Page 38

—

One Month Later

The day has finally come. For the longest time, I thought it never would or that some calamity would strike me down before I could enjoy this moment IRL, as Juan would say. But here I am, dressed in a beautiful used white gown that Angela and I found at a vintage shop and that Sunitha and Sunshine altered for me stitch by hand-sewn stitch.

It is my wedding day. I’m seated on the terrace of the Regency Grand, hidden behind a privacy screen so none of the guests in the lobby below can spot me. I’ve been hiding for over an hour, sneaking peeks through the slats and observing the bustle below as guests enter the hotel.

I’ve always loved the view from this terrace—the opulent lobby with bellhops click-clacking across the fine marble floors; the emerald love seats where guests whisper to each other, their secrets absorbed by the plush velvet. Today, the people entering the lobby are not strangers but invited guests, all known to me. They’re dressed so elegantly, and I can tell they’re excited to witness the ceremony that will join Juan and me in matrimony for the rest of our lives.

I should be nervous, but I’m strangely calm. So much has happened in the last two months. I was about to become a multimillionaire. Then I wasn’t. I was popular. Then I wasn’t. I was the victim of theft and threats. Then I wasn’t. And just when all the commotion around the Fabergé seemed resolved, the upheaval at home intensified. Two weeks ago, Mr.Rosso ordered us out of our apartment. Though it hasn’t yet sold, he believes it will look better to potential buyers empty rather than with Juan and me in it. While planning our wedding, we’ve packed our lives into cardboard boxes. Our search for a new apartment has been fruitless—the cost of rent has skyrocketed in this city—but just when we thought we might become homeless, Gran-dad stepped in, offering us a room in his house. “You’ll always have me,” he said, “and besides, it’ll be nice to have two young lovebirds around. You can stay as long as you want.” And so it was decided that, a week after our wedding, we will move in with Gran-dad as we continue our search for a home of our own.

I don’t know what the future holds, and despite so much uncertainty, generosity abounds wherever I look—in the dress I’m wearing, lovingly tailored by my friends; on the tables in the lobby below me, filled with delicious delectables, made by Juan’s kitchen staff. The very fact that this wedding is taking place at the Regency Grand is thanks to Mr.Snow’s beneficence. He approached me a few weeks ago, his brow furrowed.

“Molly,” he said, “I know you’ve always insisted on a small city hall wedding, but are you sure that’s what you want? It’s not too late to hold the wedding here.”

“That’s very kind, but Juan and I can’t afford it,” I said. “The rental cost alone equals my yearly salary.”

“Goodness gracious, Molly. You’re part of the Regency Grand family. I’d never make you pay. Did I not make that clear?”

“If you did, I’m afraid I missed the cue,” I reply.

“All fees will be waived, and the catering will be my gift to you and Juan. What do you say?”

Juan and I gratefully accepted, and just like that, our four-person, city hall wedding exploded into a full-blown ceremony to be held in the Regency Grand lobby, followed by a catered reception and dance in the tearoom.

Not long after today’s date was set, I received a phone call from Baxley Brown. He wanted to update me, not only about the Fabergé but about his former partner in life and art, Thomas Beagle.

“Molly, he pleaded guilty to all the charges against him. Thomas wanted me to tell you how sorry he is for what he put you through. Sometimes good people do bad things,” he said.

“I know that,” I replied. “And the good ones make amends. I’m glad to have his apology.”

“Speaking of amends,” said Baxley, “he signed over full ownership of the egg.”

“To whom?” I asked.

“To me,” Brown replied, “as compensation for the harm he’s caused me. Hidden Treasures was canceled after his crimes became headline news. Our auction business will never recover. I thought long and hard about who to sell the Fabergé to, and in the end, I sold it to a museum. I took a lower price, but it was worth it to see history preserved.”

I was quiet as I took this in. How fitting that the egg would no longer be a hidden treasure, that it would be on public display to be enjoyed by one and all.

