The senior Bigley guffawed and held up his glass. “A sugarplum Martini. And tell your mother that I plan on getting quite drunk.”
Mrs. Bigley the First swung around, dropping the pretense of using her son as a mediator. “Is that what you really want to do, Herb? Remember what happened last time.”
“It’s a wedding, Louise,” Mrs. Bigley the Second hissed over her new husband’s arm. “Try to act like a human for once.”
Bigley’s mother glared back. “Stay out of this, Carol.”
Bigley senior laughed. His son, with his eyes trained on his elders, downed his drink in one gulp. Taylor’s hand went to his sleeve, and she shook her head. Bigley forced a laugh, and suddenly I saw the similarity between him and his father. I didn’t like it. I noticed the dark circles under Taylor’s eyes. Behind that loving glow, her worry was eating at her. If Austen saw it, he’d misinterpret and spring to action.
“Okay, great.” I clapped my hands. “Are the speeches all ready then?”
“We’ll wait a little longer,” Taylor said, nodding to her side where her mother sat alone at the far end of the table. Mrs. Weston had flown all the way from Massachusetts. She had dark features like her daughter, but the lines around her mouth showed that she pursed them often. Her lips were smothered in red lipstick. “Dad should be here any moment.”
Taylor’s own personal drama had gotten lost with the loudness of the Bigley’s family feud. An empty seat between mother and daughter represented where Taylor’s father should be sitting. Mr. Weston was finishing up a business trip in New York before flying in to attend his daughter’s wedding between business deals—he should’ve been here hours ago.
I squeezed Taylor’s shoulder. “Let me know when you’re ready.” Taylor’s parents weren’t big on the whole sentimental thing. After meeting them over the summer, I had decided that the severe couple could hold “Baby, I Love You, But I Just Can’t Smile” contests and both come out as winners—or, in reality, big losers. I felt terrible for Taylor. “Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”
“No, thank you, Jane. We’ll just wait.”
Bigley reached out to give me a grateful pat. I jerked when he got my backside instead, and I tried not to laugh in embarrassment. Instead I gave him one of those reassuring smiles that meant I wasn’t going to file charges.
Taylor fixed her fiancé with a look that I couldn’t read. “When will Dancey be here?”
Bigley’s eyes twinkled in what could only be a Herculean effort to restore his usual good humor. “I’m not worried. He’ll be here soon.” He reached out and touched me again, this time avoiding anywhere scandalous. He got my arm instead. “You look smashing, Jane, but this is Taylor’s night. Try not to run away with the prince, Cinderella.”
I nodded, having no idea what he was implying, and made good my escape. My stomach had been growling ever since I’d laid eyes on the hors d’oeuvres. Junie and I might be rivals, but it didn’t mean that I didn’t enjoy her food. My thoughts wandered to Austen, and I hoped I’d find him soon. I needed someone to distract me from the Bigleys. I stole a slice of chocolate cake and spiked a folded wafer delight with a toothpick.
“Oh, I hoped they’d let you come to this boring dinner.”
I stifled a groan when the groom’s stepbrother cornered me with his one-liner. Crawley had his plate piled as high as I hoped to have mine. “Of course I came,” I managed a pleasant tone. “I’m in charge.”
His eyes slid over me from the curls in my hair to my black heels. His gaze lingered on my fitted white dress. “Taylor should’ve at least insisted that you wear rags. No one will be able to pay attention to the bride with you dressed like that.”
My stomach dropped, and it made me lose my appetite—that was the second comment on upstaging Taylor in the space of a minute, and it only mirrored Austen’s accusations earlier. I angrily swiped more food from the table onto my plate, not sure if I’d be able to stuff any of it into my mouth now. “Why did you say that? That’s not really something that a girl wants to hear. It’s completely insulting.”
“Is it?” he asked lazily. “You’re always lecturing me on what’s polite. You’d give Dear Abbey a run for her money.”
“I’m not sure she’d survive you,” I said. “Are we through here?”
“I hope not. Where are we sitting?”
