by Julie Kenner
"Maybe I will."
He caught her in a hug, and she squeezed back, her eyes closed tight. When she opened them, she saw that Thelma and Delores were back on the sidewalk again, finishing the circle of their lunchtime walk. Even from this distance, she could make out their shocked expressions. She tensed, her first instinct to push Bart away.
"Julia?"
"Nothing," she said, hugging him tighter. He was her friend, he was a little part of who she was, and she wasn't going to feel guilty about that. Not even if it meant that tongues would be wagging by sundown. Or, more realistically, in the next fifteen minutes.
When she did pull away, she kept her hands on his shoulders, looked deep in his eyes. "You're okay?"
"I'm fine. But I'm not too keen on flying back to New York so soon."
"So stay," she said. "We've still got a few rooms at the Inn. And I'm getting married on Saturday." She squeezed his hand. "I'd love it if you'd sit on the bride's side of the aisle."
"You're sure? Or is this just your social training shining through?"
"My social training was impeccable," she admitted, "but I promise that the sentiment is real. Really. Stay."
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely. I could use the help, anyway."
His brow furrowed. "With what?"
"Finding a new place to have the wedding, for one. Unless I can line up a new locationand fastI might be saying my vows at the local Dairy Queen."
He pointed across the street. "The park is nicer."
"See? That's why I need your help. I'm too much of a basket case to think clearly on my own." It was a joke, but even so she made a mental note to check with the city and see if the park was available to be rented.
He grinned. "You're sure your fiance won't mind?"
"He won't," she said, fighting a frown. Surely he wouldn't, right? Not once he understood the circumstances.
"All right, then. But your pop won't be happy. I think he wants me standing at the altar, not sitting in the audience."
"You're right about that." She gave his hand a squeeze and stood up. "I guess I know what I'm doing for the rest of the afternoon. I need to go read my father the riot act."
"You're yelling at me ?" Marv asked, pointing to himself. "You're chewing out your father? You got no right, Princess. No right at all."
"No right ?" she repeated, pacing at the foot of the king-sized bed in his and Myrna's room. "You invite an old boyfriend down here, fail to mention that I'm engaged, and suggest to him that I'm going to go all mushy when I see him? You better believe I've got a right."
Marv squinted at her, while Myrna sat up near the pillows, wringing her hands. "Your father was only trying to help, baby," her mother finally said, her voice so soft it was almost unintelligible.
"No," Julia said, "he wasn't. He was trying to sabotage. Sabotage is not helping."
"I don't know what's gotten into you, Princess. You used to listen to your father. There used to be some respect. Now you're yipping at me like that damned little dog your mother fawns all over. It ain't right, baby girl. It just ain't right."
"I'm not a baby, Pop. I haven't been for a long time."
"No? You're damn well actin' like one. You wanna know why I invited Bart down here? You really want to know?"
"Yes! I really want to know, because I don't like being pissed at you, Pop. But right now, I'm so livid I can't see straight."
" 'Cause you're acting like a damned fool idiot, that's why. I had to shock some sense into you. You think I don't know why you're doing this?"
She gaped at him. "If by doing this you mean getting married, I'm doing it because I'm in love."
"Bullshit," Marv said. "You're doing it because of that damn fiasco with Somers."
"You're crazy!"
"Am I? Didn't you swear off boyfriends? Didn't you stand right in front of me and tell me that the next man would stick?"
"Well, yes." She had, too. She'd lost an heirloom necklace, and Somers hadn't been too thrilled. Neither had his family, and neither had Marv when he'd written the check to reimburse them. He'd laid into Julia, but good, calling her a serial dater and all kinds of nasty things, and she'd sworn off men and dating and assured him that the next time would be for real. But she hadn't meant it like that !
"Believe me, Pop. You don't intimidate me that much! I'm not getting married just because I made some offhand comment to you! I'm getting married to Roman because I love him."
