by Sandra Brown
“There are any number of ways to decorate around it. In the spring you use bouquets of pastel flowers, in the winter, use white, in the fall, gold and copper mums would be—”
“That is all very interesting, but the bottom line is that I don’t like it. Change it.” With that rude interruption, he turned on the heels of his boots and stalked down the hall.
“I will not!”
The words were out before Camille had time to weigh her angry response. She had tried to be calm, reasonable, and prevent a scene, but he chose to continue with his stubborn dominance. She straightened her spine, and golden sparks flashed out of the eyes that faced Zack defiantly as he turned and looked at her.
His hands clenched at his sides. His jaw worked for several seconds before he said levelly, “May I remind you, Miss Jameson, that I am footing the bills for this restoration. I certainly think that entitles me to an opinion. And, in case you have forgotten, this is my house.”
“That is true, Mr. Prescott, but may I remind you that it was your father, not you, who hired me. It was with his consultation that I chose this color, and, unless he sees fit to change it, it remains the way it is.”
“When hell freezes over, Miss Jameson.”
“So be it, Mr. Prescott.” He took a few striding steps toward her, and she held up her hands as if to halt him. “In deference to your obvious dislike of our choice and your lack of confidence in my abilities and judgment, I’ll concede this: If, after the room is completed and your father agrees with your opinion, then I will change it any way you wish—at my expense.” A heavy expectant silence hung in the air. Zack didn’t speak but only stared at her in a terrifying way. Finally she looked pointedly toward her hired workers, and they immediately scurried back to work. Simon and Dearly wisely retreated.
As she brushed past Zack on her way down the hall, he reached out and grabbed her arm. “You also owe me a new hat,” he growled.
“Go to hell,” she replied sweetly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She extricated her arm from his grasp and sauntered down the hall.
* * *
It came as a surprise when one day at lunch he asked her to go to the hospital with him that afternoon. Almost two weeks had gone by since the night she had confronted him in Rayburn’s room, two weeks since their argument about Snow Bird and his wounding insults. It was only a few days since they had had their altercation over the dining room. They had not spoken to each other after that, but managed to stay out of the other’s way.
Her face must have registered her surprise for he said quickly, “It wasn’t my idea. Dad asked that you and I come together this afternoon. I’ve no idea why.”
That was all he said as they ate Dearly’s delicious chicken salad in the small breakfast room off the kitchen. When he got up from the table, he asked, “How soon can you be ready?”
“Give me half an hour.”
“Fine,” he replied and left the room.
Tears of frustration and hurt prickled her eyelids, and she brushed them away impatiently before Dearly, who was clearing the table of dishes, could see them. In only a few more weeks the house would be completed, and she would be free to leave Zack forever. She would no longer be subjected to his ridicule and humiliating taunts. Why wasn’t she relieved by that thought? Why, for some reason, did it plunge her into deeper despair?
“When are you leaving for the hospital, Camille?”
Dearly’s question startled Camille out of her reverie. “What? Oh. In about half an hour, I think,” she answered absently.
“Then you’ll be getting there about two o’clock?” Dearly persisted.
“Well… yes, I guess so. Why?”
“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering. I have some shopping to do this afternoon, and I didn’t want to be gone if you should need me for anything.”
Camille was too distracted by her own distress to give attention to the housekeeper’s curious behavior. She had enough problems to worry about without dwelling on Dearly’s idiosyncrasies.
She went across the terrace to the dowager house and changed clothes. A pair of designer jeans was fresh from the cleaners, the crease straight and crisp as she pulled them on. She slipped into a turquoise silk shirt that had full sleeves gathered tightly by deep cuffs, and slid a narrow gold belt through the loops of her jeans. She brushed her hair vigorously. The humidity wasn’t too bad today so she allowed it to do as it wished, which was to curl around her shoulders softly and frame her face with errant tendrils. She tried to convince herself that going with Zack was of no consequence, but she took special care with her makeup and even sprayed on a woodsy scent that reminded her of the late autumn day. She shrugged into a soft brown leather blazer and was ready.
