A Wedding At Two Love Lane

by Kieran Kramer

  “Of course, I believe you,” he said. “But as you say, you were put in a very difficult position, very unfair to you, and I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to call Wesley out. What he did was wrong.”

  “I agree, but I didn’t call him out.” She glared at him. “I told no one.”

  “Then explain those texts,” Toni said. “You said yourself how much you wanted the dress. From the very beginning, you said you wanted it. You wanted it so much you entered the contest as a partnerless bride.”

  Greer remembered telling Ford how much she wanted the gown that very day at the hoedown.

  “But that doesn’t mean—” She looked wildly around. Everyone was staring at her. “How can I explain—?” She blew out a breath. “I keep my phone locked. But I went to MIT. I know high-level hackers. Someone messed with Kiki’s phone. It’s within the realm of possibility.”

  “But when I hear hooves, I think horses, not zebras,” said Toni’s boyfriend. “The most likely explanation is that you sent that text.”

  “I didn’t,” she insisted. “Besides, why are you so focused on me? As soon as Wesley spoke, I got away from him. I was hoping he was caught up by a sense of misplaced nostalgia, or panic. I want him and Serena to be happy. He said so himself tonight that he regretted what he said.”

  “That may be, but why did you never tell us about you and Wesley?” Lisa asked, sounding on the verge of tears.

  “I didn’t think it was important,” Greer said. “I wanted to move on. So did he.”

  Lisa shook her head. “Still, it feels wrong somehow.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Greer. “People break up. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Then why did you hide it?” Toni asked. “I thought we were your friends.”

  “You are, but it was because of reactions like this, and the general sense of awkwardness I wanted to spare Serena,” said Greer. “The only thing that went wrong was when Wesley spoke out of turn to me, and he’s apologized to Serena. He really owes me an apology, too, but I’m fine without one. I only want those two to patch up their differences. I want Serena to wear Royal Bliss at her wedding.”

  She looked around. “Someone else caused this problem. Not me.” She pulled out her phone, went to her text messages, and held it up. “Look. There’s nothing here to Kiki—” And then she stopped, horrified. There was a text to Kiki. With trembling fingers, she opened it and saw the damning words:

  I never told you this, but Wesley and I dated for many years. He came on to me at the hoedown. He said he’s getting cold feet and wonders if we should be back together. Someone needs to tell Serena.

  Her jaw worked. “I have no idea how this got on my phone,” she said. “Or who sent it.” She tossed her phone on top of the piano. “Someone is setting me up, and they’re very sophisticated.”

  Everyone was completely silent.

  “I want to find Kiki.” Greer picked her phone up off the piano and swallowed the lump in her throat. “I know she’s at the bottom of this, she and Pierre. They both wanted me to lose and told me so. I don’t know what good it did them to make Serena so unhappy. But for some reason, they wanted her gone. They did this. They’re master manipulators.”

  No one believed her, she could tell. It did sound ridiculous. And no one was willing to help her. Ford looked at her as if he pitied her.

  “Lisa,” she said. “Toni. I don’t want the gown enough to do this. I really don’t. And now I don’t want it at all. Someone must have overheard Wesley today at the hoedown. Maybe one of the hired dancers. We were standing right next to a pair of them.”

  But neither Lisa nor Toni said a word. Lisa’s father looked at her disapprovingly, and so did Toni’s boyfriend. The camera people silently packed up, stealing occasional glances at the drama. The anchor people and the TV station manager had moved to the kitchen.

  Greer had to find Kiki. She stormed into the kitchen, gripping her phone tightly. “Where are you, Kiki? You’ve set me up, and you know it!”

  But no one was there. She came back out to the living room, her legs and arms shaking, her breathing shallow.

  Ford held his arm out. “Come on,” he said, his voice soothing and warm. “Let’s go to the room and pack up.”

  She stared at him. She wasn’t a baby. She didn’t need to be led to her room like a naughty child only to leave in disgrace a few minutes later. She ignored him and walked past him, past all of them, up the stairs to the suite she’d shared with him so happily on the second floor, and started packing.

