The Wedding Thief

by Mary Simses

  I glimpsed our reflections in the mirror, and it startled me to see an image of the two of us together again. “Why don’t we sit down? You can tell me what happened.”

  “I don’t want to do that to you. You don’t need to hear about this.”

  “Carter, come on. What are friends for?”

  This time he didn’t refuse. We went down the hall to the sunporch, where a warm patch of light blazed on the sofa. “So tell me,” I said as we sat down. “What’s going on?”

  A housefly looking for an exit buzzed against the inside of the window. Carter took a breath. “We had a bachelor party a couple of weeks ago in Palm Springs, at the Desert Palm—do you know that resort?”

  I nodded. I’d done some events there.

  “Anyway, I drank too much. I shouldn’t have, but I did. And things got a little crazy. Around two in the morning, somebody came up with the idea that we should decorate the big fountain out front with toilet paper and shaving cream. So we bought a lot of shaving cream. It was stupid. Crazy. Like a college prank, except I never even did that stuff in college. But at the time it suddenly seemed like a great idea. And then somehow three of us ended up in the fountain. Which might not have been so bad, except we were, well, pretty much naked. Although we did have shaving cream covering our…” He looked down and grimaced.

  “Shaving cream? That’s all you were wearing?”

  “Yeah. If you can call it wearing. The whole thing was nuts. Completely nuts. I can’t believe I did it.”

  I laughed, trying to picture the scene. “Carter, that’s so unlike you. You’re lucky you didn’t get arrested.”

  “That would have been better than what did happen. Somebody took a couple of photos and figured out who I was. I still don’t know how. Anyway, the pictures got onto the internet—social media sites, blogs, you name it. Now they’re everywhere. And the comments are…well, they’re not good. Boys gone wild. Guys behaving badly. What’s wrong with men today? That kind of thing.”

  “That’s awful. I’m sure you just want it all to go away.” I knew that feeling.

  “Yeah, no kidding. This afternoon one of Mariel’s friends sent her the photos and told her to check the internet. Mariel did and she went nuts. She told me she couldn’t marry me. She said she couldn’t be with a man who acted like that. She said I wasn’t dependable.”

  That seemed like an overreaction, even for Mariel. Maybe it wasn’t Carter’s finest hour, and maybe it was embarrassing, but that wasn’t the way he typically behaved, and I didn’t think she should be that hard on him. “I’m sorry she’s so upset with you,” I said. And I meant it. I did feel sorry for him. But what was I thinking? Mariel being hard on him only helped me.

  “You know how she gets when things don’t go the way she expects,” Carter said.

  I did know. She got angry and turned inward and refused to talk to anyone.

  “And she doesn’t have your fortitude, Sara, your flexibility.”

  I knew that as well. And I liked having him think about how different I was from my sister.

  The housefly buzzed again, batting its wings against the glass. Carter got up, opened the window, and shooed the creature out with his hand. “Before you took over the wedding, she was almost impossible to deal with.”

  “Impossible? How?”

  “She said I hadn’t been involved enough with the wedding plans.” He lowered the window sash. “Which is crazy, because I did a lot. I listened to every idea she had. About the vows and the music, the linen colors, the table settings, you name it. And I’ve got clients to handle, a law practice to run. The world doesn’t stop just because you’re getting married. For a few days, sure. But she expected me to be as excited as she was about the filling for the cake and what song the band was going to play for our first dance. She said they should play our song. We don’t have a song because she kept changing her mind about what it should be.”

  Carter and I never had a song. Not an official one, although my choice would have been “Come Away with Me” by Norah Jones, because that’s what was playing the night I fell in love with him. I remembered the party in Laurel Canyon, the terrace where we stood, the lights of the city blinking below us, how magical it felt. How magical I felt when he came over and put his arms around me and kissed me. And Norah Jones was singing.

  “I told her in the beginning to hire a wedding planner,” Carter went on. “But she wouldn’t do it. It’s almost like she wanted to prove that she could do it. To me. Or to herself. Or maybe to you.”

