One Summer Night

by Caridad Piñeiro

  “No joke, and as the world’s best wedding planner, I need your help to pull this off. Two to three weeks. A month at the most. We want to get married as soon as possible.”

  “Even if I didn’t think you were crazy, no one can plan a full-scale wedding that fast. No one,” Emma said.

  Maggie reached out and laid her hand over Emma’s. “You can. And of course, I expect you, Connie, and Tracy to be my maids of honor.”

  Emma directed her gaze to Connie. “You tried to talk her out of this, right?”

  Connie nodded. “I did, but she’s dead-set on this, so I figure it’s up to us to help her in any way we can.”

  “Including picking up the pieces when this all goes south?” Emma said with a pointed lift of her brow.

  Maggie slammed her hands on the tabletop. “Enough. Seriously, enough. In the last day or so, I’ve had to deal with my dad and the two of you, and I’m tired of it. Owen and I want to get married. We’d like for all of you to be supportive. If you can’t be…”

  She left it out there, wanting to give them the option of refusing but hoping it wouldn’t come to that. They were her best friends forever, and she wanted them there on what she hoped would be the happiest day of her life.

  “I want you there. I need you there. I can’t imagine not having you at my side when I marry Owen.”

  Emma and Connie shared a hesitant look, but then, like the ripple after a stone was tossed in a pond, acceptance flowed over them.

  “Okay. Whatever you need, Mags. It’ll take a lot of hard work and planning—” Emma began, but Maggie cut her off by reaching over and hugging her hard.

  “I know you will do it up perfectly, Emma. Just tell me what you need to get started.”

  Chapter 24

  “Is that what I think it is?” Tracy said and reached for Maggie’s hand as she sat down at the table they’d reserved for lunch the following day. “You’re engaged to Owen. Amazing,” Tracy said before Maggie could utter a single word.

  “How did you know? The gossip column?” Pictures of them had been plastered in various newspapers along with an inset picture of her mother’s sapphire engagement ring.

  Tracy waved her off with a flip of her hand. “Who reads that crap? I’ve known for a while that Owen was the one for you. It was just a matter of time before it happened.”

  Maggie felt like she had just dropped into some kind of Tracy Twilight Zone. Flagging down the waitress, she ordered two margaritas. For herself.

  “Would you like anything?” the young woman asked Tracy.

  “Cancel her margaritas. Bring us a bottle of Cristal. We’re celebrating my best friend’s engagement,” she said.

  Maggie was having a tough time squaring away this Tracy with the one who’d been so unhappy in her marriage. She squinted at her friend, trying to decide if she was actually some kind of pod person, when the waitress brought over the champagne, an ice bucket, and tall flutes. The waitress expertly popped the cork and filled the flutes with the bubbly.

  “Color me confused,” Maggie said, trying to figure out what was really happening with her friend.

  “I get it. A couple of months ago, I was bawling over Bill cheating on me and totally unhappy. We’ve been working things through in therapy. I’ve been learning more about not only myself but others. I’m trying to be more aware of what other people are feeling and how to be supportive.” Tracy paused, leaned closer, and said, “So the real question is, are you sure about this, Mags? Marriage isn’t something to be taken lightly, as I’ve found out.”

  Because there was only one answer, she held her glass up and clinked it against Tracy’s.

  “Here’s to marrying Owen,” Maggie said.

  * * *

  The week passed by in a blur of paperwork as she fine-tuned the prenup, exchanged emails with her advertising team and the contractors working on the store renovations, undertook more negotiations with the Italian designer and his prima donna demands, and of course, spent time with Owen.

  Owen, she thought with a smile. Long nights of making love and early mornings making love since he’d basically moved into her town house. He’d said that he felt more at home there than in his condo.

  As she lay beside him on Friday morning, he woke slowly, his muscles tightening in a stretch, his erection growing as she shifted to rest her thigh across him.

