The Wedding

by Nicholas Sparks

  I wondered whether Jane was thinking about the date I had planned. Given all the excitement, I thought it unlikely--and knowing me as she did, I doubted she was expecting much in the way of a surprise, despite what I had intimated last night. I'd been wonderfully adept at setting the bar rather low over the years, but I couldn't help but hope that it would make what I had planned even more special.

  As I gazed at the house, I realized that the months I'd spent preparing for our anniversary would reach fruition. Keeping the secret from Jane had been anything but easy, but now that the evening was at hand, I realized that most of what I'd wanted for Jane and me had already happened. I'd originally thought my gift a token of a new beginning; now it seemed like the end of a journey I'd been on for over a year.

  The property had finally emptied, and I made one final tour through the house before getting in my car. On my way home, I swung by the grocery store, then made a few other stops, gathering everything else that I needed. By the time I got home, it was nearly five o'clock. I took a few minutes to straighten up, then hopped in the shower to wash off the day's accumulated grime.

  Knowing I had little time, I moved quickly over the next hour. Following the list I'd crafted at the office, I began preparations for the evening I had planned, the evening I'd thought about for months. One by one, items fell into place. I'd asked Anna to call me as soon as Jane had dropped her off, to give me a sense of when Jane would arrive. She did, alerting me to the fact that Jane was only fifteen minutes away. After making sure the house looked perfect, I completed my last task, taping a note to the locked front door, impossible for Jane to miss:

  "Welcome home, darling. Your surprise awaits you inside. . . ."

  Then I got into my car and drove away.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Almost three hours later, I gazed out the front windows of Noah's house and saw headlights approaching. Checking my watch, I saw that she was right on time.

  As I straightened my jacket, I tried to imagine Jane's state of mind. Though I hadn't been with her when she'd arrived at our home, I tried to picture her. Was she surprised that my car wasn't in the drive? I wondered. Surely she would have noticed that I'd drawn the drapes before leaving--perhaps she had paused in the car, puzzled or even intrigued.

  I guessed her hands were full when she exited the car, if not with the dress for the wedding, then no doubt with the new shoes she'd purchased that day. Either way, there would be no mistaking the note as she approached the steps, and I could just see the look of curiosity crossing her features.

  When she read it on the steps, how had she reacted to my words? This, I didn't know. A baffled smile, perhaps? Her uncertainty was no doubt heightened by the fact that I wasn't home.

  What, then, would she have thought when she unlocked the door to reveal a darkened living room lit only by the pale yellow glow of candles and the plaintive sound of Billie Holiday on the stereo? How long had it taken her to notice the scattered rose petals on the floor that trailed from the foyer through the living room and up the staircase? Or the second note I'd taped to the balustrade:

  Sweetheart, this evening is for you. Yet there is a role you must play to fulfill it. Think of this as a game: I'm going to give you a list of instructions, and your role is to do as I ask.

  The first task is simple: Please blow out the candles downstairs, and follow the rose petals to the bedroom. Further instructions will await you there.

  Had she gasped in surprise? Or laughed in disbelief? I couldn't be sure, yet knowing Jane, I was certain she would want to play along. When she reached the bedroom, her curiosity must have been piqued.

  Inside the bedroom, she would find candles lit on every surface and the soothing music of Chopin playing quietly. A bouquet of thirty roses lay on the bed; on either side of the flowers lay a neatly wrapped box, each with a note attached. The card on the left was labeled "Open now." The card on the right was labeled "Open at eight o'clock."

  I pictured her moving slowly toward the bed and bringing the bouquet to her face, inhaling its heady scent. When she opened the card on the left, this is what she read: "You've had a busy day, so I thought you'd like to relax before our date this evening. Open the gift that accompanies this card and carry the contents with you to the bathroom. More instructions await you there."

  If she glanced over her shoulder, she would have seen still more candles glowing in the bathroom--and upon opening the gift, she would have found the package of bath oils and body lotions and new silk bathrobe right away.