Zack was already standing by his navy-blue Lincoln when she came down the porch steps, and he stepped to the passenger side and held the door for her. They drove to the hospital in silence. She was painfully conscious of the man beside her though she strived for indifference. He, too, was wearing jeans, the slim European cut flattering his lean hips and long, muscular legs. He had on an open-collared sport shirt and a camel sport coat. Today, he had left his cowboy hat at home, and his hair fell in careless waves around his aristocratically shaped head. His profile was near perfect, Camille thought as she covertly studied him from across the luxurious interior of the car. Inadvertently, she sighed, and he turned, catching her at her scrutiny. She looked away quickly, but not before she read contemptuous humor in the azure depths of his eyes.
“Have you seen Rick O’Malley lately?” Zack’s question was casual but took her completely by surprise.
“I have a date with him tonight.” Camille had seen little of Rick since the night of the football game. His work at Bridal Wreath was finished, and, if there was an odd job to do on the floors of the mansion, the elder O’Malley came alone. Rick had called earlier in the week and after considerately inquiring about Rayburn’s health, asked her to go to the movies with him this Saturday. She had accepted his invitation not only because she liked him, but because the tension at Bridal Wreath had become so unbearable that she needed an evening out.
“I’ve always liked Rick,” Zack said. “He’s a good man. Decent.” He stressed the adjective and slid a derisive glance in her direction. Then he added blithely, “Of course, you may want to ask him about his love affair with a married woman.” Camille jerked her head around to face him. “Don’t look so skeptical. It’s common knowledge and has been going on for years.” He whipped the car into a parking space, braked abruptly, and got out of the car before Camille could respond to his shattering and unbelievable piece of news.
They took the elevator to the fourth floor, and, the moment they stepped off, Camille noticed an atmosphere of anticipation that was almost palpable. She and Zack passed the nurses’ station, and several of the women tried to suppress giggles and twittered together like the wallflowers at a high school dance. Camille looked up at Zack quizzically, but he only shrugged and continued his long stride down the corridor.
He stopped in front of Rayburn’s door and pushed it open for her. She took one step inside then halted so suddenly that Zack ran into her from behind.
Camille couldn’t believe it! The whole room was filled with flowers—not the flowers that Rayburn had received from well-wishing friends, but huge baskets of roses, chrysanthemums, and orchids, sprinkled delicately with baby’s breath and delicate fern fronds. Candles glittered from ornate brass holders holding either tall tapers or glowing votive lights. The hospital bed was gone. Standing where it should have been was a white wrought iron arch decorated with flowers and greenery.
Under the arch, Rayburn stood regally in blue silk pajamas and a velour robe. On his arm was a lovely, small woman whose face was wreathed in smiles when Camille walked in.
“Mother!” she exclaimed hoarsely.
Standing on the other side of her mother was a man whom Camille recognized to be the minister of the Prescotts’ church, and by his side was a gri
nning Dr. Daniels, looking devilishly pleased with himself. The room was filled with other doctors and nurses, including Nurse Stone Face, as Camille had come to think of her after Zack dubbed her with that name. Everyone was grinning broadly at Camille and Zack. He was peering over Camille’s shoulder, apparently as stunned by the spectacle as she. Camille heard someone sniffling daintily into a handkerchief and turned to see Dearly standing beside a beaming Simon, who had one arm draped comfortingly across his wife’s plump shoulders.
“What the—” Camille heard Zack mutter near her ear before Martha Jameson rushed over to her daughter and embraced her warmly.
“Camille, sweetheart, you look positively radiant. I’m so happy for you. When Rayburn telephoned me about you and Zack falling in love at first sight, I was surprised to say the least! I wanted to call you immediately and get all the lovely details, but he asked me to refrain so he could plan this little get-together. And this is Zack!” She moved Camille aside and took both of Zack’s hands in hers, looking up at him with admiration. “He’s as handsome as I envisioned him to be. You always were so particular about men, Camille, so I knew he would be good-looking. I was beginning to worry that you would never find anyone ‘perfect’ enough!
