Bless their cotton-frocked hearts, the mountain ladies haven’t quite managed to get it through their heads that Merry didn’t win the beach house in a game show. I know they realize that technically Merry inherited it from her father, and they now also admit, albeit in a decidedly twitchy way, that Betty is Merry’s biological mother. Infuriatingly, though, they still seem to believe a game show was somehow involved in Merry’s procurement of this house.
I have tried to explain otherwise, and I have seen Merry try, and Betty. But whenever we’re sure they finally understand, one of them says something frustratingly silly, like, “What network will it be on?”
“Finish up soon so we can get that table set,” Merry says as she works in the kitchen. She shooed Jack out of her way an hour ago, and now he’s playing Yahtzee with the ladies. It’s clear that they find him nearly as charming as Merry does. He’d had to coax them to choose a board game from the stack of tattered boxes on the bookshelf, but now they’re showing their competitive spirits and talking a bit of trash.
I wish Victor could be here, too, but I can’t complain since he’s due to arrive late tomorrow.
I hear the doorbell ring when I’m boxing things up in Mr. Pershing’s room. I come out to hear voices in the stairwell and don’t believe my ears at first. But as the laughter and chatter grows louder and closer, I catch my breath.
“Victor!”
“Oh my God,” he says, scooping me into a hug that lasts forever, but not long enough, followed by a kiss that continues the trend.
“Oh, dear,” Betty says, fanning herself with her scorecard.
I can’t believe he’s actually here. My knees go weak.
I thought I remembered every strand of his hair, every angle of his face and shoulder blades, but I feel nervous and speechless in his presence. He has never looked so good to me. Or sounded so good. Or felt so good.
“Introduce me!” Victor says, turning to face the tableful of ladies and one gentleman, keeping an arm around me.
“I already met your Merry; she is so lovely!” he says, pointing to her.
She smiles and blushes, obviously smitten with my beau. I can’t imagine that there’s anyone in the entire world who wouldn’t be. It’s not just his French accent, or his stature, or his tastefully understated violet eyeliner. It’s everything: he’s the entire package.
I go around the table calling out names. He follows me, kissing hands and making ceremoniously extended eye contact as he goes, so that all the ladies are fanning themselves with their scorecards by the time he’s through with them.
“And, finally, this is Jack Morningstar,” I say.
Victor shakes his hand before reaching out to lightly touch his stitches.
“I wonder, can I do that with makeup?” he asks. “Do you mind if I take some photographs? We have a zombie song in writing, and I would love to have this look.”
“Oh my!” Merry’s mother says.
“And this beautiful house, it is magnifique! Fritzie, why have you said it was not perfect? It would be amazing for the music video. No?”
“For the zombie song?” Jack asks.
“No, no, of course not the zombie song!” Victor laughs. “It would be perfect for the sunshine song! Can we?”
“Ask Merry,” I say. “It’s her house.”
“Yes, sir,” she says. “But nobody can smoke in here or anything like that.”
Victor laughs. I imagine the Bandmaidens walking along the beach during breaks from the video shoot, with their overdyed black hair and black clothes and glorified combat boots, each of them smoking like a factory.
“And I must sample that sound—the ocean! It would be lovely,” V says.
“For the sunshine song?” Betty asks.
“No, no! For the song called ‘Marry Me.’”
He turns and looks at me intently. So does everyone else.
“You’ve been writing a lot,” I say, in an attempt to make light.
“I wrote that one only for you, Fritzie.”
“The zombie one?” I ask.
“Marry me.”
I hear Merry gasp and clap her hands together. I don’t want to look at her face. She is a hopeless, optimistic romantic. She misunderstands him, I’m sure. Out of the corner of my eye I see her mom and grandma clutch each other’s arms and stare expectantly.
I know they’ll all be disappointed.
I have pushed for a formal commitment from Victor, but he has shied away. He has maintained that he doesn’t want to be dependent on me financially. I have repeatedly said that I don’t mind, that it doesn’t matter to me who makes more money. I only want us to be together, happily ever after.
