Carole had done the seating of all the tables herself, and even her parents looked as though they had a good time. Charlie danced with Mrs. Van Horn after he danced with the bride, and Carole danced with her father. Unlike most weddings, there wasn't an army of unwanted relatives there. In fact, other than her parents, there were none. They were surrounded by their friends.
Sylvia looked beautiful in a lilac gown that she and Carole had chosen together at Barney's. She carried lilacs and tiny white roses. It had been more challenging to find something for Maggie to wear. They had finally settled on an evening gown that was somewhere in color between Sylvia's lilac and Carole's pale mauve. It was lavender, and she carried lavender roses. By the day of the wedding, the dress was so tight she could hardly breathe. The baby was huge, but she looked beautiful anyway. She had youth and motherhood on her side, even though she looked like she could hardly move.
Carole said she had a fabulous time at her wedding, and she looked as though she did. She danced with Charlie, Adam, Gray, Tygue, some of her old friends, but most of the night with Charlie. Everyone agreed they had never seen a happier couple in their lives. They ate and danced and laughed all night.
The music was so good that even the Van Horns couldn't stay off the dance floor. Sylvia and Gray did a tango that put everyone else to shame. And Adam couldn't keep Maggie down. Every time he turned around, she was dancing with someone else, at arm's length of course. In order to keep track of her, he finally kept her on the dance floor with him. She never sat down. She was having a lot of fun. She danced and danced and danced. And when she finally sat down at the end of the evening, she told Adam she couldn't tell what hurt more, her back or her feet.
“I told you not to overdo it,” he scolded her.
“I'm fine.” She grinned at him. “The baby's not due for two weeks.”
“Don't count on it, if you keep dancing like that. I don't know how a woman who's eight and a half months pregnant can look sexy, but you do.” They were among the last to leave.
Carole had thrown her bouquet by then, straight at Sylvia, who caught it with a groan. Charlie and Carole were staying at her place that night, and leaving to meet the boat in Monte Carlo the next morning. They were taking the boat to Venice for a three-week honeymoon. She was nervous about leaving the center, but Tygue had agreed to run it while she was gone.
The last of the guests threw rose petals at the bridal couple as they got into the car and drove away, and Adam helped Maggie into their rented limousine. She couldn't get in and out of the Ferrari anymore.
She was yawning as they rode up in their elevator, and for once she was asleep before Adam. She had totally worn herself out, and looked like a small mountain as she lay beside him. He kissed her cheek and her stomach, and turned off the light. Cuddling these days was more of a challenge. He went right to sleep, thinking of his friend's wedding, and was in a deep sleep two hours later, at five o'clock in the morning, when Maggie poked him.
“…Mmm… what?”
“I'm having the baby,” she whispered to him, in a voice that was slightly panicked. He was too tired to wake up. Like everyone else at the wedding, he had enjoyed the unlimited torrent of great wine. “Adam… sweetheart… wake up….” She tried to sit up in bed butwas having too many contractions. She poked him again with one hand. She was holding her enormous belly with the other.
“Ssshhhh… I'm sleeping…go back to sleep …” he said, and turned over. She tried to take his advice, but she could hardly breathe. It was getting scary and it was happening so fast.
It was nearly six when she not only poked him but shook him, and by then she was having to pant through the pains. Nothing was working. It hurt too much.
“Adam… you have to wake up …” She couldn't get out of bed, and she tried to move him, but he blew her a kiss and slept on.
It was six-thirty when she finally pounded on him and shouted his name. That time he woke up, with a start.
“What? What?” He picked up his head and set it back down on the pillow just as fast. “Oh shit … my head …” And then he looked at her. Her face was contorted in pain. And headache or not, he woke up. Fast. “Are you okay?”
“No… I'm not….” She was crying by then, and shecould hardly talk. “I'm having the baby, Adam, and I'm scared.” By the time she finished her sentence, she was having a contraction again. The pains were running right into each other and never stopped.
“Okay. Give me a minute. I'll get up. Don't be scared. Everything's fine.” He knew he had to get out of bed and put on his pants, but his head felt like cement.
“It's not fine… I'm having the baby… now!”
“Now?” He sat bolt upright and looked at her.
“Now!” She was crying.
“You can't be having the baby now. It's not due for two weeks… dammit, Maggie…I told you not to dance so much.” But she was beyond hearing him. She looked at him with wild eyes, and he jumped out of bed.
“Call 911!” she panted at him through the contractions.
“Oh shit… okay….” He called them, while hewatched her. She was starting to push. He told the operator at 911, and they said they'd send the paramedics right away, unlock the front door, stay with her, and tell her to blow, not push.
He did what they said, and told Maggie to blow, not push, and she was screaming at him through the contractions. There was no time in between anymore.
“Maggie… come on, baby… please… blow! Blow! Don't push!…”
“I'm not pushing, the baby is,” she said, making a terrible face, and then she screamed a bloodcurdling scream. “Adam! He's coming out …” He was holding her legs and watching their son come into the world as the paramedics arrived. The baby had delivered itself, and Maggie lay breathless against the pillows as Adam held him. As they looked at him, they both cried.
