, and the minister was looking so flustered at the unexpected interruption that Devlyn wasn’t sure he would be able to speak when the time came. She leaned down and pressed her lips to Lauren’s ear. “You didn’t think this would be a normal wedding, did you?”

A laugh bubbled up from Lauren.

“Would you still love me if we skipped over the singing, poetry, and praying and got right to the vows and the kissing?” There was a hint of pleading in Devlyn’s voice.

The shorter woman lifted a sassy eyebrow, but smiled warmly, her eyes conveying her true feelings. “What do you think, Devlyn?” she whispered back.

Devlyn drew in a deep breath and turned slightly to address their guests. “Well, folks, it looks like despite the fact that I’ve been stood up at the altar…” she paused as everyone laughed, “my heart will mend.”

Any remaining tension in the room fell away when everyone realized that neither Devlyn nor Lauren were going to have Myrtle shot for the interruption. Then their wedding guests leaned forward a little in their seats as they sensed that the wedding was about to begin. All except Myrtle, that is, who had been drafted by the two agents and taken outside under two large umbrellas to hunt for Devlyn’s errant groom.

Devlyn wound her arm around Lauren’s and pulled her closer. “Okay, Reverend.” A genuine grin split her face. Despite everything, this was the shaping up to be the best day of her life. “Make me the happiest woman on earth. And this time,” her voice dropped a register, causing the young man to blink a few times and the audience to lean even further forward in their seats, “don’t stop until she’s mine in every sense of the word.” She turned and looked deeply into Lauren’s eyes, her own eyes filling with sparkling, unshed tears. “Forever.”

There was a soft chorus of “awwwwws” from their friends and family that caused Devlyn’s cheeks to flush pink, but there was no doubting the solid truth of her words.

The younger woman could only hoarsely repeat the sentiment, barely getting the words out around the lump that had grown in her throat.

Many years later, after a lifetime of conversation, Lauren Strayer would still recall Devlyn’s words from this day as the single most romantic thing she’d ever heard. And they were all hers.

It wasn’t a perfect wedding, but it was theirs… and they were keeping it.

D
EVLYN YAWNED AS SHE wrapped a protective arm around Lauren’s waist. She was grateful for the relative seclusion of the cabin as she and Lauren wove their way between the deep puddles on the tree-lined path. The reception had gone on much longer than either she or Lauren would have liked. But its purpose was to honor their newly blessed marriage. It was so rare and wonderful to have all their friends and family in one place that they endured the endless toasts and raucous, familial chatter with a dose of good humor and several longing looks towards each other and the door.

Those same heavy-lidded looks, in fact, along with sweet, stolen kisses and hour after hour of casually intimate touches had left the women aching for some peaceful time alone together. David had assured her that, for what little remained of their wedding night, come hell or high water she and Lauren would be left alone. Devlyn knew that promise only went so far, but for the time being the world seemed to be letting them have their special day. She smiled as she put her hand on the front door’s knob and felt Lauren’s hand come to rest directly on her bottom. “Madam, I might remind you that we still have eyes upon us.”