  Me? “I’m sure she didn’t want to prove anything to me.”

  “You know she changed the seating chart seventeen times? Seventeen. And every time, she asked me to review it. How would I know if your eighty-eight-year-old aunt Bootie—”

  I almost laughed. “Aunt Bootsie.”

  “Aunt Bootsie, then. How would I know if she’d rather sit with Mrs. Duff or Robert Maze? I don’t know either of them.”

  “She’d definitely want to sit with Bob Maze. He’s an old friend of Mom’s. Very handsome. And Aunt Bootsie’s a huge flirt.”

  “Well, there, you see? You can answer that, but I couldn’t. So why did she keep asking me these things? I finally told her, I don’t care where anyone sits. Throw away the damned chart and let them sit wherever the hell they want. That would have solved it.” He dug his hands into his pockets and stared out the window at the paddocks, where Jubilee was cantering along the fence line like a young colt.

  “Yeah, it would have.”

  “You think so?” He turned to me and flashed a smile, looking relieved. Then the smile disappeared. “Well, she didn’t. She had to have everything the way she wanted it. It couldn’t be any other way. And now, with these photos…” He collapsed back and sank deep into the sofa, as though he might never get up. “Yeah, they’re out there for the world to see. Yeah, it’s stressful. But it’s more stress for me than her. I’m the one in them. And you know what? If this is how she wants to be, then I don’t want to marry her either.” He crossed his arms and looked away.

  “My mother said Mariel was upset but she didn’t know why. Mariel hasn’t told her.”

  “She’s going to tell her. And then I’ll talk to her. I’m not looking forward to that conversation.”

  I wouldn’t have been either, but Carter was always ready to face the music; he was never one to run away, which I respected him for. “It’ll be okay,” I said, although I knew Mom would be crushed. “It’s Mariel’s decision. It’s not as though you’re leaving her at the altar.”

  The late-afternoon sun had moved across the sofa, and the patch of light had slipped onto the floor. “Yes, but from her perspective, I’ve let her down. It’s hard to believe this is where we are.”

  It was hard to believe. Even for me, and I’d wished for their breakup for more than a year. “I’m sorry,” I said, laying my hand on his shoulder, the feel of him so familiar. And I was sorry for him, but I couldn’t stop thinking that given another chance, I could make him happy.

  “Thanks, Sara. I appreciate your listening to me. I know this is awkward.” He stood up. I stood up. Outside, Anthem let out a little whinny. “I guess I’d better grab my stuff and head over to the hotel, the inn, whatever it is.”

  “The Duncan Arms.” I followed him out of the room. “Do you need a ride?”

  “I’ve got a car coming.”

  I was disappointed. I wanted more time with him. “What are you doing for dinner?” I asked as we walked down the hall. “You shouldn’t eat alone. We could get a bite together at the Duncan Arms.”

  “Thanks, Sara. You’re nice to offer, but I’m not hungry.” He nodded toward the stairs. “I’ll just go up and get my stuff.”

  I watched him go, and I waited in the foyer until he came back down, his suitcase in his hand. “Come on,” I said. “Have something to eat with me later, even if it’s just a bowl of soup. You need to eat.”

  His hand rested on the doorknob. “Soup? Yeah, I guess. Okay.�
�

  Maybe he was placating me, but I didn’t care. A horn beeped outside. “I’ll make a reservation at the Tree House,” I said. “Seven o’clock?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He was about to open the door, but he stopped and turned to me. He looked like he’d remembered something he’d been struggling to recall. Something in the wall creaked, the sound of the house settling. The air-conditioner fan turned on with a quiet whir. The muscles in Carter’s face relaxed, and he smiled. “Those photos wouldn’t have scared you away, Sara.”

  Ten points for me. I was going to get him back.