“Nice job!” the head paramedic said, as he took over from Adam and another one cleaned the baby up, and put it on Maggie's stomach. Adam was looking at them both in wonder, and couldn't stop crying. Maggie was smiling and peaceful as they covered her, as though nothing had happened. They cut the cord then, and the baby looked at him as though they had seen each other somewhere before.
“Does the young man have a name?” the second paramedic asked.
“Charles Gray Weiss,” Adam said, looking adoringly at his wife.
“You were fantastic!” he whispered to Maggie, as he knelt on the floor close to her head.
“I was so scared,” she said softly.
“And I was so drunk.” Adam laughed. “Why didn't you wake me sooner?”
“I tried!” She was smiling and holding their baby.
“I promise, next time you talk to me when I'm falling asleep, I'll listen.”
The ambulance was waiting for them downstairs, but before they left, they called Carole and Charlie. They woke them up and told them that the baby had been born, and they were thrilled to hear it. They had to get up early anyway to leave for Monaco that morning.
Adam called Jacob and Amanda from the hospital, and the doctor let Maggie and the baby come home that night. They were both fine, and she wanted to be home with Adam. Maggie said it had been the most beautiful day of her life. The baby was perfect.
As Adam drifted off to sleep that night, with the baby in his bassinet next to them, Maggie poked him, and he gave a start and sat straight up and looked at his wife.
“What? Are you okay?” He had kept his promise. He was wide awake.
“I'm fine. I just wanted to tell you I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said, as he sank back into bed and pulled her closer. “I love you a lot, Maggie Weiss.” He smiled as he fell asleep, and so did she.
30
EVERYONE BOARDED THE BLUE MOON ON AUGUST first, as planned. Maggie and Adam brought their baby and a nanny, as Charles had invited them to do. They started in Monte Carlo, as they always did, gambled for a night, moved on to St. Tropez, and when they'd had enough of i
t, left for Portofino. The girls shopped, the men drank, they all swam, they walked in the piazza at night, and ate gelato. They danced in the discothèques, and between outings and meals, Maggie nursed her baby. He was two months old on the day they left, had big bright eyes, and a sturdy little body. He was blond like Maggie.
On the morning after they arrived in Portofino, Sylvia and Gray walked up to the Church of San Giorgio, and that night they all had dinner in the restaurant where they'd met. They had just come back from a trip with her kids, and this time Gray was more relaxed. He and Emily had talked about painting techniques, and he and Gilbert had truly become friends. Sylvia had been right, he admitted to Charlie, she had great kids. “She was right about a lot of things,” he confessed to his friend. The others toasted them that night. It was the one-year anniversary of the day they'd met.
“I still think the two of you should get married,” Adam said as they opened another bottle of wine. They'd been living together officially for seven months. Sylvia said that wasn't long enough to count. They'd only known each other for a year. The others hooted and jeered, Charlie and Carole had dated for eight months before they got married, and Adam and Maggie for four. And everything seemed fine. Better than fine. They were the happiest they'd ever been, all four of them.
“We don't need to get married,” Sylvia insisted, and Gray laughed at her and told her she sounded like him when he was afraid to meet her kids.
“I don't want to screw up a good thing,” she said softly.
“You won't,” Charlie said. “And Gray's a good man.”
“I wouldn't even think about it for another year,” she said blithely.
“Fine,” Adam said. “We'll be back here next year, same time. Let's see what you do then.” The others toasted them again.
31
THE DAY WAS INCREDIBLY HOT AND THE SKY PERFECTLY blue. If you stopped talking, you could hear insects and birds. There wasn't a cloud in the sky as the ragtag group made their way up the hill. It was almost too hot to move, and it was only eleven o'clock in the morning.
A woman in a white eyelet peasant skirt and a full-sleeved white blouse was carrying a bouquet of red roses, and wearing red sandals. She was wearing an enormous straw hat, and an armful of turquoise bracelets. Beside her, there was a man in white trousers and a blue shirt, with a mane of white hair. And behind them, two couples, both women heavy with child.
All six of them walked into the Church of San Giorgio in Portofino. The priest was waiting for them there. It was her second marriage, but she hadn't been married in the church before, and he had never been married at all.
The bride and groom stood at the altar, looking solemn as the priest had them exchange their vows, and their four friends looked on. When the priest told the groom he could kiss the bride, the groom cried.
Sylvia and Gray turned to their friends then. Maggie and Carole were both pregnant. Charlie and Adam looked proud, not just of the women they had married, but of their two friends who had done it at last. They stood talking in the church for a long time, lit some candles, then walked slowly down the hill again, and stopped in the piazza. Sylvia and Gray were holding hands.
They had their wedding lunch in the restaurant where they'd met two years before, to the day. It had been a long time and a long journey for all six of them. They had come far and done well, and had been blessed to find each other.
“To Sylvia and Gray and a lifetime of happiness!” Charlie toasted them, and then looked at his wife. Their baby was due in December, their first. Maggie and Adam's second was due in October, two years after their life together began.