I grimaced, hoping to pass that off as a dismissive smile and headed for the farthest table. Crawley followed me. He set his food on the table beside mine and left. Before I could think about moving, he came back with a raspberry punch for me. “You forgot this.” He set it beside me and sat down. “See, I’m not all bad.”
I allowed myself a nervous laugh. “I didn’t say you were bad, Crawley.”
“You just don’t want to talk to me. I get it.” He took a sip of his drink, staring at me like I was a particularly hard puzzle to figure out. “Do you want to blow off this party and go hang out somewhere, private?”
I almost choked on one of Junie’s delicious pastries. “Now I know that you’re teasing me.”
A deep dimple played at the corner of his lips to show me that I was right on. I felt myself relax. “As a matter of fact,” I said, “I do want to get to know you better. Tell me about your mother.” Wife number two, I amended silently.
He straightened unconsciously and wiped a napkin at his mouth. “You really know how to ruin the mood, don’t you?”
This time I burst out laughing, realizing that I actually felt more sympathy for Crawley after meeting the family. “I excel at ruining the mood, actually.”
“It’s a terrible habit.”
I nodded. Romantics knew their stuff. A flurry of excitement at the other side of the room let me know that Bella had entered … in red. Her pearly white skin shone against the contrast. As soon as she met my eyes, I waved her over. I couldn’t help it. She was pretty enough to catch Crawley’s attention and smart enough to keep her distance, especially if I hinted at video games in her near future.
“Jane!” She made her elegant way to our table and eased down into the seat, smoothing her red skirt down. Her blond hair glistened in the candlelight.
Crawley turned into the perfect gentleman as soon as he saw her. “Are you hungry?”
“A little,” she admitted.
He left to gather the necessary enticements to win her affections. I tried not to laugh—it was easy to distract Crawley from me. “I’m so glad I found you,” Bella said. “Freddy is being a total nuisance. He said he wants to take me home—like I want to go to his mother’s stuffy basement.”
I coughed into my hand. “Let me guess. He tried to tell you that the place belonged to him?”
Her finger trailed over the scarlet tablecloth. “Yes, can you believe it?”
Harry Crawley placed a plate in front of Bella with the perfect blend of sweets and greasy meats. Bella took it gratefully. Her eyes zeroed in on Crawley with sudden interest. “You’re Bigley’s brother. How come you don’t have his hot British accent?”
“A mistake I’m working on,” he said, grinning at her with a sweetness I’d never noticed in him before. “We’re stepbrothers, so I didn’t grow up in Britain.”
“Neither did Dancey.” I said it without thinking, and their eyes went to me. I saw consideration in Crawley’s. Yes, the loner rock star actually stooped to talk to me. I downplayed it. “I think he grew up in Massachusetts. It’s on wiki somewhere.”
A tinkling of glasses let me know that Taylor was ready for her speeches. Her father now graced her end of the table. His frown added to the collection of severe lines down his face. Dancey was still noticeably absent. It was ironic that his tragic figure could actually add cheer to the group.
“You’ll have to go on without me, Bella,” I said. “Take care of her, Crawley. I’m on duty.”
I left them, feeling like a proud mother leaving her cubs. Crawley wasn’t so bad, I decided—he was more of a jokester. And Bella was a sweet girl. I had misjudge
d both of them, which meant I was more than eager to throw the two together and enjoy their resulting happiness. Approaching the mic, I slid it out of the holder. The musicians took my lead and let their music die down.
“Thank you all for coming to Chuck and Taylor’s rehearsal dinner.” I winced inwardly when I said their names aloud, hoping no one noticed it sounded like the shoe brand. Thank you very much for pointing that out, Austen.
I licked my lips. “You number among Chuck and Taylor’s dearest friends and family. Thank you for sharing one of the happiest, most important events in their lives. We are going to start out with a few words from Taylor’s parents, followed by Chuck’s. After that, we invite anyone who would like to stand and congratulate Chuck and Taylor on their coming nuptials to please do so.”
Taking the mic in a firm grip, Taylor’s father cleared his throat for his speech. I backed away and almost ran into Austen. The darkness shadowed his firm jaw. The candlelight made his hazel eyes gold, and my heart quickened at the sight of him. He was decked out in a white V-neck and dark jeans, his towering height giving me the security that I craved.
