by Susan Crosby
At least her dress matched her dream. She’d appliquéd the winter white silk with lace, and hand-beaded the off-the-shoulder fitted bodice and train. A large fabric bow with a rose center rested at her waist in the back, hiding the books used to attach the chapel-length train. Twenty-five satin-covered buttons trailed her spine, her veil a cloud at the back of her head that floated almost to the floor.
The beading alone had taken a hundred and fifty hours—fifty of hers and one hundred by someone Misty had hired to help. Between making the gown and meeting the deadline for her magazine article, she hadn’t had a second to breathe. It was no wonder she was a bundle of nerves. No one deserved a honeymoon more. Too bad she wasn’t getting one, just one night at a honeymoon suite in an elegant hotel, which Patrick and Jasmine arranged, and Maggie and J.D. couldn’t come up with an excuse to turn down. Yet another night of tension.
Misty swept into the room,. “Here we go, hon. The bouquets finally arrived. The delivery van was delayed because of the rain.”
Maggie reached for the bouquet. “Oh, it’s beautiful. Just beautiful.” She pressed her face into the flowers and breathed their sweet fragrance. Tears stung as she realized that these, too, had come because of his list, not his heart.
“There’s a card.” Misty passed her an envelope.
Maggie set down the bouquet and opened the note. Magnolia, The gardenias represent joy, the stephanotis’s wish is for happiness, and the baby’s breath honors a pure heart. These are you, as I see you. Diego.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. How can he write these things? Was he saying them to her or was he counting on others seeing his card and believing the charade?
“Don’t you dare cry,” Misty ordered. “You’ll ruin your makeup.”
“Blink your eyes a few times,” Jasmine said as she came back into the room. “It’s time for you to walk down that aisle.”
“Already?”
Her sister’s tone softened. “You’ll feel better after it’s over. It’s what you want, isn’t it, Maggie?”
“Yes,” she whispered, suddenly more sure of anything than she’d ever been in her life. He wouldn’t have gone to the lengths he had unless he cared. Really, deeply cared. “Yes, it’s what I want.”
Jasmine accepted her own bouquet from Misty, then watched as Maggie picked up hers. “You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen. Chin up now. A nice smile. You’re about to begin the adventure of your life.”
Maggie smiled as she pushed her shoulders back and held her head high. Then like a warm summer breeze, calmness blanketed her. She was ready. More than ready. She hoped he was.
Ah, but she was beautiful, J.D. thought when he caught his first glimpse of her walking down the aisle on her nephew’s arm. She was a fairy-tale princess in a cloud of billowy white. Her bright blue eyes shone like sapphires as they watched him in return, but her smile left her face by degrees the nearer she got to him. When he stepped forward and held out his arm for her to take she looked not at his face but at his chest.
“You got a new tuxedo,” she whispered.
Of all the things he had anticipated she’d say, that one had never entered his mind. “Did you think I would wear my work clothes to my own wedding?” he snapped back in a fierce whisper, instantly regretting it when he watched her eyes fill with tears. He counted to five. He tried to smile at her. “You look like a princess.”
Her mouth curved into a quavery smile, as well. “Thank you for the beautiful bouquet.”
The judge cleared his throat quietly. “If we may begin.”
The ceremony seemed endless to Maggie...and way too short. Words were repeated, music played, someone sang. She was only aware of Diego. Of the stark black of his tuxedo blended with the blue-and-black brocade of his vest, and the pristine white of his shirt. Of the new cologne he wore that wasn’t familiar, yet hinted at his own particular scent. Of the strength of his hands as he slid a band of gold leaves that would entwine the diamond-and-sapphire daisy on her finger. She placed a plain gold band on his. Everything was a blur, and it made her want to weep.
She wanted to remember it all. The confusing, overwhelming emotions, the soft huskiness of his voice, the mix of fragrances of him and the flowers and women’s perfume. She wanted him to hold her, closely, tenderly, infinitely. She wanted him to want more from her than friendship and desire. She wanted him to love her, as he was pledging before God and these thirty witnesses to do.