“You’ve done a good thing,” I told Baxley Brown. A thought occurred to me, about good deeds and how one begets the next. “I wonder,” I said, “if you’d join Juan and me on our wedding day. It’s only two weeks away. We’d love to have you.”

There was silence on the line. “You’d want me there? No hard feelings?”

“None whatsoever. We’d be honored to have you as our guest.”

“Count me in,” Brown replied.

Now, as I peek through a crack in the privacy screen, I spot Baxley Brown easily in the lobby since he’s a head taller than everyone else, and he’s wearing his trademark indigo velvet waistcoat. He’s chatting with his former showrunner, Steve (sans ironic baseball cap, thank goodness), who he’s brought along with him. Mr.Snow welcomes them both, bowing in his dapper coattails. Nearby, Sunshine, Sunitha, and Lily—my radiant bridesmaids—are helping themselves to free champagne courtesy of Mr.Snow. They’re dressed in matching yellow satin gowns sourced from a discount store. On my orders, they’re making small talk with Cheryl, who came to me a week ago most distraught after Mr.Snow had me put her on probation. She was given a week to shape up or be dismissed from her job.

When I shared the happy news that Juan and I were to be married at the Regency Grand, she was shocked, but not for the reason I suspected. “I thought we were friends,” she said.

“Friends?” I said, dumbfounded. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

She sniffed and crossed her arms. “So that’s what you think of me. I’m no good at my job, and it’s clear I’m the only maid not invited to your wedding.” Her bottom lip began to quiver.

“Goodness gracious, are you really upset because of that?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding vigorously.

“But why would you want to come? You don’t even like me. You conspire against me at every turn. And at work, you do nothing to help the other maids.”

“Because I’m always left out,” she said as tears spilled down her cheeks.

I know that feeling—to be left out, to be shunned despite one’s best intentions. I looked at Cheryl, and I suddenly saw her shirking behavior in a whole new light.

“You and the other maids,” she said between sobs, “you’re like neat little peas in a perfect freak pod. I’m always the odd one out. Makes doing a good job kinda pointless.”

“Cheryl,” I said. “No one wants to leave you out. But we fear the consequences of including you.” I took a risk then. “Juan and I would be honored if you’d attend our wedding, but you must lead with generosity and kindness on our special day and every day at work. You know the consequences if you don’t. As for the maids, if you do your job well, they’ll include you in the fold. Can you do that?”

She considered, then nodded. True to her word, since that conversation, Cheryl hasn’t “taken a load off” even once during a shift. Not only that, she’s splitting tips fair and square with the other maids for the first time ever. Now, she clinks glasses with Sunitha and Sunshine, a picture I thought I’d never see.

Just then, all the maids turn toward the gold revolving doors as Speedy sails through them. Dressed in a frilly baby-blue tuxedo, he turns around to show off the back of his jacket—silver letters spelling out DJ SLAY . He lopes over to where Juan’s kitchen crew is gathered by the champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres, exchanging high fives with them. Speedy will DJ both our ceremony and our reception in the hotel’s tearoom. He’s promised his musical selection will be “sick,” which I now understand to be a very good thing indeed. He’s even rigged a webcam in the lobby so that Juan’s family can watch the entire ceremony all the way from Mexico.

Angela, my maid of honor, is next to enter the lobby. She’s dressed in the same style of yellow dress as my bridesmaids, her hair pinned in a neat chignon at her neck. For once, not a single red strand is in a tizzy. A brawny woman wanders over to greet her. At first, I don’t recognize her, but then I realize it’s Detective Stark in a cocktail dress, her hair falling in soft curls on her broad shoulders. Angela’s lips move a mile a minute. She’s no doubt sharing that she recently gave notice to Mr.Snow after having been accepted into the local police academy, prerequisites waived on account of “experience in the field.”

