by Holly Rayner
That must be Danielle, Bianca thought, as she surveyed the woman’s toned physique, elegant and expensive attire, and attractive features. Her eyes were obscured by red-framed glasses, but other than that, she had the characteristic Wylde nose, high cheekbones, and well-formed lips.
“Bianca! You’re here,” a voice said. Bianca turned in time to see one of Jackson’s childhood friends approaching.
Bianca had met him—was his name Billy? Or Bobby?—two weeks prior, when she and Jackson were interviewing caterers. The man’s family owned a successful restaurant, and Jackson had suggested giving the business to them. As it turned out, the restaurant had been booked already for Christmas Day, but the two had still had a nice time catching up, and Bianca had enjoyed meeting the man.
“Bobby,” the guy said, as he extended his hand. “We met the other day, at the—”
“That’s right,” Bianca said, accepting the handshake. “At your restaurant. The food was excellent.” Her eyes shifted involuntarily back toward Jackson.
At that very moment, Jackson looked across the room. His eyes met hers.
Bianca felt a lump form in her throat. All she could think about, as their eyes locked, was what it had felt like to fall asleep in his arms.
I can’t think about that right now, she told herself. I just have to get through this.
“Jackson was just telling us that you had to work today but that you’d be here any minute. And here you are! Looking lovely, by the way.”
“Thank you,” Bianca murmured. She saw Jackson say something to Danielle, then step away from her.
He’s heading over here, Bianca realized.
She wasn’t ready to talk to him one-on-one. Once the rehearsal started, the situation would be more bearable. They’d be side by side but surrounded by others. Their conversation couldn’t dip into intimate tones. She dreaded the idea that he might apologize for their night together or call it a mistake.
Bobby went on. “You’re a nurse, is that right?”
“Nursing assistant,” Bianca said.
Jackson was now halfway across the room.
“Um, excuse me,” Bianca said, reaching out to pat Bobby lightly on the arm. “I see someone over there who I haven’t seen in years… if you don’t mind…” She inched away.
“Of course!” Bobby said, before merrily turning his attention to another guest.
Bianca ducked around a corner in the small bar area and found herself in an enclosure that was packed with winter coats.
She took her time removing her jacket and purse, hanging them on a rack with the others. By the time she peered back around the corner, she saw that Jackson had been side-tracked by an elderly gentleman; the man had wrapped his arm around Jackson’s shoulder and was steering him toward the bar.
Bianca tentatively stepped back out into the crowd, engaging a nearby woman in conversation and keeping her back turned to Jackson. The woman turned out to be Jackson’s cousin, a writer with many well-known books published. Bianca asked her a steady stream of questions, right up until the moment it was time for everyone to move over to the hotel’s ballroom.
Soon, the logistics of the rehearsal took over, and Bianca was relieved at not having to endure a one-on-one conversation with Jackson.
After the rehearsal, Jackson, Bianca, and their wedding party returned to the Italian restaurant, where the owner announced that their meal was served. Here, Bianca stalled again, this time by visiting the restroom.
When she made her way to her chair, which was right by Jackson’s side, the long rectangular table was already filled with people.
“We’re all very excited about tomorrow,” one woman said.
“A Christmas Day wedding,” a man with a mustache said. “We think it’s fantastic! Unique. Memorable. Reminds me of a wedding I went to, back in the eighties, in Colorado. It took place at this ski resort, you see… on Valentine’s Day. You should have seen it….” He launched into a long, rambling story, and Bianca was more than happy to let him talk.
“Everything okay?” Jackson asked quietly, at one point when Bianca forgot to avoid eye contact.
“Fine,” she said coolly. “You?”
“Just fine,” he said politely.
Well, we are in front of everyone, Bianca thought. We can’t talk about anything real here. And maybe it’s a good thing.
“Great,” she told him, trying to keep her tone light. She lifted her glass of white wine. “That’s good to hear.”
“I’ve never been to a wedding on a holiday,” Danielle, who sat across the table, said. “I think it’s a tacky idea.”
