The Wedding Sisters (37 page)

“Hey,” she said, opening the door.

“Wow. You look … You look incredible, Ame. But I thought I wasn't supposed to see you in the dress. My dad wouldn't even show me his sketches. Holy shit, that thing is amazing. That skirt is big. Was that your idea, or his?”

“I said I wanted a ball gown,” she said, swallowing hard. Now that he was there, in his wedding tux, smiling at her, the impulse to talk to him seemed like a bad one.

He kissed her on the cheek. “You okay? I have to get back down there—that
People
photographer has us jumping through hoops. Not literally, obviously.”

“Yeah. Okay. The thing is—I need to talk to you.”

Andy glanced at the door, then back at her. “Right now?”

“Yeah. I'd say let's sit, but … I can't sit.” She hesitated, but knew there was no time for stalling. “I have to tell you something. It's been weighing on me, and I can't walk down that aisle without—”

“You hooked up with that model,” he said bluntly.

She gasped. Even though she'd planned on confessing, even though those very words had been on the tip of her tongue, hearing them come out of his mouth was like a slap in the face.

“You knew?”

“I heard rumors. Fashion is a small world,” he said. “I tried to, um, ignore them.”

“Why? Why didn't you confront me?”

“I guess I didn't want to hear it from you. I wanted to keep it as rumors.”

Amy sat on the bed, not caring that the crinoline crunched underneath her. “Oh, Andy. I'm so sorry. It was nothing—really. I don't even know why I did it.” She couldn't stand to look at him. She felt tears threatening to undo her eye makeup.

“You're going to mess up your dress,” he said.

“That's it? That's all you're going to say?”

“What do you want me to say, Amy?”

A quick knock at the door, and Meg called from the hallway. “Amy—the photographer is ready for us.”

“Go,” Andy said. “Everyone's waiting.”

*   *   *

Scott Sobel, crashing her daughters' wedding. With a camera crew.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she yelled, marching up to Scott.

“We're just getting some B roll and then we'll be out of your way,” he said, barely looking at her, snapping his fingers at one of his crew and pointing to the chuppah.

“This is a private event—you can't be here.”

“This property is open to the public until one
P.M.
today.”

Another guy advanced to the front row of seating, getting a shot of the view from where the officiant would be standing.

“I've got this, Meryl,” said Hugh.

In her outrage, she hadn't seen him cutting through a row of chairs, knocking a few over in his haste. He took her arm, moving her aside before ripping the expensive-looking Sony camcorder from Scott's hands and smashing it to the ground.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Scott yelled. “That's destruction of property.”

“This is my daughters' wedding day. Get the hell out of here.”

Scott turned to another cameraman. “Keep shooting.”

Meryl thought she knew her husband. She thought, after thirty years, there were no surprises left. But Hugh, seeing the second cameraman panning his camcorder up and down the aisle, took a few steps toward Scott and punched him in the face.

“Hugh!” Meryl instinctively grabbed him, holding him back. It was what women did when their men got primal in movies. She just never thought she'd ever play that role with her cerebral, amiable husband.

Scott, on the ground, his hand covering the spot where Hugh landed the blow, looked up in disbelief. Then anger. Then fury. “I'll see you in court,” Scott said.

“Back at you,” said Hugh. “I hear libel can be
very
costly.”

By then, Cliff and Leigh had rushed down the lawn, followed by Reed's security.

Meryl took Hugh's hand. “Let's go,” she said.

Hugh didn't move, didn't seem to hear her. He was breathing hard. She moved in front of him, her back to Scott, and looked into his eyes.

“Hugh…” She squeezed his hand. And then everything caught up with her, the good and the bad, the past and the present and the future all colliding in a crushing wave of emotion. She started to cry.

Hugh put his arm around her, steering her away from the commotion as the security team hustled Scott and his crew off the property.

Together, they walked up the aisle, hand in hand, back to the house.

*   *   *

“Three generations of beauty. How fabulous!” Paz said.

It was warmer than Meg had anticipated, and after forty minutes of Paz photographing her with her sisters, and then the three of them with their mother, and then with their mother and grandmother, she was dripping with sweat and ready for a complete makeup and hair redo.

“Stop your sweet-talking and just take the photo. I'm roasting out here,” said Rose.

Meg noted that her gran's face was pale and shiny with perspiration.

“We need to take a break,” Meg said.

“Okay, ladies—that's a wrap.”

Finally dismissed, Meg walked Gran back to the house. Then, in the cool privacy of the second-floor bedroom, she took off her dress and changed into a robe so she could cool down.

“I don't see why we couldn't do the photography after the ceremony,” she grumbled to the makeup artist.

“You're going to do plenty after—with your new husband,” said the makeup artist.

New husband. Meg smiled.

Someone knocked on the door.

“It's me,” said Amy. “Open up.”

The makeup artist pulled open the door. “I'm almost ready for you.”

“Okay, great. Meg, listen—Reed's being a pain in the ass.”

“What?” she said, trying not to move her face.

“He won't pose in any photographs with Dad.”

Meg turned to her, and the makeup artist groaned in protest. “Why the hell not?”

“I don't know! Stowe's talking to him now.”

Meg jumped out of her seat and slipped her feet into the nearest pair of mules she had lying round.

“Where are you going?”

“To see what the hell is going on!”

“It's bad luck to see your husband before the wedding.”

“That's only if you're in your dress. And the only bad luck is if his father doesn't get in the damn photos.”

Meg took the stairs two at a time, rushing out the south terrace to the lawn, where Paz had the cameras and lights set up. Sure enough, her father, Jeffrey, and the count were sitting on a bench. Reed was nowhere in sight.

She found Stowe on the sidelines, with Hunter hovering nearby, of course.

