by Tracy Brogan
Dante chuckled. “Ah, that’s very clever. I get it. Smallpox.”
“Daddy, that’s not very nice,” Marti said.
Her father winked at Dante. “That was a test, kid, to see if you know your history. But few people realize that story about the blankets is a myth. The smallpox was true enough, but they’ve never found evidence—”
“Peter! Grace. Or the toast, or whichever, but this turkey is getting colder by the minute.”
“Sorry, Bev.” He lifted his glass again, and spoke fast. “I’m thankful for being right here, right now in this moment, and sharing it with each of you. Amen, and let’s eat.”
Harp music began trilling, and everyone looked around. Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Sorry, that’s me.” He glanced at the screen and frowned. “It’s my boss. I’m sorry, but I should answer this. Please go on and eat.”
Dante rose and left the table, walking into the family room.
“We may as well go for it. The kid doesn’t eat any of the hot food anyway,” Ben said. “And I’m starving.”
The room filled with clinks of platters being passed and spoons clinking against the side of serving bowls. Conversations started in between requests of “please pass me that,” and plates were piled high with food. Libby’s hand brushed against Tom’s as he handed her the basket of rolls, and he gave her such a look of longing she nearly laughed out loud.
“The turkey is perfect, Mom. And it’s hot. I haven’t had hot food since the baby was born. Maybe I will put him down.”
Ginny took a bite of turkey and stood up to take Teddy into the other room where a pristine bassinet was now waiting. But before she could wind her way behind the chairs and out of the dining room, Dante was back.
His forehead was creased with a frown, his lips pressed into a thin line. He was even a little pale.
“Baby, what’s the matter?” Marti gasped.
Forks clanked as they were dropped against the china plates.
Dante looked at Marti. “There was a water main break at the banquet hall. My boss says the entire place is flooded and there’s mud everywhere. He said it’s going to take weeks to clean it up.”
Marti’s eyes widened. Her mouth went slack, until she whispered, “But it can’t take weeks. We’re getting married there in nine days.”
This was just the type of thing to happen around the Hamilton family. Tom should have known the day couldn’t go by without some sort of mishap. Their luck was nearly as bad as his. If there was an abandoned well around, one of them was bound to fall in. But at least he’d be far removed from this dilemma. Marti’s dungeon-themed wedding was way outside of his jurisdiction. Of course, so was Ginny’s baby, and he’d been vaulted into that pretty tidily.
And in that instant, he knew.
He’d land intimately in the middle of this one, too. But a funny thing happened on the way to that thought. He realized he didn’t mind. For a guy who fancied himself a loner, he couldn’t seem to stop helping people. It made him feel good. Especially helping this family. Especially helping Libby.
He’d finally figured it out.
She wasn’t the quicksand. She was the vine he needed to pull free from the past.
The meal seemed to be forgotten as everyone huddled around the forlorn bride and her dazed groom. Even Peter tried to move from his chair, but ended up just turning it and sitting on the edge.
“What did your boss say, exactly?” Marti asked, sniffling.
“He said he went into the stables tonight to feed the horses and he heard water running. And when he went into the jousting yard, part of it was muddy. He kept looking around and finally he found the water pipe in the men’s room had come right through the wall into the banquet room, and water was spraying everywhere. He said it looked like it had been going for hours.”
“What are we going to do?” Marti leaned against his arm. She was a pitiful sight, and Tom felt for her. She reminded him of Rachel, her emotions so raw and intense.
“I don’t know. But we’ll figure out something.” Dante set his jaw, looking determined.
“We just need a place, I guess. I mean, I don’t really have to ride up on a white horse. But we’ve already bought the dresses.”
“I’d be willing to not wear mine,” Ginny said, which earned her a glare from Dante and another sniffle from Marti.
“Maybe you could just wait a few more weeks,” Peter suggested. “Then I’d be back on my feet and the banquet hall could be repaired.”
“I’m not waiting, Daddy. Stop asking me that.” Marti turned toward Dante’s chest and burst into tears.