  “Good morning,” he said without opening his eyes, his voice sleep husky.

  “It is a good morning,” she said enthusiastically.

  He opened one eye in a semiglare. “Chipper this morning, aren’t we?”

  “Definitely. It’s always good to find a hard man in my bed,” she teased and caressed him with her thigh.

  “That was so, so bad, Mags. Seriously bad,” he said with a laugh and rolled to trap her beneath him. “I think that deserves some punishment.”

  She grew serious as he pinned her arms above her head and heat filled his gaze. “I’m not into that kind of kink.”

  He arched a dark brow and smirked. “Does that mean you’re into some other kind of kink?”

  She considered his question for a moment, then leaned close and whispered, “I’m into you, Owen. I want you. In me. Now.”

  He chuckled and nudged her thighs open. He poised at her center and said, “I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

  He drove in with one sure stroke and yanked a sharp breath out of her from the force of his possession. But he didn’t move, allowing her to adjust to the fullness of him inside her. To the feel of being one with him as he held his weight off her and smoothed her hair, his touch tender.

  “This feels so right,” he said.

  “It feels perfect,” she said and cradled his back with her hands. Stroked her hands up and down the length of it with slow, leisurely movements.

  * * *

  Inside Owen, the pressure grew to move but also to tell her the truth about the lie he’d told his father. The lie he was telling her as he remained silent while they sped toward marriage.

  But much like he needed to breathe, he needed Maggie.

  He didn’t want to lose her, so he kept his silence as he finally drew out of her and started a dance that was both familiar and yet new. Every time they came together, he learned something different about her. About what she liked and how he could bring her ever-greater pleasure. About how much joy and satisfaction being with her brought him.

  As she met him in a kiss that nearly had him losing it, the words burst free.

  “I love you, Maggie.”

  She froze for the longest second, tightening his gut with fear until she smiled up at him and combed her fingers through his hair with gentleness and great care.

  “I love you too, Owen. I think I have since we were kids building sand castles on the beach. Or maybe it was since we were eighteen and you kissed me that first time. Or when you carried me home from the frat party. I could keep on going, so maybe I should just say, I think I’ve loved you forever.”

  It was a relief to hear her say it but also a burden, because he knew how much hurt he could cause if he didn’t come clean. But he couldn’t right then and there. Maybe after they were married and she understood why he had done it. Or possibly when they were old and gray together and it no longer mattered. But not now. Not when it was all so good. Not when it was so much better than he had ever dreamed.

  He didn’t want to lose her. He knew what it was to have someone you loved walk out thanks to his mother. He didn’t want that to happen with Maggie.

  He kissed her again, sealing the deal between them in ways no piece of paper could. Giving her his heart and soul. Hoping as they rose together toward passion that it would be enough to sustain them until the day he could be totally honest with her.

  * * *

  She’d had assorted stints as a bridesmaid and had heard her share of horror stor
ies from Emma about bridezillas and all the things that could and did go wrong at weddings. But staring at the pile of folders, brochures, and samples spread out across the kitchen table in her Sea Kiss home not only had Maggie’s mind whirling, but also brought new perspective on why some brides went crazy. She was close to tucking tail and hiding away in a corner, whimpering like a whipped puppy dog, when Owen laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder and squeezed it soothingly.

  “We can do this, Mags. We handle multimillion-dollar companies every day. One little wedding won’t break us,” he said, his tones smooth and without any hint of the panic she was feeling.

  “It’s just so much,” she said, awestruck.

  Emma nodded and organized the items on the table into neater stacks. “It’s because you’ve got such a short timetable. Normally, we’d have more time to decide on things like the theme—”

  “There has to be a theme?” Maggie asked with a gulp. In all the times she’d pictured getting married, there had never been a “theme,” per se.

  “No, there doesn’t. Right, Emma?” Connie said from across the width of the table as she sat beside Jonathan. He’d offered to assist his brother with all the wedding prep since there was so much to do in so little time.