As I watch all of this from behind my privacy screen on the terrace, the last arrivals revolve through the hotel’s gleaming gold doors. There’s my gran-dad with Charlotte, his daughter, who’s traveled from afar just for this. After them, in files my beloved groom, Juan Manuel, looking so handsome that my breath catches in my throat. It’s the first time I’m seeing him in his white tuxedo. I was there when he found it at the thrift shop around the corner from our apartment. He tried it on in the change room, assuring me it was perfect, but when I begged for a peek, he said, “Not a chance, Molly Gray! Not until our wedding day.”

Now, my impossibly gorgeous fiancé greets the gathered guests. I can tell he’s nervous because he can’t stand still. My gran-dad, dressed in a lovely black suit and bow tie, puts a hand on his shoulder and whispers something in his ear, which makes a smile break out on Juan’s lovely face.

Charlotte finds Mr.Snow, who’s pointing to the second step of the grand staircase, which is where we’ve agreed she’ll stand for the ceremony.

A few weeks ago, Gran-dad called me. He was so excited, he didn’t even say hello. “Molly, Charlotte was promoted. My daughter is now a judge! Can you believe it?” he announced.

“You must be so proud,” I replied.

“Indeed I am. Now that she’s a judge, she wants to officiate your wedding. What do you think?”

“Really? She’d do that for us?”

“Of course. She’ll fly in specially for it.”

I didn’t need to ask Juan, because he was listening in and nodding vehemently.

“It would be our honor,” I replied.

Now, Charlotte takes her place on the grand staircase, and when Mr.Snow taps a Regency Grand silver spoon against a champagne flute, all heads turn his way.

“Please make your way to the staircase. The ceremony is about to begin.”

Only then do my palms start to sweat. In the confines of my white, heart-shaped bodice, I struggle to breathe. Don’t faint, Molly, I tell myself. Not now. I hear footsteps on the marble stairs and my gran-dad peeks around the privacy screen.

“Molly,” he says. “It’s time.”

I know he said the words, but I hear them in Gran’s voice, not his. Oh, Gran, you said it in your diary—the good moments gallop apace, over too soon. I want this day to last forever. I want to remember everything.

“I’m ready,” I say to Gran-dad.

He takes my arm and holds me upright as he’s done so many times before. Step by step, we descend the marble staircase as, courtesy of DJ Slay, Pachelbel’s Canon in D echoes through the lobby.

I take in the sea of faces below—family, friends, colleagues, loved ones. I’ve never been very good at reading expressions, and I cannot quite believe what I see reflected back at me on every single face. If I had to name it, I’d say it was admiration—and maybe even love. What I have done to deserve so much of it, I’ll never know, but I’m grateful beyond measure.

We make our way to the lower steps, and Gran-dad releases me. Juan steps up to take his place at my side—so dashing, so handsome. My lovely bridesmaids file in behind me, and behind Juan, his mates from the kitchen stand in a neat, black-tied row.

Charlotte speaks as the music dims. “Welcome, one and all. We are here today to join this hardworking maid and this talented pastry chef in lifelong matrimony. At the request of Juan Manuel Morales and Molly Gray, I’m to keep this service short and sweet—why? Because they’re both concerned that having so much of the Regency Grand staff gathered here leaves the rest of the workers shorthanded.”

Muffled laughter echoes through the lobby.

“If that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know about this wonderful couple, I don’t know what does,” says Charlotte. “You have watched this relationship blossom right here in this hotel, proof that love can grow pretty much anywhere—and under the strangest circumstances.”

Charlotte reaches into a pocket of her skirt and takes out a ring. “For many years, this ring graced my father’s finger. You know him as Mr.Preston, the former doorman of this hotel. This ring was given to him on his wedding day by my dear departed mother, Mary. He now offers it to Molly to give to Juan. Molly?”