“Zack, I’m Martha Jameson. I have every confidence that you’ll take good care of my daughter. Of course, I was initially concerned about the difference in your ages and the brief period of time you’ve known each other, but Rayburn assured me of your steadfast love. If you’re anything like your father, I know you’re a perfect gentleman. Please call me Martha.”
Zack shook hands with Martha and permitted her to kiss him on each cheek. Camille could tell by his blank expression that he was completely baffled.
“Come on now, dears, don’t be shy. Everyone is waiting for you.” Martha linked her arms through Camille’s and Zack’s and practically dragged them into the room until they stood in front of Rayburn, whose eyes sparkled under the snowy white eyebrows.
“What the hell is going on?” Camille heard Zack whisper in Rayburn’s ear as he hugged him.
Rayburn’s answer wasn’t confidential. Indeed, he intoned it loud enough for everyone to hear. “Son, I just couldn’t let you and Camille put off your getting married any longer on my account. I know you were both making the sacrifice willingly, but I felt so guilty about it, that I took matters into my own hands and planned this surprise wedding for you.”
Camille felt every ounce of blood in her veins rushing to her head; her ears were on fire; and she would have collapsed had not Zack moved closer and lent her support with his own trembling body.
“This isn’t what I always dreamed your wedding would be like, darling,” Martha said. “But I think this is even better. It’s certainly different and something you can tell your children and grandchildren about. And you look just as beautiful in jeans as you would in a long, white dress. I’m sure Zack doesn’t mind.” Martha was touching Camille’s face and stroking her hair with maternal affection and pride as she chirped merrily.
This must be a dream, Camille’s mind was screaming. In a moment I’ll wake up and have a good laugh over this funny dream. Or nightmare. She dared not look at Zack. Was he in this dream, too? Whose dream was it, his or hers? She tried hard to suppress the hysterical laughter she felt bubbling up in her throat.
“I don’t know what—” Zack started before Rayburn interrupted him.
“You see, son, I was feigning sleep that morning a couple of weeks ago when you and Camille were in here discussing Utah.” He paused momentarily to let Camille and Zack absorb those fateful words, then continued. “You were talking about how nice it would be to honeymoon at Snow Bird where you had both been before.” Camille stifled a short gasp. “I could tell by your conversation that you regretted not getting married right after you met. Love happens that way sometimes. It may take only one day—or one night.” He paused again. He was letting them know that he had heard everything and that he understood fully what had happened in Snow Bird two years ago. He was also using implicit language. No one but the two involved could catch the true meaning of what he was saying.
“You’re a responsible man, Zack, and have always tried to do the right thing. I don’t want your responsibility toward me and my illness to keep you from doing the right thing by Camille. I couldn’t live with the burden of keeping you two apart when you so obviously should be together.”
His expectation was clear to Camille and Zack. Rayburn knew that she had lost her innocence with Zack, and now he was expecting his son to act like the honorable Southern gentleman he had raised him to be and marry the poor, ruined girl. The benign, thoughtful, kind gentleman that people saw when they looked at Rayburn was in the same body with a tough, powerful, forceful man. He had an iron will, and, for the first time, Camille was seeing that will enforced. The usually merry blue eyes under his Santa Claus eyebrows were glinting like steel, daring his son to balk at the plan that he had taken it upon himself to put into action.
He glanced at Camille kindly, then fixed his son with a stare and held it for long moments. When he saw that Zack was evidently not going to object, he rubbed his palms together energetically. “Well, let’s get started. We’re keeping the Reverend waiting. He has a golf game this afternoon.”
Everyone laughed as the principals took their places. Zack and Camille stood facing the minister under the arch after her mother hurriedly pushed a bouquet into her clammy, cold hands. Rayburn and Martha stood on either side of them.
