Page 45

CHAPTER 45

Dante parked the Opel Kadett on the curb in front of Octavia’s Oakland home. “No one will steal this turd,” he said with satisfaction as he pulled their new neatly packed luggage out of the trunk.

“They would if they knew what was under the hood.” Maarja got out and looked around.

The yard looked pretty good; Mr. Nyugen rented the attic for himself and the dilapidated backyard gazebo for his karate school, and on the side he handled the gardening.

On the other hand, the house looked… Well, if a word could be found to describe it, that word would be sagging . Built in the early twentieth century during a brief period of prosperity, the former mansion had two stories, two bathrooms (one up and one down), a large front porch, and tall double-hung windows. The furbelows that decorated the eaves had once been multicolored, and fragments of paints still clung in the crevices. Overall, the white paint was peeling and bare boards rotted, but it was home.

She opened the front gate, also sagging, and stepped carefully along the broken chunks of concrete walk, up the steps, and across the porch to the door.

Upon going inside, she stepped into a riot of conversation and movement: in the foyer, the dining room, the living room, on the stairs were neighbors, members of Oakland Golden Neighborhood Community Festival, Octavia’s sisters-in-law who she kept as friends after her divorce, their kids (also friends), Mr. Nyugen, and some kids in white karate gi, balancing on ladders and decorating with garlands of flowers. People from Saint Rees Fine Arts Movers mingled and helped, blending in as they did so well and at the same time monitoring the activities for unusual behavior.

Beside her, Dante dropped the bags. “Your mom and sister must be home and preparing for our wedding.”

“So it would appear.”

“You were right.”

“Keep that in mind.”

“Darlings!” From the center of the crowd, Octavia waved in their direction. “We didn’t think it wise to wait for you before we got started on the arrangements. With the wedding so soon, there is so much to do. One question only Maarja can answer—what kind of flowers do you want in your bouquet?”

Before Maarja could even begin to gather her thoughts, Dante answered, “She wants orange blossoms.”

“She does?” Alex sat in the foyer, in a wheelchair at a card table covered with planning paraphernalia.

“I do?” Maarja stared at him.

“Orange blossoms are traditional. Our wedding is to be traditional in every way.” He made his pronouncement like he was the king marrying the beggar girl.

Not like Maarja cared. She hadn’t even thought about the wedding as an event. But wasn’t the bride supposed to have some say in—

Octavia bustled toward them. “Yes, of course traditional, in the way that a wizard’s wedding is traditional. Maarja always loved wizards and I have the robes left over from a wedding I performed a few years ago—”

Dante spoke loudly and clearly. “I’m not wearing a wizard’s robe and neither is Maarja. She’s wearing a pure white wedding gown.”

Maarja tried to intervene. “Pure white isn’t my best color and—”

Octavia cut her off. “Dear boy, white is so passé. She would be lovely in a sapphire blue and if you’re trying to subtly impress on everyone her recently lost virginity, since medieval times, blue has been associated with the Virgin Mary.”

Dante didn’t even deign to answer that. “She’ll wear white.”

Maarja met Alex’s rueful gaze and wandered over by her sister. A brief gentle hug, and Maarja seated herself at the chair nearby. She knew better than to reproach Alex for leaving the hospital. Instead she asked, “Is this too much for you?”

“It helps,” Alex answered frankly. “I’m not constantly thinking about what hurts or my next physical therapy or my next surgery and what’s going to hurt. I’m the official organizer… Although from the sounds of things, all the stuff Mom had decided is about to change. It’s the battle of the Titans over there.” She tilted her head toward the ongoing vigorous discussion between Octavia and Dante. “Who do you think will win?”

“They’ll both convince themselves that they won,” Maarja answered.

The sisters cackled.

Maarja jumped when a familiar high voice caroled at her shoulder. “Hellooo!”

Maarja swung around and stared in astonishment at the wispy woman who had been Mrs. Arundel’s annoying, inefficient assistant. Her basset-hound face looked the same: thin blond hair, pale pink lipstick, bright pink blush. She was continually sniffing in that annoying manner that made Maarja want to hand her a tissue and tell her to blow . But somehow she looked different, less morose, less self-pitying, more interested and involved. Maarja asked, “Béatrice? What are you doing here?”

“When the commandment came from Dante that the family was to attend his wedding to you here at Octavia’s house, I told Fedelma we should come and help.”

It took Maarja a moment to identify the expression on Béatrice’s face.

The formerly glum Béatrice was beaming.

Would miracles never cease? Maarja glanced around. “Fedelma is here, too?”

“She couldn’t come. The poor dear was in Dante’s condo when the elevator blew and she thought he’d been killed. When she heard he’d survived, she got down on her knees with her rosary to thank God, and she’s barely been up since. She has always been very devout. Meanwhile, I was in British Columbia on a whale-watching tour. I didn’t even hear about it until I flew home and by then Dante had sent out his commandment. So I came here and I’m helping!” A mere smile changed Béatrice’s face from long, thin, and vacant to something resembling beauty.

In light of her previous laziness, Maarja found her support highly suspicious. “What are you doing to help?” she asked the woman who valued her manicure above all things.

“Actually I’m here to get an assignment from Alex. I need a new task!” Béatrice beamed some more.

“You finished the tortilla roll-ups already?” Alex was clearly impressed. “You can either clean the silver or prepare another appetizer.”

“Not the silver!” Béatrice’s moue made her look more like her old vapid self. Then she ruined Maarja’s condemnation by saying, “The cleaner is bad for me and bad for the environment. Instead, shall I make my famous snickerdoodles?”

“Sure! Snickerdoodles are my favorite.” Alex smiled as Béatrice headed for the kitchen, then stared hard at Maarja. “Why do you have that expression on your face?”