“Ivan is going to New Zealand for a few months right after the wedding, Dad Hamilton. If we wait, then he can’t be the one to marry us. And he went to all that trouble getting certified online. It would be rude to not use him.”
“Ah, yes. Rude.” Peter nodded.
“How big of a place?” Tom heard himself asking.
Everyone in the room turned to him as if he’d shot off a flare gun.
Marti sniffled and lifted her head from Dante’s chest. “Not that big. We only have forty-four people coming. Why?”
“No reason. I just wondered.”
That wasn’t entirely true. In fact, it wasn’t remotely true, but he wasn’t going to toss out his idea without a second opinion. He looked down at Libby, who was pressed against his side.
She looked up, and it took only seconds before she guessed his intent.
“The ice-cream parlor,” Libby said loud and clear. “You guys could have your wedding at the ice-cream parlor.”
“I can totally pull this together, Marti,” Libby said as her sister sniffled and wiped a tear off her cheek. “I’ve organized corporate events for six hundred people in a month. I can certainly coordinate a wedding for forty-four people in nine days.”
Libby felt a rush of adrenaline, the excitement of having something to plan. She’d missed that part of her job. She was good at this, and she could prove it. She would scout out the best deal, coordinate all the details, and bring it together with precision. And have fun doing it.
Marti sniffed again, looked up at Dante, and then over at her father. “What do you think, Daddy? It’s your building.”
Her father stared back for a long moment, his brows furrowed, and Libby thought for certain he was looking for some way to shoot down the idea. Then he twisted in his chair to face Tom. “What do you think? That’s the bigger question. Is the place ready? Ready enough for something like this?”
“It can be ready in a week. With my buddies stopping by to lend a hand, it’s all come together lately. And if we don’t install the ice-cream freezers until after the wedding, there will be plenty of room.”
Libby felt a swell of anticipation, as if she’d become part of a grand, ridiculous scheme.
“Couldn’t you just have it at a regular banquet room?” Ginny said, swaying back and forth as she rocked the baby. “I mean, like a place with an actual kitchen. How are you going to deal with the food?”
Marti shook her head. “We can’t afford a restaurant or anything like that. We were getting the food, and the decorations, and everything from Dante’s boss at a huge discount. Well, not a discount really, because Dante was working extra shifts to cover the difference.”
“You were working for that discount?” Libby’s dad asked. He leaned forward in his chair.
Dante shrugged. “Of course.”
“I thought it was an employee benefit. Why didn’t you kids ask Beverly and me for some money?” He looked from Dante to Marti.
“Because, Daddy, you needed that money for the ice-cream parlor. And we wanted to show you that Dante and I can take care of ourselves.”
Libby’s father leaned back in his chair. “Well, I’ll be damned. And I guess you can, too. I’m very proud of you, Martha. And you, too, Dante. That shows real initiative. Real pluck. And that’s a fine quality.”
He looked back over to Tom. “You say th
e place can be ready in a week?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Liberty, if Bev and I made a contribution toward this endeavor, do you really think you can set it all up?”
“Daddy, we don’t need—” Marti said, but he cut her off.
“Martha Washington Hamilton, what kind of a father would I be if I didn’t help pay for your wedding? It’s not because I think you can’t. It’s because I want to. And so does your mother, right, Beverly?”
Libby’s mother looked frazzled and dazed, that hot pink flush still staining her cheeks. She lifted her wineglass in resigned agreement. “Of course we do.”
CHAPTER twenty-three
“All right, I admit it,” Ginny whispered to Libby. “These dresses are as uncomfortable as hell, but I feel kind of sexy, in a wenchy sort of way.”
Libby giggled behind her bouquet of posies. “Kind of makes you want to get swashbuckled, doesn’t it?”
They stood together next to the makeshift altar inside the ice-cream parlor. Friends and family, some even wearing medieval costumes, including her parents, sat on fabric-covered folding chairs. Lute music wafted through the room, courtesy of a very modern iPod and some good speakers, and the heavy, sweet scent of roses clung to the air.
