Chapter 35
“Get up! Get up!”
Savvy’s mattress rocked and swayed. Her eyes flew open. Was it the Big One?
No. These voices weren’t panicky. They sounded—exuberant.
“Get up!” Her sisters’ voices.
She sat bolt upright. Sometimes she still forgot she wasn’t Meri and Char’s protector anymore, after having assigned herself that role for so long.
“Happy wedding day! Happy wedding day!” The girls bounded onto her king-sized bed.
Savvy sighed with relief and sank back down into the cozy warmth of her covers. “What time is it?” she croaked.
The mattress jolted violently again. “Time to get up!”
A deep-chested ooof was followed by a shriek and a body boomeranging away.
“What’s he doing here?”
Savvy opened one eye to see Meri pointing at the other side of the bed. All the ruckus hadn’t so much as budged Esteban.
“No fair. That’s breaking the rules,” scolded Char, climbing off, too. “The groom’s not supposed to spend the night before your wedding with you. It’s bad luck.”
“And now we know why. Liable to get kneed in the kidney,” grumbled Esteban, his voice muffled in his pillow.
“Leave us alone,” Savvy groaned, snuggling deeper. “Is it even light out yet?” Hadn’t last night’s rehearsal dinner, highlighted by Jeanne and Mrs. Morales congratulating each other, just ended? She heard the scrape of drapery rings being drawn across their metal rod, saw the brightness seeping in behind closed lids.
“It’s eleven o’clock!” sang Meri. “You’re getting married in exactly seven hours!”
From that moment on, Savvy’s day was a whirlwind of hair and makeup and a gaggle of strong-willed women telling her to stay calm and at the same time making her a basket case.
Finally, it was time for her to be squeezed into “the dress.” What a shopping ordeal that had been! There’d been way too many opinions to consider. Meri had pressed for something edgy and low cut. Jeanne had said her wedding gown must be simple and chic. And Mrs. Morales had been a fan of a getup that made Savvy feel as if she were nine feet wide and drowning in a sea of Spanish lace. Of course, Char had advised Savvy not to listen to anyone except herself.
She spread her fingers along her thickening waistline and peered down at the creamy swath of fabric crisscrossing her bosom. Amazing what a bun in the oven could do for your boobage.
“It is time,” said Jeanne, eyes twinkling. “Look at you.” She held her at arm’s length. “A June bride. At the beginning of this year, who would have believed you would be married before your sisters? You were wise to take my advice concerning the dress. You are a vision.”
“Aw, Jeanne, thank you for helping me pick it out.” Savvy reached out to hug her.
“Non non non non non, mademoiselle.” Jeanne touched her balled up hanky to her nose, her brow crinkled. “That is the last time I may call you that.” She paused to contain her emotions, then lifted her chin “It would not be good to muss your hair.” She kissed the air around Savvy’s cheeks.
Savvy gathered up her skirt, surprised at how much silk jersey could weigh. Then Jeanne helped her down the staircase, and together they wound through the house to where Papa was supposed to be waiting in the covered portico by the pool to walk her down the aisle.
But when they got there, Papa was nowhere to be found.
“What time is it now?” Esteban asked George out of the corner of his mouth. He ran a finger between his neck and the stifling collar of his shirt. Mierda, it was hot out. June had been as dry as the winter had been wet. The lavender at the ranch was going great guns.
The wedding party had been hanging around the pool, out of sight of the guests, for what seemed like an eternity.
George checked his watch yet again. “Six-twenty-nine.”
The ceremony was to have started at six.
“He’ll be here. You kidding me? After spending half a fortune on this clambake? Trust me. He’ll be here.”
If George wasn’t worried, why had he sent Tomas off to hunt for Xavier a half hour ago?
Across the portico, Savvy’s attendants hovered over her, but between them Esteban could see the worry etched in her face. It wasn’t good for her to be standing like that for so long in her condition. Even he knew that.
He was going over there. He couldn’t bear to see her suffer for one more minute.