  The portrait stood on its easel. She refused to look at it. How she ever could have thought Ford was seeing her, the real Greer, the one who wanted to be vulnerable and yet not be afraid? She didn’t think it was possible until she met him. And now, she realized it wasn’t. She’d put herself out there and been hurt, and she was afraid. What else could go wrong?

  A lot!

  Love didn’t change anything, after all, contrary to what Macy had told her.

  She’d take a cab home. But she wanted to be gone quickly, before Ford came up and started treating her as if she were a rabidly ambitious contestant with no integrity.

  She got out her phone, so repugnant to her now—someone had gotten into her account and had done something absolutely awful with it!—and made the call. There. In five minutes, the cab would be waiting outside. She could pack in five minutes.

  Then she saw another text, this time from Pierre: Congratulations, Miss Jones. You won the La Di Da Bridal contest. Dr. McClellan has officially forfeited the contest. Royal Bliss is yours.

  She jabbed at her phone’s keypad, adrenaline coursing through her, making spelling mistakes right and left so egregious that autocorrect couldn’t correct them properly. But her message was readable: Why did you do this? You wantd me to lose! Why did you chinge your mine? I don want Royal Bliss anymore. Give it to somone else!

  But she never got an answer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  An hour later Ford rang the buzzer at Baker House. But Greer wasn’t answering. Maybe she wasn’t at home, but he suspected she was. What a bloody awful afternoon it had been. He knew she’d been hurt. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, too. He believed her—she would never intentionally sabotage the contest. And maybe some expert hacker had placed those texts on her phone and on Kiki’s … but he had to admit to himself, he had felt some doubt at the beach house.

  As Toni’s boyfriend had said, the most likely explanation was that Greer did it—maybe in a moment of utter panic. Perhaps she didn’t even remember!

  It killed Ford to doubt her even for a second, but after what he’d been through with Teddy, he was unwilling to give all his trust to a single person, except for his sister, Anne. He’d never seen Teddy’s betrayal coming, or that of his good friend, the groomsman. He’d done his best at the beach to be supportive of Greer and at the same time, protect himself.

  And he was here now, wasn’t he?

  Reaching out.

  His phone buzzed, and he looked down. A message from Greer. He held his breath and opened it. Go away, the text said.

  His heart hurt to read that. He sighed. Come on, he texted back. I believed you. I still do.

  Not a hundred percent, she said. I saw it in your eyes. Please leave. You don’t need me to pose anymore.

  Someone walked in with a bag of groceries, and he followed behind. Coming up, he wrote.

  I won’t answer the door, she wrote back.

  I’ll keep knocking, he texted. I’m not having this conversation via text.

  When he got out of the elevator, her door was open. He pushed it and walked in, shutting it behind him.

  She was sitting on her sofa, her arms crossed, her legs crossed, too. “Say what you have to say, please,” she said, “and then go.”

  He refused to stand and look down at her, so he sat next to her on the sofa. She scooted away from him.

  “I know you’re upset,” he said. “You’re right. I held back at the beach. I t
ried to be supportive, but a small part of me was afraid to back you all the way.”

  A tear fell down one of her cheeks. “I already know this.”

  “But I needed to explain why,” he said. “You know about Teddy. You know I was recently betrayed. I’m very careful now.”

  “I get that,” she said. “But it still hurts.” Her face was pale.

  He tried to put his hand on her knee, but she moved even farther into her corner of the sofa. “I want us to be friends,” he said. “We’re amazing friends. I’d be devastated if we weren’t. I messed up today, okay? I should have been more vocal supporting you. But it’s easy to say that now. Then, it was a very tense situation, and we were all in shock.”

  “I’m not interested,” she said, and finally looked at him. “I was going to tell you tonight that I love you. I love you, Ford.”

  He didn’t know what to say.

  “And I don’t care what risks are carried with loving you,” she said. “Remember by the piano you said you had something to tell me, too?”

