The church was large and drafty, a big towering pile of gray rock cut with narrow veins of stained glass. Cookie had done her homework well. This was an unassailable location to solemnize a marriage.
Chess stood on one side of the altar, the subject of about a hundred seated guests' curiosity, and wondered grimly if his bride was going to show. He folded his hands behind his back and nodded at the waiting minister, affecting unconcern.
Chess had had his doubts about allowing his family, none of whom particularly approved of the marriage, to pick Cookie up and bring her to the church. But Cookie had absolutely refused to let him pick her up himself. She insisted: the groom was not to see the bride before the ceremony.
His teeth set as he remembered with whom she'd chosen to spend the night. It would be the last time, Chess vowed, that she'd ever stay the night with another man.
Assuming she showed up to exchange her vows.
A small noise at the back of the church made him turn.
The big doors to the vestibule opened, and his mother walked through. Chess felt a wave of relief. Kate was carrying a small bouquet of flowers. She must have brought Cookie, then.
Somewhere high in the rafters, an organ began to play. Kate came to take her place opposite her son. Then, through the thick double doors at the back came Alex, escorting Chess's bride.
A wide smile immediately spread over Chess's face.
He should have known Cookie would scorn a traditional wedding gown. What she was wearing was much closer to a suit, a stylish, modish suit—if you were living in 1940. It had a diamond-shaped neck with a fitted bodice ending in a ruffle over the top of her hips. From there the skirt fit like a glove, ending in another ruffle around the knees. White, wrist-length kid gloves clutched a wild bouquet of white and purple flowers. A small white hat perched atop her coffee-colored hair with a net veil screening her face.
The dress was white, a dazzling white, but with large splashes of purple flowers. She wouldn't have worn pure white because, as Cookie had felt obliged to inform him last night, she was not a virgin. Chess had had to bite his cheek to keep from bursting into laughter as she had made this somber confession, standing in the front hall with her bag packed for the night away.
"Thank you for telling me," Chess had replied, in as serious a tone as he could muster. "Er, for the record, I'm not a virgin, either."
Cookie had tilted her head. "Yes, that's rather what I figured." For a moment it had looked as though she'd wanted to say more. Perhaps something about double standards and that he shouldn't hold her past against her any more than he would want her to judge him by his. But instead she'd firmly pressed her lips together and turned to go out the front door.
Now, as he watched her come down the center aisle toward him, he didn't care about her past or his. All that suddenly mattered, to the exclusion of all else, was this moment.
The moment she was going to become his.
Chess was dimly aware of Alex's baleful glare as Chess came down to take Cookie's arm. Chess cheerfully ignored it. His fingers took hold of Cookie's elbow, her eyes flicked up at him from behind the porous veil, and he was instantly, irrevocably caught.
Until that moment Chess had not considered that he was going to become Cookie's every bit as much as she would become his.
He drew Cookie to his side, his heart pounding with this new revelation. Together they rose the few steps to approach the minister.
Chess didn't hear much of what the minister was saying. He was too vividly aware of the woman by his side. It wasn't a particularly sexual awareness. No, it was more like being aware of a buzzing, glowing warm lamp that was standing next to you. Something full of life and heat and promise.
Chess wanted that. He wanted her. His desire had nothing to do with the shares of stock, and it was ignorant of any date in January. It was a simple, if overwhelming, thing.
His attention was forced back to the moment when the minister finished his pithy lecture and addressed Chess directly.
"Do you, Chester, promise to cherish, love, and honor Rebecca until death do you part?"
Chess knew there was no pretense or make-believe as he said the words, "I do."
As the minister asked Cookie the same question, she kept her eyes fixed on the cleric, her expression solemn. "Yes, I do."
It was possible to read the same sincerity in her response that Chess knew had been in his. Possible, but one couldn't be sure. Cookie was an actress, after all.
From his other side, Henry, grudgingly pressed into service as best man, produced a ring.
Chess silently cursed his shaking hands. They made it hard to get the ring on Cookie's finger. Finally, he got the damn thing on and looked up.
She looked up at the same time. There was shyness in her eyes and a whole lot of uncertainty.
I swear I'll take care of her, Chess told David, wherever he was. He could almost hear the older man, his former business partner, laughing. Sure, he should laugh. Hadn't he always worried about Cookie? Hadn't he often told Chess, over glasses of fine brandy in his den, how much he wanted to be sure of her future welfare? Chess hadn't paid much attention at the time, instead nodding and turning the conversation to something more interesting and important, like the business.
