by July Hall
She was beautiful. Dark hair, olive skin, and a curvaceous figure that would have made Marilyn Monroe look twice. In defiance of the dress code, she wasn’t wearing a ball gown, but Sandra had a feeling that Josephine wore whatever the hell she wanted. The dress was a shimmering column of red and gold that clung to her hips and fell into a trumpet skirt. Sandra recognized it as a variation on the evening gowns from Lanvin’s fall collection, undoubtedly made and customized specifically for her.
The wide silk sash and the bow on the back provided a unique touch. It looked almost like an obi. Maybe Josephine had gotten the idea from talking to the Empress of Japan.
She had the same look as Charles did, as Rosalie did: the same regal bearing. After all, she was one of “the Bankses of Lower Merion.” She’d been born with that confidence. She would never have had to fake it, to pretend that she was comfortable in a place like this. She’d always known places like this.
And now Charles was pulling out her chair for her at the head table. Sandra looked around and saw that most people were sitting down. No doubt Stephen and Craig would be making their entrance soon.
“He seemed nice enough,” Arnaud said.
Sandra looked at him quickly, but Arnaud was pulling out her chair for her, not looking at her face.
Now that she’d had a few moments to collect herself, she glanced around the anteroom, which would certainly be better than staring at Charles and Josephine. The room was beautifully appointed, with enough space to hold all the guests for dinner; Sandra had wondered if the actual dining room would be needed for overflow, but the anteroom appeared perfectly suited for the occasion.
Instead of opting for multiple round tables that would take up space and make it difficult to weave in and out, Rosalie—or Warrick, maybe—had lined up three rows of long dining tables that ran nearly the whole length of the room. Sandra and Arnaud had been placed at the very end of the table, nearest to the door that led to the foyer. It was as close as you could get to being pushed out of the room. If Rosalie had been given her choice, she probably would have seated them in the shrubbery outside the window.
More men in white jackets were circulating around the room, offering trays of hors d’oeuvres and generally being refused. The tables were set with fine china service plates, silver flatware, and crystal; Sandra knew they had been in the family for generations. Next to the water and wine glasses stood champagne flutes that had already been filled. She controlled her urge to start drinking it right away.
Cards for a six-course menu had been placed behind the plates. At first glance, it seemed that Stephen and Craig had gotten together and decided simply to serve the most delicious foods they could think of. Tonight, after the soup course, guests would be dining on caviar, lobster, quail, and Kobe tenderloin, along with vegetarian alternatives like purple artichoke amandine and young beets baked in a seaweed salt crust. A small note at the bottom of the menu added that everything was gluten-free.
Sandra couldn’t help letting her gaze dart over to the corner on the other side of the ballroom door, opposite the head table. A long white curtain had been hung diagonally across it. The curtain must be concealing the cake. She was willing to bet that wasn’t gluten-free, unless Stephen and Craig were true fanatics. And if there was going to be a grand reveal, that cake had to be a masterpiece. Her stomach growled.
She turned her attention away from the food. A couple sat directly across from her and Arnaud: two men who looked to be in their mid thirties. Charles hadn’t seemed to know them, and they didn’t appear entirely comfortable here, so they were probably friends of Craig’s.
She looked around the room again for her cue. The other women were removing their gloves in preparation for the meal. She began tugging hers off too, carefully easing the left one over her mother’s bracelet. There was obviously an art to this.
Arnaud took his seat next to her and also glanced around. Sandra saw that everyone else was unfolding their napkins and putting them in their laps. So did she.
So did the other two men, keeping their eyes on Sandra and Arnaud the whole time.
“Our backs are to the room,” one of them said, giving Arnaud a hunted look. “We’re taking our cues from you, okay?”
Arnaud chuckled. They both blushed. Sandra guessed that the view wasn’t really all that bad from their perspective. “Glad to help,” Arnaud said. “We’ll play lookout.”
“This is so intimidating,” the other man whispered. “We knew that Stephen came from some rich family, but Craig never told us it was like…you know, this.”
