Page 24 of Faking the Pass

At Long Last

R osie

The morning of our wedding, Presley surprised me by announcing a car would arrive at noon to take me to the Cliffhouse Inn where Danielle was staying.

My best friend had flown in from California last night. We’d talked until late, catching up on all the craziness that had transpired since I’d last seen her.

“A makeup artist and hair stylist will meet you there and help you both get ready,” he said. “Chelle dropped your dress off there this morning.”

I stared at him in wonder. “You really didn’t need to do all this. I can do my own hair and makeup.”

“I know you can,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to—not on your wedding day. Besides, I hired a photographer and videographer, remember?”

“Right.” For the performance.

Once again I’d be primped and primed to put on a show for the world, though at least this time there would be far fewer attendees in person.

And I wouldn’t be required to deliver memorized vows this time. Presley had assured me all I had to do was show up and say yes to whatever the officiant asked me. Easy peasy.

By tonight, we’d be married.

My belly filled with a squall of flutters. Why did that thought give me butterflies?

Stupid butterflies—couldn’t they tell the difference between a real wedding day and a fake one?

Danielle adjusted my veil in the back, and we both stood looking at our reflections in her room’s full-length mirror.

“You look amazing,” she said. “Even prettier than last time.”

Both of us were wearing updos with a few loose curls near our faces. The makeup artist had done great work, making us look better than our bare-faced selves but still very natural.

“Thank you. At least I can breathe this time,” I said. “This dress is actually my size. You look great too.”

I’d chosen the wedding gown Jessica and I both had liked best, a silk crepe slip dress with a classic bias cut design and graceful cowled neckline. Simple and a little sexy, it was floor length and featured no sequins or rhinestones.

It flowed over my figure, draping my silhouette in a flattering way and catching the light as I turned from side to side, looking at it.

Unlike the thirty-pound, busily ornamented ballgown I’d worn to marry Randy, this one felt light and airy.

“Well you look like a princess,” Danielle said. “And this time you don’t have to kiss a frog. You get to kiss Presley Lowe , superstar quarterback and super hottie.”

She let out a little squeak and did a twirl, causing her own turquoise silk dress to flare at the hem.

The uncalled for butterflies were doing their thing again. Unfortunately, Presley had given me my last truly good kiss, which was a sad thing to have to admit more than fifteen years later.

I opened my mouth to point out that our kissing would be limited to a peck at the conclusion of the ceremony, but Danielle held out a hand.

“I know, I know… you already kissed him back in high school. And this isn’t ‘real.’”

When I’d called Danielle to invite her to the wedding, I’d told her the truth. I’d had to. I didn’t lie to my best friend.

Though I’d assured her it wasn’t necessary, she’d insisted on coming.

“I’ll never miss one of your weddings,” she vowed. “No matter how many there are.”

Plus, she’d said it was important for her to be here to help uphold the illusion.

And that was all this was.

“What’s weird is it feels more real than your other wedding,” my friend said, “at least to me. Let me enjoy the vicarious fantasy.”

“It’s no more real than my marriage to Randy would have been,” I reminded her.

And myself.

No matter how it felt.

There was a knock at the door of Danielle’s room, and she went to open it. To my stunned amazement, the wedding planner from my un-wedding to Randy stood there.

Did she specialize in fake marriages or something?

“It’s time. Ready ladies?” Olivia asked.

Unable to actually answer the question due to the sudden lump in my throat, I nodded and moved toward the door. We followed the woman down a wide flight of stairs to the lobby of the historic inn.

The Cliffhouse was once a private home, built in 1875. Now the forty-acre seaside estate housed an upscale restaurant and thirty guest rooms, suites, and beach cottages.

While the inside of the inn was gorgeous, the real attraction was its location.

It sat on a peninsula with views of the open ocean on one side and Eastport Bay harbor on the other.

A vast green lawn swept down from the inn to rocky cliffs and beach rose hedges bordering the water.

White Adirondack chairs invited guests of the inn, as well as visitors, to sit and have a drink while watching the sun set—or earlier in the day to enjoy the sun and ocean breeze while watching sailboats glide past the point.