  “Yes.” He felt like a brute. A heartless brute.

  “What was it?”

  His heart sank. “That we were essentially done with the portrait and we should go celebrate.”

  “Whoopee,” she said slowly, sadly.

  He looked down at her hand, resting on the cushion. His signet ring was gone.

  “I already dropped it off at your house,” she told him, “with Gus.”

  He stood. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I got here as fast as I could. I didn’t even stop at my house. It took me a few extra minutes to pack up the portrait and then I got stuck behind an accident on the Isle of Palms connector.”

  “That’s what you’re sorry about?” she asked, and looked him right in the eye.

  “No,” he said. “You know what I’m sorry about.”

  She stood, too, her arms still crossed beneath her breasts. “Tell me what you’re really sorry about then.”

  He took a second to remember her face before he said the damning words. “I can’t love you back.”

  “You can’t?” she asked. “Or you won’t? There’s a big difference.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Either way, I have to go.” She didn’t say a word, just looked steadily at him, her expression unreadable now. He felt impelled by her silence to say more. “I can’t stay.” His voice cracked a little. “I’m not even the person you think I am. You wondered when we first met if I required an art patron. No, I don’t. I do quite well financially. My real name is Stanford Elliott Wentworth Smythe, Eighth Baron Wickshire.”

  She gave her head the very slightest shake. And still, she said nothing.

  His heart—it was breaking in two. He backed toward the door. “Good-bye, Greer. Thanks for everything.”

  “Shut the door on your way out,” is all she said, and there was nothing there … nothing he could take away with him. No sense of their connection, of all they’d experienced together. She was a stranger. Even more a stranger than she’d been on the first day they’d met, when she’d been a warm, and funny, and impassioned stranger who hadn’t felt like one.

  He shut the door with utmost care, and when he heard the latch settle into place, a great loneliness nested deep inside him, too, like a gaunt hound settling before an empty hearth on a chill winter day.

  But he was safe again, and that mattered more.

  He walked back to the flat, only blocks away, with his phone buzzing in his pocket, over and over. He ignored it. He knew in his heart it wasn’t Greer. It was someone else, probably Anne. Or maybe even Wesley.

  He couldn’t help an audible grunt. So much for that friendship. What a wanker Wesley was, hurting both Serena and Greer with his wishy-washy confession to Greer that he immediately regretted.

  Ford didn’t feel up to answering.

  But when he opened his flat door and saw Gus practicing “Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin on his electric guitar, he remembered how much he and Anne had loved listening to Zeppelin together as teenagers, and he took out the phone. Sure enough, she’d tried to reach him several times.

  He was a selfish bastard. It finally occurred to him that perhaps something could be terribly wrong at home. His gut roiled at the thought one of his parents could be ill—or Rupert, or even Anne’s kids, or her husband Edward—and Anne had been unable to reach him.

  He called her immediately.

  “Darling,” she said.

  He heard the panic in her voice, and his stomach dropped. “I’m sorry. I was away from my phone. What’s wrong?”

  “Everything is stable at the moment, but Teddy is in hospital. Complications from the twins. She’s been asking for you.”

  “Bloody hell,” he said.

  “I know. I’ve been with her the past twelve hours. Didn’t want to call you. But the doctors have said she might be in here for—hold on to your hat—months. Her parents are here at the moment, but she seems a bit inconsolable. Is there any chance—?”

  “I’ll look up flights right now. I’ll get out either tonight or tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, thank God.” He heard Anne sigh. “You know I don’t mind being here for her, especially if these are your babies we’re talking about. But I do have so many irons in the fire.”

  “Of course. I was already planning my return.”

  “Already?”

  “I’m done here,” he said, “as of today.”

  “Oh.” There was a pause. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Professionally, I’m all right. Not ecstatic about the painting, but fairly pleased with it. It won’t take me out of the game but it won’t advance me, either.”

  “Stop saying things like that.”

  “I know what I know,” he said. At least when it came to his art. He knew nothing about love.