  “No theme. You said you wanted to keep it intimate. Simple,” Emma said and hauled a stack of pamphlets and brochures to a spot directly in front of Maggie and Owen. “These are all the venues for the kind of wedding people expect from people like you, but—”

  “I know one venue that is totally available and absolutely perfect,” Maggie jumped in and held her hands in a check-it-out gesture. “This home.”

  Emma grinned. “Great minds think alike. We can do the ceremony at sunset down on the beachfront. Go from there to dinner and dancing on the great lawn. Finish up with a Viennese table on the patio, and then off you go to wherever you’d like for your honeymoon.”

  “We decided to postpone that until after the Christmas season,” Maggie said, earning glares from both her friends.

  “A honeymoon night or weekend, then,” Emma said.

  Maggie glanced at Owen to see what he thought of the idea of using her home as the wedding venue. He was smiling and lifted her hand, brushed a kiss along her knuckles. “It’s where we’ve spent so much time together and where we had our first kiss. Seems perfect to me.”

  “What about the weather? What if it rains? Or we have a hurricane?” Connie said, ever the pragmatist.

  “If the weather is bad, the first-floor landing could be set up for the minister and bridal party. The foyer and areas off it are spacious enough to fit most of the guests. The tents will deal with even heavy rains, and if we have a hurricane, no one would be coming anyway,” Emma supplied.

  Maggie glanced around the kitchen and then out to the patio and great lawn. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing what her family’s summer home would look like all decked out for a wedding, like it had been months earlier for Tracy’s. She smiled as she pictured walking down the great lawn and boardwalk and onto the sand for the ceremony, much like her mother and father had done thirty years earlier.

  “That sounds perfect, Emma. This is home, and it is special to all of us,” she said and fought back thoughts that it might be the last celebration her family had there if she failed to turn things around with the stores. She looked around the room to everyone gathered there and nodded to confirm that’s what she wanted.

  Tracy had also come in from her home in Princeton to offer moral support, and she was the one who piped up next. “This home is very Victorian, and I know the word ‘theme’ wants to send you running, but a Victorian-style wedding would be wonderful.”

  “Another great idea,” Emma said and pulled out a book with party favors and a second with table linens. “We go simple with lots of antique ivory, silver, flowers, lace, and pearls. Antique birdcages, teapots, and candles. Plus, after the men leave, I’ll show you even one more reason to go with that theme.”

  Emma glanced past the bridal party to Carlo, her caterer extraordinaire and possible Prince Charming, who had been sitting silently, patiently, at the end of the table. “If we go with that theme, can you work up a menu for us?” she asked.

  Carlo nodded, the movement almost regal, it was so precise. “Lots of courses. Sorbet or ices between the tastings. French in nature. Make a signature cocktail for Maggie and Owen. Offer other cocktails from the era as well as wine, soda, and more modern beverages. We can do something similar for the rehearsal dinner.”

  “That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Carlo,” Maggie said before returning her attention to Emma. “I hate to sound like a bridezilla, but I’m not sure I’ll have the time to look through all this with everything else I have going on.”

  Emma chuckled and rolled her eyes playfully. “And that’s why you’re going to pay me the big bucks. Although I will give you a BFF discount.” Emma faced the men and said, “While we’d love for you to stay, you know it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride’s gown before the wedding. Carlo has graciously offered to fix dinner for everyone over at the Pierce house, so please go. Now.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jonathan teased with a mock salute as he shot to his feet.

  Owen nuzzled Maggie’s cheek and whispered, “I don’t want to leave you alone for a second, but I don’t want any bad luck either.”

  Grinning, she kissed him and swept her hand across his cheek. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

  “You better,” he said, then stood and followed the other two men out the door.

  She tracked his passage across the patio and to the side of the yard, then turned back to her friends. “Okay, so how is it possible you’ve already picked the gown you think I’d want to wear?”

