Camille opened her eyes to a Christmas-morning feeling. A glance at the bedside clock reminded her that she hadn’t planned to get up quite this early, but she knew that there was no point in trying to go back to sleep. Today was the day.
She crept out of bed, taking care not to wake her mother, washed, dressed in the T-shirt and pants she’d put in the bathroom for this morning, and tiptoed into the suite’s parlor, where Bridget and Ellie were sound asleep on a Murphy bed. Bridget had offered to help with the decorations, but Camille decided that Bridget would prefer sleep to coffee, so she left all the golden girls to their rest and headed for the café.
The bridesmaids’ dresses had been remade. Like Santa’s elves, Camille’s family and friends had worked late into the night to perform the miracle needed to make a fairy tale come true for Jordan. Ramona had pitched in on the handwork. Bridget had done most of the ironing. The slipshod tailoring job had been remedied by skilled women’s hands, utterly convincing Camille that Santa’s most efficient elves, not to mention God’s most altruistic angels, were female.
“What time does the café open?” Camille asked the desk clerk.
“Not until eight, but there’s coffee in the bar.”
“There’s also coffee in my room,” said a voice behind her.
She turned, smiling. Hair damp, feet bare, Creed stood in front of the door to his room in rumpled T-shirt and jeans. She had to remind herself that this was where he lived.
“Good morning,” she said.
“How goes the battle with the dresses?”
“They’re fixed,” she said happily as she followed him into his room. “Oh, Creed, it was touch and go. Thank heaven for Faith and Stella. Mama, Ellie—even Bridget got into the act. I was the least useful, but I’ve got my work cut out for me today.” She took a seat on the little couch. “Today’s the day. Can you believe it?”
“I have coffee and cinnamon rolls,” he said as he poured two cups of coffee. “And a little present for you.”
“I didn’t forget.” She was glad to get the coffee. He sat across from her on the bed and reached across rumpled sheets while she went on talking. “By the time the dresses were finished, I hoped you were asleep. You have a big job to do today. Several big jobs, but the main one is—”
“Giving our daughter away, I know. I hope I don’t blow it.” He retrieved a gold box from the night stand and handed it to her. “And I hope I didn’t blow this. Don’t feel like you have to wear them if they’re not right.”
“Oh, Creed,” she started to admonish, but she already had the box open, and the gold and diamond jewelry was winking at her. “Creed,” she whispered, “they’re perfect.”
“Jordie helped me pick them out.”
He sipped his coffee, but she knew he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She could feel his relief in her reaction, his settling into satisfaction.
“Now I see why she made sure I was going to wear that gold necklace.” She looked up at him. “Thank you. I love…them. They’ll be perfect with my dress.”
“Is it white?”
“Sort of an off-white. Ivory. Gold trim.”
He nodded, glancing at the box, then back into her eyes. “This is the kind of wedding you should have had.”
“Me?” She shook her head, smiling. “We did what worked for us.”
“And we did things that didn’t work for us.” He cleared his throat needlessly, swallowed audibly, glanced away, then back again.
Something was coming. She held her breath and recklessly permitted herself to get lost in his eyes.
“But I’ve never loved any other woman, Camille,” he said, almost inaudibly. “I know it wasn’t…what it should have been. But what we had together was the best part of my life.” He gave a diffident shrug. “Maybe it still is.”
“Jordan is the best thing we did together.” She swallowed, wide-eyed as an innocent child still waiting and wishing, wanting God only knew what. “Isn’t she?”
“Maybe. The best so far anyway.” He nodded toward the gold box. “Well, I wanted you to have something to wear today that comes from me.”
“You were always full of surprises, Creed. More thoughtful than I was most of the time.”
“No,” he said sadly. “I was just as likely to give you something when I’d been gone too long or I’d broken a promise as I was for ‘just because.’ This gift is just because the light of our lives is getting married today. And you’re her mother. And for better or worse, you let me be her dad.”
“Oh, Creed.” She clutched the box and willed away the tears that made her whole face burn. Always was the song he’d chosen for her. She wanted always, and it had flown past her. She had missed it. Raspy now, she could only repeat, “Oh, Creed.”
“It’s our day, too,” he said, moving from bed to sofa. “The one promise I’ve never broken is to love you until the day I die. I want you to know that.” He waited until she looked up at him. “Believe it. It’s the only truth I know.”
“I…” He was looking for more than she dared give. Tears were too dear. Love? She’d given and given. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. I know how you feel about me. I know you wish you didn’t love me, but you do. And I know…” His hand tightened around his coffee cup, and she realized that he was working to keep it steady. “Like I said, you let me be her dad.”
