The wedding promised to be the social event of the season. Nearly 800 people had been invited, many of them politicians and Navy brass. No press, but the media would get the official wedding photos of the bride and groom. The president had been invited, and had to decline but hinted he “might” swing by the reception to wish them luck and share a glass of Dom Perignon.
A far cry from their first wedding, when she and Jarrett had eloped to Las Vegas.
The scandal and shock of Francis’s death had rippled through DC like a tidal wave. Alastair Monroe had gone to Paris after the funeral, retreating from public life. Her father had been the most stunned of all.
But Alexander Stewart was enormously grateful for Jarrett, his future son-in-law.
It’s going to be okay. The chant reverberated through her mind as she checked her appearance in the mirror at the bride’s room in back of the cathedral. Fleur, bedecked in a sleeveless white long gown, a replica of her mom’s, a circlet of red roses in her hair, practically bounced up and down with excitement.
It was Fleur who insisted on expediting the wedding. She’d already started calling Jarrett “Daddy” from the day of Lacey’s hospital release. Jarrett pulled out the half-carat diamond ring, got down on one knee and proposed. Not to Lacey, but to Fleur, asking permission to “marry your mom.”
Fleur said yes immediately, nearly as quickly as Lacey had.
Being a senator’s daughter pulled strings and they hired the best wedding planner to stage this elaborate event in only four months. Lacey had hoped for a quiet, small wedding, but her parents insisted on this. Dad had “wanted to show off my new son-in-law.”
He’d never been more proud of Jarrett. Her father was a silent partner in Jarrett’s new business. Jarrett had completed his last spec ops mission. In six months he would resign and enter civilian life as he fully assumed charge of Project Security Operations Specialties, Project SOS for short. The agency offered protection to corporate executives and civilians, and taught self-defense techniques and gun training. Sam and Gene were already officially employed, and Jarrett planned to bring on additional hires, like Ace, who intended to retire at the end of the year.
She had appointed another board of directors of Marlee’s Mangoes in St. Marc and a new president. Her new charity, Hope for Marlee, was based in the United States. The NGO aided battered women in distress and helped to find them new hope and new lives.
Lacey smoothed down the lace on her dress, checked her veil. Her bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath had white lilies, as well. The formal ceremony had her tied in knots, but Jarrett had been beside her all the time. Every time she fretted and expressed the desire to run away to Vegas, he’d flash her a wide smile and then pull her into his arms, murmuring, “It’s going to be all right.”
Those words were usually followed by a wink, and then Jarrett pulling her into the nearest private room for a bout of quick sex that erased all her fears and made her forget about the wedding. Last week when she’d nearly gone into tears after hearing her dress might not be ready in time, she had been at her parents house in DC having lunch with the entire wedding party. Jarrett mouthed across the table, “It’s going to be all right,” and then winked. He had quietly excused himself, dragged Lacey into the big upstairs bathroom and locked the door. They had returned twenty minutes later, Jarrett all smooth professionalism, but his hair slightly rumpled. Lacey couldn’t help the dreamy smile on her face.
Trying to summon the same smile now, she took a deep breath and stepped into the vestibule with her dad.
As the bridesmaids in their red satin floor-length gowns proceeded down the aisle, and Fleur tossed the red rose petals down the white carpet, Lacey stared at the altar.
Six Navy SEALs stood next to Jarrett in full white dress uniforms. “Our ice cream suits,” Jarrett had joked. The same squad that had rescued her from the sinking bow runner now stood ready to witness their leader remarry her. Rows of “fruit salad,” the medals they had earned, marched across their uniforms. Above the medals was pinned the Budweiser, the gold Navy SEAL trident.
Her bridesmaids, all cousins and friends, had nearly swooned when they found out they would be escorted by Navy SEALs.
As best man, Ace would be paired with her matron of honor, his sister, Aimee.
The men looked distinguished and handsome in their dazzling white uniforms, and the church was packed with notable guests, many of whom were strangers to her. A bout of nervousness seized Lacey. She tried to smile, but her face felt frozen. All these people staring at her! As a politician’s daughter, she was accustomed to social events, but not one where she was the center of so much intense speculation. Lacey wondered if she looked good enough. The bullet wound was hidden by her dress, but the surgery had left a scar on her arm that remained visible. At first she wanted the sleeveless dress because it was lovely, with the yards of satin and white lace, and the high collar that would match the one on Jarrett’s uniform. And she’d seen the sleeveless dress as a symbol of her future and her refusal to hide life’s scars.
But now with nearly 800 guests looking at her, she had a moment of doubt. Lacey almost wished she had insisted on carrying out her plans to elope. And then she saw Jarrett. Tall, proud and handsome in his white uniform, the soft overhead lighting shining down upon his dark head, he had eyes only for her. He did not look at her dress, nor her flowers or her scarred bare arm.
Jarrett looked right into her eyes.
The music swelled as she walked down the aisle. As she drew closer, Lt. Jarrett Adler mouthed, “It’s going to be all right.” Then his crooked grin widened as he pointed to the vestry on the right and winked.
And then she smiled and knew everything was going to be all right.
* * * * *