“Danielle!” Mary Wylde, positioned three chairs down, swiveled her head around to direct a stern look at her daughter.
“What?” Danielle said with a shrug. “I’m not saying that Jackson and Bianca’s wedding is going to be tacky. I’m just saying the idea of it, in general…” She shrugged, lifted her wine to her lips, and took a long sip. “Oh wow, am I ever jet-lagged. That’s the last time I take a red-eye flight. Everyone hear me on that?”
“How could we not?” Jackson said. “You’re practically yelling.”
Bianca stayed quiet as various family members, relatives, and friends bantered back and forth. Though she’d sent out invitations to a few of her own family members and friends, only a handful of them had actually RSVP’d to say they could attend. Most had work or family obligations and had expressed sorrow for missing the celebration.
Some, like Sandy and Nicky, would be at the ceremony. Bianca’s mom was going to be there too, with a nurse who would help her get around. Bianca had told her mother over and over again that her presence wasn’t really necessary—Helen knew it was a fake ceremony, after all. But Helen had insisted that she wanted to be there. “Fake or not, I want to show my support,” she’d said.
None of them were at the rehearsal dinner. That’s just fine by me, Bianca thought, as she weathered the storm of small talk and banter that swirled around her. This is a fake rehearsal for a fake wedding.
I just have to get through tonight and tomorrow… that’s all.
After an hour, she excused herself. The dinner was beginning to wrap up, and the servers were clearing dishes. Bianca figured no one would miss her if she just slipped outside to the restaurant’s back patio for a minute while coffee and sweets were brought out.
The air had a chilly nip to it, and she regretted the fact that she didn’t have her jacket with her as she moved toward the edge of the outdoor seating area. A wall, draped in ivy, created a border that separated the area from an adjacent patio that belonged to a private residence. She looked out, past the wall, into the darkness.
The sound of footsteps made her turn quickly. Danielle was crossing the patio, her heels clicking against the stones. She carried a wine glass in one hand, and with the other she rummaged through her purse.
“Oh, tell me I have some cigarettes in here,” she muttered. “Come on.” Her eyes flashed behind her glasses as she extracted her hand. A little white and gold box of smokes glinted in the glow of the outdoor lighting. “Success!” she said. She tapped one out. “You want one?”
“No, thank you,” Bianca said. “I don’t smoke.”
“Then what are you doing out here?”
“Clearing my head,” Bianca said as she rubbed her arms. “I forgot my jacket inside. I’d better go—”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Danielle said. “You stay out here and talk to me. You’re going to become part of my family tomorrow, you know? You and I better get to know each other.” She flicked a lighter, touched it to the tip of her cigarette, and inhaled. As she exhaled, a puff of gray wafted out into the night air.
Bianca looked out to the surrounding area again. Nausea gripped her stomach. She’d never been good at lying, and she could sense that Danielle was an intelligent woman. What if she senses something is off? Bianca worried.
She felt grateful for the cover of darkness. She and Danielle were each partly obscured by shad
ows. The lights above were dim. That should help my case, Bianca thought.
She tried to make her expression look serene as she said, “Yes, I guess I’ll become your sister-in-law tomorrow.”
“I knew it would happen one of these days,” Danielle said. “Stan—that’s my husband, Stan Kilburn. Have you heard of him?”
Bianca shook her head.
“Well, he’s a big deal in the film industry. Executive producer. Very intelligent man—that’s why I mention it. He’s right about almost everything. Anyway, he kept saying that Jackson would never settle down. But I knew Stan, for once, had it wrong.”
Bianca wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she kept quiet as Danielle took another puff of her cigarette.
“See,” Danielle said, “I knew Jackson would fall head over heels in love one of these days. I just didn’t know when.”
Bianca felt a lump form in her throat. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
That didn’t seem to matter. Danielle was more than happy to listen to the sound of her own voice. “I kept telling my husband—just wait for it. One of these days he’s going to fall for a really good person. But Stan said it wasn’t going to happen. We kept meeting these women that Jackson would have around… ugh.” She made a sound of disgust. “They were just awful. Clingy… needy… and obsessed with my brother.”