“I think you have a pretty good chance of getting yourself swashbuckled,” Ginny whispered back. “Tom hasn’t stopped staring at you since we walked in.”
Libby caught his eye and smiled. She’d seen him quite a bit over the past week and a half, and each time she did, she fell for him a little harder.
At last, Marti and their father came through the door and began their progression. It was slow going with him on crutches, but he was determined to do it. Marti looked every inch the gorgeous bride in her velvet dress, with her auburn hair spun in ringlets down her back. Happiness glowed all around her.
Arriving at the altar, Marti kissed their dad’s cheek. “I love you, Daddy,” she murmured.
“I love you, too, Martha.” His voice was thick. He shook hands with Dante before hobbling over to his seat, the feather in his jaunty hat fluttering a bit. Libby saw him dash away a sentimental tear, and her mother handed him a handkerchief that was knotted up and probably already damp. Nana sat on the other side of her in a sparkly, pink chiffon dress.
Dante took Marti by the arm and smiled at her as if she were an oasis in the desert. He was charming in his medieval garb. Two of his brothers stood at his side, dressed as he was. Even Ivan had joined in and wore a brown monk’s robe. And in spite of being a tattoo artist/minister of dubious origins, he did a commendable job leading the bride and groom through their vows.
Libby felt her emotions swell, and she nearly erupted into tears when Dante promised to love and cherish her little sister. She wanted to look at Tom just then but didn’t dare. He’d read every emotion on her face if she did. It was bad enough to have fallen so stupidly in love with someone she’d known for only three months, and quite another thing to let him know it.
Libby’s father stood at one end of the long table set up in the middle of the ice-cream parlor, with Marti and Dante on either side of him, beaming at each other.
Everyone had taken a seat, but the conversation stopped as soon as Dante clinked his fork against the goblet he was holding.
The forks had been a concession by the bride and groom. They’d wanted to use their hands in true medieval fashion, but that was where Libby drew the line. She wasn’t going to set up any event that didn’t include utensils.
Libby reached over and squeezed Tom’s hand as all the guests quieted around them. He squeezed back.
Her father cleared his throat. “As I’m sure everyone here knows, the term honeymoon comes from the old tradition of a bride and groom drinking honeyed mead for one month after the nuptials to ensure good fortune.”
“I didn’t know that. Did you know that?” Tom whispered in her ear, his breath warm and enticing.
She squeezed his hand again.
“In that spirit, my lovely daughter Liberty has procured several bottles for us to toast with this evening. Therefore, please indulge me while I say a few words about my daughter and her new husband.”
Everyone seemed to shift and find a more comfortable position in their chairs. Word about her father and his long-windedness must have spread.
“When I first met Dante, I’ll admit, I didn’t quite know what to make of him.”
A murmur of laughter rippled around the table, mainly from Dante’s relatives.
“But over these last few weeks I’ve come to recognize him as dependable, industrious, inquisitive, and quite honestly, a little eccentric. A man not unlike myself.”
More ripples of laughter.
“Dante is a good man, and he loves my daughter, and so it is with much joy that I welcome him into our family.”
Libby’s father turned toward Marti. “Martha, you have been my little girl, my constant cheerleader, and my biggest challenge.”
Marti smiled, her cheeks flushed with pink.
“I’m very proud of the young woman you’ve become. Your happiness is tantamount to mine, and so I send you off on this matrimonial journey with an Irish blessing: May the saddest day of your future be no worse than the happiest day of your past. May your hands be forever clasped in friendship, and your hearts joined forever in love. To the bride and groom.”
Glasses went plink and clink as they were raised from the table and everyone toasted. Libby tapped her glass against Tom’s and nearly melted into a puddle at the sentimental look in his eyes.