I peeked through the glass panels of the inn’s front door at the empty drive.

“Is a car on its way for us?” I asked, and Danielle gave me a mischievous look, clearly in on the secret.

“No need,” Olivia said. “Just follow me please.”

We left the inn. The day was sunny and bright with a perfect cooling seabreeze.

In the distance, the Eastport Bay Bridge was visible, stretching over deep blue water. The beautiful suspension bridge connected Eastport Bay with the next island town.

We followed Olivia along a sidewalk that led from the inn to a white sailcloth event tent just beside the water. There was no way we were getting married there though.

Yes, Presley had somehow managed to snag a celebrity wedding planner with only a few days’ notice, but that facility had to be booked years in advance, and our guest list was tiny.

As far as I knew.

Please tell me Presley didn’t invite his whole team and everyone we went to high school with. Please please please.

To my relief, we passed right by the large tent, crossing through a beautiful garden. The path turned left, and then I saw it.

A tiny chapel tucked among the towering old-growth English beech trees.

It looked ancient, maybe even older than the inn, and it was so small it would hold no more than thirty people. A stone walkway leading to the entrance of the white clapboard structure was bordered by colorful tulip beds.

Flanking the chapel’s periwinkle-blue door were lush flowering plants, including beautiful hydrangeas in full bloom. The New England staples had always been my favorite.

The way the sunlight shone through the trees and dappled its roof and front door, it all looked like something out of a dream.

Olivia turned to me, beaming. “Here we are. Ready to get married? For real this time?”

Leaning closer, she whispered into my ear, “I like this one much better for you.”

Obviously Presley hadn’t shared the details with Olivia when he’d hired her.

She leaned around the hedge beside us and said to someone I couldn’t see, “She’s here.”

Suddenly there was music. It sounded like a string quartet. Instead of a movie score or even the Bridal Chorus, they played a familiar-sounding tune.

It took me a second to place it, but after a few notes I recognized the song.

My favorite love ballad from my high school days.

In shock, I searched Olivia’s expectant face. “Is this… did you pick this song?”

“Not me,” she said with a wink. “Get ready. Here comes your flower girl.”

“Flower girl?”

An adorable red-haired child emerged from the front of the chapel and ran up to me. She wore a frilly ankle-length white dress and held a basket of pink flower petals.

When she reached me, she touched my dress lightly, a dreamy look on her little face.

“Wow. You look like a fairy queen.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the remark in the way it was meant, as the highest of compliments.

“You look wonderful, too,” I said. “You must be Lily.”

“Yes. And Uncle Presley says I’m his favorite niece, but really I’m his only niece. He’s waiting for you, and he looks fancy, too. My daddy’s the bestest man, and Uncle Wilder and Uncle Merc are also bestest mans.”

Olivia squatted down to speak on the little girl’s level. “Okay, it’s time to do your job. Remember what to do?”

Lily nodded eagerly. “Yes. Walk real slow and throw petals all over the island.”

“The aisle. Yes. When you get to the front, you can go and sit with your grandmother and grandfather.”

Before she began her walk, Lily looked back over her shoulder at me.

“This is the best day of my whole life,” she said with all the solemnity a six year old could possibly display.

My stomach sank. I felt so guilty. I couldn’t believe Presley had involved his whole family in this parody of a wedding.

What was poor little Lily going to think when we got divorced a few months from now? Would it destroy her earliest impressions of what love and marriage were supposed to be?

After a minute, Olivia addressed Danielle. “Your turn.”

My friend gave me a quick side hug then walked toward the chapel’s open door. It was a little dark inside, but I could see the glow of candlelight.

Electricity hadn’t existed back when the ancient chapel was constructed. As its windows were stained glass, I assumed the candlelight was necessary to see by.

Then it was my turn to go. My knees were wobbling like Jello, and my hands were about to shake the petals off the bouquet that Olivia had handed me.

She gave me a huge grin, wrinkling her nose. “You’re gorgeous. His eyes are going to pop right out of his head when he sees you.”

And then I was walking into the chapel and down the center aisle. Each of the benches lining it was marked by a stand of colorful mixed blooms and a flickering gas lantern.