Sandra understood the feeling. This was pretty overwhelming, even after she’d been to the house many times. “Wait until you get a look at the ballroom,” she said.
“You’ve been here before?” one of the men asked. “You must know the family, then. Oh! Gosh, I’m sorry. I’m Tyler.” He reached out a hand over the table. Sandra shook it, trying to avoid knocking over a nearby candle. “This is my partner, Evan. We met Craig years ago, when we were all living in the Village. The pre-Stephen era.” He laughed.
Evan glanced at Arnaud and asked warmly, “So who are you guys?”
“We’re the decorators,” Arnaud said.
Tyler and Evan exchanged a glance. Then they leaned forward and chorused, “Really?”
“Well—” Sandra began, ready to amend Arnaud’s statement, because it seemed a little disingenuous to call themselves the decorators when they’d only done one room. Arnaud nudged her before she could speak.
“Arnaud Diallo,” he said. “I own Arnaud Diallo Designs. This is Sandra Dane, our other designer.”
Tyler put a hand over his heart. “Oh my God,” he said. “You were featured on New York Spaces. That’s one of my favorite sites. You did a Q&A!”
“Wait, was it the one with the Chelsea loft?” Evan asked him. “With the Sciolari chandelier?”
“It was,” Arnaud confirmed.
“Oh my God,” Tyler repeated. “We loved that. It was our favorite spread.” He looked around the anteroom. “So—wait. You did this?”
“Not this,” Arnaud said, to Sandra’s relief. “We’re working on some of the private rooms.” Sandra supposed it wasn’t a lie. All she had to do was ask, and she’d be given free rein to revamp other parts of the house. After Christmas would be good, when she’d be done with Alexios’s penthouse and could devote more energy to the Magister mansion.
“That’s amazing,” Evan said. He smiled awkwardly. “I wish we could afford you.”
“We’re redecorating,” Tyler added.
Sandra and Arnaud exchanged a look. Then Arnaud gave Evan and Tyler a charming smile and said, “It depends on the scope of your project. Tell us more.”
But before they could, applause broke out. Sandra turned to her right to see Stephen and Craig walking past them into the anteroom, arm in arm and beaming. Their cheeks were a little flushed, probably from the cold night air…or something…and Sandra remembered the day they’d gotten engaged on the beach.
The guests rose to their feet and began to applaud. Sandra stood halfway up and caught her gloves and napkin before they could slide off her lap and down onto the floor. She decided she could cheat and sit on top of the gloves for the rest of the meal so that wouldn’t happen again. Miss Manners said she did that if nobody else was looking, so it must be okay.
The last dinner party she’d attended had been the one at Charles’s apartment on the night they’d met. She’d been unfamiliar with many of the rules of formal dining and had cursed herself for not preparing better. This time, she’d done her reading beforehand.
Stephen and Craig proceeded to the head table, which sat a little to the right of the door leading to the ballroom. The two empty seats in the middle were plainly for them; on either side sat Craig’s best man and Charles. Josephine was sitting next to Charles. Well, of course she was. Rosalie sat at their end of the table, and Bradley sat at the other end. Between Craig’s best man and Bradley sat the woman Sandra ha
dn’t recognized but who’d been at the front row with Rosalie during the ceremony.
No emcee stepped forward to announce the entrance of the new Misters Magister. Instead, Stephen and Craig took their places at the table while everyone clapped. Somewhat to Sandra’s surprise, when the din had settled down again, it was Craig who spoke.
“Thanks so much for coming, everyone,” he said. “It means the world to Stephen and me. Nothing’s better than celebrating a day like this with…” He paused, and pretended to count the guests. “One, two, three, four, five…” Everyone laughed. “Two hundred-odd of our closest friends. We’re delighted to see each and every one of you. And maybe it’s unorthodox, but we’d like to begin the evening with a toast to the women who mean the most to us.”
On cue, everyone picked up their champagne flutes.