“You’re not alone, Creed. We had to stop trying to live with each other because…because we couldn’t make it work.” She laid her hand on his knee, rubbed the soft, worn denim. Worn soft, she thought, not out. “But we’re still your family. Your family is still my family. I understand that better than ever now, and I hope you do, too.”
“You know what scares me?” He leaned back, searching the ceiling as he drew a deep breath and released it slowly, shaking his head. “Looking foolish. Becoming an old man with no dignity. I’ve seen too much of that.”
“I’ve watched those women in your audiences. Even now you have them mesmerized, Creed. You don’t look foolish to them.” She answered the question in his eyes. “Nor to me.”
“Women are generous. I’ve learned that much. But I don’t know why they’re still smiling at me like that after all this time. I’m old enough to be…” He laughed. “I think it must be the song.”
“Take my word for it—it’s the singer. You’re very good, Creed, not to mention sexy as all get-out. Yes, still.” She paused, glancing into her cup for answers. It was as good a place as any to look for answers that probably did not exist. “I’ve never understood why, but you and Jordan both, you underestimate yourselves. You’re good enough to—” She looked up, smiling again. “You’re good. A good thing.”
He chuckled. They’d had this conversation a time or two. At least she’d admitted this time that she didn’t understand. Maybe someday they would leave it at that.
Maybe today was the day.
“What do you need help with this morning?” he asked.
“Do you want to help me fix up some frou-frou?”
“Is that anything like getting your mojo working?”
She lifted one shoulder, the one coy bone in her body.
He took her hand. “Lead ol’ Mr. Fixit down your garden path, baby.”
The tables had already been arranged according to Camille’s design. Score one for the hotel cleanup crew.
She’d left her box of tools, tape, fasteners, and scissors in the car. Creed took her keys and went out to the parking lot while she spoke to the woman in charge of table setting. When Creed returned, he took all her boxes out of the storage room. They had been packed according to placement, so that once the box was in place, the items could be arranged quickly.
Creed commandeered a ladder, and together they hung garlands, swags, and wreaths, all studded with lights and adorned with flowers. Pots of spray-painted curly willow were arranged according to Camille’s map, along with bowls of floating candles, the festooned Victorian birdcages—one of which would be used to receive envelopes—an assortment of garden lanterns and water features, including a huge goldfish bowl with white fantails and black Moors. An ordinary hotel banquet area became a series of garden rooms.
When Bridget was able to join them, Creed took his leave. He had a band to set up and a bride to escort around town.
“Aren’t you going to the salon with the rest of us?” Bridget asked Camille.
“My hair is easy to fix, and I don’t have time for a facial and fingernails.” Camille stuck out one hand for Bridget’s consideration. “They look all right, don’t they? I just did them.” She looked up at the sound of retreating footsteps. “Creed, wait.”
He turned as she caught up with him.
“I won’t see you until we meet at the church.” She threw her arms around his neck, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “I’m a little nervous, too.”
He slid his arms around her waist and held her until she made the first move to back away. “Thank you,” she said, and he nodded, turned quickly, and hurried to his room.
“What was that all about?” Bridget wanted to know.
“He gave me a beautiful set of earrings and a slide”—she patted her collarbone—“you know, for my necklace, to wear today. I was so surprised.”
“Pleasantly?”
“It’s a big day for both of us. Yes, pleasantly.”
“I was pleasantly surprised that I didn’t feel the urge to put my hands around Timothy’s neck last night. Does that mean it’s a big step for me, too?”
“It is if it keeps you out of jail,” Camille said, smiling. She tapped Bridget’s arm with a loose fist. “It’s your son’s wedding day. Isn’t that a big day for his parents?”
“It is for his mother,” Bridget admitted. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t hire…” She noticed the decorated doors, peeked inside, and scanned the banquet room. “Camille, this is looking very nice.”
“This is only the beginning,” Camille claimed as she bent over another box and removed the photo albums she’d put together. “But we have to get moving. As soon as the tables are set, I want you to put out the favors. We’ve got the guest book table to decorate and some things to arrange on the head table.”
Bridget was not a fast worker, but she was meticulous. What she did, she did right, which meant that Camille would not have to redo. Score two for Bridget. Two good hours, and most of the work was done.
“Camille, I hate to desert you, but I’ve got a hair appointment.”