"You know this Roman boy? You think you know him well enough to love him? You don't ," Marv said emphatically, before Julia could answer. "You've known the guy for what? A month? How you gonna get to know someone that fast?"
"I know what's important," she said.
"Yeah? Well, I know what's important, too. And I know that family's the most important thing of all. And what do you think this marriage is going to do to this family? Huh? You think about that?"
"Bart's a good boy," Myrna added, her voice almost pleading. "And he knows us. We still go out with Daniel and Charlene. Do you think we'll have family Christmases with the Sonntags?"
Julia stared, incredulous, at her mother and father. "So you're saying I should dump Roman and marry Bart because it'll make the holidays easier ?"
"You just think about what I'm saying," Marv said, waggling a finger her way.
Julia didn't answer. She couldn't. Because the truth was, she'd already thought about it. And as much as she hated to admit it, Marv was right. Marry Roman, and the holidays weren't going to be a warm, cozy family affair. Marv may have decompressed some, but emotions ran high. And even if the families entered into an all-encompassing truce, that still wouldn't change the basic facts: The Sonntags were class and old money. Crystal goblets and fine china. The Spinellis were classless and newly rich. Shag carpet, tacky architecture and flashy cars.
But she'd made her decision, and she'd chosen love over family. Maybe in her secret heart of hearts, she'd believed that after the wedding, their parents would find a way to get along and their worlds would mesh seamlessly. Now, though, she had to admit that the odds were not in her favor.
She loved her family, warts and all. But she loved Roman, too. She needed to make it clear to her parents that she'd already examined all her options, and she'd made her choice. Somehow, though, she couldn't find the courage to say that, when it came right down to it, her heart had chosen Roman.
So she didn't say anything, even though Marv was squinting at her, clearly expecting her to open her mouth. She kept it firmly shut, afraid that if she spoke, something stupid or hurtful would come out.
After a minute, Marv shifted, his expression altering slightly. She watched him, fascinated at the businessman's mind under the blustery Napoleonic facade. Marv might be full of cock-and-bull, but he hadn't built his empire without understanding how to negotiate, and how to find weaknesses.
Julia's stomach twisted a little as she waited for the jab that she knew was coming.
When he spoke, his voice wasn't the blustery bel-low she'd expected. Instead, it was calm, rational which meant that Marv was playing hardball.
"Your mother and I dated for almost a year before I proposed," he said. He glanced once in Myrna's direction, something tender and rarely seen in his eyes. "We knew everything about each other by the time I put a rock on her finger. My temper. My background. That your grandparents didn't have two nickels to rub together. That her pop was in the joint for stealin' cars. All our skeletons. All our secrets. So that when we stood up there in front of that minister and God and all our friends, we both knew that even though marriage wasn't ever easy, at least we were going into it with our eyes open."
Julia swallowed. It was the most calm, rational and reasonable speech she'd ever heard pass through her father's lips. And that, damn it all, was totally unfair!
"We did it smart, your mother and me. We knew what we were getting into. Knew each other. Knew our families. Can you say the same thing, baby girl?"
"Of course," she sa
id, not even aware she was lifting her chin, something she always did whenever she was on the defensive. "I know him as well as I know myself," she added. But even as she spoke, little niggles of doubt preyed on her. What was Roman's favorite color? His favorite movie? Did she know? Should she know?
Marv frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe you do and maybe you don't," he said. "But how about the other way around? Does he know you? Does he know us ?"
And this time, Julia just stayed silent. Because
Roman didn't, of course. The opposite, in fact, since Julia had done everything in her power over the last month to make sure that Roman knew as little as possible about her classless, brusque, tasteless, new-moneyed family.
The Julia Spinelli that Roman saw wasn't real. Somehow, someway, she had to fix his vision. And hope that, once she did, he'd still love her just as much.
* * *
Chapter Twelve
Dear Wedding Guru, I'm suddenly so nervous. I mean, I'm about to commit the rest of my life to this man, and do I really know him? I tried to think of his toothpaste brand last night, and I COULDN'T!!! I'm in trouble, aren't I? Signed, Impetuous in Idaho .