I take a deep breath, then grasp the ring between my fingers. Juan is right beside me, his beautiful brown eyes brimming with tears. I take his warm hand in mine, and I place Gran-dad’s ring on Juan’s finger. Then I speak the vow I have practiced in front of the bathroom mirror so many times—“Juan Manuel, in the hope that our love will shine forever,” I say, “I have polished this ring to perfection. With it, I thee wed.”

I feel his hand grip mine.

My gran-dad steps forward. He takes a ring from his breast pocket, holding it up for the crowd to see. “This ring may look familiar to you. Molly has been wearing it as her engagement ring for many months now. Juan was desperate to buy her a new ring, but she refused. She wants only this one. It once belonged to her beloved grandmother, Flora Gray, and it was Flora’s dream that Molly would one day wear it on her finger, carrying her heart—and mine—with her wherever she goes.”

My gran-dad passes the ring to Juan.

“Molly Gray, mi amor, ” Juan says, “in every language, you are the love of my life, and I will cherish you to the end of my days. With this ring, I thee wed.”

He fits the familiar ring onto my finger, and as I look down at it, I’m certain it’s shining more brightly than ever before. I look up into Juan’s beaming face as Charlotte says, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

We’ve gone through all of this before, but it suddenly occurs to me that we’re about to make a terrible faux pas, an unthinkable breach of etiquette and decorum.

“Wait!” I say, stopping Juan before his lips meet mine. I search out Mr.Snow in the row of guests before me. “I forgot to request your permission,” I say. “Mr.Snow, is this okay?”

“Is what okay?” he asks as his glasses slip down his nose.

“That we kiss,” I say. “It’s most certainly against hotel policy for workers to snog en pleine vue in the lobby.”

“For the love of ducks, Molly!” Angela calls out.

“Be a rebel! Break the rule!” Speedy calls out.

“Molly, of course it’s okay,” says Mr.Snow.

I look at Juan, and I nod. He leans in and kisses me, and I throw my arms around him with complete abandon.

A whoop of joy crescendos around us. Am I levitating or has my brand-new husband lifted me off the floor? When I open my eyes again, I’m on the bottom step of the grand staircase, held in the arms of a man who for richer or poorer, in sickness or in health, will love me for the rest of my days. Never in my life have I been happier than in this moment.

—

It is late. I’m sitting on the stage in the Regency Grand Tearoom. I’ve kicked off my white kitten heels, though no felines were harmed in their creation. I’m sitting in my beautiful white wedding dress, resting my feet after too much dancing. This night—it’s been the most magical of my entire life. It’s not over yet, though. I just need a little break to catch my breath.

The guests are still on the dance floor—maids and bellhops, waiters and cooks, valets and receptionists. The men have loosened their ties, and like me, the women are now mostly barefoot. True to his word, DJ Slay is “killing it with the spins.” Song after song, the guests just keep on dancing. Even Mr.Snow is in on it. He’s removed his pocket square and is waving it as a flag as he leads a conga line around the room. Cheryl is between Sunitha and Sunshine, her face a tight grimace, but her feet do a little bunny hop that reveals more joy than I’ve ever seen her express before. Angela’s hair has gone completely rogue, and Lily, who’s in line behind her, squeals every time she’s swatted by an unruly strand. My gran-dad sits at a table with Baxley Brown, Steve, and Detective Stark. They’re all grinning at the antics on the floor. Angela grabs the detective, who tries to protest but eventually claims her natural role as the conga line’s powerful tail.

Juan is walking toward me. He climbs the stairs to the stage and collapses in the seat beside mine.

“This is for you,” he says, offering me a Regency Grand plate with a slice of cake on it. It’s not just any cake. It’s the top layer of the Noah’s ark wedding cake his staff baked specially for us, featuring two of every marzipanimal Juan has ever created. The literal pièce de résistance now stands on the slice in front of me—two giraffes, one in a black tuxedo, the other in a white wedding gown.

“We’re giraffe marzipanimals,” I say.