The past two years had been happy and busy and full, for all of them, with babies and weddings, their other children had done well. Their careers were flourishing. Maggie was in college, and still headed for law school. Carole's center had grown. And so had their hearts. They had carried heavy baggage and set it down, and traveled on better and lighter for loving each other.
They went back to the boat that afternoon, and swam, all of them. And they had dinner that night on the boat. Sylvia and Gray loved sharing their honeymoon with them. It seemed appropriate for all of them to be together. And when they left Portofino, and headed for other ports, the bachelors that had once been were finally no more.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DANIELLE STEEL has been hailed as one of the world's most popular authors, with over 550 million copies of her novels sold. Her many international bestsellers include Coming Out, The House, Miracle, ImPossible, Echoes, Second Chance, Ransom, Safe Harbour, and other highly acclaimed novels. She is also the author of His Bright Light, the story of her son Nick Traina's life and death.
Visit the Danielle Steel Web Site at
www.daniellesteel.com.
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In a novel where ancient traditions conflict with reality and the pressures of modern life, a young European princess proves that simplicity, courage and dignity win the day and forever alter her world.
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Christianna stood at her bedroom window, looking down at the hillside in the pouring rain. She was watching a large white dog, soaking wet with matted hair, digging excitedly in the mud. Every now and then he would look up at her and wag his tail, and then return to digging again. He was the Great Pyrenees her father had given her eight years before. His name was Charles, and in many ways he was her best friend. She laughed as she watched him chase a rabbit that eluded him and promptly disappeared. Charles barked frantically and then splashed happily through the mud again, looking for something else to pursue. He was having a great time, as Christianna was, watching him. It was the last of summer and the weather was still warm. She had returned to Vaduz in June, after four years of college in Berkeley. Coming home had been something of a shock, and so far the best thing about her homecoming was Charles. Other than her cousins in England and Germany, and acquaintances throughout Europe, her only friend was Charles. She led a sheltered and isolated life, and always had. It seemed unlikely she would see her Berkeley friends again.
As she watched the dog disappear toward the stables, Christianna hurried out of her room, intent on going outside and following him. She grabbed her riding slicker and a pair of rubber boots she used to muck out her horse's stall, and ran down the back stairs. She was grateful that no one noticed her, and a moment later she was outside, sliding through the mud and running after the big white dog. She called his name, and in an instant he bounded up to her, nearly knocking her down. He wagged his tail, splashing water everywhere, put a muddy paw on her, and when she bent to stroke him, he reached up and licked her face, and then ran away again as she laughed. Together, they ran side by side along the bridle path. It was too wet today to ride.
When the dog strayed from the path, she called his name, he hesitated only for an instant, and then came back to her each time. He was normally well behaved, but the rain excited him, as he ran and barked. Christianna was having as much fun as the dog. After nearly an hour, slightly out of breath, she stopped, the dog panting heavily beside her. She took a shortcut then, and half an hour later, they were once again back where they began. It had been a wonderful outing for both mistress and dog, and each looked as disreputable and disheveled as the other. Christianna's long, almost white-blond hair was matted to her head, her face was wet, and even her eyelashes were stuck together. She never wore makeup, unless she had to go out or was likely to be photographed, and she was wearing the jeans she had brought back from Berkeley. They were a souvenir of her lost life. She had loved every moment of her four years at UC Berkeley. She had fought hard to be allowed to go. Her brother had gone to Oxford, and her father had suggested the Sorbonne for her. Christianna had been adamant about going to college in the St
ates, and her father had finally relented, though reluctantly. Going that far from home spelled freedom to her, and she had reveled in each day she was there, and had hated to come home when she graduated in June. She had made friends she missed sorely now, they were part of another life she missed so much. She had come home to face her responsibilities, and do what was expected of her. To Christianna, it felt like a heavy burden, lightened only by moments such as these, running through the woods with her dog. The rest of the time since coming home, she had felt as though she were in prison, serving a life sentence. There was no one she could have said that to, and doing so would have made her sound ungrateful for all she had. Her father was extremely kind to her. He had sensed, more than seen, her sadness since returning from the States. But there was nothing he could do about it. Christianna knew as well as he did that her childhood, and the freedom she had enjoyed in California, had come to an end.
Charles looked up at his mistress questioningly as they reached the end of the bridle path, as though asking her if they really had to go back.
“I know,” Christianna said softly, patting him, “I don't want to either.” The rain felt gentle on her face, and she didn't mind getting soaked, or her long blond mane getting wet, any more than the dog did. The slicker protected her, and her boots were caked with mud. She laughed as she looked at him, thinking it was hard to believe that this muddy brown dog was really white.
She needed the exercise, as did the dog. He wagged his tail as he looked at her, and then with a slightly more decorous step, they walked home. She was hoping to slip in the back door, but getting Charles into the house, in his disreputable condition, would be a greater challenge. He was too filthy to take upstairs, and she knew she would have to take him in through the kitchen. He was in desperate need of a bath after their muddy walk.
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