“To our sisters,” Craig continued. “Rosalie, who’s worked so hard to make this night unforgettable. And my sister Jane, who traveled all the way from Sacramento to be at my side tonight.”
So that’s who the other woman was. With slightly frizzy blond hair and a turned-up nose, she couldn’t have looked less like Craig. But she beamed with pleasure, her smile far more honest than Rosalie’s. For her part, Rosalie gave Craig’s sister as gracious a smile as Sandra had ever seen on her face, although it seemed kind of tight at the corners.
The crowd raised their champagne glasses and drank. Craig turned expectantly to Stephen. “Anything else?”
“No,” Stephen said. “I think we’ll wait until everyone’s had a lot of wine before I attempt public speaking.” More laughter. Stephen raised his glass and clinked it with Craig’s. “Let’s eat!” he said, eliciting applause as a line of even more waiters in white jackets began carrying in plates.
As the food was placed in front of her, and the white wine was poured, Sandra tried to tune in to the conversations going on around her. It was difficult, but another quick glance around the room told her easily enough who was here to support Stephen and Craig and who was here for fear of Charles Magister’s displeasure. There were several gay couples, and there were several straight couples who seemed very uncomfortable with the gay couples.
Only one couple made Sandra uncomfortable tonight. She couldn’t help glancing back toward the head table, where Josephine Banks sat resplendent in red next to Charles. She looked as if she’d always sat there. They seemed so natural together. Sandra, these things happen. I remember her fondly.
But how fondly? Charles had said it was long since over with Josephine, that they were only friends. He hadn’t seen her in years. Sandra took a deep breath. She had to trust him. Trust was important. Honesty. Being transparent and aboveboard.
Their whole relationship was built on secrets and lies.
Sandra took an extremely long drink of the excellent white wine.
* * *
“Of course you can train Pomeranians in Schutzhund. Don’t listen to what the so-called experts say. You have to set your own goals!”
Jane was beaming as she spoke. Charles glanced at Rosalie, whose own smile appeared to be stretched to the breaking point. At least Jane was safely on the other side of the head table.
It could be worse. Jane’s constant babble distracted him from thinking about Sandra, Arnaud Diallo, or anything else. It was impossible not to pay attention to a woman who insisted that interpretive dance was a viable alternative to ibuprofen.
“Their trainers keep being all pessimistic, but so far I’ve decided it’s totally successful,” Jane continued before popping another piece of artichoke into her mouth.
Josephine set down her glass of red with a thump and leaned forward to look at Jane incredulously. “You mean you’re already doing it?”
“Well, of course!” To Charles’s amazement, Jane put her purse in her lap and began digging through it. “Would you like to see some pictures?”
Charles saw Bradley hide a grin behind his napkin. Craig looked embarrassed on his sister’s behalf. “Janie…” he began.
“Oh, it’s all right,” Josephine said quickly. “I’d love to see them.”
As if in slow motion, Charles saw Jane getting ready to pass her phone over the table in full view of everyone. Luckily, Craig took the phone from her hands and passed it down toward Josephine at lap level.
Horrible. It was bad enough when people whipped out their phones during a business lunch or dinner—he’d been guilty of it himself. But there was no excuse for it at a formal social occasion.
It wasn’t his wedding, Charles reminded himself, and passed the phone along. Josephine bent her head, looked down at the display, and gasped aloud. Fortunately, nobody at the other tables seemed to hear her. Charles couldn’t help himself. He glanced down to get his own peek.
The screen showed a man wearing a protective sleeve over his forearm. He had to be at least six foot three. Dangling from his arm, over five feet from the ground, was a fluffy white Pomeranian. It had sunk its teeth into the sleeve and appeared to be hanging on for dear life.
“Oh,” Josephine choked. She quickly cleared her throat and returned the phone to Charles. “That’s…astonishing, Jane. Isn’t it, Charles?”
“I’m speechless,” Charles said, feeling a little strangled himself. He gave the phone to Stephen, who conspicuously did not look at it.
