A Wedding At Two Love Lane

by Kieran Kramer

  It was right, in a way it had never been.

  She caressed his back, gripped him tighter with her thighs. “Let’s not think about the future. Or our current challenges.”

  “I dare you to name them,” he said.

  She laughed. “The portrait.”

  He suckled her left breast, clasped her right buttock with his hand, stroked in and out.

  “Winning my dress,” she said with a sigh.

  He kissed her silent, his tongue colliding with hers. “I think I like pink and diamonds,” he murmured.

  “And Elvis posters?” she said.

  “No,” he said with a grin. “We can do without those.” And then he moved faster. And faster.

  She rode along with him and finally arched her back and let herself go. When she did, he followed immediately after, a swell of sensual shock-and-awe rocking him, rocking her.

  When it finally left them still, he rolled off her. “That was good. Extremely good.”

  “I agree,” she said, and chuckled. “Credit the room.”

  “No,” he said. “I credit you.” He smiled and kissed her.

  They did it all over again, slower this time, with her on top. He marveled at her athleticism, her supple movements, her grace. He absorbed her fierceness when she came and brought him to that place of no thinking, only hovering on a plain of utter sensual abandon.

  And he wondered how he could ever leave her and go back to England.

  * * *

  Greer sat up on her new, softer mattress. How could they ever leave her bedroom and go to the beach? The last thing she wanted was to have a TV camera in her face, producers of the contest hovering, and to participate in a competition.

  All she wanted to do was be with Ford. In their own little cocoon.

  “Gah,” she said, picking up on an expression of his, and rolled out of bed. “We have to be at the Isle of Palms in an hour. We’re cutting it awfully close. We have fifteen minutes here, and then we have to skedaddle.”

  She ran to her bathroom, shut the door, and came out a minute later with her hands full of bottles and toothpaste. “It’s free,” she said, indicating the bathroom. “I’ll be packing.”

  “And dressing,” he reminded her on his way there, and kissed her one more time, their naked bodies pressed hard against each other.

  She noticed that he instantly became aroused again, but he backed away and a minute later came out of the bathroom with his hair slicked back from his forehead. He pulled on his boxers and trousers. “This is going to be a tough weekend if we don’t get much alone time.”

  “We’ll make it happen,” she said, slipping on her bra and panties.

  He didn’t seem able to look away. Yes, he’d seen her plenty of times now, naked, but she felt today’s romp between the sheets had done something to rev up their chemistry even higher.

  “God,” he said, and shook his head.

  She paused. “What are you thinking about?”

  “The painting. It doesn’t come close to capturing you. The essence of you. You’re so much bigger a presence than what I’ve managed to paint. You’re like a constellation of stars, your own sign. And I painted a sparkle of sunlight on the water.”

  She shook her head. “I loved what I saw last I looked at the portrait. Remember, none of us know what you had planned in your head. We see what we see.” She paused. “To be honest, I don’t care what the artist intended. I’m selfish. Once I’m standing before a painting, it belongs to me. I interpret it the way I want to.”

  “I like that,” he said.

  And he did seem happier. He was helping her pull some clothes out of the closet when he saw a couple of her Perfect Wedding albums stacked on the hat shelf. He read the binder. “Perfect Wedding number ten,” and “Perfect Wedding number eleven.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I threw those two in there because there are a few things I wanted to look at before I talk to one of my clients about her upcoming wedding. The rest are on a shelf in the living room.”

  “These are your wedding scrapbooks?”

  “Yes.” She pulled one down. “I’ve been doing them since I was a kid. It was difficult then to get a hold of wedding magazines. I used to have a connection at the Waterloo drugstore. She was a friend of my mother’s. She’d save me old copies of Brides and any magazine that might have wedding articles in it.”

  He flipped through it, his face unreadable.

  “What do you think?” she said. “You’re the first person I’ve ever shown one to.”

  He handed it back to her. “I think it’s a girl thing. The whole fairy tale notion.”

  She shrugged and put it back on the closet shelf. “Maybe it is.”

  He examined her face, as if he were pondering something.

  She began to feel self-conscious. “What is it?”

  “I just want to know why,” he said, “a perfect wedding is so important to you.”

  “You said it yourself. Women like fairy tales. Maybe it’s because when we were little, we pretended to be princesses.”

  “Did you do that? Pretend to be a princess?”

  “Sure.” She shrugged.

  “What was it like at your house?”

  She felt slightly stressed at such an all-encompassing question. “It was … nice. My parents are both very down-to-earth people. Our house was calm and well-run. But we were always prepared for Mother Nature to throw a wrench in our best-laid plans. Some years were extra hard. Dairy farming isn’t easy. We had to go with the flow. Mom used to say we had to be brave and face reality head-on.”

  “They didn’t mind having a daughter with such an active imagination?”

  “No.” Her eyes began to sting. “They thought it was silly of me, but they seemed to understand.”

  “What is it?” He came over and wrapped his arms around her waist. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “It can’t be nothing.”

  She closed her eyes. One tear fell out of her left one.

  “Hey,” he said in a soothing voice.