“It’s a marzi-miracle,” Juan replies.

“This whole night feels like a miracle, a dream come true.”

“The speeches,” Juan says. “I’ll never forget them.”

“Nor will I,” I say. First, Mr.Snow gave a toast that turned into a long-winded discourse on a drone’s duty to protect the queen bee. When Angela cut him off, Speedy took the floor, saying something I barely understood. Last, my gran-dad, a.k.a. Mr.Preston, thanked all the guests for attending and spoke at length about the great mystery of love. “If it’s false, it never returns; if it’s true, it comes back to you when you least expect it,” he said. He then reminded us that those who could not attend our wedding in person were there in spirit. At first, I thought he meant Juan’s family, but when he looked at me and bowed his head, I knew exactly who he meant—Gran. And I also knew that he, like me, had accepted the fact that Maggie—his daughter, my mother—was never coming back again.

“Juan!” shouts a young sous-chef from the dance floor. “Speedy’s got a spin dilemma. He needs you in the booth.”

“Do you mind?” Juan asks me.

“Not at all,” I say. He kisses my cheek and heads to the DJ booth at the back of the tearoom as Baxley Brown walks up the stairs toward me.

“Molly,” he says. “I’m leaving shortly, but I wanted to give you this.”

He passes me a pale blue envelope.

“That’s very kind,” I say. “There’s a box by the exit that you can drop it in.”

“I’d rather this stayed in your hand,” he replies.

“Very well,” I say.

“I had a great night,” Baxley says, “but Steve and I have an early start tomorrow. We’ve got a meeting with a network looking to launch a new show featuring long-lost art.”

“Sounds like a new start.”

“I hope so,” he says. “For you, too. Congratulations, Molly. And please open that envelope sometime tonight. Don’t wait too long.”

“As you wish,” I say. “Thank you for coming.”

Baxley bows, and I stand and curtsy back.

Once he’s left the room, I open the envelope as requested. It’s a card to celebrate our wedding, and there’s a check inside, which I place on the table as I read the message in the card:

Dear Molly,

I’m sorry your family suffered because of mine. Shall we change the course of history? To make amends, I offer this, no strings attached, on your wedding day. Have a wonderful life.

—Baxley Brown

At first, I have no idea what to make of this message, but when I pick up the check, I realize with a shock that it’s for an astonishing sum—$500,000. For a second, I think I’m seeing things.

Juan bounds up the stairs.

“Molly, are you okay?” he asks as he takes in my slack-jawed face.

I show him the card and the check. “Juan, Mr.Brown gave us money—I think it’s the proceeds from the museum that took the egg. We can buy our apartment now.”

Juan studies the check. “No. Is this for real? Did he forget to place the decimal?”

“It’s for real,” I say. “That man’s ancestors were rotten, but I tell you, Baxley Brown is a good egg.”

I take the check and put it back in the card, placing it in Juan’s warm hands. “Give this to Mr.Snow. Tell him to put it in his safe, tout de suite. Tell him to treat it like the Fabergé.”

Juan nods, then runs down the stairs to find Mr.Snow.

I sit in my chair again as the music changes tempo. “Unforgettable” plays and couples take to the floor. For the first time all night, I’m alone at the head table, but no sooner do I have the thought than I see her, clear as day, take a seat in the chair beside me. This has never happened before. Up until now, she’s only ever been a voice in my head, an echo from the past. But now, she is right here. And she’s sitting beside me holding her favorite teacup, the one with the cottage scene on it. Her hair is silver-white, her crow’s-feet crinkle as she smiles at me, her face a pure and golden glow. My gran.

She takes a sip of tea, then looks down at the ring on my finger. Once upon a time, she says, I dreamt of this day.

“So did I, Gran. So did I.”

I never knew my dream would come true.

“Nor did I,” I reply.

My dear Molly, life is a fairy tale.

Wonders never cease.

And love—love is the greatest gift of all.