Simone hustled Evelyn upstairs. “We will find you something to wear for your wedding. All you have is your suit. It is a handsome suit, but non.”
Evelyn followed Simone into her bedroom. “Thank you, but this is only a formality.”
“No, it is an opportunity.” Simone flung open the doors to a large closet. “You love him, n’est ce pas?”
Evelyn clutched the buttons of her suit jacket. She’d only known she loved him for a few days, and she’d never voiced it. But the truth fell out. “Oui.”
“He loves you too. Did you not see his joy when he returned from the embassy?”
“He was worried.” Evelyn unbuttoned her suit jacket, the memory of Peter’s joyful expression ingrained in her mind.
“His bliss when he embraced you, and the way you kept holding each other’s hands. How’s this?” She held up a long mossy green gabardine dress.
“Not green.” Evelyn tossed her suit jacket on the bed. “And you’re mistaken.”
“Never. Oh, this.” She held up a floor-length gown with cap sleeves.
Rejection sat on the tip of Evelyn’s tongue. Dove gray silk crepe flowed in a slim, draped silhouette, accented with half a dozen embroidered bouquets of pink and blue flowers scattered on the bodice and hips. Silk rosettes wreathed the neckline.
The dress was too feminine. Yet something about it seemed new and right for her. “That’s the one.”
Evelyn shed her blouse and suit skirt, and she shimmied into the smooth silk.
Simone did up the buttons in the back. “Not only will marriage take you home, but it will take you where you belong—with each other.”
Peter’s stiff words pounded Evelyn’s ears. “You heard. He wants to annul the marriage.”
“Convince him not to.” Simone rummaged in a bureau drawer and pulled out a nightgown of slinky cream silk. “This would work.”
Evelyn gasped and laughed. “I’m not going to seduce him!”
“I don’t see why not.” Simone inspected the negligee, what there was of it.
With a flap of her hand, Evelyn laughed her off. Even if she were capable of seducing Peter, she wouldn’t want to persuade him that way. She’d want him to choose her because he loved her and wanted to spend his life with her.
Simone came behind Evelyn and fluffed her curls. “I’m glad you let Claudette style your hair this morning. It looks lovely. Now go to your chamber and powder your nose.”
In her own room, Evelyn freshened her makeup.
In her reflection in the mirror, her grandmother’s cross glinted, the only piece of her family that would attend the wedding. What if Evelyn had never asked the jeweler about the cross? She wouldn’t know she was three-quarters Jewish, and neither would Norwood. She wouldn’t have been evicted or hunted on Kristallnacht. She’d still be reporting in Munich, and Peter would be teaching and writing his dissertation.
Her fingers folded around the cool gold, and her heart folded in half. Everything had been upended because she was inquisitive and persistent and headstrong.
She blew out a breath. Nonsense. It was best to know the truth. It was always best.
Norwood could have found another way to exact his revenge—and he might not have failed.
With a shudder, Evelyn tucked the cross under the neckline of the gown.
Downstairs in the sitting room, Peter sat with Paul Aubrey and Reverend Thompson, and they rose when she entered.
Peter raised a smile as appreciative as when he’d greeted her on their first and only date, but softer. “You look . . . radiant.”
The same words he’d spoken that night, and she bit back a joke. Not today. Not when he was looking at her as if Simone were right and he did love her. “Thank you.”
“Good day, Miss Brand.” Reverend Thompson shook her hand. “Mr. Aubrey and Mr. Lang have told me about your situation.”
“I told him everything,” Peter said. “Even about George.”
Evelyn joined Peter on the sofa, Aubrey excused himself, and the reverend sat in an armchair.
In his sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair, Reverend Thompson spoke with a Midwestern accent. “So, Miss Brand, Mr. Lang says you’re from Chicago. I went to college there.” He asked about her favorite restaurants and museums and her home church. Then he asked what her father did, and she told him.
The reverend’s thick eyebrows rose. “Ernest Brand is your father?”
“Yes, and he and my mother moved to Chicago in 1908, before I was born. Do I pass?”
“Pardon?”
Evelyn sent him half a smile. “Have I convinced you I’m a Chicago native and not a German Jew trying to bamboozle you so I can obtain a visa to America?”
Peter chuckled.
The reverend’s eyes crinkled around the sides. “Yes, Miss Brand. You pass. Do you have the passport? May I see?”
Evelyn opened her purse and handed him her papers. “All the information on the German passport is correct except my middle name and my birthplace. The press pass has the correct information, but it can’t be used as official identification.”
“No, it can’t.” Reverend Thompson frowned at the papers. “Marrying you two would be unorthodox under these conditions.”
“Yes, sir,” Peter said. “But her life depends on it.”
