Three and a Half Weeks

by Lulu Astor

  “Bothered her?” I shook my head at his cluelessness.

  “It didn’t bother me.”

  “And?”

  “Do you really want to know what she said? I warn you it’s obnoxious.”

  I sneered. “I don’t think I can dislike her more than I already do.”

  “She said, and I quote, ‘Old enough to pee, old enough for me.’”

  “Okay, I was wrong. It was possible to hate her more and I did now. What a disgusting slut.”

  “Ella,” he grabbed my arms, “let’s not waste another second talking about either of them. They’re both old news. Forget it.”

  I pursed my lips stubbornly, wanting to cling a little while longer to my self-righteousness.

  “Look me in the eyes, Ella. What do you see?”

  I blew out my breath loudly in contempt, vibrating my lips in the process. “A very handsome man who did not develop his discriminating taste until very recently.”

  He laughed. “There you go. But, no. I want you to see the love shining through, love for you and only you. If I hadn’t met and had relationships with all those other women, how would I have almost immediately known that you were the one? They were merely yardsticks on which to measure how much I love you, and how high a bar you set, baby.”

  I let it go after that. How could I not when he said such lovely things to me?

  Now I dig in again, and like a juicy steak that gives you colon cancer, this discussion was going to be unhealthy for us to have. “They are not coming to our wedding. What is wrong with your mother? Did you not tell her of your history the day of the lunch she gave?”

  “I told her, Ella. But here’s the thing: Kaylie is one of my sister’s very best friends and Diana is my father’s partner’s wife. How in hell can my mother not invite them?”

  I do not want to back down on this one. But I may have to bend because I see his point. “Can you at least ask her if it’s possible before the invitations are sent out? I think I should be able to feel comfortable at my own wedding.”

  “I will. But, Ella, even if they are present, it’s not going to make a difference. There will be so many guests there and we’ll be busy. Chances are you won’t even see them. Kaylie will be with Zoe and Diana will be with her husband.”

  “Was she good in bed?”

  His eyes pop open, wider than the Continental Divide. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

  “No, it was a joke. Yes, I’m asking; I want to know. Was she?”

  “Yes, she was… proficient. But it was just mechanical sex: there was no affection involved. When that’s the case, it can never be too good, now can it?”

  “I wouldn’t know, Ian, for as you yourself have pointed out on numerous occasions, I hadn’t had any sexual experience before you. Perhaps I should rectify that so I can have yardsticks by which to measure you?”

  Smoldering eyes zoom in on me. “Do so at great peril: your own, and whoever has the audacity to touch you.”

  “You’re not smiling. You would kill me if I cheated?”

  “Kill you? Ella, what’s gotten into you? Are you trying to provoke a fight?”

  What has gotten into me? It must be nerves. Maybe I am trying to goad him into an argument so I could call off the wedding. I’m nervous about taking this step. Isn’t it usually the man who gets cold feet?

  So I backed down. “Just ask your mother. Do it for me. Okay?”

  Later that week, when I walked through the entrance hall of Ian’s house, I heard his and his mother’s hushed voices. The fact that they were hushed just made the prospect of eavesdropping that much more appealing. I tiptoed closer and, peeking in, tried to listen.

  “… and it wasn’t.”

  “Ian, I don’t want to disappoint her.”

  “Mom, you cannot allow Zoe to invite whomever she desires. I’ve already told you about her friends. I won’t allow Ella to be uncomfortable at her own wedding.”

  “Okay, agreed. So we’ll ditch Kaylie Ayres. What about Diana Benson? Why the no-go on her?”

  “Do you really want to know, Mom?”

  Faith just looked at her son in consternation. What is it she does or doesn’t want to know? “I’m afraid of the answer but you’re just going to have to spill, Ian. I have to invite them—he’s your father’s closest colleague.”

  “Mom, before I knew who she was I had a thing with her.”

  Faith stared at her son uncomprehendingly. “A thing?”

  He had the good grace to blush. “Yes, a thing. Must I spell it out?”

  “Ohhhh, a thing.” Now she was blushing. “A thing. Really? My God, what’s wrong with that woman? She’s too old for you.”