He was paying attention now.
A tap on Cookie's shoulder drew her attention from Chess's sea-green eyes. Men were such mysteries. She couldn't begin to guess what, if anything, was going on behind those eyes. She turned to find Kate handing her the second ring.
Cookie closed her fingers around the plain gold band. It had seemed a good idea at the time, a double ring ceremony. All fairness and equality. But now she hesitated to make so solid a claim on the man standing beside her.
Kate had said Cookie could make Chess smile. Fine and good, but that was paltry stuff, wasn't it? Chess needed a real partner. He needed someone who'd believe in him.
But as Cookie fit the ring over Chess's calloused finger, she wondered if Chess himself would agree. He was so independent, so doggedly remote...
Too bad. She intended to do her best to take good care of him. He only had to let her...
"...man and wife," Cookie suddenly heard.
What? The ceremony was over? Briefly, Cookie panicked. She forgot what was supposed to happen next.
But Chess clearly remembered. From a cool sixty-five degrees, the temperature in his eyes shot up to about a hundred and twenty. All of that heat centered directly on her as he took a firm hold of her shoulders.
It dawned on Cookie—too late—that he was going to kiss her.
Yes, she was about to receive her very first real kiss from Chess Bradshaw in front of about a hundred witnesses.
With a small whimper, she closed her eyes. In this self-imposed darkness she felt herself drawn against his body. His lips touched hers. An electrical shock went through her at the contact. It actually hurt.
But that hurt immediately dissolved into pleasure. Oh, my. There was magic in this man's mouth. There had to be. Cookie clutched the lapels of Chess's tuxedo jacket as she discovered just how warm and soft—and seductive—a kiss could be. It was completely marvelous.
He was the one who eventually pulled back, making a low sound as he did so.
Cookie opened her eyes to find he appeared as amazed as she.
Then he took her arm.
From her other side, Kate put the bouquet back in her hands. Cookie found herself turned and facing the hundred friends and relatives she had just completely forgotten. The organ could be heard blasting a loud and joyous congratulations, cued by that kiss. Her face turned a fiery red.
"Yes, you ought to be ashamed," Chess chided in a murmur. He guided her down the two steps to the aisle. "We're lucky you didn't burn the altar down with that kiss."
"Me?" Cookie gave a sidelong glance toward his face. Having her gaze there was easier than looking at the crowd. Just barely. "I thought that was you."
With all kinds of promises in his eyes, Chess laughed and took a firmer grasp on her arm. "Maybe it was a combination."
They made it out the double doors at the front of the church. Unusual for San Francisco, the sun was actually shining on a summer day. For a moment they were alone on the porch of the church, their guests still inside. Chess's hand was firm on hers, his smile down at her was warm enough to match the rays of the sun above. Cookie knew that she was smiling back.
In that one, fragile moment it seemed as though they'd actually tied some significant and irrevocable bond. For that one moment, at least, she tasted heaven.
"Perfect." Ruth Coldwell, waiting at the curb with her Canon held in a pair of ink-splattered hands, caught the pair of them with a click of the shutter.
"What the—!" Chess turned in surprise toward the advertising executive. "Ruth, we already have a professional photographer." Taking Cookie by one hand, he strode down the church steps and toward the other woman. "What do you think you're doing?"
Ruth patted her camera. "Just a little insurance."
"Insurance? You missed the ceremony!"
"I know." Ruth made a wry face. "I couldn't stand the suspense." She turned to Cookie. "So, come on, doll, let's see the ring. Did this actually come off?"
"It came off," Chess muttered, glaring at Ruth as she reached for Cookie's left hand. He seemed to feel as loath as Cookie did to return to the reality Ruth represented: the wedding had been a means to an end. "Now, come on, Cook—I mean, Rebecca. We'd better find our car before everyone starts coming out."
"Oh, good, a car." Ruth abandoned Cookie's hand, satisfied that it was truly adorned with a gold wedding band. "You can give me a ride to the reception."
Chess found the back door of a waiting black limousine. The eye he gave Ruth was dark evil as he jerked that door open. "In your dreams."
"Oh, really, Chess." Ruth whipped up her camera to snap another shot as Chess rather precipitously helped his bride into the car. "It's only a few miles from here. And it's not like you actually need privacy."