The reverend’s gaze shot to Peter. “Marriage is not a decision to be made rashly. I understand your hurry, but the institution of marriage is sacred.”
Evelyn’s stomach crushed along with her best hope of escape.
Peter rested his forearms on his knees. “Sir, I love her with all my heart. This crisis sped up the process, but I’ve wanted to marry her for some time.” His voice shook with what sounded like conviction and urgency.
The beauty of his words bloomed inside her, but those words were for the reverend’s benefit, not hers.
Reverend Thompson’s gaze shifted to Evelyn.
She’d voiced the truth to Simone, but now it was time to voice it to the only person who mattered.
Peter looked at the reverend, his face tense and his hands clasped between his knees.
“I love you, Peter.” Her voice shook too, from the release and the joy and the pain of it. She threaded her arm through the crook of his arm. “I never want to be apart from you again.”
Peter’s gaze sped to her, his eyes wide. Then one corner of his mouth indented with a touch of amusement. He took her hand and pulled it through and gripped it in both his hands. “Please marry us, Reverend. I promise to love her all the days of my life.”
Reverend Thompson laughed. “Slow down, son. We haven’t reached the ‘I dos’ yet. But your eagerness counts in your favor.”
Evelyn’s fingertips tingled from the pressure of Peter’s grip.
The reverend rubbed his forehead. “Since you’ll present this passport at the visa office, I’ll have to issue the marriage certificate with the information on the passport. After you obtain your new passport, I’ll issue a corrected certificate. Either way, it’s legally binding.”
“You’ll marry us?” Evelyn asked.
“Yes.”
“Thank you, sir.” Peter sprang to his feet. “Aubrey! We’re ready!”
With her hand lost in Peter’s grip, Evelyn had no choice but to stand.
Paul Aubrey leaned into the room. “A little while longer. Simone sent Xavier to buy rings about an hour ago. She guessed at your sizes.”
Peter frowned at the reverend. “Do we need rings for the ceremony?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Then let’s get started.” Peter played the role of eager groom quite convincingly.
Simone rushed into the room. “Here you go. Claudette has a way with flowers.”
Evelyn took a bouquet from Simone. The sprays of pink and blue flowers complemented the embroidery on the gown. “Thank you. It’s beautiful. Please thank Claudette for me.”
“I will.” Simone swept her arm to the windows framed by golden drapes. “Let’s have the ceremony here, overlooking the garden.”
Reverend Thompson took his place, with Peter and Evelyn before him and Paul and Simone by their sides.
Thoughts and emotions tumbled in Evelyn’s mind as she took Peter’s arm. Marriage? She’d never seriously considered it until recently. Mother had always said Evelyn was too much for any man to handle. But Peter “handled” her just fine.
Now she was marrying him.
A formality to save her life? Or an opportunity for a new life together?
The reverend took out his Bible and began the service, intoning about the beauty of marriage, and Evelyn prayed along, praying that she and Peter could find that beauty, that they could lean on each other for life.
Was it too much to ask? Too much to hope for? The more she accepted her love for Peter, the more she wanted to make it work. If only he could be convinced.
Reverend Thompson asked them to face each other for the vows, and Evelyn passed Simone the bouquet and took Peter’s outstretched hands. The sincerity in his eyes weakened her knees, but she forced them straight.
Peter repeated his vows with earnestness. He’d keep those vows for the duration of their marriage, honoring and cherishing her for better or for worse, same as he’d been doing for several weeks already.
Evelyn infused her own vows with the same earnestness, the same honoring and cherishing, the same for better or for worse, but with forever in each word.
A flurry of activity beside her. Simone conferred with Xavier and held out a box. “We have wedding rings, just in time.”
Peter thanked the butler and pulled a ring from the box. As he repeated the reverend’s words, Peter slipped the ring onto Evelyn’s finger, a bit big, but it stayed in place.
Evelyn worked Peter’s ring over his knuckle. “With this ring, I thee wed.”
“I now declare you man and wife,” Reverend Thompson said. “You may kiss the bride.”
With those lips. Those perfect lips.
A question flashed in Peter’s eyes, an apology.
No, they couldn’t hesitate now. If he didn’t initiate, she would.
But he leaned in, his gaze never leaving hers until the last moment. Then those lips met hers in a perfect fit. And she gave back, thanking him with her kiss for his care, his protection, his sacrifice, his kindness, his Peter-ness.
A giggle sounded behind her. Simone.
How long had they been kissing? Peter pulled away with a sheepish smile and turned to Reverend Thompson.
Evelyn tried to focus her eyes on the reverend. If Peter had meant for that kiss to convince the pastor of their love, it had to have worked. Because it had almost convinced Evelyn.
Her legs failing her, she leaned against Peter’s side.
If only it were real.
If only it could last.