  Emma tapped her forehead. “Not just think you’re going to wear. That you will wear. Just give me a moment.”

  Her friend walked to the side door that led into Mrs. Patrick’s private quarters and knocked. The door immediately flew open, and together with her housekeeper, Emma wheeled out a mannequin swathed in a big white sheet.

  She shook her head. “I don’t get it.”

  “Don’t be in such a rush,” Connie chided.

  Tracy added, “Show some patience, woman.”

  “Mrs. Patrick. Would you do the honors?” Emma said and gestured to the mannequin.

  “It would be my pleasure.” As she unwrapped the sheet from whatever was beneath, she revealed yards and yards of satin and lace aged to a lovely ivory hue. “When Emma came over midweek to talk about the wedding, I took her upstairs to the attic to show her this.” With another few tugs, she pulled away the last of the sheet to reveal the antique wedding gown beneath.

  A beaded bodice that would hug her breasts led to satin that seemed to wrap in disarray across the midsection and then down to ever-fuller sweeps of fabric that created a short train in the back. More beadwork flowed down diagonally from the bodice to the hip and then graced each point where the satin was gathered to form the skirt of the dress.

  It was stunning, Maggie thought as she slowly rose and approached the gown. She feathered her hand gently across the beadwork, admiring the delicate work.

  “Your mother wore this when she got married. So did your grandmother. It was her mother’s gown. Your great-grandmother’s gown,” Mrs. Patrick explained.

  “Well?” Emma asked at her prolonged silence.

  Maggie grinned, wrapped her arms around both women, and hauled them close for an immense hug.

  “I love it. Can I try it on?”

  “We hoped you’d say that. Come with me,” the housekeeper said, took hold of her hand, and urged her toward her private quarters.

  Emma, Tracy, and Connie followed, Emma wheeling the mannequin back into the living room of the space.

  While Maggie shucked her clothes, tossing them onto the couch where Mrs. Patrick patiently
folded them, her friends carefully removed the wedding gown from the mannequin and held it up so she could step into it.

  As she eased in one foot and then the other and her friends carefully inched the dress up and into place, it was like stepping into the embrace of all the women in her family who had come before her.

  Her mother.

  Grandmother.

  Great-grandmother.

  All of them had worn this garment on what they’d all hoped would be the happiest days of their lives.

  Like she hoped.

  Connie buttoned up the back of the dress, and Emma smoothed the fabric of the bodice into place. Tracy straightened out the train to let it flow behind her, a short river of ivory satin.

  “It’s a little tight since you’re not wearing a corset, but we can let it out a little. What do you think?” Emma said and gestured in the direction of a cheval mirror at one side of the room.

  Maggie took hold of the soft, smooth fabric of the skirt and lifted it slightly to walk to the mirror. Standing there, holding her breath, she was unable to believe just how right it felt. How amazing she looked.

  The four other women came to stand behind her.

  “You look just like your mother on her wedding day,” Mrs. Patrick murmured and covered her mouth with her hand, tears glimmering in her eyes.

  Maggie’s gaze in the mirror skipped from Tracy to Emma to Connie. “What do you think?”

  “Perfect,” they all said in unison.

  “Perfect,” she repeated, hoping the rest of the wedding preparations would go as smoothly.

  Chapter 25

  “Bro, please tell me I don’t have to wear this,” Jonathan said and swatted at the ruffles on the shirt that spilled over the collar of the vest.

  Owen scrutinized the elaborate frock coat with the even more ostentatious shirt, vest, and pants they had been forced into trying on. Wincing from the sight of it, he glanced in Emma’s direction.

  “Seriously, Em. I know we’re going Victorian, but can’t we find something a little less…” His voice trailed off, since he couldn’t even find a word to describe the outlandish costumes they’d had to put on. “Just less,” he finally repeated and started unbuttoning the vest and shirt, eager to be out of the frippery.