Before he could think better of it, Charles exchanged a glance with Josephine. She suppressed her smile, but the twinkle in her eyes told him everything. He couldn’t stop his own lips from quirking. Jane couldn’t see him, anyway. Then, in a motion so subtle that Charles almost doubted it himself, Josephine bumped her elbow against his.
Charles fought not to stiffen in his seat. He pretended not to notice and let his gaze travel lightly around the room, because it would be too obvious if he looked at Sandra immediately. At least it was easy to find her, since Rosalie had put her right next to the door.
She looked normal enough. Not precisely happy, but she had on a slight smile. Her red wine glass was nearly full. Charles remembered how she’d refused to drink much at the dinner party. She liked to stay in full command of herself.
He wondered what she’d be like when drunk. Did she get serious or giggly? Charles himself hadn’t been drunk in a long time, although he’d let himself get a little buzzed over Thanksgiving while watching the football game.
Charles looked at his pocket watch. It was just after nine. The jazz octet would be setting up in the ballroom. Could he find a reason to ask Sandra to dance? The crowd would be pretty merry by then. It wasn’t like he’d lose his head and…
Fuck. He must be out of his mind. He’d dance with Josephine, Rosalie, and Jane. For her part, Sandra wouldn’t be wanting for partners. She could dance all night long if she felt like it, with dozens of men.
Rosalie cleared her throat. Charles glanced up to see his sister giving him a meaningful look.
He came back to the present. Oh, right. The fourth course would be cleared soon. Now was the best time for the toasts, when the guests were no longer ravenously hungry and the servers weren’t disrupting the proceedings.
Charles picked up his fork and tapped it against his water goblet. Rosalie and Josephine followed suit, and soon the crowd fell silent as they recognized the signal.
Nobody really liked toasts. It had been agreed upon that only the best men would speak before the crowd moved on to dessert and coffee. Allen had asked to go first, to get it over with.
He rose to his feet and picked up his champagne flute. His hand shook a little but you had to be pretty close to see it. He cleared his throat and said, “I met Craig when we were both eighteen, and Student Housing had put us together. We were told that we were compatible based on questionnaires we filled out ahead of time. I still have my doubts.” Craig laughed and shook his head. Allen smiled, looking more at ease. “Mainly because I arrived fresh off the debate team, and here was this jock…”
Charles listened. It was a charming enough story, and few people were here purely on Crai
g’s behalf. Stephen seemed grateful.
Eventually, Allen’s speech drew to a close, and he finished with, “To the grooms.”
“The grooms,” the crowd chorused, and drank.
Charles waited an appropriate interval and then rose to his feet.
He didn’t love public speaking, but after twenty years of making speeches and giving annual “inspirational” talks to his employees, it no longer troubled him. It was an opportunity, like everything else.
Before he began to speak, he let his gaze travel around the room again. He made cold eye contact with Pierce Loemann, Lawrence Cooke, the Fitzgeralds, and anybody else who might be approaching tonight with less than the required enthusiasm.
“A year ago to the day, my brother called me at one in the morning,” he said. “He told me that he’d had the most extraordinary night at the opera. Since I hate opera, I assumed that meant he’d survived it.” Subdued laughter. “But he said he’d met someone special, they’d finally gone out on a date, and they were going to go on another one. Since then, Craig has become an increasingly important part of our lives.” Charles laid a hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “He makes my brother very happy.”
Stephen took a deep breath. Charles was pretty sure that tears were shining in his eyes again. Well, no help for it now. He held back a sigh, looked around the room again, and continued, “Since our childhood, we have always understood that family is the most important thing in the world. Stock prices rise and fall. Fortunes come and go. Family is what endures.
“I have known my brother all his life. No man is dearer to me. And tonight, I am pleased to gain a second brother. Craig…” Charles looked Craig dead in the eye. “You’re a Magister now. One of our own. Welcome to the family.”
He trusted his meaning was clear. Craig swallowed, smiled, and nodded.
Satisfied, Charles turned back to the crowd and raised his champagne flute. “To the grooms.”