Draw Me A Picture

by Meredith Greene

  “It’s alright, Laurel,” William said, getting up. “We’ll join the main room now.” The blond woman nodded and smiled as she closed the door. William held his hand out to the blushing Michelle; she took it and stood up. “You really do look very sophisticated, my dear. I’m impressed.” He fingered the blood-red stones at her throat with a rather obvious admiration.

  “Thank you,” Michelle said, trying not to drool over the man and the look he was giving her. “I would kiss you but I don’t want to get lipstick all over you.” William lifted an eyebrow.

  “Very well. I will, however, take a rain-check on that,” he said, opening the side door.

  Margaret stood in the room already, talking with Alfred in a near corner. Michelle’s uncle also was present. Upon spying him, the bride laughed. Abandoning his business suits, Oscar sported casual slacks and a long sleeved shirt, fashioned in design like one big, bright American flag. One half was stripes and the other stars; William chuckled when he saw it. They joined Michelle’s uncle just as he accepted a glass of wine from an immaculate server.

  “That is a fantastic shirt, Oscar,” William said, with approval; he had to admire a guy who’d wear something so garish to a reception, and so unafraid. His relatives were going to love being suddenly ‘related’ to this man, William mused to himself; the idea made him grin. They were all entirely too stuffy, in his opinion.

  “Thank you,” Oscar said, smiling. “It’s mighty comfy.” He sipped his drink and looked around. “Not a bad room for a little fiesta. Good wine, too.”

  Michelle introduced Margaret and Alfred to her uncle; Oscar seemed a little uncomfortable with all of Margret’s glowing praise of his person and his financial backing of the wedding, but managed to navigate her compliments quite well. Michelle spied Laurel, still across the room, busily inspecting the tables and making a few last-minute adjustments to who sat where. Michelle gently nudged William as Luca breezed through the door; the Italian man smiled at them. Both Michelle and William discreetly pointed over to Laurel.

  Luca saw the young woman bustling around the tables, looking reserved and pretty in her fitted forest-green dress. She didn’t have to try very hard to look nice but it showed good taste to dress more dully when a bride was present. He noticed Laurel’s blond curls looked extra bouncy and golden in the warm light of the room.

  “Hello Laurel,” he said, when he was close enough to reach her. Laurel smiled and turned, nearly tripping over a chair. Luca clasped her arm to prevent her from falling, giving a low chuckle. “You are looking so pretty tonight,” he said, looking into her eyes. He decided he liked her slender glasses very much; they gave her a deserved air of intelligence, like a hard-working college student; a charming student, with a lovely smile.

  “Thank you, uh, yes... well, thanks,” Laurel said, feeling like an idiot. “I would say you look nice too, but I think you know you do.” Luca threw back his head and laughed. He held out his arm to the young blond woman.

  “You are honest, which I like,” he said, smiling fondly. “Come... we should meet the others.” Laurel smiled, her confidence boosted a little by Luca’s words.

  “One more place card to switch...” she said; she bent down and traded the last cards around. “There,” she said, smiling at her handiwork. She took Luca’s arm, admitting to herself that he did look really, really good.

  “You want to do all this for yourself, someday?” Luca said, indicating the tables with his hand. He tried to sound as casual as possible but his calm words belied the intense questions in his eyes.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Laurel said, after a moment.

  For a brief moment, a look of sadness flitted across Luca’s face. A small dream in his mind started to fade away.

  “You are too busy with your job, then… to marry?” he inquired, trying to hide the hurt in his voice. Laurel stopped and looked up at him, surprised.

  “Oh, no...” she said. “That’s not I meant. All this wedding ceremony and reception and invitation stuff is so much work that I wouldn’t want to do it for my wedding. I think I’d rather elope, or something much simpler.” A little encouraged, Luca stepped around in front of Laurel, looking into her eyes; his face was so sober and serious Laurel wondered what she’d said, though his expression held no anger.

  “So, this job of yours, it occupies so much of your time… do you want to do it all your life?” he asked, his voice very soft. Laurel felt extremely vulnerable; she hated feeling like that. In spite of her reservations, something in Luca’s eyes made her want to reach out and meet him halfway.