“The happiest event in their lives?” he asked me in an undertone.
Even his predictable disapproval was comforting. I glanced over at him, aware that his arm rested against mine. “That’s generally what a marriage is,” I said.
“It’s supposed to be,” he countered.
I gave him a warning look. If he was holding me to not wearing red and putting my hair up, then I was going to insist that he didn’t rain on Taylor’s parade. His eyes flicked over me. “You look good.” He didn’t sound happy about it. Still, it didn’t stop him from sliding a protective arm against the wall behind me.
Resisting the urge to ask him how his date with Junie had gone, I watched while Taylor’s parents and then the Bigleys stood up to give their speeches. They were so proud. So happy. So excited. The moment failed to touch me like it normally did. It was all fake. The presence of Mr. Doom and Gloom beside me only made me notice the warning looks the parents shot at each other and at their children—the frowns, the slurred speeches, the shifting eyes.
Bertie stole the mic next. She also wore a flowing red dress. It sparkled under the candlelight. She put the microphone to her lips. There was a hard edge to her words, like she was staking her claim as best friend of the bride. “It’s hard to believe that Taylor is leaving me for London. We’ve had so many adventures together.”
Bertie expounded on her role in Taylor’s life without including anything about Taylor—the speech filled me with sadness and made me wonder if Bertie cared about the bride at all. If Taylor didn’t have her best friend, and she didn’t have concerned parents, who did she have?
I glanced over at Austen, and he obligingly met my gaze as if he had waited for me to connect with him all night. I was the girl who thought that everything Taylor did was genius, and Austen pretty much thought the opposite. Taylor might have us, but she needed a better balance of friends.
Austen shifted, and I followed his gaze to find Dancey as he made his fashionably late entrance. The best man prowled around the perimeter of the room wearing a dress shirt with a few buttons undone. His hair was disheveled; not like he’d slept on it, but as though he’d run his hands through it while deep in thought—I couldn’t help seeing him as some hero torn from the pages of my worn Jane Austen novels. He fit every romantic ideal I’d ever had.
He stepped into the spotlight just in time for Bertie to offer him the mic. Dancey shook his head once and dropped into the seat next to Bigley. His best friend was already grinning at his unconventional behavior.
Bertie wouldn’t take no for an answer. She gave a hard giggle, straightening her ramrod back so that she seemed more imposing. “Now that everyone has heard from the bride’s best friend, they want to hear from the groom’s. Take it, Dancey.”
Dancey didn’t attempt a smile. “I have nothing to say.”
The room went silent, and it felt smothering. Taylor’s hands tightened over her napkin, and she twisted it.
Before it could get too awkward, I rushed forward and took the mic. “Well, I’m not about to pass up an opportunity to express my love for my friends.” I had no idea what to say—I wasn’t even expecting to give a pep talk at this thing. I tried to cover my hesitation with another flow of words. “Taylor, I just want you to know that I admire you so much. You’re the sister I never had, and you know I’ve had my share of brothers.”
Taylor giggled at that, and I tried to relax. “I remember the first time I met you—you were balanced on a ladder and two chairs to change a light bulb on a twelve-foot ceiling. It was really hard not to like you after that. You’re so determined. It’s a tremendous honor to follow in your footsteps—you do so much good here. I’ll miss you. But I want your happiness more than anything,” as I said it, I felt the impact of my own words, “and I hope you’re happy …” Oh no, I realized that I was parroting Austen now. I avoided his cynical eyes. “I know you’re happy. Of course you are. Anyway, Bigley sees it. He’s a good man. Someone told me once that a kiss says it all. And since Bigley’s the only one here who you’ve kissed … that way …” uh, hopefully. What was I saying? “I’m sure Bigley could tell us all how much you love him. And he loves you too. You’re so lucky that you share that kind of love.”
That was a disaster.
I smiled weakly at Taylor. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears—at least she didn’t think I was a failure. Before I could slide the mic back into the stand for another unsuspecting victim to take, Dancey stretched his hand out for it.