“Oh, Zachary, I almost forgot. Here is your mother’s ring. I had Simon bring it. I’m sure she would have loved Camille and would want her to have this ring. Camille, if you prefer another, I’m sure Zack will get you one, but please indulge an old man and use this one in the ceremony.”
Camille looked down at the wide gold band lying against his calloused palm and choked back a sob. “I… I couldn’t hope for another as lovely. Thank you.”
He was pleased with her response and blinked back tears of his own before he could speak again. “Camille, you remember meeting Reverend Collins after church one Sunday,” he said in way of introduction.
“Yes. Hello, Reverend Collins,” she wheezed.
“Hello, Camille. I didn’t know that the very next time I saw you, I’d be marrying you! Hello, Zack.”
“Reverend Collins.”
“Are you nervous?” the minister asked anxiously.
“No,” was Zack’s curt reply.
“Ah, good. Here we go then. We’ll sign the license after the ceremony.”
He proceeded, and, in a matter of minutes, Camille Leanne Jameson and Zachary Benson Prescott became husband and wife. She was married to the man she loved, but at what price? He would resent her for the rest of his life. He had been trapped into marrying a girl whom he looked upon as no more than a one-night fling. What of Erica Hazelett? Wasn’t Zack in love with her? She couldn’t have prevented the ceremony by crying out what she knew to be true any more than Zack could have strenuously objected in front of this bizarre assembly. He had been coerced, and he would never forgive her for it.
Camille had repeated the vows like a wind-up doll, performing like an automaton in a programmed way. Zack’s voice had been clear and level. At least he wasn’t giving away his hatred toward her in front of everyone. But what would he do when they were alone?
“You may now kiss your bride, Zack,” prompted the minister.
It was over and she was facing Zack for the first time since they had entered the room so innocently. How much had happened in the space of a few minutes! Her whole station in life had changed.
She raised her eyes slowly and met his blue gaze. She hadn’t expected the small ray of affection that she saw there, nor the slight smile on his patrician lips. They completely unnerved her, and her lip began to quiver uncontrollably as she felt tears sting her eyes. He was pretending kindness. Why couldn’t this be for real? Why can’t he love me the way I love him?
Zack must have noticed
that she was about to burst into tears, because he stopped them with his kiss. It was light at first, with their lips barely touching, but it grew into a tender blending of their mouths as his arms went protectively around her.
When at last they broke apart, everyone applauded and started chattering excitedly as the caterer wheeled in a long table complete with wedding cake and champagne.
Camille was swept away by the throng of wedding guests. She introduced her mother to those few she herself knew, responded to the obligatory toasts, and fed the first bite of wedding cake to Zack, who was going along with all of the foolishness as if nothing at all were wrong between them.
Before he left for his golf game, Reverend Collins pulled them aside and had them sign the marriage license, which a friend of Rayburn’s had secured for them. “I understand that both of you gave blood here at the hospital last week during their donation drive. Dr. Daniels surreptitiously had all of that checked out for you. Congratulations, Zack. I think you have a beautiful bride. Camille dear, best wishes. I hope I’ll soon be christening a lot of little Prescotts.” If Zack’s arm had not been firmly around her waist, she probably would have fainted.
She was distressed to learn that her mother was due back in Atlanta that evening. “I just came for the day, dearest. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, but I really do need to get back. Have you forgotten that we have a business to run? Besides, who wants their mother around on their wedding night?
“Zack, I’m counting on you to bring her home as soon as Rayburn is well. I want to give you a party and introduce my new son-in-law to all our friends. Rayburn has invited me to Bridal Wreath for Christmas. So I’ll be seeing you soon.”
Dr. Daniels had met her mother at the airport and was planning to take her back to catch a return flight. Before they left, he imperiously ran everyone out of Rayburn’s room, announcing that the party was over and that this was still a hospital with a lot of sick people in it. The caterer gathered up the tools of his trade, promising Camille that he would have the flowers delivered to Bridal Wreath so that she could enjoy them there. The hospital bed was wheeled back in, and Nurse Stone Face shooed everyone out as she got Rayburn back into his bed.