Chess got into the limo after Cookie and tried his best to shut the door in Ruth's approaching face.
Chess was strong, but Ruth was fast. She slipped inside the car, dropping into a seat opposite the newlyweds with a heavy sigh. "I can't tell you how relieved I am. Daddy's really been on my case. A million dollars, Chess."
Chess regarded Ruth with disgust. "I told you not to worry."
Ruth flashed a suspicious glance toward Cookie. "Yes, I know."
Cookie was depressingly familiar with this sort of glance. She got it from women all the time. They never trusted her. Apparently Ruth had feared Cookie wouldn't go through with the wedding.
"So, tell me. Did you sign for the bank loan yet?" Ruth asked.
"Last week." Chess put an arm around Cookie's shoulders.
Ruth raised her brows and apparently made a new assessment of Cookie, taking in Chess's claiming gesture. "Last week, huh?"
Cookie could feel her face go red, catching Ruth's innuendo. The woman now thought Cookie and Chess had become lovers, and that's what had given Chess confidence the wedding would take place.
"Several days ago, in fact," Chess said. "Which means the loan's coming through on Monday. So you can sign the television contracts right away. I don't want those time slots sold to anyone else."
"Of course not."
Despite Chess's apparent preoccupation with business, his hand began to massage Cookie's shoulder.
The action was both reassuring and disturbing. Funny little wriggles of excitement played in her stomach. Wondering if he knew what he was doing, Cookie glanced up at him.
He looked back down with a teasing half smile. He knew.
Cookie felt the same fluttery panic she'd been experiencing off and on since Chess had delivered his three-day warning on the San Francisco sidewalk. But now the panic was tempered by a memory of the kiss they'd shared only minutes before. She'd often wished that making love with a man could be like that kiss, subtle and tender.
"I was wondering what you needed with a honeymoon," Ruth remarked, her voice dry.
"Mind your own business," Chess warned mildly while Cookie felt her face go wild with color.
"I'm trying to," Ruth grumbled and gave Cookie a speculative glance. "You will bring him back in one piece, won't you, darling?"
Cookie's gaze skipped away. "We'll be back in a week," she said, deliberately misunderstanding, inwardly mortified. God, this was a mess. Luther was right. She was going to have to tell Chess—something. But maybe it would be okay. Maybe he wouldn't be too disgusted. Maybe.
Looking out the window of the limousine, Cookie vowed to do the job soon. As soon as they were completely alone.
~~~
Alex and his mother came out of the church just as Chess and Cookie drove off in their black limo. Alex tried to see the two of them behind the shaded glass of the back seat, but it was impossible.
When he turned back, he found his mother staring in the opposite direction. Her face was taut and her skin a frightening shade of pale.
"Mom?" Alex took her shoulder, concerned. "Mom, what is it?"
"Of all the nerve," Kate muttered.
Alex turned in the direction of her gaze. He was just in time to catch the shoulder and leg of a man as he climbed into a dark car halfway down the block. "Who is it?"
Kate's mouth was a thin, angry line. "Nobody important." But she was shaking. With an unconvincing smile, she asked, "Would you excuse me? I think I'll use the ladies' room here before we go to the reception."
"Sure, Mom." Frowning, he watched her walk back into the church. From a distance she looked fine, perfectly poised, as she stopped for kisses and congratulations from the crowd still filing out of the church. She smiled, spoke brightly, and showed no trace of the tension he'd seen in her face a moment before.
It had been an unsettling moment. Alex had only once seen his mother look as frightened: when his father had died.
He turned back in the direction of the dark car. It was gone.
"Your name is Alex, right?"
Alex whipped around to behold the sour old man he'd met when he'd started washing glassware at the perfume plant. The guy was one of the higher-ups and a stickler for perfection, from what Alex had heard. So far, Alex had managed to steer clear of the fellow. Today the old man had performed the function of Chess's best man.
"Alex Thibideaux, Kate's son. Isn't that right?" The man was wearing a suit that was at least a size too big for him—or perhaps he'd lost weight since he'd bought it because the style wasn't new.
"Yeah, I'm Alex."
"Here." With an odd smile, the man held forth a folded piece of paper. "Someone was looking for you to give you this."
"Uh..." Alex took the folded paper. "Thanks."