Dinner went on, more toasts were offered, and quite a few jokes were made at Dante’s expense. The bride and groom laughed and kissed… and kissed again. And Libby felt a wonderful certainty that her sister was going to be happy. She looked down the table at Ginny. Ben was next to her, holding Teddy in the crook of his arm like a football, a comfortable, cuddly football. Still the picture-perfect couple. Even her mother and Nana were chatting together with smiles on their faces. It must be something in the mead, a magical ingredient. Good fortune, her dad had said. She took a gulp from her glass and smiled at Tom.
It was late in the evening when Libby’s mother came to Libby’s side and said, “Your father and I need to get Nana home, Libby. She’s a little loopy from the mead. And quite frankly, I need to get out of this dress. I can’t believe I agreed to wear it.”
Libby kissed her mother on the cheek. “You look like a queen, though, Mom. Dad looks more like a jester.”
“That’s no coincidence.” Her mom smiled. “Listen, I hate to even ask you this, but would you mind making sure everything is locked up once everyone is gone? I told Marti, but she’s not listening, and Ginny needs to get home to feed the baby.”
“Sure. That’s no problem. Is it?” Libby turned to Tom. He was her ride and her official date, after all. And she’d come here in Ginny’s car.
Tom shook his head. “No, of course not.”
Libby’s mother patted her shoulder. “You did so much to pull this all together. Both of you. And I’m amazed at how lovely everything looks. You outdid yourself, Libby.”
Libby warmed from the compliment. “It was fun. This used to be my job, you know.”
“I know. I was actually thinking about that. Maybe you could do this for other people in Monroe.”
“Host dungeon-themed, ice-cream parlor weddings?”
Her mother chuckled. “No, not exactly. But you could plan events just like you did in Chicago, couldn’t you? I know you’re used to great big venues, but you’ve got a real knack for this. Just a few days ago this was an empty room, but now it’s all so pretty. I wish we could keep it like this.”
Libby looked around. Her mother was right. It was pretty in here, and Libby had made that happen. She’d promised a pretty significant number of free ice-cream cones to the vendors around town, too, but in the end, they’d all come through with low prices, and some had even donated flowers and tulle. And in the process, she’d made some good connec
tions. She’d forgotten how interwoven everyone was in Monroe, how much people were willing to lend a hand. And how much fun it was to assemble all the pieces of an event. Like putting together a real-life puzzle and watching as it turned into a picture. Her mother’s idea had some merit.
“I’ll have to give that some thought, Mom. Give Nana a kiss for me, okay?”
“I will. I’ll see you later. Your father says good night. He can’t be up on that foot anymore.”
Her father was waiting by the door, his medieval tunic hanging down past his hips, his cap now askew. He raised his hand to wave good-bye.
“Maybe we should help your dad and Nana get to the car,” Tom said.
Libby shook her head and tugged on his plain white dress shirt instead. No amount of cajoling could convince him to dress the medieval part tonight, but he looked damn fine in a regular old suit. His jacket was hung over a chair somewhere now, and he’d rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie.
She pulled him under a trellis of flowers just as soon as her mother turned her back.
“No, they’re fine,” Libby whispered. “And we haven’t had much time together tonight. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.”
His hands came to rest on her waist. “You do put on a nice party, Miss Hamilton. And might I add, that is some dress. It’s got me quite distracted.” He peered down at her well-displayed cleavage. The corset was uncomfortable, but it did serve a useful purpose if it made him look at her like that.
“What, this old thing?” She laughed, and then she kissed him, not caring who saw or what they thought. Not her sisters or her parents or her grandmother. She just needed to kiss him.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her tight, kissing back as if they were alone in the world.
“Hey!” Marti called. “It’s my wedding night, not yours.”
Libby felt another giggle welling up and pulled away. His eyes were dark and full of promise, and she wanted nothing more than to explore that.
But it was another hour before the last of the guests left. Libby tried to shoo them out faster, even turning off most of the lights, hoping they’d get the hint, but Marti and Dante were full of euphoria and love for every single person, dragging out the good-byes way too long.