  Knowing Jane, I'm guessing that she toyed with the card and package on the right, the one she couldn't open until eight. Had she debated whether or not to follow the instructions? Had she traced her fingers over the wrapping paper, then pulled back? I suspected as much but knew that ultimately she would have sighed and headed for the bathroom.

  On the vanity was yet another note:

  Is there anything better than a long hot bath after a busy day? Pick the bath oil you want, add plenty of bubbles, and fill the tub with hot water. Next to the tub you'll find a bottle of your favorite wine, still chilled, and already uncorked. Pour yourself a glass. Then slip out of your clothes, get in the tub, lean your head back, and relax. When you're ready to get out, towel off and use one of the new lotions I bought you. Do not dress; instead, put on the new robe and sit on the bed as you open the other gift.

  In the remaining box was a new cocktail dress and black pumps, both of which I'd purchased after determining the appropriate sizes from the clothing in her closet. The card that accompanied her clothing for the evening was simple.

  You're almost done. Please open the box and put on the items I've bought you. If you would, wear the earrings I bought you for Christmas when we were first dating. Don't dally, though, my dear--you have exactly forty-five minutes to finish everything. Blow out all the candles, drain the tub, and shut off the music. At eight forty-five, go down to the front porch. Lock the door behind you. Close your eyes and stand with your back to the street. When you turn around again, open your eyes, for our date will then be ready to begin. . . .

  Out front, waiting for her was the limousine I'd ordered. The driver, who was holding yet another gift, was instructed to say, "Mrs. Lewis? I'll bring you to your husband now. He wants you to open this gift as soon as you get in the car. He's left you something else inside as well."

  In the box he held was a bottle of perfume, accompanied by a short note: "I picked this perfume especially for the evening. After you get in the car, put some on and open the other gift. The note inside will tell you what to do."

  In that box was a narrow black scarf. The card nestled in its folds read as follows:

  You're going to be driven to the place where I'll meet you, but I want it to be a surprise. Please use the scarf as a blindfold--and remember, don't peek. The drive will be less than fifteen minutes, and the driver will begin when you say, "I'm ready." When the car stops, the driver will open your door. Keep the blindfold on, and ask him to guide you out of the car.

  I'll be waiting for you.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The limousine came to a stop in front of the house, and I drew a long breath. When the driver exited the car, he nodded to let me know that everything had gone smoothly, and I nodded nervously in return.

  In the last couple of hours, I'd alternated between excitement and terror at the thought that Jane might have found all of this . . . well, silly. As the driver moved toward her door, I suddenly found it difficult to swallow. Still, I crossed my arms and leaned against the porch railing, doing my best to look nonchalant. The moon was glowing white, and I could hear the sounds of crickets chirping.

  The driver opened the door. Jane's leg appeared first, and almost as if in slow motion, she emerged from the car, the blindfold still in place.

  All I could do was stare at her. In the moonlight, I could see the faint outlines of a smile on her face, and she looked both exotic and elegant. I motioned to the driver, letting him know th
at he was free to leave.

  As the car drove off, I approached Jane slowly, gathering the courage to speak.

  "You look wonderful," I murmured into her ear.

  She turned toward me, her smile broadening. "Thank you," she said. She waited for me to add something more, and when I didn't, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Can I take off the blindfold yet?"

  I glanced around, making sure everything looked the way I wanted.

  "Yes," I whispered.

  She tugged on the scarf; it immediately loosened and fell from her face. It took her eyes a moment to focus--resting first on me, then on the house, then back on me. Like Jane, I had dressed for the evening; my tuxedo was new and tailored. She blinked as if awakening from a dream.

  "I thought you'd want to see how it will look this weekend," I offered.

  She turned slowly from side to side. Even from a distance, the property looked enchanted. Beneath the inky sky, the tent glowed white, and the floodlights in the garden cast fingerlike shadows while illuminating the color of the rose blossoms. The water in the fountain glittered in the moonlight.