  “Not to mention married, Mom.”

  “Not to mention. Huh. Well, then, you tell me what to do, since you put me in this position, Ian. How am I to explain to your father? Moreover, how will he explain it to his longstanding friend and colleague? Please guide me on this one.”

  I watch as Ian tells me in body language exactly how agitated he is. It’s time for me to intervene so I walk into the room, clicking my heels on the hardwoods. “There’s no need, Faith. Ian, it’s fine if Diana Benson attends our wedding. I’m not going to get hung up on insignificant matters.” I lean down to give him a kiss and I smile at Faith. The look of relief on both their faces is downright comical so I allow myself a giggle.

  “Any other problems we need to address?”

  The night before the wedding we have a small party for our friends. It is just us, Ian’s sister, Jackson Delacroix, Mariah, and Mason, plus Daniel and Olivia fly in early enough to join us. We are all gathered in the great room when Daniel and Olivia make their entrance.

  Mariah turns to me. “Please, Ella, please tell me that mouthwatering beauty who just walked in is single. Please tell me the beautiful girl whose hand he’s holding is his sister or first cousin or ridiculously young mother. I’m begging here?”

  I grin. “’Fraid not, Mariah. That’s his brand-new wife and he’s head over heels for her. He doesn’t even notice that other women exist.” I almost add a rejoinder to Mariah to be careful what she thinks about around him, as Ian’s suspicion about Daniel reading minds flashes through mine. Tailgating that thought, I remember the day I met Daniel, at the Russian Tearoom. I’d had salacious thoughts about a three-way with him and Ian. I groan aloud as the connection is made. Oh, no. Oh, please God, no! Please don’t let it be true. I remember now that Daniel looked at me strangely when that dirty little thought went traipsing through my brain. Right now I just want the floor to swallow me up. Right the fuck now.

  “Ella, are you nervous?”

  I look up to see the handsome Daniel smiling at me, his green eyes twinkling, while Olivia is speaking to Zoe. “Uh,” I stammer, “not too bad, I guess.” I try, really try, to smile but it probably looks like I’m in grimacing in stomach pain.

  Daniel continues, “If that’s the case, why do you look so pale?”

  He is persistent, isn’t he? I want to tell him to go away and let me wallow in my shame. How will I ever live this down?

  “I’m pale because that’s my natural coloring, silly,” I say instead. “Tell me, Daniel…” I pause and then gesture him closer with my fingers, “Ian thinks you can read minds,” I say, watching his face closely.

  All I get is an enigmatic smile. “Hmm, if that’s the case, he’d better watch what he thinks about around me.”

  “I’d better, too, I suppose,” I say suggestively, to see if there’s any reaction. Nope. Maybe I’m okay? I press my luck. “I would hate for someone to read my mind because sometimes I have naughty thoughts.” Again, my eyes are glued to his face.

  “We all do at times, Ella, some more than others. I wouldn’t worry about it.” He gives me a warm and beautiful smile and moves over to where Olivia is now standing.

  I think he knows, damn it. What’s more, I think he knows that I know and that I know he knows what I was thinking. He’s trying to tell me it’s okay
, that he doesn’t hold it against me… which is great, but I’m still utterly mortified. What would Olivia think if she knew about my lascivious thoughts about her husband? And then I think of having a husband who could read your mind all the time. Poor Olivia.

  Halfway through our party two things happen. The first is when I duck into the kitchen to get another bottle of white wine I’d chilled earlier and find Mariah and Mason engaged in a hot and heavy liplock. Score.

  The second is when Ian’s two brothers arrive—separately, of course: one came from San Francisco and the other, Seattle. Quentin lives on a little, crooked block in the Mission district of S.F., and Nathaniel lives in Seattle in a converted warehouse he renovated himself. Our quiet little party rockets into warp speed when the three Blackmon brothers together in one room coalesce into an undeniable force. The music gets louder, the people get drunker, and laughter drowns out conversation. I see more people arriving, as well—people I don’t know. By eleven, I say goodnight to the people we invited and sneak away to bed. I don’t want to look exhausted tomorrow for my wedding and I need to be up early to meet up in my mother’s hotel room where I’ll get ready for the wedding.

