14 - J. T. Ellison [84]
“Colic. Perfect timing, huh? God, I’m sorry, T. What are you doing on the floor? You’re going to mess up your dress.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to go.”
Sam ignored her. “Get up and let’s get you finished.”
“No. I’m tired of the commotion. I don’t want to get married in front of all these people. My hair is five miles high. That hairdresser was an idiot. I look like a meringue. I’d rather elope. And I can’t find my veil.”
Sam bit her lip, trying not to laugh. She didn’t succeed. After a moment of baleful glaring, Taylor joined in her mirth. Petulance was her first sign of stress.
Sam glided across the room and whipped the veil out of the plastic casing. “It’s right here, on the hanger that your dress was on. It was just in the back. Your hair has to have something for the combs to anchor in, and it looks lovely. Do you want to get the veil on now or at the church?”
Taylor rolled her eyes and got up off the floor. “I should wait until the church. I don’t want to mess it up in the limo. I just didn’t want to forget it.” She examined the folded tulle; it looked like a mile of fabric. “Damn, Sam, how long is this sucker?”
Maddy wailed, but Sam didn’t miss a beat. “Cathedral. Like your dress, but a little longer, so it will stretch out behind you and look glorious. Now, quit it, would you? I need to get this girl settled down.”
Another scream came, this one slightly lower pitched, and Sam’s face crumpled. Taylor patted her on the arm. “Go on and deal with them, Sam, I’ll be fine. I’m just nervous. You go do what you need to.” Sam nodded and disappeared.
So this was it. The moment she’d always dreaded and never thought she’d have. Her emotions were a bit more mixed than she’d expected. Giving herself, the most precious gift she could bestow, to Baldwin was undoubtedly a smart, sound move. But she couldn’t help but wonder why she’d agreed to this, why she hadn’t insisted on a quiet beach somewhere, which was what she preferred. It was too damn late to worry about that now. A big church wedding wasn’t exactly how she’d wanted to do the deed, but here she was. The twin cores of her psyche were both churning—one with nerves, the other with bliss.
Anxiousness wasn’t the only problem weighing on her mind, though.
She drew the folded piece of paper out of her bra. Despite it all, she’d wanted at least some part of her father there with her that day. She couldn’t put her finger on why—but instead of overanalyzing her feelings, she’d decided to accept that she had them and move on. The newspaper clipping was nearly two months old, worn and creased.
Missing Nashville Capitalist Feared Dead St. Barthélemy, French West Indies (AP) The search for a Nashville man who disappeared while sailing off St. Jean turned into a recovery mission after rescue teams found his empty yacht, THE SHIVER.
Search crews on Monday continued to seek Winthrop Jackson IV, 56, industrialist, entrepreneur, banker and convicted felon. Rescuers said it was unlikely that he was alive after two days missing. His abandoned yacht ran aground just south of Les îlets de la plage Hotel in St. Jean, the two motor diesel engines still running.
The article went on, the dry, impersonal tones of an anonymous young reporter doing his job. Taylor folded the square and slipped it back into her bra. Win would be with her, whether he was alive or dead. Two months of no word, his body never found…it was easy to believe he was gone. That he’d simply imbibed a few too many Boodles and tonic and fallen overboard. The French authorities made it clear that they felt that was exactly what happened. With a Gallic flair all their own, they had patted her shoulder and left her to wonder. She didn’t buy it. He was much too experienced a sailor to get drunk and fall off his boat. But if he’d had a few and been pushed over…
She glanced at the clock again. Shit. They had to go.
“Sam?” she yelled. “We’ve got to get out of here. Are you ready to hit the limo?” As she spoke, Taylor made her way into the connecting room of the