Danielle rolled her eyes. “They acted sweet, but we could all see past that. What they were really after, I’m pretty sure, was his money.” She stopped speaking and reached down to adjust her heel. It was a sling-back pump, and one of the straps was twisted. “I hate heels, don’t you?” Danielle quipped.
Bianca couldn’t find words. She felt a sinking sensation in her gut. Am I just as bad as those other women Jackson was with? After all, I’m only going through with all of this because of the million dollars that will be transferred into my account.
Maybe I’m just as selfish as these women from Jackson’s past.
Danielle straightened up. She looked directly at Bianca through the lenses of her glasses. “You’re different, though,” she said, as if she’d been reading Bianca’s mind. “I could tell right away when Jackson first talked about you. He sounded so… genuinely happy.”
Bianca swallowed, trying to make the lump in her throat dissipate. “Oh, yeah?” she said.
Danielle nodded and tapped the edge of her cigarette against an ashtray that was propped on a table nearby. “I talked to him on the night he met you, you know. Right after your accident. And actually, that’s when I knew he was in love. His precious car was banged up, but he was in a good mood. I could hear him smiling. He sounded freaking joyful.” She rolled her eyes. “It was ridiculous.”
Bianca felt nauseated. I made Jackson happy, she thought. Then why are we barely talking? Everything has gone so wrong.
“Anyway,” Danielle said, “I didn’t come out here to gush about puppy love. I wanted to tell you thank you, I guess. I knew it would take an authentic, kind person to finally drag Jackson out from behind the walls he built after our mom left. He has serious trust issues when it comes to women, but hey—we all have issues, right?” She finally crushed out her cigarette, and Bianca sensed the conversation was almost over.
Thank goodness, Bianca thought. She wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to stand Danielle’s praise.
Danielle scoffed. “Hey, I’ve got a whole slew of issues… And you should hear Stan talk about his parents. Whew! Well, you will, one of these days when you meet him. You and Jackson should come out to California this spring. We have a get-away house on the beach.” With that, she turned and started back toward the restaurant.
Bianca fell into step with her. “Thanks,” she said half-heartedly. “That sounds nice.”
It concerned her to realize how much she actually admired Danielle’s direct, no-nonsense style of communicating. She’s the kind of person I could see myself becoming friends with, she thought.
That made it feel even worse to lie to her.
Bianca knew, as they made their way back to the table, that she wouldn’t be having any cake. The nausea in the pit of her stomach surely wouldn’t allow it.
Chapter 17
Bianca
The soft leather of the limo’s interior felt damp beneath Bianca’s palm. She’d dressed herself in a white gown that morning, with only Peaches for assistance.
Peaches was a wonderful companion—the best, in Bianca’s opinion. But a lack of opposable thumbs severely limited the contribution that Peaches could make when it came to practical matters like zipping up the back of a dress.
Bianca had managed to get the zipper up by bending her arm in a way that she’d never before known it could bend. The dress was slightly too tight. Her options, at the bridal store she’d visited two weeks before, had been slim. Seeing as she didn’t want to wait for a dress to be shipped in from another city, she’d been forced to choose from the selection at the store.
At the time, the form-fitting torso had felt okay. Not great, but not overly constricting, either. Now, sitting in the limo, she felt as though she could barely breathe.
That might have more to do with the fact that Jackson is beside me, than the way my dress fits, she thought.
She stared studiously out the window.
Jackson, beside her, was on his phone. They’d barely exchanged two words since she’d stepped into the limo, nearly forty-five minutes earlier.
She heard the faint rustling of his tuxedo sleeve. She glanced over and saw that he was checking his watch. “It’s only eleven fifteen,” he said. “The ceremony starts at one. We have plenty of time.”
He said this calmly. Bianca hadn’t mentioned anything about being late, so she figured Jackson was just talking to soothe his own nerves.