There were only eight pews, but even then, they were not all filled. I was too freaked out to look around and see who was there, but I couldn’t help but see Presley and his three enormous brothers standing to one side of the minister.

And he did appear to be an actual minister instead of a justice of the peace. He was wearing a long white robe and stole.

Great. Now I wouldn’t be just lying in front of Presley’s family, I’d be lying to God as well.

On his other side stood Danielle, who looked like she was fighting tears, despite knowing full well this was all just an act.

I was feeling the threat of impending tears myself for some reason.

Especially when Presley lifted his eyes.

When he saw me approaching, his face changed, going from all smiles to a serious, almost stricken expression.

Was he realizing at the last minute he couldn’t go through with this? I wouldn’t blame him.

The thought caused me to stop mid-stride.

Then his chest rose and fell, and he blinked several times before bursting into a huge smile and shaking his head as if in awe.

Wow.

I’d always thought he was gorgeous, but seeing Presley smile like that, I was ready to cut the aggressive gridiron groupies some slack.

He had to be the most handsome groom ever in the history of groomdom.

Whoever married him for real one day was going to be one happy bride.

Resuming my walk, I reached the end of the short aisle and took my place beside him.

The minister began speaking, welcoming everyone.

“I’ve shared many happy occasions with your family,” he said, “starting with the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Lowe back when you were even younger than these two beautiful young people. And I was so green I could barely breathe during your ceremony. If I recall correctly, I might have even said the wrong name at one point.”

Mr. Lowe held up his left hand, pointing to the ring finger. “It still worked. So one of your ceremonies is good for at least forty years.”

Everyone laughed, and the minister continued. “I’ve had the honor of dedicating your four sons as well as both Lily and baby Theo. And now, we’re gathered here today to welcome the newest member of the Lowe family, Rosie Elizabeth James.”

It was the strangest sensation, but it felt as if the love filling the small room was an actual physical thing. His family’s closeness was palpable.

And I felt like a fraud.

I didn’t belong here. I wasn’t a member of this lovely family, and I didn’t think I could bear to keep up this deceit any longer.

I started making peace with the fact I’d be going into the civil trial alone, unmarried, and destined for career ruin and poverty.

When the minister got to the “speak now or forever hold your peace” point, I took a sharp breath and opened my mouth.

Presley grabbed my hand, squeezing it. I looked over at him, and he shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

Just as he’d done at the press conference, he mouths the words, “Trust me.”

And I held my peace. I said nothing until it was time for my vows, which I repeated after the minister.

It all felt like a dream—the low rumble of Presley’s voice saying his own vows, the feel of him sliding a ring onto my left hand, the beautiful stringed quartet music drifting in through the open doorway along with the scent of hydrangea blooms and honeysuckle vines.

The one clear thought that came to me through the fog of disbelief was that this was exactly the kind of wedding I’d have chosen if this were all real and I’d been involved in the planning.

A small, intimate gathering. Romantic. Sacred.

And so sweet that tears did roll down my cheeks—in spite of the absence of the main ingredient in a real wedding.

Love.

But Presley’s family didn’t know that. So when the minister proclaimed us man and wife and said, “You may kiss your bride,” they all clapped and cheered.

One of his brothers started the chant, “Kiss, kiss, kiss,” and the others joined in.

For a moment, Presley and I just looked at each other. And then his head bent, his hands curved around my head, and his lips met mine.

As I’d told Danielle, Presley and I had kissed quite a bit during that three weeks we’d been together in high school.

I’d thought he was a good kisser back then, but now? My knees literally buckled. Thankfully, he slid a strong arm behind my back to hold me up.

Where our chests were pressed together, I could feel his heartbeat.

To my surprise, it was racing almost as fast as mine.

The kiss went on, turning from soft and sweet into something more intense.

And then it ended, and Presley turned to accept the incoming hugs and back slaps from his family, who now surrounded us.

Danielle flung herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and tickling my face with the bouquet she was holding for me.

“That was beautiful,” she declared. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Of course it was,” Presley’s dad said. “My boy’s found his perfect girl.”

“At long last,” his mom added, and everyone laughed.

Everyone but me.