  "Wilson . . . it's . . . incredible," she stammered.

  I took her hand. I could smell the new perfume I'd bought her and saw the small diamonds in her ears. Dark lipstick accentuated her full lips.

  Her expression was full of questions as she faced me. "But how? I mean . . . you only had a couple of days."

  "I promised you it would be magnificent," I said. "Like Noah said, it's not every weekend that we have a wedding around here."

  Jane seemed to notice my appearance for the first time, and she took a step back.

  "You're wearing a tuxedo," she said.

  "I got it for the weekend, but I figured I should break it in first."

  She assessed me from top to bottom. "You look . . . great," she admitted.

  "You sound surprised."

  "I am," she said quickly, then caught herself. "I mean, I'm not surprised by how good you look, it's just that I didn't expect to see you this way."

  "I'll take that as a compliment."

  She laughed. "Come on," she said, tugging on my hand. "I want to see everything you did up close."

  I had to admit, the view was magnificent. Set amid the oaks and cypress trees, the thin fabric of the tent glowed in the floodlights like a living force. The white chairs had been placed in curved rows like an orchestra, mirroring the curve of the garden just beyond. They were angled around a focal point, and the trellis gleamed with light and colored foliage. And everywhere we gazed, there were flowers.

  Jane began to move slowly down the aisle. I knew that in her mind's eye, she was seeing the crowd and imagining Anna, what she would see from her designated vantage point near the trellis. When she turned to look at me, her expression was dazzled and uncomprehending.

  "I never believed it could look like this."

  I cleared my throat. "They did a good job, didn't they."

  She shook her head solemnly. "No," she said. "They didn't. You did."

  When we reached the head of the aisle, Jane released my hand and approached the trellis. I stayed in place, watching her as she ran her hands over the carvings and fingered the strand of lights. Her gaze drifted to the garden.

  "It looks exactly the way it used to," she marveled.

  As she circled the trellis, I stared at the dress she wore, noticing how it clung to the curves I knew so well. What was it about her that still took my breath away? The person she was? Our life together? Despite the years that had passed since I'd first seen her, the effect she had on me had only grown stronger.

  We entered the rose garden and circled the outermost concentric heart; in time, the lights from the tent behind us grew dimmer. The fountain burbled like a mountain brook. Jane said nothing; instead, she simply absorbed the surroundings, occasionally looking over her shoulder to make sure I was close. On the far side, only the roof of the tent was evident. Jane stopped and scanned the rosebushes, then finally selected a red bud and broke it free. She plucked the thorns before approaching me and tucked it into my lapel. After adjusting it until she was satisfied, she patted my chest gently and looked up.

  "You look more finished with a boutonniere," she said.

  "Thank you."

  "Did I mention how handsome you look all dressed up?"

  "I think you used the word . . . great. But feel free to say it as often as you like."

  She laid a hand on my arm. "Thank you for what you did here. Anna's going to be absolutely amazed."

  "You're welcome."

  Leaning in close, she murmured, "And thank you for tonight, too. That was . . . quite a little game I came home to."

  In the past, I would have seized the opportunity to press her about it and reassure myself that I'd done well, but instead I reached for her hand.

  "There's something else I want you to see," I said simply.

  "Don't tell me you've got a carriage led by a team of white horses out in the barn," she teased.

  I shook my head. "Not quite. But if you think that might be a good idea, I could try to arrange something."

  She laughed. As she moved closer, the heat of her body was tantalizing. Her eyes were mischievous. "So what else did you want to show me?"

  "Another surprise," I offered.

  "I don't know if my heart's going to be able to take it."

  "Come on," I said, "this way."

  I drew her out of the garden and down a gravel path, toward the house. Above us, the stars were blinking in a cloudless sky, and the moon reflected in the river beyond the house. Branches dripped with Spanish moss, scraggly limbs stretched in all directions like ghostly fingers. The air carried the familiar scent of pine and salt, an odor unique to the low country. In the silence, I felt Jane's thumb moving against my own.

