Hide & Seek - James Patterson [51]
They would all be disappointed, I was afraid. Neither of us was interested in any publicity on the day of days, or even after, for that matter.
By three o'clock, Greenbriar Road had been officially closed to the public by the Bedford police. The entire street was off-limits to everyone except those bearing the silver-engraved cards from Cartier that simply stated: Wedding Guest.
I had carefully selected one of the out-of-view rear bedrooms as a dressing room, as well as for getting my head together before the madness started in earnest.
Jennie (who treated my wedding as the greatest day in her life), the dress designer Oscar Echavarria, and two of his young associates were fussing over me that afternoon. Allie was content to stay close to our nursemaid, Mrs. Leigh, and watch the excitement. I wore a beautiful gown of creamy satin. Both the veil and train were of understated Belgian lace. A single strand of pearls encircled my throat. I couldn't have been any happier. I felt beautiful inside and out. Not only was Will healed, but so was I.
“Elegant. Lovely. Perfection.” Echavarria pronounced approval, eyeing me as though he were Leonardo and I the Mona Lisa. I found it hard to keep from laughing at his forgivable grandiosity.
“You look cool, Mom,” was Jennie's assessment.
“Give me a few minutes alone,” I finally said. “I just need a little time to take it all in.”
“Sure,” Jennie said matter-of-factly.
“C'est ça, everyone out,” said Echavarria, clapping his hands like a ballet master.
They left, but I held Jennie aside. “Thanks for putting up with me these past few weeks,” I told her. “Now go get pretty. Only not too much prettier than the bride, okay?”
“Don't worry about that. That couldn't happen even if I wanted it to, which I don't.”
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I love you even more, Mom.”
“Couldn't.”
“I do. Get it? I do.”
The wedding list read like a who's who. Will's manager and friend, Winnie Lawrence, would be there, of course. Nathan Bailford, Barry, my friends from Bedford, my sisters and their families from upstate, musicians and singers, soccer world people. And reporters and photographers from all the metropolitan papers, the local TV stations, the networks, People, Time—I swear, there almost seemed more strangers than friends.
One of the final cars to arrive, I found out later, was a gleaming burgundy Maserati. Behind the wheel sat Peter O'Malley.
Somehow, Peter had gotten an invitation.
The door to the back bedroom suddenly swung open without so much as a knock. Now who could—
“Will, you're not supposed to be—”
“—Getting married so young?” Will smiled. He looked gorgeous in a black Brioni tuxedo, but he also looked refined. “True, but with a woman as beautiful as you, I couldn't resist. Do you know how much I missed you last night? I could probably show you.”
He took a step toward me. “Out. Don't you dare.” I started to laugh. He could always make me laugh. “Out. I mean it.”
He continued on undaunted, and took me in his arms. His hand gently touched my breast. Nothing too provocative—and thus very provocative.
“Ummmm,” he said. “You are an eyeful. A handful too.”
“Will!”
“Yes I am.”
“I love you so much. Now, go.”
“Enough, enough. I respect your wishes. I shall honor and obey, from this moment on.”
Obediently, he left the room, humming “Always.” I smiled and thought it was the perfect prelude.
CHAPTER 59
A YOUNG PIANIST from Juilliard sent the first notes of “The Wedding March” crescendoing across the picture-book back lawn. The music, everything, sent a shiver up my spine. I loved my wedding day even more than I thought I would.
Latecomers were hurried to their seats. Pesky radio and TV station helicopters whirled through the blue skies overhead, while television cameras never seemed to stop shooting. What seemed like a thousand