  She opened her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

  “It’s okay,” he said in a gentle tone. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

  His look of concern made her feel worse, so she pulled herself together. “No, it’s all right,” she said, and braced herself. “It’s hard to face, but the truth is, I’m not sure my parents ever loved each other. And growing up always wondering in bed at night, or at the dinner table, when they’d be completely courteous with each other, I used to sit there wracking my brain trying to figure out if we were … normal.”

  He sat on the bed and pulled her onto his lap. “No family is normal.”

  “I know.”

  He squeezed her tight. “But when you’re a little girl, you want to see your parents show affection to each other. They didn’t do that?”

  She shook her head. “But they were always respectful. And kind to each other.”

  “You just didn’t see any passion there?”

  “Never.” She sighed.

  “Did they laugh together?”

  Her mouth tilted up on one side. “They used to be amused by me. So yes, they’d laugh together at things I did. But they never had inside jokes or teased each other. At least not that I saw.”

  “So they shared a peaceful sort of relationship?”

  She sighed. “Yes, I think it was, so I can’t say they were or are unhappy. They had an arranged marriage, in a way. Two farming families wanted to unite, and they were brought up believing they were meant to be together. I know that sounds old-fashioned, but these old Scandinavian families still cling to tradition.”

  “I understand perfectly,” he said. “I think every culture tries to preserve power that way, by uniting the children. It happens in England. It happens in Charleston. It happens everywhere.”

  She gave a little laugh. “So I think that’s where my obsession with a Perfect Wedding started. I wa
nted a romantic relationship for my parents.” She gave a little cry that came from somewhere deep inside, an old, old place as worn and faded as one of her mother’s quilts. “I’ve never said that out loud before.”

  He hugged her close. “I’m glad you did.”

  She sighed and allowed herself to be held another minute. “Ready to go?” she asked eventually, grateful to him for his patience.

  “Sure,” he said. “We’ll perk up at the beach. You’ll see.”

  She wasn’t ready to go. But it had to be done.

  They raced downstairs with her bags instead of taking the ancient elevator, which could be slow, and managed to get them in the SUV without smashing the portrait, which he’d wrapped lightly in paper and stowed in the back. The easel was folded and ready to go. They got in, put on their seatbelts, then looked at each other.

  “We’re off,” he said. “Good luck this weekend trying to win Royal Bliss.”

  “Thank you for trying to help me,” she said back. She felt lighter, having shared such heavy stuff with him. “And I hope we’ll have plenty of time for the portrait.”

  “My deadline’s coming up fast,” he said, as they crossed the Ravenel Bridge. “Much faster than I anticipated. Being in Charleston has been really great. It’s helped me get through an otherwise awkward phase—the recently dumped one.”

  “Although you dumped her, right?”

  “The way anyone would when you find out the other person has betrayed you, so technically, yes.”

  “Still. You’re the one who walked. Good for you.”

  “I certainly didn’t chase her and try to fix things.”

  “Some people would have. But you believe in yourself too much to go back to a person who didn’t value you.”

  He shot her an amused glance. “You’re kind to remind me how lucky I was to escape.”

  She laughed. “I’m only telling you because you need to be the same way when you paint. Cast off the doubt in your head. Walk out on the distrustful thoughts throwing shadows on your work. Flip the bird at cynicism and skepticism. They don’t deserve your company.”

  “Hmmm,” he said. “You might have something there. I tend to pull up a chair and give them my full attention. I even offer them drinks. My best scotch.”

  They chuckled together.

  “I’m serious,” she said.

  He nodded. “I know.” His tone was serious, too. “And I appreciate it.”

  “Speaking of which, any word from your ex?”

  “No,” he said. “And I consider that good news.”

  The quieter mood in the car was a far cry from their impetuous adventure they’d had in her bedroom but was still just as intimate. She refused to go back to protecting herself. She wanted to stay here, in this place of risk, of uncertainty, because that was where Ford was most himself. She craved being with him that way. In bed, when he’d filled her, she was with that man she’d seen at the end of the auction, and onstage. He was a man who saw her, really saw her, in a way that no one else ever had. He’d brought out the adventurer in her, too, the vulnerable woman who wanted to be free of worry but who knew she could fight for what she wanted if she had to.

  He’d brought out the woman she’d made it her business to hide.

  He reached across the seat and took her hand. “When we get there, things will be crazy, I’m sure.”

  She looked out her window at the harbor below, almost bursting with happiness that they were holding hands. “I’m sure they will. But I still think I can do it. I can win the gown. Serena’s definitely ahead, but I’m not so far behind I couldn’t overtake her.”

  “Do you think the other three have a chance?”

  “It’s only two now,” she said, and explained about Carol dropping out.

  “That’s sad for her, but good news for the rest of the contestants.”

  “Carol says she’s happy, so I’m going to believe her. As for the other two, I honestly think they’ll have to work very hard to win. But what do I know?” She tried not to think about Kiki and Pierre, but she simply had to. “I have to watch out for Kiki.”

  “Why?”

  “Pierre wants me to lose.”

  “He told you that outright?”