Because she loved him. Had loved him forever, she guessed. Would love him forevermore. She looked at his face as he focused on the judge, who was saying something about marriage being a partnership, a commitment, a joy.
A joy.
“You may kiss your bride.”
The words penetrated the fog of her thoughts. She stood perfectly still as he cupped her face with both hands, smiled at her and gently tipped her head to the left.
There were no words to describe how his lips felt. There was only sound and sensation. Lightning and skyrockets and cymbals. Warmth and peace and liquid fire. So much light came from inside her, it blinded her to everything but him. She could have tasted him forever and still been hungry. But he ended the kiss and raised his head. They stared in awe at each other.
Then somewhere through it all she heard Jasmine say, “Oh, thank God. I’ve been in labor an hour. Patrick, I think you’d better get me to the hospital. My water broke ten minutes before the wedding.”
Several minutes of unreality passed in a blur of pictures taken, transportation ordered and guests invited to enjoy the reception without the bride and groom.
“You should have stayed, Maggie,” Jasmine said on the way to the hospital. “You should be at your reception celebrating. Dancing.”
“We got through the ceremony,” J.D. said, “and for that we thank you. But the reception will happen with or without us. She needs to be with you, Jasmine.”
“You’re family, too. You can be there.”
“What, in delivery? I don’t think so. But thanks for the offer. I think.”
They must have been a comical sight, J.D. decided as they swept into the emergency room in tuxedos and wedding gown, trailing an orderly wheeling a not-very-tranquil pregnant woman through the halls of the hospital.
“I need to push. I really need to push,” Jasmine kept saying.
“As soon as the doctor says,” Patrick told her. He glanced at J.D., a multitude of unnamed emotions shining in his eyes.
J.D. felt the same flurry of emotions from Magnolia, in the way she squeezed his hand as they hurried along the corridor.
“Goodness gracious,” exclaimed the nurse when they reached their destination. “Look at all the fancy dressers.”
“I need to push,” Jasmine told her through gritted teeth.
“Not yet, honey,” she said cheerfully. “Let’s get you out of your finery first. Which one’s the husband? Okay, you can come along. You two can hang out in the waiting room for now.”
“But I’m going to be there for the birth,” Maggie said. “I took the classes. We’re co-coaches.”
The nurse’s eyes sparkled. “Then I think maybe you’d best change into something else.” She disappeared into a closet and returned bearing hospital greens. “Put these on. Room 218 is empty. Then you can join us in 221 when you’re ready.”
“I need you to unbutton me, Diego,” Maggie said. “Come on.”
His fingers felt as flexible as an arthritic’s as he maneuvered the tiny buttons through their fabric loops, a chore that was aggravated by the fact she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, stand still.
“Take a few deep breaths, Magnolia,” he said at last. “If you don’t settle down I’m never going to manage this.”
“I don’t want to miss anything.”
“I know. You won’t.”
“Jasmine had Matthew and Raine really fast, though. She’s got the hips for it.”
“Did you see them being born?”
“Her ex-husband wouldn’t let me com
e in. How many more buttons?”
“Two. One. Okay, you’re done.”
He watched her shove the dress down and hop out of it. She swept it off the floor and turned from him to lay it across a chair. His eyes followed her movements. His mind stopped functioning.
Except for a frilly blue garter winking lasciviously at him from above her left knee, she was dressed all in white, from her satin high heels to her thigh-high embroidered stockings, to her skimpy briefs and strapless bra, from which her breasts threatened to spill out as she leaned over to step into the cotton pants the nurse had given her, the pearl necklace swaying freely.
She was perfection. Endless legs, well-toned thighs, a smooth, flat abdomen, generous curves, front and back, that were high and firm and mouthwatering.
And he’d been stupid enough to deny himself the right to enjoy it all.