Dear Impetuous, First of all, you should be congratulated for even having your fears. Every girl has them; many ignore them. So kudos to you for facing yours. Now, though, the hard work starts. Are these typical pre-wedding jitters? Or are there serious issues between you and your groom? Toothpaste isn't the issue, but there does need to be communication and understanding. Are you in love? Or are you in love with being in love? Think about it .
from the syndicated column "Dear Wedding Guru: Helping You Take a Long Hard Look Before You Walk Down That Aisle"
Julia had flipped through every page of Bride magazine before realizing that she hadn't focused on even one of the dresses so beautifully displayed in the photographs. Obviously, she was distracted.
Not that she'd needed confirmation. At the moment, her entire life was one big distraction. Her wedding dress. Her wedding location. Her groom.
Her father's not-so-secret desire that she marry another man.
And, most importantly, her sudden overwhelming fear that somehow she'd managed to keep the heart of herself completely hidden from Roman these past months. He was marrying Julia Spinelli. At least that was printed on the invitations. But did he really know that girl? After all, what was printed on the invitations didn't matter. The lovely script on the thick vellum specifically said that the wedding and reception were at the Sonntag estate. Clearly that wasn't going to be happening.
Frustrated, she heaved the magazine across her room, the satisfying thwack as the thick magazine hit the dry-wall not even coming close to allaying her troubles.
She made a face, then got up and moved over toward her laptop. She'd sent Vivien an e-mail two hours earlier, when she'd first gone back to her room. She hadn't really intended to hide away for the rest of the night, but that's how it had turned out, and frankly she was fine with that.
Both Roman and Bart had called, and so had Syd, but she'd ignored them all, turning off her cell phone and instructing Carter not to put anyone through on penalty of losing his job. Considering the way Marv was hounding the boy, she was afraid that might not be a threat, but so far her phone was quiet.
She tapped her fingers on the desk as the computer booted up. In front of her was the laminated to do list she'd inherited from Breckin. She scowled, then grabbed a dry erase marker and wrote across it in big capital letters, "FIND A NEW LOCATION." And then, because she hadn't an idea in the world where to start, she tossed it across the room, too.
God, she was so behind. And the trouble just kept piling up. But the bizarre truth was that she just didn't care. Not really. Not enough. Because right then, the only important thing on her mind was Roman.
In the face of her new fears, her cleverly laminated to-do list didn't seem that important at all. Hard to believe, but at the moment, she really didn't care if she had the wedding of the century. She just wanted some sort of assurance that getting married was the right thing.
Damn Marv for tying her up in knots! And damn herself for letting him!
As soon as the computer screen came up, Julia navigated to her e-mail, and, yes, there was a message from Vivien.
Eagerly Julia opened it, then sagged in disappointment when she read the text:
From: vshelton
To: Crownjule
Subject: Re: Angst
Dammit , Jules, you CANNOT e-mail me with a crisis and then turn off your cell phone. And I couldn't get that little twerp to put me through to your room no matter how much I threatened. You have him totally wrapped around your little finger!
You're probably just taking a nap or something, but I can't call back. My phone died, and I'm waiting until I get to Texas to get a replacement. I'll call the next time I stop for gas or to walk the dogs if there's a pay phone. Don't do anything stupid. Whatever this is, it's just nerves. Roman's great.
And you KNOW I wouldn't say that if I didn't believe it, right?
Love you. I'll be there in time for the bachelor-ette party! We'll get smashed and you'll have a totally new perspective. See you soon.
Viv
Well, hell.
Julia typed a quick reply, assuring Viv that she was feeling much better. A lie, but she didn't want Viv to worry, especially since Viv was apparently communicationally challenged at the moment. She also didn't want Viv mentioning her onset of angst to J.B., who might mention it to Roman, who might think she was having cold feet.
The love of Viv's life, J.B. Anglin, also happened to be one of Roman's best friends and one of his groomsmen. There was something about the water in Fredericksburg that had all the northeastern girls falling for Texas men.
