Cristien just took my hand and led me back to the car.
“Where are we going?” I asked, as he turned into traffic. When he didn’t answer my heart started pounding excitedly. What could he have in store next? Not a church wedding?
We ended up in Central Park. Cristien stopped behind a black limousine. That was surprising, but not as much as the huge white pavilion set up on the grass alongside two smaller white tents. The big one looked like something from the Arabian Nights. It had pillars and a stacked roof.
“What’s that?” I asked, stupidly. “That’s not for us, is it?”
Cristien came around and opened my door. He led me to the smaller tent on the right. Inside was a little salon and a wedding dress on a manikin, silver satin covered with pearls and lace. It had a matching veil hung beside it. My hands flew to my mouth. I had seen it in the window of a store the day we had gone shopping and remarked in passing that I thought it was the most beautiful dress in the world. It was made by a designer. The price tag had been in the tens of thousands. I never dreamed I could have it. I turned to Cristien in disbelief.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“I love it,” I gasped, throwing my arms around him. I started to cry.
“No tears,” he said, wiping my face. “Today is a happy day.”
I sniffed while he wiped my face. I stared at him in awe. He was a miracle, the most romantic man in the whole world. He caressed my cheek then stepped back. I held onto his hand.
“I have to get ready,” he said, giving me one last kiss and leaving.
Alone, I went to admire the dress. My mind was boggled. How could this be mine? I was a poor girl from Brooklyn. I stared all around me, at the high pointed roof to the table laden with make-up, hair brushes and pins. How could I be here? And what was I going to do with all this stuff? While I tried to assimilate it all, two women walked in. I spun around.
“Hi, I’m Sara.” The first was a woman in her thirties. She was tall, thin, with short black hair. She stepped forward. “I’m your stylist for today.”
She put out her hand. I shook it. The second stepped forward, smiling. She was shorter, plump and very confident.
“I’m Lisa. I’m going to help you with your dress.”
They led me to the only chair. It was in front of a table with a huge mirror and lights. I sat facing it while they worked. Sara matched my color, found eyeliner, lipstick, and blush, which she applied. She did my hair with pins, pearls and petals. I sat there all eyes while she spun her magic.
When she was done, Lisa got me into a bandeau, stockings, the poufy thing under the dress, shoes, and finally my dress and lace sleeves. They were done in an hour. They turned me to face the mirror. There I was in the most delicate dress, draped in lace, satin, and pearls. I was beautiful, a beautiful bride. The sight was more perfect than I could have ever dreamed. Sara and Lisa put the veil on my head, over my face.
“Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you,” I told to them both. I took their hands and squeezed. I was so grateful. “You’ll never know how much I appreciate your help.”
Lisa smiled and hugged me lightly. “Good luck, and live happily ever after.”
Sara shook my hand again. “I wish all my brides were so easy to work on. Go get him, girl.”
I laughed, and she pulled back the curtain of the tent. Slowly, with my heart on my sleeve, I stepped outside. Cristien was waiting for me. He turned around. He was wearing a dark gray morning suit with waistcoat, cravat and top hat. He was the definition of the word dashing. He looked like a dream.
“My God,” was all he said before he touched my veil. His expression was of quiet awe. It mirrored mine.
Lance came up wearing a dark blue suit. He looked handsome as always. He stared at me, about to say something, but then he looked away. Cristien hooked my arm around his and we strode to the great pavilion.
Inside, the floor was covered with red and white rose petals. They were dripped into the most gorgeous patterns. The walls were draped with ornate strings of pink flowers and lights twined and looped. The ceiling was hung with gold and silver silks. It took my breath away. The whole time Cristien watched my face. I tore my attention from the room to his countenance. What could I say? It was beyond words. But I knew he understood.
We walked forward. A slender man wearing a white robe was waiting for us behind a small fire. His eyes were like almonds. His lashes were so long, he couldn’t be human.
“This is Chandraswami, healer and holy man. He gave me the poem for you,” Cristien said. “He offered to perform our wedding for us. His wife decorated the pavilion.”
“Thank you so much, sir.”
He bowed to me then began the service.
“I have said the prayers for you. Today is a very auspicious day to begin your lives together, and I am proud to attend it. This flame symbolizes your love. I began it with two small candles and see how they have come together and grown. Like fire, love gives of itself. Like fire, your love will grow unstoppably, spreading to warm the world. I bless you, my children. I pray for you. Now walk together side by side around the flame. In my culture, the bride and groom walk around seven times so they will return to one another seven times, but you have been liberated from this cycle of life and death. Your lives are set. You will never part one from another. You have become like Shakti and Shiva, as female and male energies coming together and making itself perfect again and whole. You will need no others. You are a world unto yourselves. May you seek neither joy nor find sorrow, but meet each with the same face, for sorrow and joy are both lies. Look unto each other and you will find light, you will find truth. Now begin your eternal journey.”
Lance stepped forward with two wedding bands on a pillow. Cristien and I put them on. They were shaped like two sets of wings touching. Then we walked around the flame side by side for one circuit only before Chandraswami said, “By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Oh, yes, and you may kiss the bride.”