“Ellie took Mama over to the salon with Jordan’s wedding attire,” Camille said, checking her watch. “Creed’s going to take her from there to the church. I’m getting dressed here so that I can connect with the florist and the bakery and make sure everything is set up properly. With any luck, we’ll all rendezvous at the appointed time and place.”
“Why aren’t you helping Jordan get dressed?”
“She has maids and Grandma for that.” Arms akimbo, Camille surveyed what was momentarily her territory. “We need space right now. We’d just get on each other’s nerves. These are the details I do best.”
“For once I wish you’d let the professionals do their jobs,” Bridget muttered quietly as she walked away.
The pastry chef was setting up the cake when two boys arrived from Your Dream Wedding. They delivered lattice panels decorated with tulle and lights, which were placed in strategic locations, including behind the cake table and the head table. Next came the six-foot floral candelabras and the mirror tiles to go under the brandy snifters and votive candles for centerpieces. Camille directed the placement of each element around the bones of her layout. It was good to have work to do. Bringing her design to life made her feel infinitely better than primping would just then.
“Oh, Belle, the cake is magnificent,” Camille told the pastry chef as she arranged the pillars that would support the top two cake tiers. “Where’s the topper?”
Belle glanced up at Camille. “Aren’t we using flowers?”
“I brought you a porcelain topper. The doves, remember? It’s an old family—”
“Omigod, that’s right. I built the top layer to support a top piece, too. It’s at the bakery.” She touched Camille’s arm to reassure her. “But don’t worry. I’ll send a driver back with it. You go get dressed, and I’ll wait for the flowers.”
“I need to make sure she puts the bouquet clips on the head table and does the punch bowl and the—”
“You have Valerie Florin, right? Her flowers are always wonderful.”
“Her bridesmaids’ dresses were a disaster.” Camille’s hands went up in unexpected dismay. “You cannot imagine—”
“Camille, take a deep breath while I give you a word of advice. I’ve set up lots of cakes and seen lots of mothers and heard about lots of last-minute glitches. Are the dresses presentable?”
“They are now, after we—”
“Okay.” Belle signaled a cease-fire. “Then that’s out of the way, and now is not the time for you to talk with Valerie. You don’t even need to see her. I’ll get the cake topper over here, and I’ll wait for the flowers. Everything will be perfect.” Hands on hips, Belle surveyed the work that had been done so far. “Seriously, I can’t believe what you’ve done with this room.” She wagged a finger. “Now you go get ready for your daughter’s wedding.”
“Thanks, Belle. The cake is fabulous.”
“Go.”
Camille had the suite all to herself. This was a good thing. She permitted herself a ten-minute bath, a few quiet moments to soak in a tub of scented water and in the knowledge that she was surrounded by good things.
But there was no more than ten minutes on the schedule for hot water and Zen meditation. Another fifty minutes for hair, makeup, wiggling into the control-top pantyhose and shaking her head over the D-cup bra. Then came the pound-shedding dress and the heart-stopping love-knot earrings. She added the slide to her necklace, arranged the mirror doors so that she could see herself coming and going, and finally declared even her own presentation to also be a good thing. Transfer a few essentials from the big purse to the small purse and she’d be set. Driver’s license, lipstick, hair pick—she laughed, wondering whether a giggling group of twenty-second-century bridesmaids would someday be playing “What Did They Do with That?” with her hair pick—and car keys…
Car keys.
Creed had them.
How was she going to get to the church?
She could try getting a cab, but they were scarce in the suburbs. That would mean a wait. Maybe the hotel had a car. With all she was paying them for this wedding…
She would check at the desk.
The people setting up the bar in the banquet-room foyer distracted her from the desk. She noticed the fresh flowers on the punch-bowl and groom’s-cake tables.
“Is the florist here?” she asked the bartender. Belle was right. She didn’t need to run into Valerie Schmalerie at this moment.
“I think they left.”
Camille wandered into the main banquet room, and there it was. Finis. Magnifique. She couldn’t resist kissing her fingers to the results.
A man from the bakery was putting the final touch atop the cake—two crowning doves.
“Excuse me,” Camille said on impulse. It was worth a try. “Are you going back to the store?”
“Yes, ma’am. How does that look?”
“Perfect. Would you mind giving me a ride to the church? It’s right on your way.”
“Sure, if you don’t mind riding in a bakery truck. Are you here from out of town?”
“Actually, I’m the mother of the bride.”
The man laughed. “Guess somebody’s in for a comeuppance on that little oversight in the planning.”
“Well, no. I’m the one who did the planning.”