He shook himself back to awareness. “I’ll be in the waiting room.”
“Come with me. Jazz wants you there, and I think Patrick needs the moral support. Did you see how white his face was? He’s scared to death. You know what happened to his first wife.”
“It seems like a private matter, Magnolia.”
“You don’t have to watch the baby come out Just be there in a corner somewhere, in case you’re needed. Patrick’s your best friend.”
He didn’t remember agreeing but suddenly he was in the birthing room with everyone, a gown tied over his tuxedo.
He watched Maggie’s excitement. He admired the way she took over when Patrick seemed ready to pass out. The pain that creased Jasmine’s face seemed almost too much for a person to bear, yet between contractions she chatted and laughed, assuring Patrick she was fine.
“J.D.,” she said suddenly after a long, excruciating contraction. “Come here a minute, please.”
He couldn’t have denied her anything. Maggie moved to make room for him.
“I’m glad you found the fire you were looking for,” Jasmine said. “I found mine, too.”
“I used to hate those cryptic little conversations you and Diego had when we all worked at the Carola together,” Mag gie said. “I still do.”
“Tough. J.D., you helped my family get through the most difficult time of our lives. The way you showed my children how to trust and love again was nothing short of a miracle. You were so good with them.”
“I had gone through a similar experience, that’s all.”
“Being kidnapped by a parent—” She stopped to focus on a contraction before continuing. “It could have been years before we’d settled into a life together.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m so glad Maggie has you. You’re going to make a wonderful father.”
He stepped back as the next contraction came fast on the heels of the last. He caught Magnolia’s eye a moment as she gauged his reaction to her sister’s words, then the doctor swept into the room.
“I hear you’ve been wanting to push, Jasmine. So, let’s get going on the finale, shall we?”
J.D. stepped farther back, giving everyone room. He glanced at Patrick’s face, damp with sweat, as if he were in labor himself.
He noted Jasmine’s white knuckles as she squeezed his hands and bore down.
Magnolia had moved behind the doctor to look over his shoulder.
“I see the head!” She pressed her hands to her mouth. “Oh! It’s through. Oh, how tiny.”
“Tiny? It’s enormous,” Jasmine groaned.
“Here come the shoulders. And...the rest! Oh, look!”
A collective intake of breath silenced the room. Patrick lifted Jasmine a little higher to watch as the doctor held the baby up for inspection. A howl pierced the quiet.
“A boy,” she said, turning toward her husband. “Oh, Patrick. A son. Our son.”
A great deal of laughing and kissing and hugging followed, but what J.D. knew he’d remember most was the look on Patrick’s face as the doctor passed him his son to place in his mother’s arms.
Here was the miracle. Created out of love, born into a strong, happy relationship, where no one would intentionally hurt anyone. The moment was almost too much to absorb.
Maggie watched the changing expressions on Diego’s face. Love bloomed inside her, tempered by stark awareness of what she’d done by marrying a man without any promise of love or commitment or children. A man who saw her as a responsibility. And a pliability? Could she change that?
She didn’t see any cars when they returned to Misty’s house an hour later. They were let in and walked hand in hand to the solarium, following the music from the four-piece band Misty had hired, which were playing something slow and sultry.
“I’ll be damned,” Diego said quietly.
Maggie followed his gaze as they stood in the doorway. Misty and Judge Shaunnessey were dancing—sort of. They were in each other’s arms and swaying a little to the music. A piece of paper couldn’t have been slid between their bodies.
“We should just leave,” Maggie whispered.
But just then the judge spotted them and released Misty, although he still reached for her hand and held tight as she tried to tug free. “Here you are. Come in. Come in.”
“Everyone finally gave up a little while ago,” Misty said, her cheeks flushing even in the candlelight, the only light in the room other than the band’s tiny lamps over their music stands. The rain had stopped but the sky was still cloudy, blocking the moon and stars. “Tell us everything. We’re dying to know.”
