Page 57 of Fan Favorite
The reception was predictably beautiful, extravagant but tasteful, and Edie let herself be swept up in it all.
Reunited with Zo, Aspen, McKayla, and the rest of the season’s girls at the cocktail hour, Edie was astonished that everyone was so friendly.
Edie supposed they were trauma bonded now.
She posed for pictures with the massive bridal party, and then posed for more with former Key contestants and friends of the happy couple who were also somehow now Edie’s fans.
Jessa corralled her into the Beach Club’s lobby for an on-the-fly interview where she gushed about how happy she was for Bennett and Bailey and even snagged a hug from her camera guy Ted, who’d been instrumental in Edie’s own happy ending.
Over the lobster dinner, she gossiped and laughed with Max until her cheeks hurt.
Occasionally she’d see glimpses of Peter conferring with the top network brass or striding toward the lighting team to request some adjustment, but she did her best to abide by the contract she’d signed and pretend like she barely knew him, until finally she found herself on the packed dance floor with an entire coterie of drunken Key contestants surrounding Bennett and Bailey as they sung along to Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the USA.” Bennett had his shirt unbuttoned and his black tie strung festively around his head, and Bailey was laughing as he twirled her, the trumpet skirt of her gorgeous lace gown rising and falling as she spun.
Wyatt Cash himself was screaming at Edie over the din, something about a “collab,” when suddenly a hand cupped the bare skin where her neck met her shoulder, and the heat of his body formed to the back of hers.
Instinctively she closed her eyes and leaned into him. He whispered in her ear.
“Let’s get out of here.” His hand slid forward and down her chest, sending shockwaves through her body. She bit her lip. “Meet me out back in five.” And then, before anyone even noticed, he was gone.
“You can do my podcast from wherever!” Wyatt yelled to her as he shimmied. “You can come to the studio, or I can send you a Zoom link—it’s super easy! The gays are obsessed with you!”
“Awesome!” Edie nodded. “Can’t wait!” and then she was threading her way off the dance floor and directly into Carole Steele.
“Edie Pepper, just the little disruptor I was looking for. This is Christian Brooks,” Carole said, gesturing to an immaculately groomed man next to her. “Head of development at RX.”
“Nice to meet you,” Edie said, shaking Christian’s hand. After everything, Carole remained absolutely the scariest woman Edie had ever met in her life, and she felt desperate to escape. “It’s so great to see you, but I—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, we want to talk to you.” Carole took Edie by the wrist and led her to a less-crowded space next to the bar. “So, Edie, have you thought about what’s next?”
“In what way?” Edie asked, wary.
“For your career, obviously.” Carole rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you plan to sit around waiting for Peter Kennedy to marry you.”
Edie cocked her head but said nothing.
They stared at each other until Carole pursed her lips.
“Fine,” she continued, slightly chastened.
“Edie and Peter forever. But don’t be stupid.
You’re having a moment and you shouldn’t waste it.
We don’t want to see you languishing in podcastville with the rest of the reality stars trying to outrun their fifteen minutes.
You’re better than that. What we want to talk to you about is a TV show.
Late night. On our streaming platform. Pop culture. Comedy. Celebrities.”
Edie looked at Carole, confused. “Sure.” She shrugged. “I’ll come on your show. Just let me know when you need me, and I’ll be there.”
“No, no, no, no, no,” Carole said as Edie tried to escape again. “We’re talking about you . You hosting a show. We’re thinking about calling it”—Carole painted the word in the air with a sweep of her hand— “Famewhores.”
Edie was completely stunned. On the dance floor, the crowd was cheering as Bennett removed Bailey’s garter with his teeth.
“Like Watch What Happens Live , but with you as the host,” Christian added helpfully.
“Wait,” Edie said, brow furrowed, “am I the famewhore in this scenario?”
Christian crinkled his nose adorably. “Of course not. The guests are the famewhores. You’re more like a celebrity gossip whore.”
“Oh,” Edie said, not sure if that was better.
“We want to start ASAP,” Carole continued. “I’m in town for two more days. You’ll meet us tomorrow for brunch at the Polo Lounge, and we’ll discuss details.”
Edie was so stunned— her own TV show??? —that when Bailey’s bouquet sailed through the air and smacked her right in the head, even that wasn’t enough to snap her out of it.