  Chapter 22

  Advice from a Friend

  On the porch of the Duncan Arms, people were sitting at tables drinking cocktails, reading books, and looking at their cell phones in the soft light that settles just before seven o’clock. I walked to the front steps in the emerald-green dress, wearing the makeup I’d bought after David and I dropped the hand off at the gallery—everything from the Starry Night eye-shadow palette to the Rose Dream blush to the Pink Impulse lipstick. I’d called the Tree House and preordered dinner, including the seafood paella, one of Carter’s favorites. Everything was set.

  Halfway up the steps, I heard my name, and when I turned, I saw David sitting alone at one of the tables. He was supposed to be in Manhattan until Friday. This was Tuesday.

  “I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said when I walked over. “You look so different.”

  “Oh. Right.” I frowned and touched the back of my head, still shocked to feel how little hair was left. “A mistake.”

  “No, I mean you look different good,” he added, standing and eyeing my dress.

  “Really? Well, thanks.”

  “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you,” he said.

  I remembered then that he’d called me a couple of times earlier, when I was dealing with the shock of discovering our mug shots were all over town. “I’m sorry. I should have called you back. Things have been a little, uh, busy.” He pulled out a chair. I looked at my watch. It was six fifty-five. I had only a minute or two, but I sat down. “I thought you were going to be in New York until Friday. Did you just get back here?” I hoped he’d say yes. I hoped he hadn’t been downtown. If I could just explain, warn him before he saw the posters…

  But it was too late. He pulled something from his briefcase. Today’s Hampstead Review and Eastville Chronicle, our mug shots on the front pages of both papers. I shifted in my chair. He’d seen them. Of course he had. What fairy godmother did I expect would rescue me from that? “I guess you saw the posters as well?”

  “The posters, the newspapers, the internet.”

  A muscle in my neck tightened. “I’m sorry, David. I really am incredibly sorry. I wish I’d never insisted that we break—I mean go into Jeanette’s house. Then none of this would have happened—the mug shots, the newspapers, the posters.”

  “The internet,” he reminded me.

  I could never utter enough sorrys for the screwups I’d caused. “I didn’t mean to complicate your life, but it seems like that’s all I’ve done. You’re a good person and I feel terrible that I’ve dragged you through the mud.” I hoped he believed me. I did feel awful about it. And he was a nice guy. There was something charming about him. The way he was going to propose to Ana. So sweet. How he looked when he stood up at the Gwythyrs’ and said ¡Viva la revolución! So funny. That he wanted to save the textile mill. So wise.

  “I was pretty mad,” he said. “Those pictures. The article. I couldn’t believe it. All I could think was Here’s my professional reputation ruined.”

  I hadn’t even thought about that. The idea that I might have damaged his career, his business, made me cringe. What an idiot I was. I wanted to turn back the clock to before I’d made that ridiculous decision to go into Jeanette’s house. Or farther back, to before I’d crushed Alex Lingon’s hand with the car. Then none of this would have happened. Although maybe that was going back too far, because if I hadn’t crushed the hand, I never would have met David. And I wasn’t sorry about that.

  “Anyway, I thought this was going to be the end of everything,” he said. “I figured people would think I was some petty criminal or that I’d end up a joke. Either way, it wouldn’t be good. And then something odd happened.” He leaned back in his chair. “Ever since this morning when the papers and the posters came out, people have been stopping me on the street, asking for selfies, telling me how they love the story and how they’re following it to see what the Baked-Goods Bandits are going to do next. The old guy who owns the dry cleaner’s gave me a twenty-five-dollar gift certificate.”

  “Mr. Penny? The one with the striped suspenders?”

  “Yeah, he’s a riot. And a lady who has a clothing store told me she’d be happy to bail me out if I ever got arrested again. Gave me her card.” He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to me. GIFFORD’S SMALL AND TALL. “By the way, why don’t they carry any regular sizes?”

  I handed the card back. “Patty Gifford. Her son’s five foot three and her husband’s six six. You should watch out for her, though. I heard she’s looking for another husband. The first four didn’t work out.”