Chandraswami laughed, wobbling his head when Cristien lifted the veil, and we kissed.
We were married. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t take my eyes away from Cristien. I was his wife. His wife. He led me to the limo. Lance threw rice at us by the handfuls, pelting us and stinging my cheeks and hands. The driver even got some when he opened the door. Then we were inside the dimness of the car. I could still hear the grains hitting the windows like rain. We waved at Lance. He waved back. Then we drove away.
When we were alone, Cristien enfolded me in his arms, pressed me against him. I looked around. I had never been in a limo before. There were so many things being offered. There was a refrigerator, a radio, a fan, a bar, and lots of things behind doors. I could hardly stop myself from finding out. My mind was racing. I was adrift, even though Cristien was holding me. I wanted my mother. I wanted her sitting there frowning at me. I missed her picking at me, at my makeup, my hair, correcting everything in my life, putting her seal of approval on it, guaranteeing it against failure.
What had I done? She should have been here. I needed her here to make everything all right. I was a child. I didn’t know what I was doing. How could I, if I had committed to spend eternity with an eight-hundred-year-old man I’d only known for little over a month? Then something in me said, “you really didn’t have a choice; you have wings.” I almost acquiesced. I almost thought “yes, that is true,” but another part said “no, you have a choice. You have always had a choice, and you have made the right one. You followed your heart. You did what you wanted for once in your life. You’re not a child anymore. You’re his wife. There’s no going back.”
“But if you could, would you?” the voice asked. To answer the question I sensed Cristien around me, holding me. I felt his love, as Chandraswami had said, like a flame heating me. Could I give this up, for anything, for my mother’s approval, for the security of my irresponsible childhood back? No, I didn’t want to go back. Yes, I h
ad wings. I had them so I could fly. I had finally lived up to my Hebrew name, Aliyah, but not in a way anyone would have expected.
I remembered how I had wept when I first got them, how I had prayed for God to take them away. He had not answered me. I thought it was because He had abandoned me. Now, I knew it was because this was my fate, my destiny. It was meant to be.
I was now Alexa Wyndham LaRoche. And I had better start acting like it and get that gorgeous name on a credit card as soon as possible. I was happy, full and blissful, joyous. I tightened my arms around Cristien, intending never to let him go. He trembled with emotion, like he knew what I had decided. I wanted to see his face, know what he was feeling, but he wouldn’t let me. He held me harder.
“I love you,” he whispered.
I ushered Alexa into the limousine while Lance liberally. rained rice on us. I shielded her as much as I could, getting most of the sharp pellets in the back of my neck. They funneled down my shirt while I got her to safety inside the car. The door slammed with a strange final sound. I looked out at my friend, and a bit of sadness touched this happiest moment in my life.
I raised my hand in farewell.
“Be happy,” he mouthed.
“You too,” I told him.
It had been a long morning for us both, a long week. We had said very little about what was going to happen, but we both felt it. We were parting from each other. We, who had become like brothers over the years, were going our separate ways. He had taught me so much about living, about laughing, dressing and dancing. Without him I would never have met Alexa. I owed him my happiness. I looked after him as we drove away until I lost sight of him, my best friend.
Then I turned to the love of my life. She was draped in white, the picture of beauty, the culmination of all my life’s days. And the poem Chandraswami had given me came truly alive, for was she not clad in the light of a pole star? Had I not heaped at her feet my poor self? Had I not found my end in her?
I couldn’t bear to be apart from her another moment. I clasped her to my heart. And I knew I should give thanks, thanks for all I had. My spirit opened to God for the first time since I had turned away from my vigil into Lily’s arms because I understood how wrong I had been. I should have done as Chandraswami had said. I should have greeted all my obstacles with the same expression. I should have been happy the day I let my sword fall from my hands and became an incubus. I should have laughed when Lily betrayed me, and when Abe did. I should have strode through the years instead of being crushed by them. They were nothing to me now, nothing. All my bitterness collapsed, all my anger dissolved. For this brief moment, I understood the mind of God, the generosity and the kindness.
It was not the God who had cursed me to become an incubus, punishing and accusatory, but an infinitely gentler one, who had nearly a millennium of patience with me, allowing me the time to grow into the man that Alexa could love. He had sent me Lance to educate me about the heart of my fellow man and woman, and to work with me for years to teach a doubly left-footed, stodgy knight how to move to the beat of the music. I could never repay him.
A passage from Corinthians came to mind then, one I had not thought of in centuries: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.” The truth had been with me all along, but I had not realized it.
I had once thought I was the most misbegotten creature on the planet. Now I recognized how truly lucky I was. While I held Alexa, I prayed for the first time in eight-hundred years. Only in her arms could I have done it, forgiven God and myself. A sob shook me, and I held her closer.
She moved to comfort me. Yet, these were not tears of sadness but joy, joy and unutterable bliss. How could I express it? My next words were hackneyed and overused, but they were all the planet had to express what I was feeling.
“I love you,” I whispered, releasing her so we could gaze into each other’s eyes. I kissed her lips.
And I felt it again, the white flame of love consuming us. It played havoc with the electronics in the car. The radio blared, the air conditioner came on, the ice maker made ice. We laughed. Then we kissed. After a while, her eyes began to drift toward the windows.