  “Yes. He cares more about petty revenge than this new bridal department. We were never able to find him a match at Two Love Lane. If I don’t lose, he’s threatened to bring it down. Those are his words. He told me onstage the night I became a finalist.”

  “I’d like to see him try.” The irritation on Ford’s face made her happy. He looked over at her. “You never told me any of this.”

  She shrugged. “It’s hard to take a fool like him seriously. Then again, foolish people are dangerous, especially when they have money and power—and mindless minions like Kiki.”

  “You’re wise to stay cautious around both of them,” Ford said. “Is there a chance they’ll try to fix the contest?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him,” she said. “Henny has a good head on her shoulders. I think she won’t let him get away with it if he tries.”

  But if she wanted a solid chance to win Royal Bliss, Greer couldn’t rely on Henny. She had to rely on herself. And Ford, of course. She still believed there was a chance to take home the dress of her dreams, the dress that would really make her Perfect Wedding perfect.

  “I’m starting to feel competitive,” she said when they pulled into the driveway of a gorgeous beach house.

  “Good,” he said, “because we’re here, and there’s the truck from Channel Four, and I see balloons hung all around the railing of an upstairs porch, and this, I can tell, is going to be an utter circus all weekend. You’ll need to be on your best game.”

  A camera man came trotting over, his camera on his shoulder.

  “Let’s start right now.” She leaned over and kissed Ford.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Greer woke up on Saturday morning at the beach house feeling cozy and happy. She didn’t even mind the soreness between her legs. She knew a very good way to get past that. She leaned over and kissed Ford’s shoulder.

  He groaned, turned over, and hugged her close. He was hard against her stomach, but he kept his eyes closed.

  “I could get used to waking up at the beach,” she said, and left off the part about how she could get used to waking up with him.

  He smiled and kept his eyes closed.

  “Okay,” she said, “a few more minutes of snoozing.”

  “Mmmhmmm,” he said.

  “Then we have to get going,” she whispered.

  She rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom and called Macy. She knew she’d be awake at seven A.M. Marriage hadn’t changed the fact that Macy was an early riser. She liked to tend her garden before the heat of the day. Every Saturday Deacon went to the gym at six thirty A.M. and then came home, and they made a big breakfast together.

  “Tell me everything,” Macy said.

  “At six last night, we had an introductory dinner catered by Co,” Greer said.

  “I love Co.”

  “It’s fantastic. The curry shrimp was my favorite. And then there was a welcome speech by Henny, the manager at La Di Da.”

  “She seems nice.”

  “She is. Thank goodness for her because after her speech we had a rules overview by Kiki, who’s sulky and cold. She reminded us that La Di Da’s reputation is on the line, and we’d better be grateful contestants who show a lot of energy and enthusiasm during the media coverage.”

  “She’s the Stepford Wives microphone girl from the finalists’ cocktail party?”

  “Exactly. After that, we had individual and couples’ interviews with the news station. We did really well, I think.”

  “When will those be broadcast?” Macy asked.

  “Today at noon.”

  “I’ll record it. I can’t wait! Did you two seem like a real bride and groom?” She sounded so hopeful.

  Greer laughed. “I think so. Even though everyone know
s we’re not actually together. Things are going … well.”

  “Well?” Macy squeaked.

  “I think so.”

  “You sound like you’ve had amazing sex recently. Did you?”

  Greer sighed. “I did. In my crazy pink bedroom. And here at the beach.”

  Macy actually dropped the phone. There was a big clattering noise. “I’m sorry—it fell. Oh, God, I’m so excited!”

  “Don’t get too excited. I mean, we’re having fun, that’s for sure. But I don’t see this going anywhere.”

  “I said the same thing about Deacon.”

  “Yes, but Ford lives in England. And he might be a father soon. Remember?”

  “Yes, I remember. So?”

  “So?”

  “Nothing is impossible with true love.”

  “No one’s said a word about true love!”

  “And I’m not pushing you. Only reminding you that love changes everything. And I mean, everything. Now tell me what else happened last night.”

  “Okay. At nine o’clock, we played volleyball in the pool, which was lots of fun. I hit Wesley in the head with the ball by accident, and it bounced off and hit Serena in the head. I swear I didn’t mean to do that. They were pretty toasted by that point, so they didn’t care.”

  They both laughed.

  “And then at ten, we dried off and had a late dessert outside on the porch. It was extra dark. Just a few lanterns were lit low. And it’s because we were listening to a short lecture given by a local turtle expert. She said we need to turn off the lights on the front beach so the turtles feel comfortable coming up on the sand to lay their eggs.”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Macy. “Lights out. I’ve heard of that.”

  “I had heard that before, too, but it was exciting to actually be there and know that maybe a tortoise was crawling up the beach at that very moment. This morning, we’re going to look for some nests at seven thirty.”

  “That’s coming up. How fun!”

  “Yes. I need to go in a minute.”

  “Okay, but anything else?”

  “Nothing, really, except that at one point during the turtle lecture, I thought Ford was playing footsie with me, but then I realized it couldn’t be him because it wasn’t coming from that side. He was on my left. So I pulled my feet in.”