“Stowe! A word, please.” She beckoned him over, and he followed her back onto the patio. Hunter followed until Meg yelled, “Stay out of this, Hunter! I told you not to come, and I
will
call security and have you escorted off the property.”

“Jesus, Meg. Calm down. What's wrong?”

“Why won't your father pose for the
People
photos? You know we have a deal with them.”

Stowe sighed, running his hand through his hair. He looked so handsome in his Jeffrey Bruce tux, a single mini calla lily pinned to his lapel to match her bouquet. As usual, things with him were almost perfect. But today, “almost” wasn't good enough.

“Just let it go, Meg.”

“Just let what go?”

“Look—my dad can't be in any photographs that can be used against him—twisted around by tabloids. That article that posted last night about your father and the high school student—”

“Are you kidding me? You know that's all bullshit.”

“Of course I know! But it's exactly the type of salacious thing my dad has to stay very far away from. It's a sensitive juncture in this campaign, Meg. He doesn't even have the Republican nomination yet. After Texas, things will be a little more secure—”

“No! It's not right. This is our wedding day. This has nothing to do with politics. This is a family day—a family event.”

“Babe, I know. And for me—for us—it's about becoming real family. And part of being in my family is rolling with some of the inconvenient aspects of living in the public eye. I told you before—it's just a game. It has nothing to do with what's real—with us. I love you. My dad loves you. And he likes your dad—he does. This is just a minor inconvenience in the big picture of things. In the big picture of what I hope is a very long, amazing life together. I can't wait to walk down that aisle, say our vows in front of all these people, and wake up tomorrow as husband and wife. Please, please focus on what's important. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

He kissed her, and it felt like a finger pressed to her lips to silence her.

When she turned back to the house, she had tears in her eyes. But like her dress, they were not something she would reveal to him before the ceremony.

 

twenty-seven

With nearly all the guests seated in front of the hastily constructed chuppah (adorned with white roses transferred from the arbor), Meryl urged her mother to sit down. Rose looked pale and sweaty.

“Are you all right?” she asked her.

“Of course I'm all right. This is what happens when you have a wedding in the dead of summer.”

“It's spring, Mother.” She looked around for Leigh, but couldn't find her. “Just wait here. I'll go get you a bottle of water.”

Meryl hurried up the garden path, trying not to break out in a sweat herself. Where was Leigh when she needed her?

Meryl couldn't help but admit to herself that Leigh had been a lifesaver. She had made the most of a near-perfect setting, a garden abundant with roses, ivy, and purple hydrangeas. Leigh had demarcated the beginning of the aisle with white garden boxes planted with tall pomanders of sterling roses surrounded by lavender and violet hydrangeas at the base. The purple flowers had been Amy's request. And the aisle itself, adorned with a crisp white linen runner, culminating in the arbor covered with dozens of white roses.

There had been so many details along the way, so many people to please and to answer to, so many fires to put out. All handled—a boulder pushed up a hill—with the help of the wedding planner. The wedding planner with whom, apparently, one of the brides was in love.

Meryl didn't want to think about that. It was time for Jo, her impetuous flower child, to grow up.

“Meryl—there you are. Listen, I just want to make sure your guests know not to post any photos of the girls coming down the aisle until after we've got it up on the magazine's site,” said Joan.

“It's in the program—I feel confident we'll be fine with that,” said Meryl.

“Paz said he already got some fabulous shots staged in front of the grand allée and near that large fountain—”

“Joan, please grab a seat. I have to take care of one thing and I'll see you after the ceremony.”

The house was bustling with movement and energy, the hallway outside the kitchen was filled with catering staff prepping for the tented cocktail reception following the ceremony.

“I'm sorry to bother you,” she said to a passing woman, “Can you please get me a bottle of water? I need to take it down to the ceremony.”

The woman looked at her blankly.

“Ella necessita una botella de agua, por favor,”
said Leigh.

Meryl turned around. “I was looking all over for you.”

“Everything okay down there?” Leigh said. “I think we're all set.”

The woman returned with a bottle of Poland Spring. Leigh handed it to Meryl. “Enjoy the ceremony.”

“You should probably walk down with me now. We're getting close,” said Meryl.

“I'm going to stay up here—keep things on track.”

“Oh, no. Don't worry about that. Everything's fine and Cliff is here.”

“Really, Meryl. Go on. Like you said—it's getting close.”

Meryl knew she was right, but she found herself rooted in place. “You don't want to watch Jo get married,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“I know. I know that Jo is in love with you. I just didn't realize it was mutual.”

“Meryl, I don't know what you've heard, but I assure you I'm a professional—”

Meryl reached for her arm. “Do you love my daughter?”

Leigh looked like a deer caught in the headlights. After a startled pause, she recovered enough to say, “I don't have room for love in my business.”

“What do you mean? What business is that?”

Leigh squared her shoulders. “The Campion business.”

Meryl looked at her, not comprehending at first. “Oh. You can't be serious.”

“I'm very serious. And so are they when it comes to appearances and the people with whom they surround themselves. So I would appreciate it if you never mentioned this. To anyone.”

“Leigh, I've grown quite fond of you. And I'm not saying this for my daughter, though maybe, God help me, I should have said it to her: There is no job, no career, no appearance, no amount of money—that is more important than love. Jo is going to marry Toby today, and she might not love him, but that's a situation she is going to have to figure out for herself. But you should not intentionally set out to live a life without love. And you should realize that now, while you're young—before it's too late.”

Leigh's dark eyes met hers, unblinking. “Your daughters are waiting for you. I'm sure it will be a beautiful ceremony.”

*   *   *

Meg was the first down the aisle on her father's arm.

Calm, cool Meg walked slowly but with sure steps, her arm loosely linked through Hugh's. Meg, in her lace gown, the cathedral veil covering her face, seemed to float down the aisle's white runner.