After a moment’s hesitation, I gave it to him. He handled it like an old friend—holding a mic was what he did for a living. “Are you sure your coworker isn’t who you want for your best friend, Taylor?” he asked in his captivating British accent.
Bertie glared at me for that. I wanted to hold up my hands to defend myself, but Dancey wasn’t through with us yet. Besides sitting a little straighter in his chair, he didn’t stand. “You should listen to Jane, Taylor. You have love, you have everything. Your happiness means everything to those who love you. We’ll support you no matter what happens.” Even Dancey was sounding like Austen—hinting at something that I couldn’t figure out. I felt like I was missing a few episodes in a mini-series. What did he know that I didn’t? Dancey studied his best friend. “Chuck, it’s not every day that a man finds love—you have everything that I want. And you did nothing to deserve it. I positively hate you.”
Bigley leaned back and laughed at the joke. “At least you’re honest, Dancey.”
I gulped. When expressing affection, best girl friends said I love you and best guy friends said I hate you. Even though I had a lot of brothers, I still didn’t understand how guys worked, but at least the groom shared Dancey’s sense of humor. I could tell Taylor didn’t. She was chalky white.
Unaware of any disturbing vibes, Mary grabbed a hold of the microphone next. She went on about how she put her health in jeopardy to attend the wedding because Taylor meant so much to her. I tried to sidestep from the action. As soon as I did, Austen found my hand in the dim room and folded my fingers over a glass. “Get Taylor some water,” he said.
Turning, I saw Taylor was fighting tears again. I circled back to her and set the drink down in front of her. She gratefully tipped it back, swallowing the water like she couldn’t get it down fast enough. The poor girl was dying of thirst. I went to find more water and, spying Dancey’s unused glass, stole his instead and set it in front of Taylor, who drank that too.
She wrapped her hand around mine. “Jane, could you see about getting a pitcher of water from the kitchen? Dancey needs his glass refilled.” She smiled at me when I hesitated. “You can leave me; I’m good now.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but sweet Bella took the microphone next. Crawley crouched on a chair near her, waiting for his turn—I was almost positive that the two had dared each other to go up. They were nervous, but at l
east they cared about the bride and groom. I spied Bertie glaring at the blond bridesmaid as if she had stolen Crawley from her—from a married woman? Everything was so confusing. I stepped back from Taylor, accidentally brushing past Dancey on my way out. He didn’t acknowledge me, just glowered at the room. Something was wrong with him, too. After Taylor’s violent reaction to his puzzling speech, I couldn’t stand to look at him.
I reached the kitchen and blinked under the harsh florescent lights. The caterers busily put the finishing touches on little pastries. Junie headed the little army, her rosebud lips pressed firmly together. She had stripped down to a simple white T-shirt and cut off shorts. She was barefoot and balanced on the counter, trying to get more pots from the highest shelves. For a moment, she looked so free that I wished we could trade places.
“Jane!” Ann-Marie tugged me away from the pot rack over the kitchen island. I got a good whiff of peroxide. Ann-Marie had gone platinum blond for the occasion. She looked like a bombshell in her elegant scarlet dress. Taylor’s wedding colors were the theme of the night. “Did you see him? The rock star. He’s so dark and mysterious.” She peered out of the kitchen at the wedding party in the Pemburkley. “He just says it like it is, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, real cool,” I said, spreading the sarcasm thick. Taylor couldn’t handle Dancey’s candor in her fragile state. He was worse than Austen.
Ann-Marie gave a little shriek that made my skin prickle in alarm. “Wait!” she said. “He’s coming this way. Dancey! He’s coming. Oh!”
What? I ducked behind a tall cabinet, seeing Dancey push his way into the kitchen as though he had every right to be there. I turned away and grabbed a potato and pretended to be busy at the sink. I could feel his stare and hoped I looked busy enough so that he would find someone else to pester. He had his dignity to preserve, right? I turned the water on and scrubbed at the potato. From the corner of my eye, I could see his chest rising and lowering while he considered me. After too long, he turned to go. I squeezed my eyes shut, glad I didn’t have to talk to him.
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