  She seemed to feel no need to rush. We walked slowly, taking in the sounds of the evening: the crickets and cicadas, leaves rustling in the trees, the gravel crunching underfoot.

  She stared toward the house. Silhouetted against the trees, it was a timeless image, the white columns along the porch lending the home an almost opulent air. The tin roof had darkened in color over the years and seemed to vanish into the evening sky, and I could see the yellow glow of candles through the windows.

  As we entered the house, the candles flickered in the sudden draft. Jane stood in the doorway, staring into the living room. The piano, cleaned and dusted, gleamed in the soft light, and the wood floor in front of the fireplace where Anna would dance with Keith shone like new. The tables--with white napkins folded into the shape of swans set atop the gleaming china and crystal--resembled photographs of an exclusive restaurant. Silver goblets at each setting glittered like Christmas ornaments. The tables along the far wall that would be used for the food on the weekend seemed to vanish amid the flowers between the chafing dishes.

  "Oh, Wilson . . . ," she breathed.

  "It'll be different when everyone arrives on Saturday, but I wanted you to see how it looked without the crowd."

  She released my hand and walked around the room, absorbing every detail.

  At her nod, I went to the kitchen, opened the wine, and poured two glasses. Glancing up, I saw Jane staring at the piano, her face shadowed in profile.

  "Who's going to be playing?" she asked.

  I smiled. "If you could have chosen, who would you pick?"

  She gave me a hopeful look. "John Peterson?"

  I nodded.

  "But how? Isn't he playing at the Chelsea?"

  "You know he's always had a soft spot for you and Anna. The Chelsea will survive without him for a night."

  She continued to stare at the room in wonder as she approached me. "I just don't see how you could have done all this so fast . . . I mean, I was just here a few days ago."

  I handed her a wineglass. "Then you approve?"

  "Approve?" She took a slow sip of wine. "I don't think I've ever seen the house look this beautiful."

&n
bsp; I watched the candlelight flickering in her eyes.

  "Are you hungry yet?" I asked.

  She seemed almost startled. "To be honest, I haven't even thought about it. I think I'd like to enjoy my wine and look around for a while before we have to go."

  "We don't have to go anywhere. I was planning on having dinner here."

  "But how? There's nothing in the cupboards."

  "Wait and see." I motioned over my shoulder. "Why don't you relax and look around while I get started?"

  Leaving her side, I went to the kitchen, where the preparations for the elaborate meal I'd planned were already under way. The crab-stuffed sole I had made was ready to go, and I set the oven to the proper temperature. The ingredients for the hollandaise sauce were already measured and set aside; the contents simply needed to be added to the saucepan. Our salads were tossed and the dressing made.

  As I worked, I glanced up from time to time and saw Jane moving slowly through the main room. Though each table was the same, she paused at each one, imagining the particular guest who would be seated there. She absently adjusted the silverware and rotated the vases of flowers, usually returning them to their original position. There was a calm, almost content satisfaction about her that I found strangely moving. Then again, almost everything about her moved me these days.

  In the silence, I pondered the sequence of events that had brought us to this point. Experience had taught me that even the most precious memories fade with the passage of time, yet I didn't want to forget a single moment of the last week we'd spent together. And, of course, I wanted Jane to remember every moment as well.

  "Jane?" I called out. She was out of my sight line, and I guessed she was near the piano.

  She appeared from the corner of the room. Even from a distance, her face was luminous. "Yes?"

  "While I'm getting dinner ready, would you do me a favor?"

  "Sure. Do you need a hand in the kitchen?"

  "No. I left my apron upstairs. Would you mind getting it for me? It's on the bed in your old room."

  "Not at all," she said.

  A moment later, I watched her disappear up the stairs. I knew she wouldn't be coming back down until dinner was nearly ready.