  “It’s been great, but… well, like Michelle I want a family someday,” she admitted. “I don’t like being lonely.”

  Luca gave Laurel a tender smile, one which spoke of secret and wonderful things; she had never seen a look like that from anyone before, least of all directed at her. The man slid one hand behind her neck and leaned down, pressing his mouth gently over hers. The kiss was very short, but it conveyed a clear message. Speechless, Laurel let Luca lead her towards the others, not really caring if anyone had just seen that.

  William and Michelle were talking pleasantly with Margaret and Oscar, when a loud voice sounded out in the corridor. The double doors stood open, enabling all in the room to hear every word.

  “Where’s the Englishman who’s marrying a Scot?” came a loud voice, in a thick accent. Oscar laughed; he turned towards the door with a broad smile.

  “Donnan Gregory, get your sorry ass in here!” he bellowed. In the doorway appeared a tall, well-built man in his late forties, wearing an honest-to-God kilt; he even wore the tall, white stockings and peculiar shoes of a highlander. Beside the newcomer stood a slender red-haired lady in a dark blue gown; she looked old enough to be the man’s wife. Oscar strolled over to greet them, carrying his drink. Michelle was relieved her uncle was somewhat familiar with the newcomers. William tugged slightly on her arm and they moved to join them.

  Oscar and Donnan Gregory were engaged in a laughing conversation already. The red-haired lady beside him was joined by three young men, all in dark suits; they looked much like their father, though one had red hair, like his mother. The blue gowned woman looked around and immediately saw Michelle.

  “Oh, my word...” the lady said, smiling at Michelle fondly. “You look so much like your mother, my dear, and older than your pictures.” Michelle smiled back, trying to place the woman in her catalog of names. “Maggie Gregory,” the lady enlightened her, patting her arm. “My husband is Donnan, one of your father’s cousins.” She pronounced the kilt-wearing man’s name as DO-nan.

  “I am glad to meet you, Maggie,” Michelle said. “I certainly wish I’d kept better in touch with my extended family. This is my fiancé, William Montgomery.” Maggie looked up at William and smiled, taking his offered hand.

  “What a lovely couple you make! I thank you both for having us at your wedding,” she said, earnestly. Michelle liked her soft accent very much; it sounded comforting. “It has been some time since there was a wedding in the family... and even longer since we visited the States.”

  “Indeed.” One of the young men behind Maggie spoke up; he looked to be a little younger than William. He winked at Michelle with an unabashed grin. “Had we known there were such pretty girls here we would have come sooner.” Michelle kept her snort very quiet; she felt William chuckle beside her. The young man’s mother poked his shoulder and scowled back at the boy.

  “Don’t mind them, they’re good boys all of them,” she said to Michelle. “He’s Drostan, my eldest, the middle one’s Maon and the youngest is Roidh.” Michelle gave small curtsy and William shook hands all around. He gave an especially strong grip to the eldest. Drostan matched gazes with him and grinned.

  “Your mother was wonderful about sending letters, with pictures.” Maggie said, “You’re so grown up and getting married! Oh... how lovely.” She dabbed at her eyes with a little hankie.

  “Actually, we’ll be visiting Scotland for our
honeymoon,” Michelle said. “Though William won’t tell me where.” She looked up at her fiancé who quirked an eyebrow at her. Maggie looked at William expectantly. He cleared his throat.

  “It’s not far from Perth, in Fife up near St. Andrews,” he said, smiling down at Michelle. “Take that, you little minx,” he thought, fondly. Michelle filed the information away to Google later. Maggie apparently knew something she didn’t, as she smiled very wide and patted Michelle’s arm.

  “I’ll not ruin the surprise, but you’ll love it, my dear,” she said.

  Introductions were made all around; three more distant Gregory cousins came in with families in tow and were boisterously welcomed. They were pleasant, lively people all dressed nicely; they seemed genuinely happy to be there. Two of the younger Gregory girls shyly wished Michelle and William well for their wedding tomorrow; they giggled and blushed as young teenagers do, looking at William. He rolled his eyes when they drifted off, making Michelle laugh softly. Laurel and Luca politely greeted the Gregorys and then wandered off by themselves again. Margaret saw them and looked over at Michelle, smiling. She and Maggie Gregory seemed to be well matched in conversation skill and were soon were chatting like old friends. Michelle was very pleased at how well everyone seemed to get along.