  I take one last look at myself in the long mirror. Is that really me? The reflection shows a beautiful woman, dressed in silk and taffeta. My make-up is astonishing, done by an expert. It barely looks like I have any on but all my features are accentuated. Zoe is attaching the veil so I try to hold still in my high-heeled satin shoes.

  The dress makes me look even more slender than I am. My hair is swept back in a loose chignon and the veil sits just above it. Right before I exit the room, my mom and I discuss the merits of putting the veil over my face.

  “It’s traditional, Ella,” she insists for the third time.

  “Don’t you think it’s a little archaic?”

  “No, I don’t. I think it’s a charming tradition.”

  “You do know where the tradition comes from, right, Mom? Veils were used in arranged marriages so the husband didn’t see what his new wife looked like until after they took the vows and it was too late to back out.”

  “Oh, Ella, that’s just not true. It’s a symbol of purity.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not pure, for one thing. Plus, I’m right about its origin. You can check it out yourself on the Internet.”

  She sniffs. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read on the Internet, Ella. Okay,” she says, apparently dismissing my comments, “so I’ve loaned you an ankle bracelet, so that’s old and borrowed, you have a blue ribbon on your garter belt, your jewelry is all new, courtesy of a generous husband-to-be—all bases are covered. You look absolutely beautiful, Ella.”

  Uh-oh. The tears are starting already. “Mom, don’t start or we’ll ruin our make-up and I sat in that chair for almost an hour to have it applied. Stop.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. Pull on the veil—they’re about to call us.”

  We were supposed to get ready in my mom’s hotel suite but things were changed at the last minute. Ian’s parents wanted me to come down their beautiful sweeping staircase a la Scarlet O’Hara. Since that wouldn’t be possible if I arrived by limousine, Faith requested we get ready at the estate.

  Four hundred-plus guests could not be squeezed into the entrance foyer so closed-circuit cameras are positioned along my route, with screens mounted outside so the guests can watch my hopefully graceful descent down the staircase. At the foot of it, my father will meet me and escort me outside. Ian won’t be able to see the screens from his vantage point so he won’t see me in my gown until I reach the white-sheeted aisle.

  A low but insistent knock on the door snaps me out of my reverie at the mirror. My mom answers it and I can spot Mason just beyond. He smiles and winks at me. Mom turns around. “It’s time to go, Ella.”

  Time to go? Already? My heart picks up a warp-speed rhythm and I feel my face perspiring. No! I cannot ruin my make-up. I helplessly look over at Mariah but she can’t seem to rip her eyes away from Mason to lend some assistance. I’m only the bride, after all.

  I glance back at my mother. “Shouldn’t I take some Valium or Xanax or something, Mom? I’m terrified.”

  “No, honey, because then you’ll be in a drugged stupor.” She looks around. “I know! Hang on for one minute.” She goes to the door and calls for Mason. He returns, they confer, and he nods.

  “Just hang tight, sweetie,” my mom says as Mason disappears again.

  About three minutes later, Mason returns with a tray of flutes filled with champagne. “Thank you, kind sir,” my mother tells him and accepts the tray. There are four glasses, one for each of us. I should just take Mariah’s and have two since she isn’t being a very attentive maid of honor.

  “Give me that glass,” I say, and down it in one swallow.

  “Ella, for God’s sake!”

  “Mom, what part of I’m terrified didn’t you understand? There are four hundred freaking people down there. What if I trip on my gown and dive down the stairs head first? Then what?”

  “Then we make a trip to the ER. You’re more likely to do that with the champagne on board,” she says wryly.”

  “Then why on earth did you give it to me?” I snap.

  “Oh, God. If you’re like this today, I don’t want to be around you when you’re giving birth, Ella. For crying out loud, you’re going to be married, not walking to the electric chair.”

  “Let’s just get this over with,” I say, feeling seconds away from breaking down. I am seriously stressed.