“What is she really doing here?” Maarja ground out.

“She told you. She got here, introduced herself, rolled up her sleeves, and went to work.”

“Work. Really.” All Maarja could remember was Béatrice taking advantage of Mrs. Arundel’s generosity. “Isn’t she afraid she’s going to break a nail?”

“Maarja!” Alex sounded shocked. “What’s wrong with you? She’s done a lot, and she takes special care of me and Mom.”

“She’s a screamer.”

“Hasn’t screamed once,” Alex snapped.

“Fine. But—” Seeing Alex’s indignation at what she considered Maarja’s unreasonable prejudice, Maarja said, “Fine.” Which meant, Fine, but I’m going to keep my eye on her . Because Béatrice was on the list of possible villains, and Maarja didn’t believe she could have a personality transplant so soon after Mrs. Arundel’s death.

Dante arrived leading Octavia with her hand on his arm. Both were radiating satisfaction.

“Dante, the dear boy, listened to reason,” Octavia said triumphantly, “and the wedding party will be dressed in medieval garb and the bride and groom will be in a traditional suit and gown.”

Dante began, “Octavia, the dear girl—”

Octavia laughed.

“—has graciously agreed to allow Maarja to wear the antique white lace veil that came down from my mother’s family, with a wreath of fresh orange blossoms from the tree in the backyard.” He slid his arm around Octavia’s shoulder. “She’ll make the wreath herself.”

Maarja took her mother’s hand and kissed it. “Thank you, Mom.”

Octavia hugged her. “I’m so glad one of my girls is settling down with her true and loving mate! Of course, you two are so different, you’re going to need to delve deep within yourselves to work through the next seventy-five years together!”

“Yes, but we’re both so stubborn we won’t give up.” Dante met Maarja’s eyes. “Isn’t that correct, beloved?”

“I’m not stubborn,” she told him, “I’m just always right.”

“She means yes,” he told Octavia.

“I know what she means,” Octavia replied, eyes twinkling. She lifted her head and sniffed. “Someone’s making something with cinnamon. I’ll have to go check that out!”

“On the way, tell Mr. Nyugen to stop that kid from hanging on the chandelier in the dining room. That old ceiling could come down.” As if Alex’s words were magic, plaster began to rain down and the little girl jumped to the floor, crying, rolled, and came to her feet like the green belt she was, and pandemonium reigned.

Octavia clucked and hurried toward the commotion.

Dante, Maarja was surprised to see, smiled faintly as he watched what looked like mass confusion. When she lifted her eyebrows at him, he said, “When Mère and I visited her family in France, it was absolute chaos all the time. Just like this. It was so different from home. I loved it. I always said when I grew up and had a family, it would be loud, loose, and happy.”

Of course, his words touched her tender heart. “How long since you visited?”

“Not since the explosion that killed Benoit. After we’re married, I’ll take you and Mère—” He snapped his mouth closed.

Even more touched, Maarja realized he’d relaxed enough to forget he could no longer talk about his mother as if she still existed on this earth.

Even Alex felt for him, for she patted his arm. “Maarja, I put you in your old room. I’m sleeping downstairs with Mom because I still need help, so Dante, I put you in my bedroom. It’s a twin bed. You’re going to hang over the end, but I’m sure that’s good for your character.”

Maarja waited for Dante to object, to demand they share a bedroom, but he nodded. “I’m going to need somewhere fairly quiet to park myself with my computer and phone so I can get this wedding ball rolling.”

Alex gestured at the piles of paper, the pens, the cell phone, the computer, the tablet. “What do you think I’m doing here? Coloring with my crayons?”

Maarja waited, smirking.

In surprising diplomacy, Dante said, “You’re taking care of the thousand and one things that precede a wedding. I’ll take care of the big wedding prep stuff and I’ve got some business issues that need to be dealt with.” He nodded at Saint Rees when he appeared out of the crowd wearing white overalls.

Alex observed the byplay. “Ah. That explains why the Saint is here. I had wondered.” Leaning forward, she asked, “Are you going to keep Maarja safe?”

He leaned into Alex’s face. “If I have to fling myself in front of a bullet or swallow the poison meant for her, she will be safe.”

“Okay, then,” Alex said. “You have my blessing.”

Dante accepted with a respectful bow.

The whole thing was getting ridiculous. Blessings and bows, knife fights, and rituals. Ancient feuds cherished in the modern world, and a single chance to heal the breach that had taken so many lives. All unthinking, Maarja put her hand on her belly and for the first time consciously considered the possibility of a baby. When she met Dante, her whole life changed. If she got pregnant, it would change again. Nothing would ever be the same, and in a moment of self-doubt, she wondered how she would face so many challenges.

She didn’t see her sister and the man who had helped her create her possible offspring observe her and draw their own conclusions.

When she came back to herself, Alex and Dante were fighting about whether or not Alex, as maid of honor, would be seated during the ceremony or lean on a staff as part of the wizarding/medieval ceremony.

Maarja interceded. She would have her way in one thing, at least. “Alex will stand and use the staff, as will your best man. Who is…?”

“Best men. Nate and Connor,” Dante confirmed.

Maarja continued, “We’ll make our vows brief, succinct, and to the point. Won’t we?”

“I can do that.” Dante gripped her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Although possibly not without the use of Old En-glish four-letter words.”

“Like what?” Alex was puzzled. “Why would you swear at your own wedding?”

“Because when Maarja’s beside me, I can think of only one thing, and that’s—”

Maarja put her hand on his mouth.

“Oh.” Alex ran her gaze over him and laughed. “Lucky Maarja.”