"Yup." With a disturbingly perceptive wink, the older man shambled away.
Frowning before he turned his back on the officious old guy, Alex opened the note.
If you want another one meet me in the alley behind the church.
Excitement sliced through Alex. The note wasn't signed, but he knew who'd sent it.
Did he want another one. Please.
Taking a quick look around the crowd and making sure his mother had not yet returned from the ladies' room, Alex slipped through the milling guests to hurry down the side of the church to the back.
The alley was a narrow throughway with dumpsters that overflowed with cardboard boxes. It smelled faintly of old food. Meanwhile, a small, heavily muscled man straightened from his position leaning with one foot planted against the gray stone of the church.
He smiled. "My man Alex."
Alex flushed. All the guys at these semi-regular—and illegal—card games treated him like one of them. Like an adult.
"Wanta meet us in Reno?" they'd asked after the first time, the time he'd won. They'd asked as if assuming there'd be no problem for Alex to drive over to Reno, as if he made his own decisions.
Their behavior toward him was both heady and a little unnerving.
"So there's another game?" he asked.
The other man nodded. "You told me to let you know."
"I want in." Alex's luck had been lousy since Reno. They'd been letting him play on credit, and the amount Alex now owed was a sum he'd prefer not to think about. The job Chess had given him at Scents Allure would help, but it wasn't enough to pay it off. For that, Alex needed a win. A big one.
"Sure. Same address as the last time. Tonight. Regular time." The man paused. "Twenty dollar ante."
Alex's eagerness paused. "Twenty. But that's twice— Oh. Okay. Sure. I can handle that." It would make the sums in the pot twice as high. He could win back the money to pay his debt that much easier.
It was not a comfortable feeling, Alex had discovered, to owe money to men who'd originally attracted him by their tough and take-no-prisoner demeanors.
"See ya then," the other man said and stalked down the alley.
Alex turned back toward the side of the church. As he rounded the corner, he nearly ran over the old, gray-haired man who'd handed him the note.
"Odd," the older man said. "Couldn't figure out what you'd be doing back here."
Alex's heart took a running leap. Had the old guy been spying on him? Shit. Alex didn't want anybody, most particularly his mother, finding out he was gambling.
"I was just, um..." Nothing. He had no possible friggin' excuse.
The older man raised an eyebrow.
"I was meeting somebody." Alex's voice trailed off. "It's personal."
The other fellow's expression didn't change.
Hell, Alex thought. This guy worked for Chess. He might tell Chess that he'd seen Alex involved in something suspicious. Chess finding out would be worse than his mother.
Desperate, Alex threw himself on the other man's mercy. "It was about a card game, all right? He told me where I could find a good card game tonight."
Now the man raised both eyebrows. "Is that right?"
"Uh-huh."
"Interesting." The old man looked at Alex as if he were a piece of meat he were thinking of buying at the market.
Alex was sweating beneath his tuxedo. "You don't have to tell Chess about any of this, right?" Chess already thought Alex was a stupid little kid. He didn't need more ammunition. Besides, he'd probably want to teach Alex a lesson. Something suitably humiliating.
"Not to tell Chess," the man repeated slowly, as if testing out the idea.
Stupid. Alex shouldn't have blurted that out and put the idea of doing so in the guy's head. Now as the other man stood there, pursing his lips in thought, Alex felt like a hot dog being roasted on a spit.
At length, the older man lifted his shoulders. "Don't know why I would bother Mr. Bradshaw with your personal business. At least...not yet." He smiled.
Nervously, Alex smiled back. What was the guy trying to say? If not yet, then when? Oh, who cared? As long as it wasn't now!
"Anyway," the older man drawled, "I'm heading off the reception. Free lunch, you know. You better run on over, too, right? Brother of the bride, aren't you?"
"That's right." Alex relaxed when the fellow dropped the other business. God, he hated this. If he managed to win enough money to pay his debts tonight, he'd be through. No more cards.
It was only as the other man turned and limped up the side of the church that Alex finally remembered his name.
Henry. Henry Dublin. And his title was Head Technician. Thank God he wasn't going to blurt anything about Alex's little meeting in the alley to Chess. Not yet, anyway. Hopefully, never.
Sure, why would Henry Dublin ever blurt Alex's woes to Chess? It wasn't like any of it mattered to the old man or anything.
So there was no problem here. No problem at all.