“Aren’t we going home?” she asked.
“Yes,” I told her, “to our house. I hope you like it.”
“A house?” she asked, her gray eyes wide with surprise. “You bought a house?”
“I’ve had it for a while,” I shrugged. “It’s been redone.”
She seemed to be thinking about it. “Where is it?”
“In the Hamptons.”
“Hamptons?”
“It’s only a few hours’ drive from the city.”
“I know,” she said, clinging to the window.
I touched her hair to make her come back to me. “I didn’t think you wanted to go to a hotel or any place like that. The energy there is so terrible from all the people who’ve come and gone, and the sheets are never as clean as they say.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s wonderful,” she said, her eyes drifting back.
“Really? Then why do you look like someone ran over your foot.”
“I do?” she asked, surprised, her eyes getting even larger than ever.
“You do.”
“It’s just. . .we’re leaving. We’re leaving Manhattan.”
“Not forever, love. We’ll be back,” I told her. “You still have school to finish, remember?”
“School,” she echoed.
I kissed her. She met my gaze then. Her lips turned up into a smile under mine. Then she laid her head on my shoulder and I stroked her arm with my fingers. We watched the buildings turn into trees.
It was a long drive, a happy drive before the limo stopped at the gate of the house. I pulled down the window between us and gave the driver the gate key so he could get inside.
“It’s a castle!” Alexa exclaimed when she first saw it.
I laughed, dropping back against the leather seats. The driver returned the electronic key, and I closed the privacy window.
“Do you like it?” I asked.
“It’s a castle,” she said again.
“It’s yours,” I told her. It wasn’t a castle. It only had thirty rooms. It was a Mediterranean-style mansion, all stone and iron work, on twenty acres with waterfront property.
“Can I have that in writing,” she laughed.
“Sure.”
“Just kidding,” she blushed.
“I’m not,” I told her. “Everything I have now is yours. Except the apartment in Manhattan, I gave that to Lance.”
“Where are we going to stay?” she asked, affronted.
“I thought we’d take a trip to Europe for our honeymoon, six months abroad. Then eventually the rest of the world.”
“I want a place in Manhattan.”
“I have two others,” I assured her, “both are rented now. You can visit them and tell me which one you like.”
“Give one of them to Lance,” she pouted.
“Now Alexa, we don’t need that much room.”
“Neither does he. We’re two. He’s one.”
“Are you still angry with him because of the whole father thing?”
She frowned.
“Let him have the apartment. I owe him much more than that.”
“Fine,” she said, turning away.
“Alexa?”
She sighed then smiled and kissed me. The limo stopped in front of the stairs of the house. I got out and went around to her side of the car. I stopped at the driver’s window and gave him a nice fat envelope. He was very happy. I handed him the keys to the house. Then I opened her door and lifted her up.
“For real this time,” I said, and began walking up the white staircase. The driver opened the house door.
He turned on the lights. He gave me back the key.
“Congratulations, sir, ma’am,” he said, bowing. Then he left, closing the door behind him.
I stood with Alexa in the grand hall. The double staircase bowed gracefully away from us. The crystal chandelier sparkled above us and the dark wood floor.
Her eyes glittered. “It’s beautiful.”
I rested my cheek in her hair, smelling the sweetness of her. I kissed her head then carried her toward the stairs.
“Wait,” I cried, “I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Your trousseau is upstairs,” he told me as he carried me.
This was a fairy tale, a dream. I couldn’t believe any of it. I was in a haze. I looked into the face of my husband as he carried me up the stairs. Who was this man that I had bound myself to? Would I ever really know? He owned mansions, apartments. He was the genie who fulfilled all my wishes. He was there before I took a misstep, making sure I did not fall. He was three steps ahead of me. I was unbalanced, while he had all the answers. I looked toward the top of the stairs to the doors waiting to be opened.
I was his wife. I started to shake, like the last leaf on a tree. I hid my face in his neck, like the child I was when compared to him. I could feel him watching me, but I couldn’t meet his gaze. I held on. He stopped. He opened a door and crossed a threshold. He set me down in front of the bed. The room was bedecked with white carnations. In the center was a white wood bed. I had gaped at his four poster, but this was unspeakably romantic, with a canopy hung with white lace.
He walked behind me, gathered my hair, and laid it across my left shoulder. He unbuttoned the back of my wedding dress, sending chills through me. The buttons went past my waist. He slipped his fingers into the sleeves and pulled the dress down. I caught it. I didn’t know why, perhaps sudden shyness? I didn’t know why I let it go a moment later, either. I let it fall.
He unfastened my bandeau. It dropped to the floor. He undid my underskirt. I stepped out of it, out of my shoes, to the side of the mole hill of clothes. The garter belt and the white stockings I had put on so carefully were gone. Then my last garment was taken. It left slowly, like a tear moving down my legs. It left solemnly, quietly, and then I was as I had come into this world. I had never shared this vision of me with anyone. I had never let anyone see me this way. My skin turned to goose bumps. I shook again, from the gentle movement of the air through the room.
The Innocent Page 23