“See?” Carole gestured at the slack-jawed Edie and the bouquet in pieces on the floor. “This is it. This is the whole show.”
“I completely see it,” Christian agreed. “A total star.”
As Carole and Christian continued to plan—“I want this in production by the time they announce their relationship. That news will go viral, and I want this show mentioned in every single fucking lede”—Edie was swept up in Key girls loading her arms with broken pieces of the bouquet.
After so many hugs and a big “I love you so much!” kiss from Bailey, Edie finally extracted herself and went to find Peter.
Edie made her way onto the deck and down the stairs to the beach.
And there was Peter in his tuxedo, hands in his pockets, staring at the ocean.
The water sparkled in the moonlight, and out here, everything felt like magic.
Vast and unknowable, but also rooted in everything that was real, right here, right now.
“I thought you didn’t stare at the ocean,” she teased.
Peter turned around. He raised one brow. “When did I say that?”
“The first day we met. The Monk of Malibu , remember?”
Peter laughed. “You never let anything go, do you?” He nodded toward her armful of flowers. “Don’t tell me you caught the bouquet.”
“Something like that.”
“Bad luck, you know.” He stepped toward her. “A married woman catching the bouquet.” He took his right hand from his pocket and offered her a simple platinum band that matched the one he was wearing.
“You’re gonna get us in trouble…”
“What? They’re married now, aren’t they?” he said, tossing the broken flowers to the sand and sliding the band onto her finger.
Their wedding three weeks ago was nothing like the weddings Edie had spent her life dreaming about.
And it was absolutely perfect.
To lower their chances of being spotted, Edie, her mother, Alice, and Lauren took a red eye from Chicago to JFK.
In the middle of the night, Peter’s father, Bob, picked them up at the airport and they drove straight to the Kennedy’s massive colonial home in Greenwich, which Alice of course instantly approved of, with its immaculate landscaping and traditional interior design.
No one left the house for the next three days.
Jessa had worked her magic and sent a selection of dresses ahead of time, and Edie, Alice, Lauren, Peter’s mother Libby, and his sister Elizabeth had the time of their lives drinking champagne and picking out the perfect dress for Edie to wear.
Alice and Libby were fast friends, aligned as they were on most matters, including the menu for the wedding brunch, which would be quiche accompanied by an elegant winter salad.
Bob called in a favor from the Honorable George F.
Callahan from down the street, who executed the marriage license.
On the big day, Elizabeth blew out Edie’s hair in the Jack-and-Jill bathroom she and Peter had grown up sharing, and Lauren did her makeup.
All the women helped her into her dress, a simple, white A-line with an open back, except for Alice, who didn’t want anyone to see her cry, so she busied herself in the kitchen.
Peter’s little niece and nephew ran through the backyard, looking for flowers in February, until they settled on sticks and a pine cone that Elizabeth tied together with a ribbon that Edie happily carried down the improvised aisle.
Bob played “Moonlight Sonata” on the grand piano as she walked, the only song he remembered from his childhood lessons.
Peter stood next to the fireplace in a navy suit and surprised even himself when he started to cry.
Lauren, of course, officiated, and they wrote their own vows, filled with all the traditional promises, but with the additional grace, gratitude, and wisdom befitting their advanced marrying age.
When they kissed, everyone cheered. And then the quiche was served.
Edie was certain there’d never been a happier day in her life.
Edie threaded her hands into his now. They were married.
“By the way,” she said, “Carole just offered me a TV show. A late-night talk show. I think I’d get to meet the Real Housewives. Like, all of them.”
“Then you have to do it,” he said with a smile.
“But what about living in Los Angeles? Would you stay here?”
“Wherever you are is where I’ll be. I can write my book anywhere. Besides, a show will give you something to talk about in the press other than how much you love me.”
“Peter, I’ve been waiting for months to talk about how much I love you.”
“Happiness is annoying,” he said mischievously. “Nobody likes it. We’ll stay happy in private. And you, you will be the best late-night TV host they’ve ever seen.”
And then his hands were in her hair, and he was kissing her until her knees were weak.
Finally, they broke apart and Peter pressed his forehead to hers. “What do you think, Mrs. Kennedy? Are you ready for everything that comes next? It’s probably gonna get a little crazy.”
“Honestly,” she said, looking up at him. “I can’t fucking wait.”