He must be anxious right now, she thought. Apparently, he’s good at keeping his cool during tense situations.
She looked out the window again, this time focusing her gaze on the long line of traffic in the street in front of them. The sky was thick with pale gray clouds. A thin layer of snow covered the pavement, sidewalks, and front stoops of businesses along the block. On the road, the snow had been carved into white stripes by the car tires that plowed through it.
The limo driver glanced into the rearview mirror. “This must be traffic heading to Saint Mary’s for mass. Everyone’s going slow because of the snow. Can you believe it? This is the first time it’s snowed in Memphis in twenty years!”
“A white Christmas,” Jackson said.
“Sure thing,” the driver responded. “The church traffic should clear up as soon as we reach Twelfth Street. If it doesn’t, I’ll pull off onto Fredrick to avoid downtown.”
“That’s fine,” Jackson said.
Bianca glanced over at him and watched him tug at his necktie, loosening it just slightly. It was painful to see how gorgeous he looked in his black tux, white shirt, and robin-egg-blue bowtie. The crisp white of his shirt contrasted with his tanned skin. The blue tint of his tie complemented the blue of his eyes. He looked like a model. A celebrity. A guy who belonged in front of cameras or on a stage.
She looked away, back out to the traffic. As the driver predicted, it began to move faster as soon as the sign for Twelfth Street came into view. Wet, dirty slush spewed out from beneath passing cars.
Bianca closed her eyes. She wished that Jackson would say something—anything—about how things stood between them. Instead, he seemed to be completely withdrawn.
Finally, unable to stand the tension any more, she opened her eyes and looked over at him. “It’s too bad Peaches and Rufus aren’t allowed in the hotel, isn’t it?” she said.
Jackson met her eyes. He hesitated, as though trying to gather his thoughts. For a brief instant, Bianca thought maybe he was going to address the real issue that hung in the air between them. Words seemed to be on the tip of his tongue. But instead of saying something from the heart, he said, “Yeah, poor Rufus. I haven’t spent a Christmas apart from him in years
. Ever, really.”
“Same with me and Peaches,” Bianca said.
“It doesn’t feel right,” Jackson said.
Bianca couldn’t agree more. Nothing about the day felt right so far. She’d barely slept the night before.
“Jackson, I’m—” she began. She was about to say “sorry,” but at that moment, the limo veered off to the right, and Bianca realized they’d arrived at the hotel.
Jackson waited for her to go on.
She wanted so badly to put her feelings into words. But how could she?
This is a mistake, she wanted to say. You’re amazing, and you deserve better than this.
I deserve better than this, too.
It’s too late, she thought, as she looked over her shoulder and out the window.
She caught sight of Jackson’s mother, standing next to Danielle and two other women that Bianca didn’t recognize. Danielle wore a knee-length chocolate brown dress. Mary Wylde was dressed in a royal-purple blazer and matching skirt. Just past the group of four women, Bianca saw her own mom, Helen, with a nurse on her arm.
Bianca turned back to Jackson. “Never mind,” she said.
The limo driver had already hopped out and walked around the vehicle. As he opened Bianca’s door, she felt cold air rush over her bare skin. She wished that she’d thought to buy a shawl of some kind to wrap around her shoulders. The dress was sleeveless.
What was I thinking? she wondered. This is all so rushed. This feels so wrong.
Her gut wrenched as she got up out of the limo. She could feel that everyone’s attention was on her.
Danielle walked over. “Good, you made it! We were starting to get nervous because traffic is so screwy. Can you believe all this snow? I heard we got an inch.” She opened her arms and approached Jackson.
Jackson hugged her. “Merry Christmas, Danielle,” he said.
Danielle squeezed him tight. As she released him, she said, “My little brother, all dressed up to go to the altar.” She stepped toward Bianca. “You look cold,” she said. “Come on, the photographer’s already inside. She keeps coming out here to ask when you’re due to arrive.” She led the way toward the hotel.