  Mariah leans in to whisper in my ear. “Just chill the fuck out, girlfriend. You’re getting crazed and frightening your mother. Take a deep breath and think about who is at the end of this walk, waiting for you.” She pulls back to look at me. “Okay?”

  I nod. Yes, she’s right. I’m freaking out and have to stop.

  We all go into the hallway. I’m relieved to feel comfortable walking in the shoes and the gown. I can do this, I think. Too soon we reach the staircase and form a line, starting with my mother, followed by Zoe, and then Mariah. Then… it’s my turn. I should have had a bigger bridal party—easier to get lost in the crowd.

  The music begins as my mother descends the long, winding staircase. The volume is low as we all make our way down, ten seconds apart. It was timed so that one would reach the bottom when the next begins her way down. They wanted me on the stairs alone so I have to count to fifteen.

  Now I’m at the top and I watch as Mariah nears the bottom of the staircase. As soon as she’s off, my father appears, looking up at me. I take my first step, focusing on nothing but my dad’s face. It helps. In my head, I count the steps. I know there are twenty-four steps. I reach my dad and he takes my hand, kisses it, and passes it through the crook of his arm.

  As soon as we reach the French doors, the music picks up volume to trumpet my arrival. Oh, God, this is horrifying. As soon as I spot Ian, I will glue my eyes to him so I can’t see all the people. Just him. Just Ian. I can do this.

  And then my ivory satin shoes are on the white aisle and I can see him. Ian. He’s the most gloriously gorgeous groom on the face of the planet. Standing tall in his fashionable tuxedo, his brother Nathaniel beside him, Ian’s eyes are trained on mine and, yes, I feel empowered. Now I have a purpose to my walk: I need to get to my husband-to-be in one piece. I pace my steps to the music and head for those mesmerizing eyes. Watching me closely, he smiles and that gives me all the confidence I need.

  Chapter 53

  She glides into his line of sight, a vision in ivory satin and he almost gasps. God, Ella, you look stunningly beautiful. Outwardly, he’s a study in coolness—years of practice honed in front of boards of directors, and media cameras and microphones thrust in his face allow him to appear impervious. Inwardly, his heart is blasting a jungle tempo as savage as if Dave Grohl is in there pounding on his drumset.

  Ian and his two brothers emerged from the house a few minutes ago to find the guests already seated and waiting in the se
a of white grosgrain-beribboned chairs. The lawn looked like a green carpet leading to a magical forest befitting of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, with pinpoints of white light twinkling in all of the surrounding trees, though the sun had not yet set, and wildflowers sprouting from giant clay pots all around the circumference of the yard, the woods surrounding the property.

  Leave it to his mother to create a fairyland out of dirt and grass in just a week or so. The huge awning-covered terrace off the main house was set up as an elegant, candlelit gathering area for cocktails and canapés, while the formal dinner would be served in the big white tent, with tables arranged to encircle the huge dance floor. Right now they were on the long expanse of velvety lawn. The chairs were arranged in a semi-circle (a good idea swiped from Derek Girardi). The three men in black tie waited for Ella, Mariah, and Zoe under an arbor, the lattice of which was entwined with vines of white-flowering Morning Glory, the all-day blooming variety.

  He watched as first Zoe came toward him, her face barely disguising her merriment, as if she were ready to burst into laughter at the slightest provocation. When she reached her brothers, she made a silly face at Ian, obviously trying to upset his comportment but, pro that he was, he remained statue-like. Frustrated in her attempt, she took her designated place opposite Quentin. Mariah was next down the aisle, looking properly somber, as if it could have been a funeral as easily as a wedding. The thought almost made Ian laugh. Mariah stood next to Zoe, opposite from Nathaniel, his best man. He looked at the two aubergine bridesmaid and maid of honor dresses and thought Ella chose very well. The cut of the dresses suited the women who wore them splendidly.

  Ian barely heard the music as Ella came into view. She seemed to float down the aisle toward him, in the most beautiful wedding gown he’d ever seen. His nervousness disappeared with her appearance, and now he was just impatient for her to be officially declared his wife.