The thought goes through my mind that it might just be possible, he might actually be serious. Perhaps his record deal makes the difference between dependent and coequal that has always been so important to him.
I still can’t look at him, though, because I’m afraid I’m wrong. I wish he hadn’t started this mortifying scene in front of an audience. But Victor loves an audience.
He takes my hand and gets down on one knee.
I can’t help it anymore. I look into his eyes.
Oh my God.
He means it.
I feel my eyes fill with tears and bite my lip to stop them.
Victor leans on Mr. Pershing’s chair to steady himself before taking a spectacular platinum band out of his pocket. I know in my heart the old man would approve. He loved me enough to want me to be happy. And nothing could make me happier than this!
“Will you marry me?” Victor asks.
I can’t hold my tears back anymore. I kneel down, too, and we embrace in a hug that isn’t at all elegant, but is perfect nonetheless.
“You have to answer!” Merry calls out in her slow twang. “Y’all didn’t answer him yet.”
I pull back and smile at Victor. He’s crying, too.
“Yes, sir,” I say.
Chapter Twenty-Five
IN WHICH WE BID ADIEU
As told by Merry, our hostess
We are about to sit down to our farewell dinner.
The stove timer goes off, and I take Jack’s favorite dish out of the oven. On the table are salads, bread, and wine. My three ladies are perched across from Victor, who is drumming his forks on the table while quietly composing something in French.
On the counter is the cherished Pershing chocolate cake. “Maybe I should retire the recipe as a tribute?” I say to Fritz and Jack, who are helping me bring the hot dishes to the table.
“No!” they say together.
“Do you need a hand over there?” my mom asks.
“Y’all sit tight,” I tell her.
I’m glad my family came, but I’m even gladder they’ll be leaving in the morning. The happy couple will head home to London the next day. Jack’s and my world is getting smaller and smaller. Pretty soon it’ll be down to the two of us and Chaser.
“So you’re staying on the island for a while?” Fritz asks Jack with a frown.
I know for a fact he really likes Jack, but that he also wants to look out for me. He seems to think he really is my big brother now.
“I have to be out of the house by Memorial Day weekend. It’s booked up for the entire season after that. I’ll stay there until the end of May, but then I have to figure out what to do.”
Jack winks at me.
I am so in love with that man.
He says I’m more beautiful every single day and that I feel more perfect on his skin each time he touches me. He makes me blush, especially since I can tell he really means the sweet things he says.
“I just wish I could find someone with a little extra room among her five bedrooms that might be coaxed into renting me some space,” he says.
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help but smile. I haven’t said yes, but if things keep going like they’re going, I will say it when the time comes.
Fritz shakes his head like he doesn’t approve, but I can see that he does.
He knows about love.
We have just enough room to fit everything on the table and everybody around it. My father would be proud to see us all here. He’d be tickled pink to know how well his meddling worked out.
“I’d like to make a toast,” I say.
I raise my glass, and so does everybody else.
“To Claude Pershing.”
Fritz and Victor lean into each other. Aunt Betty wipes the corners of her eyes with a napkin. I pretend not to hear my grandma whisper, “Is he the host of Merry’s new show?” before we clink our glasses together and Fritz repeats:
“To Claude Pershing.”
I close my eyes and savor my sip. I am so darn grateful, for everything.
“I’d like to make a toast, too,” Jack says, standing up. “To Fritz and Victor. May you grow old together.”
We all touch glasses and drink our toasts: “To Fritz and Victor.”
Fritz stands at his place at the head of the table. He gazes around at each of us and clears his throat like he’s going to make a very long and formal speech. I look at the lasagna and bite my lip, wondering how long it will stay hot.
“Alrighty then,” he says in a truly awful impression of my accent. “Y’all need to join me in a toast to our purdy little host and chef.” He raises his glass high: “To Merry!”
“To Merry!” Glasses clink together.
I smack Fritz lightly and lean over to kiss him on the cheek when he sits back down. Victor laughs and picks up a serving spoon. “Can we begin?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Help yourself!”
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