  “Is your family going to show?” she asked her fiancé as they stood a little away from the various conversations. William gave her a rueful smile.

  “I am afraid they are the fashionably-late type, my love,” he told her. He was a bit put off by their tardiness, but that would be addressed later.

  “If they are too fashionably late, they may leave fashionably 'hungry',” Michelle returned, playing with her glass. Dinner was just about to be served. William seemed to find her statement amusing and smiled to himself.

  Oscar walked over to them, with Donnan in tow.

  “Michelle, meet my cousin, Donnan Gregory,” he said, smiling. The man clasped Michelle’s hand with a warm, firm grip.

  “A lovely girl, you are,” he said, with a broad smile. The man radiated good decent charm and a natural happiness from his clear, green eyes. “Your father visited us with Oscar when they were just boys, a long time ago now. Fair tricksters, the both of them...” Michelle smiled and laughed softly at these words. It was odd to think of her steady, hard-working father as a 'trickster'.

  “I am very glad you and your family came,” she said. “I hope your rooms are comfortable.” Donnan snorted.

  “Aye, they are; like for a duke and duchess,” he said, smiling again. “Very commodious indeed; my brood will be spoilt staying here too long...”

  Michelle saw a movement at the door from the corner of her eye; a regal young woman stood in the doorway, dressed in a glowing, ruby-red gown. Donnan’s three sons nudged each other, grinning. Michelle was a little put off by the newcomer’s audacity. An unspoken rule exists when dealing with clothing and engagements/weddings: do not outshine the bride. Michelle did not know many refinements of high-society manners, yet even she was familiar with this one rule of etiquette.

  William felt Michelle’s posture stiffen a little; turning, he saw his cousin, Anne standing in the door and immediately wished she hadn’t come. It was very poor taste to wear something that flashy to an engagement party. Not one for believing in bad omens, William was nonetheless a little insulted by his own cousin’s lack of manners. Her mother had taught her better.

  “Did I mention some of my relations are conceited cods?” he whispered to Michelle. She turned and gave him a forgiving smile.

  “You did,” she returned. “What will she wear tomorrow? A neon-orange jumpsuit?” William laughed, shaking his head.

  “I’ll dump an ice bucket on her if she does,” he promised. “She's my cousin Anne. There’s my Aunt Florence now, and her husband Roderick.” Michelle looked over; an elegant older woman stood by the red-clad girl; she was more tastefully dressed in a deep burgundy dress and jacket. Though her face was similar in form to Margret’s, she looked older and much sterner. Margaret saw her sister’s family and strolled over to them.

  “Let’s stay here, love,” William suggested, quietly. “They can come to us.” Smiling up at him, Michelle nodded.

  They spent a happy few moments prying into Donnan Gregory’s memories of Oscar and Michelle’s father as young teenagers.

  “There was that time we all slipped out of the house after dark and set firecrackers ‘round ol’ MacGill’s garden,” the man recounted, rubbing his chin. “The old boy were in World War II; when we set them off, he awoke thinking the Japs were upon his wee house.” At this Oscar laughed very hard, slapping his knee.

  “I remember that...” he wheezed. “He yelled out like a dervish at first, but then it got really quiet. He pulled out a single shot rifle from somewhere and began plunking away at us.”

  “Aye, and a good shot too, even after all those years,” Donnan mused. “He winged me in the shoulder and grazed yer father’s leg. An’ here Oscar got away wit’ not a scratch, the lucky sod.” Michelle laughed discreetly into her hand. William was entrenched in the story and didn’t even notice his aunt standing nearby.

  “If you are done listening to vulgar stories, William, perhaps you can say 'hello' to your family,” came a crisp voice.

  William grinned and turned to look down on his Aunt Florence from his considerable height advantage. He knew she detested that.

  “Aunt Florence,” he said, nodding at her politely. “May I present my future bride, Michelle Gregory.” Michelle gave a polite curtsy, and for William sake a smile she would give to him. The woman did not appear sneering, just suspicious, Michelle thought; they regarded one another as if scrutiny would somehow bridge the gap.