  “All right,” Anne said. “I’ll grant that you do.”

  “I’ll put finishing touches on it at home. But personally, everything is more in shambles than ever.”

  “I’ll be here waiting with your favorite supper. Lamb and Yorkshire pud, is it not?”

  “Yes, although if I ate thistles right now, I wouldn’t notice.”

  “We can talk. But only after the children give you massive hugs. And Edward pours you a whiskey.”

  “Sounds lovely,” he said. “Does Teddy want to talk?”

  “She’s sleeping. But I’ll be sure to let her know you’re on your way.”

  “I should see her by tomorrow night.”

  “I must confess I look forward to having you on this side of the Atlantic again,” Anne said.

  “Thanks.” Her concern and affection touched him, but when he hung up, all he felt was gloom. He was going back to a frightening situation with Teddy. He hated the idea that her health or the babies’ might be in danger. And he had to acknowledge to himself that the responsibility for being at Teddy’s bedside was not welcome. He’d take it on as his duty. And he’d fulfill it without whining. But to get through it properly, he must admit it was going to be rough going. Perhaps his life wouldn’t be his own for a good while.

  Then again, it was no better than what he deserved, and his commitment to Teddy and her needs was what karma had put in his lap. He obviously needed to grapple with situations larger than his own personal miseries to right his ship, which was floundering.

  Saying such an abrupt good-bye to Gus and Drake—without any chance of a drunken farewell party—was much more difficult than he’d expected. They’d become like younger brothers. He gave them his British mobile number and said they were welcome any time to visit. He also said he understood they had limited means as students, and he’d like to foot the bill for their plane tickets. All they needed to do was tell him when they were coming.

  “Bro,” Gus said, “we can’t ask you to pay for our tickets.”

  “Yeah,” said Drake. “Dude, you’re a struggling artist.”

  “I’m also a baron,” he told them, “with sixteen hundred acres
of prime farmland and a manor house I’ll inherit someday. I’ve currently got three homes in England with loads—pardon, I mean lots—of room. So lads, I’m quite able to purchase your tickets and put you up.”

  “What the fuck?” Gus said, his mouth agape. “There’s a video game I like called The Flying Baron. Don’t you have to be a German pilot to be a baron?”

  Ford chuckled. “No, I’m English. And I don’t have a pilot’s license. But I’m still a baron.”

  “Duuuuude,” Gus said. “That’s so sick.”

  “Quite boring, most of the time,” Ford said, “which is why I never brought it up. But as I’m leaving, I’m more inclined to share. So circle some dates on the calendar, and come over. Either together or separately, but I hope it’s together. I’ll miss you two brats taking the mickey out of each other.”

  They shared a group hug but quickly dispersed because bros didn’t do that longer than a few seconds. As he made a phone call to his landlord to explain his sudden departure, as he bought his plane ticket online, and then packed his bags, Ford felt genuinely sorry about leaving Charleston. He’d made friends here. He loved the city. It had soothed him, uplifted him. And he was leaving behind the best woman he’d ever known, apart from his mother and Anne.

  So why leave Greer? a voice inside chided him, an absolutely silly voice that didn’t take into account reality. His reality was Teddy. At least for now and perhaps for a good while to come. And his priority was also breaking out as an artist, not for the wealth or fame but because he wanted to touch people—before he was old and grizzled. He wanted success now, in his prime, when he could enjoy it. The portrait of Greer, he knew as he carefully prepared it for transport in the cargo space of a jumbo jet, was not going to be the work of art by which he achieved his dream, but he would defend it, always, because of its subject.

  By the next evening, he was in London. Teddy’s situation was, indeed, serious. She’d be hospitalized for at least the next two months and not able to leave her bed. She was clingy and emotional, completely understandable in her circumstance. During the first week, Ford did his best to calm her, to support her. Her parents, who remained in London to be with her every day, made hints that a possible reconciliation between the former engaged couple might be in the works, which Teddy did nothing to deny.