When her concerned sisters saw him coming, they stepped back to let him in. No one chastised him now for breaking the rule of not seeing the bride before the ceremony.
“Let’s walk,” he said, giving Savvy his arm.
She turned in the direction of the lawn where their vows were scheduled to take place.
But he didn’t budge. Char’s sisters had pleaded with them not to peek at the grounds ahead of time. Their father had had people out there working nonstop for the past week, spiffing it up for the ceremony. “You’ll spoil the surprise,” Esteban said. But that wasn’t the real reason he kept her away. Seeing all their guests milling about there, waiting and wondering what the hold up was, might only make her feel worse. “Other way.”
“No. I want to see what it looks like.”
Now Savvy peeked around a column, gasped, and put her fingers to her lips. “Oh.”
From behind her, Esteban peered over her head to see for himself.
They faced the back of the crowd and the entrance to a long, grassy aisle sprinkled thickly with yellow rose petals. A gold satin ribbon—a flimsy barrier restricting all but the wedding party from the path leading between rows of gilded chairs—had been tied between pillars topped with urns, overflowing with more roses. The aisle ended at a sweep of curved pergola dripping with wisteria and Spanish moss. In the center, a wine barrel served as an altar. Off to one side, a string quartet played a classical air for the throng of well-dressed people sipping wine, nibbling hors d’oeuvres.
The violet Mayacamas presided in the distance, echoing the color of the flowers.
“Did you have a hand in any of this?” Esteban asked.
Savvy shook her head, unable to look away. “If I’d had it my way, it’d just be you and me, up at the ranch. It was all Papa. He wanted to throw us a party.”
Party? Ha. This was St. Pierre’s attempt to buy back Savvy’s good graces, after all he’d put her through.
“Mierda.” Esteban reached around to cup Savvy’s belly. “You didn’t hear that,” he said to the four-month bump.
Those people have been waiting a mighty long time, he thought. The guests had had no idea the private event they’d been asked to attend was a wedding. There’d been no save-the-dates, not even a written invitation. Nothing that would be a red flag to the media.
Savvy turned toward Esteban. The mask of calm she fought to keep on her face didn’t fool him one minute.
“Come on. Let’s go back,” he said.
Minutes later, back in the portico, Tomas dashed up to the couple and George. “His helicopter just left SFO.”
“Won’t be long now,” said George. “It’s only about a twenty-minute flight up from the city.”
Esteban tried to get a read on Savvy.
With a diamond-clad finger, she flicked away a single tear. “We were supposed to have been walking down the aisle forty minutes ago, and he just took off?” She lowered her gaze to the patio, lips quivering.
Don’t cry, Savvy. Her old man had already been on her last nerve, and now this. The one thing Esteban couldn’t handle was if she cried sad tears on her wedding day. Anything she wanted, he would do. He felt his fists bunch, imagining the ways he wanted to make Xavier St. Pierre pay for causing the woman he loved so much pain. Please don’t cry.
Savvy didn’t cry. As soon as she’d regained her composure she looked up, cleared her throat, and pasted on a bright smile. “Cue the music,” she said, looking to George and Tomas and her sisters to lead the procession.
To the amplified notes of George Winston’s “Joy” from a baby grand, the crowd came to its feet. Esteban waited while Meri and George, then Char and Tomas paraded down the aisle. At the altar, they stopped, the girls clutching their bouquets, smiling prettily across from George and Tomas.
He looked lovingly at his bride, carrying his son inside her.
Padre was right. The Lord works in mysterious ways.
He offered her his arm.
“Let’s go.” She gazed up at him and together they stepped out onto rose petals, and it became a blur of three hundred smiling faces smiling back at them . . . Savvy handing off her bouquet to Char . . . the homily and the songs and the prayers . . . and then, while Madre wept tears of happiness and Padre’s chest puffed out like a pigeon’s, Sauvignon St. Pierre gave Esteban something greater than even his Michoacán grandfather could have dreamed of.