  “I am very pleased to meet you ma’am,” Michelle said, in her quiet way; she sounded much more confident than she felt. Margret’s sister smiled, just a little.

  “Though it was a bit rushed, this wedding, we are glad to be able to attend.” As she spoke, the woman critically eyed Michelle’s stomach. Inwardly Michelle bristled, knowing the woman was expecting to see a ‘bulge’.

  “I certainly hope your room is comfortable,” Michelle said, forcing her voice to be warm and calm.

  “It is acceptable, thank you,” the woman said; her voice was laced with enough condescension to bring up the ire in any bride. Michelle laughed a little, causing ‘Aunt Florence’ to give her a sharp, questioning look.

  “The hotel manager told me that the Prince of Monaco and Princes Grace found that suite ‘acceptable’ as well,” Michelle said, her voice tinged with humor.

  A man next to Florence hid his laugh in a cough. Looking at him, Michelle saw he returned her smile warmly. The man embodied mature, British gentry with calm grace upon his gray brow; Michelle immediately liked him, despite his rather icy wife. Grinning, the man clapped William on the shoulder.

  “William you sly dog,” the man said, still smiling. “Somehow you managed to convince a fair dryad to marry you, eh?”

  “Michelle this is Roderick Jamieson II, my uncle,” William introduced. Michelle accepted the man’s offered hand with a real smile. “He’s one of the better relations.”

  “Nonsense, nonsense... welcome to the family, my dear,” he kissed the back of Michelle’s hand. “Roddy, Annie, come meet William’s fiancée.” He spoke over his shoulder to the red-clad girl and her male counterpart; they came forward almost reluctantly.

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Michelle said, shyly.

  “William,” Roddy said, clasping hands with William. “Long time old boy.” The young man let his eyes drift down to Michelle. “Bloody hell… she’s damn gorgeous,” he said, smiling. “Lucky sod.” The last part he said under his breath. William grinned.

  “Thank you Rod,” he answered. “She has a name, you know.”

  “Yes, Miss Michelle Gregory, soon to be Mrs. Montgomery,” Roddy said, smiling down at Michelle. “Charmed, ‘m sure.” He looked over at some of the Gregory girls, talking
with their families. “Beauty seems to run in the family,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  Anne, the daughter, stepped forward and gave William a kiss on the cheek; it left a ruby-red smudge. Without ceremony, William took out a handkerchief and wiped it off.

  “Anne,” was all he said. The young woman looked at Michelle with a bored expression. Something in her manner reminded Michelle very much of the evil Cassandra, though minus the driving ambition.

  “William... so, it took a pauper to tempt you towards matrimony,” she said, lightly. “I did not expect that.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Michelle spoke up; her voice, though quiet, held a surprising confidence. Anne looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “The elite never expect much from the common man, until they are amassed on the front lawn... erecting a guillotine.”

  The nearby chatter halted. Anne stared at Michelle, mouth open. William looked down at his fiancée, eyebrows raised; a slow, broad smile overtook his features.

  “Bloody hell; she’s a genius,” he thought. Feeling confidence wash over her, Michelle gave a light laugh at Anne’s expression.

  “Oh, don’t worry, she said, “You’re fairly safe here...” She pointed over to her relatives. The Gregory relations—who were surreptitiously listening to the whole conversation--grinned at the stunned debutante. “I’ll keep them in check,” Michelle finished, with a smile. Anne worked her mouth into a fairly decent sneer and turned to find something with alcohol in it.

  “I can see you and I will become good friends,” Roderick Jamieson said, exceedingly amused. “History buff, eh? Most impressive.”

  “I second that,” William said, giving Michelle a very warm look. The moment his uncle turned away, he leaned down and addressed Michelle’s ear. “You are a clever little minx, do you know that? It’s an incredible turn-on.” It took Michelle all of two minutes to stop blushing.

  The rest of the ‘gathering’ turned out better than Michelle thought it would; no one was killed, no blood was shed; her little comment about guillotines seemed to rattle the aristocracy enough to actually be civil. Donnan Gregory couldn’t stop laughing about it.