She shook her head, smiling a little at her own whimsy.
As she was typing, her computer dinged , the perky sound signaling yet another e-mail. She clicked to her in-box, then held her breath as she opened the reply from Kiki. Please, please, please let it be good news .
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Vera??
Julia
You poor thing. What you're suggesting is tantamount to an act of fashion terrorism, and you don't even know it. In this case, ignorance is NOT bliss! Print this out and tape it to your forehead. You don't rethink Vera Wang. Vera Wang rethinks YOU. When you turned down the chance for Vera to design your wedding gown, I thought my brother was marrying Mariah Carey, the GLITTER era. That's how disturbing it was! And luckily, your insane rebuke didn't ruin it for your bridesmaids. We will all be resplendent in Vera Wang, as YOU should be. And what's this nonsense about you once having a dress that you loved? Sweetheart, I don't care if your great-grandmother grimaced through her arthritis hand-sewing the lace train. If Vera Wang is THINKING about MAYBE designing your wedding gown, then even a precious heirloom gets relegated to something you wash the car in.
My advicekiss and make up with Breckin. He can produce miracles on short notice. Example: Once, back in high school, Sarah Jovies was a wreck before junior prom. Like a fool, she'd gone on the Pill the week before. Her idiot doctor gave her the kind with androgens, which can cause horrible acne. Sarah looked like the very worst of the Proactiv Solution "before" pictures and had to stay home. Well, her mother spoiled her rotten and had driven the girl to Dallas to find THE most fabulous prom dress. Breckin convinced her to let ME wear it. Why should an amazing frock just hang in a closet? A few alterations later, I wowed them at the prom. You know, I've always felt guilty about that night. Not the dress, of course. God meant for me to wear it. But the fact that I made out with Sarah's boyfriend. Anyway, the point iscall Breckin!
PS It's impossible for me to make the bachelorette party or rehearsal dinner. God, I'll be lucky to get there in time for the wedding itself! But I'll make it. Promise, promise. It's just with my book deal, and working out schedules with ABC and Fab's new nightclub, our lives are beyond crazy! But, honey, just point
me toward the aisle. If there's any kind of runway and an audience, this girl can wing it.
Air Kisses,
Kiki
Julia sighed. Not good news. For a second, she considered doing what Kiki had suggested and calling Breckin, but she'd been a little hysterical when she'd fired him. Chances were he was happy to be rid of her.
No, she didn't need her wedding planner. She just needed sympathy. Someone to whom she could bitch about both her dress fiasco and her frustrating fears about her relationship with Roman.
For a moment, she toyed with the idea of calling
Syd . But she dismissed that. Her sister did love Roman now, but she hadn't always. And somehow the thought of letting Syd know that there might be even the teensiest bit of trouble in paradise just didn't sit well.
No, this was her problem and her wedding. And she would have to handle it.
Ironic, really. Ever since she'd met Roman, she'd been able to run her problems by him. Most of the time, he'd even stepped up to the plate and helped solve them.
With a sigh, she lay back on the bed, letting her eyes drift over the walls. Blank now, but weeks ago, they'd been covered with pictures of wedding dresses. If a dress had even the slightest detail that she coveted, she'd taped it up so she could study it in the most subliminal of fashions.
Now, she got off the bed and lay down on the floor beside it, reaching far under to find and pull out the box she'd stuck down therethe dress photos. Once again, she taped them to the wall. Because once again, she was on the hunt for a dress.
She was getting married. And it was going to be an amazing wedding. And so what if she now had to find a different venue? She'd get Syd on the task tomorrow. She could even enlist Bart to help find the videographer.
And that's when it hit hera true V8 moment. She didn't want to entirely spill her guts with Bart, but he was good for talking. And she also recalled that he had some serious shopping stamina. Everything might be going to hell around her, but she could still shop. And number one on her list was finding Roman a groom's gift. And who better to help with that task than a man?