“Oh, it was all wonderful and beautiful and—”
“Humbling,” Diego said.
“Yes.” She smiled at him. “They’ve named him Charles Bryan O’Halloran. Chase, for short, and he’s perfect.”
“You can tell us more while you eat, but why don’t you dance a while. I’ll have a couple of dinner plates fixed for you. You can relax.”
They stayed an hour, enjoying the company and the music, making a show of tossing the bouquet and garter to the two remaining guests. Then they changed clothes and were driven to the hotel where they were to spend their wedding night, the gift Patrick and Jasmine had arranged.
Although their suitcases had been delivered earlier and they were already in possession of the key, they were accompanied by a bellhop to the top floor of the small, luxurious hotel. He opened the door with a flourish.
Diego swept Maggie into his arms. “To keep away evil spirits,” he said, the expert on wedding superstitions now that he’d studied the bride magazines.
Maggie laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation of being carried across the threshold. As soon as the door closed, the playacting would end. She’d have to remember it wasn’t real.
Misty had called ahead so the fireplace that divided the living room from the bedroom had been lit. The suite was sumptuously decorated, invitingly warm and private, yet with a view of San Francisco Bay that would be spectacular on a clear night. Diego set Maggie down so they could follow the bellhop around and listen to instructions. Their clothes had been put away for them; across the bed lay a beautiful red negligee and peignoir and matching red silk pajama bottoms and robe.
The bellhop left them staring at the bed.
“I didn’t pack those,” Maggie said, swallowing.
“You would have chosen white,” he said with assurance, “but Misty knows I like red.”
Maggie frowned at him. “How?”
“She asked. I told her.”
“Oh.” She set her bouquet that Misty had sneaked into the limo onto the bedside table, then swept up the garments to fold them, needing to get them out of sight. Then she went looking for her flannel nightgown and couldn’t find it, just a note. Shame on you, Maggie. This is your wedding night, not your fiftieth anniversary. Or was this some kind of joke on J.D.? Regardless, I’m burning these offensive garments for you. You’ll thank me in the morning. Misty.
“Apparently I have nothing else to wear,” Maggie said, tapping the paper against her lips. “It’s either the red, completely see-throug
h number or—”
“My shirt,” Diego said, then proceeded to unbutton the garment he offered.
Seven
“No! I mean, not yet.” Maggie cast a quick glance at the big, inviting bed. “I’m not ready to sleep. After everything that happened today, I may not even sleep at all.”
J.D. hesitated, then he tipped her chin up with a finger. “You’re exhausted. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends. Jasmine told me, but I saw for myself.”
“I’m wide-awake,” she protested.
“You’re running on adrenaline. There’s no one here for you to play games for now, novia. Let yourself unwind. Go take a long, hot bath, to start.” He finished unbuttoning his shirt and slipped out of it, passing it to her. “After a good night’s sleep, you’ll be yourself again. I haven’t recognized you lately.”
She clutched the shirt to her as she tried not to stare at his chest. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you haven’t fired some snappy insult at me in weeks. I miss it.”
“You do?”
“Our relationship was built on verbal sparring, Magnolia. Did you think I’d want it to end?”
“I thought you needed me to act differently.”
“For everyone else.”
“Oh. I’m sorry..”
He smiled at her. “You had a lot to occupy your mind. But now I want the old Magnolia back, okay?”
She was slow in answering. “Our relationship is bound to be different. The circumstances have changed it.”
“I knows. But we can still debate, can’t we?” He brushed past her, picked up a fat candle and a book of matches, then disappeared into the bathroom.
Maggie heard him turn on the water. She peeked around the corner into the huge bathroom with its double-size whirlpool tub. He struck a match and lit the candle, then set it on the edge of the tub.
“It will take a while to fill.” He turned off the lights as he passed by her so fast a breeze lifted her hair. “I will pour you a glass of the champagne that was left chilling for us.”