  He dropped the card like it was a burning ember. “I’m not tall enough anyway. Look, what I’m trying to say is that the whole thing began to be kind of, sort of, well…fun.”

  Fun. He thought it was fun. People stopping him, talking about his mug shot, asking for selfies. “Really?” He couldn’t be serious.

  “Yeah. Really. And it might even help my business. The reason I didn’t go back to Manhattan on Monday is that I was able to schedule a meeting with some people on the textile-mill property, so I ended up staying. I’ve got another meeting tomorrow.”

  “You’re making progress. That’s great.”

  “Well, here’s the thing. This afternoon a guy called from the state community development agency, and they’re interested in getting a proposal on the project. He said my celebrity status might even make it move through the works a little faster. Of course, that’s not official. And who knows what will happen. These things take forever. There’ll be a million meetings, documents to submit. Governments move slowly. But I think it’s a good sign.”

  As he spoke, something warmed inside me. I couldn’t help feeling I’d played a little part in the mill project, given that I was at the site with David when he first saw the property. More than anything, though, I felt proud of him. “I hope it works out. I hope you’ll be able to buy the mill and fix it up. I’d love to see it when it’s done.”

  “I’d love to have you see it.” On the lawn, birds hopped in the grass, and a mourning dove sent a plaintive coo into the air. “So tell me, why are you all dressed up? Is there something special going on tonight? Something to do with the wedding?”

  Yes, it had to do with the wedding, but not in the way he might have been thinking. “The wedding’s off. They’re canceling it.”

  “They’re canceling it?” He looked stunned.

  I told him about the photos and all the negative publicity. “My sister’s very concerned about having a man she can depend on a hundred and twenty percent. And those photos have really shaken her.”

  “I can understand that,” David said.

  “I can too. But this situation has given me a chance. To get Carter back. I’m about to have dinner with him. That’s why I’m here.” I looked at my watch. It was a couple of minutes after seven. “And the really good thing is I don’t even need to use the sabotage plan.”

  He gave me a quizzical look. “What sabotage plan?”

  I remembered I’d never told him about that. “I had this plan worked out to…well, I was going to do a few little things to mess up my sister’s wedding. I re-pinned her gown to make it too small. I changed some of the music for the wedding and reception. I revised the menu and the seating arrangement…” As I rattled off the parts of my sabotage plan, I began to feel a little uncomfortable about having done them.

  I wa
ited for David to speak. Four men at a table behind us talked about a golf bet, and farther down the porch, a group sang “Happy Birthday.”

  “I can’t believe you did that,” he finally said. “Things with Carter didn’t work the first time. What convinced you it would work a second time? And don’t you think you might be catching him at a vulnerable point in his life? He tells you his marriage to your sister is off, and you’re going in for the kill.”

  “I’m not going in for the kill,” I said, feeling uneasy, wishing he hadn’t used those words. “I just thought we could make it work if Carter was available again and we both knew the pitfalls from before and—”

  “What about your sister? Didn’t you give any thought to how she would have felt if you’d ruined her wedding? And do you think she’ll be happy about you running off with her fiancé?”

  Why was he lecturing me? It wasn’t any of his business. “Hold on,” I said, hearing my voice rise, sensing people were looking at us. “For one thing, he’s her ex-fiancé. And for another, this whole thing started when she took him from me, remember? Carter and I were very…we were happy…until Mariel got involved.”

  David shook his head and gave me a look that told me he wasn’t buying it. “Oh, come on, Sara. You’re a smart girl. You really believe that? How happy could the two of you have been if he went off with your sister? I didn’t hear you say she tied him up and kidnapped him, which means he went willingly. And that means something wasn’t working between the two of you. He needed something that you couldn’t give him and she could. Maybe you should admit that and move on. Or are you so competitive with her that you can’t stand to lose no matter what damage you cause?”

  I got up. It was after seven, I was late, and I didn’t want to hear anything else he had to say. He could think whatever he wanted to. I didn’t care. “What you said about me being competitive is ridiculous.”