“Neil and I are going to drive to the coast today,” I said. “We’re going to elope.”
His eyes widened. “Oh.”
“We’ll be back Sunday. Neil has office hours Monday. I know it’s sudden—”
My father lifted a hand. “No, my Giulietta, you do not have to explain. I met your mother on the plane, coming to America. We argued for…most of the flight. At the end I knew that she was the one I wanted to marry, that we would have a beautiful life together. And we did. It was beautiful. I wish…I wish we’d had just a little more time, but I am being selfish. We had more good years than most. If you want to marry Neil, and you want to marry him today, go marry him.” He thought for a moment. “You left Gigi at the house?”
“Yes—”
“Good. I will make sure Alex takes her out.”
“You don’t mind that we’re running away together?”
He crossed his arms. “This is not the old country. If you think he is worthy, that is all that I need.”
“He is. Neil is”—I searched for words—“wonderful.”
“And he is coming to Provence then, yes?”
“Yes. I thought we could have a family ceremony at the chateau.”
“Oh, yes, yes, that will be very nice.” He looked me over. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“I have a dress I’ll pick up at the cleaner’s,” I answered. “I won’t get married in jeans. Promise.”
“Come,” he said, beckoning me to the back room.
I followed.
He opened the door to reveal a table full of flower arrangements for the evening’s tables. He pulled a white rose from a vase, dried the stem with a towel, and tucked it behind my ear.
“There you go. Be happy, cara.”
I picked clothes up from the dry cleaner on my way to Neil’s apartment. He met me downstairs, dressed in a charcoal-gray suit and overcoat, then kissed me before insisting on carrying my bag upstairs.
I shared about my conversation with my father while we rode the elevator. “He gives his blessing,” I said. “But reminded me I didn’t need it.”
Neil chuckled. “I look forward to getting to know him better. He sounds like a good man to know.”
“He is.”
Neil opened his apartment door for me, and I followed with my dry cleaning over my shoulder. The door closed, and he leaned in for a kiss. “Nervous? Second thoughts? We can just go out to lunch if you want to change plans.”
“Nope,” I said, weaving my fingers through his. “I’m good.”
“I e-mailed three churches and two chapels, and I found an officiant willing to marry us this afternoon, on the beach if we’d like. Unless you’d rather stick with the courthouse.”
“Nah, I can deal with the beach. You’re amazing.” I looked around the apartment, toward the kitchen. “Sorry to break the mood here—you got any food? Eloping makes me hungry.”
“I picked up some food from Elephants Deli,” he answered. “Someone told me it was good.”
“Someone?”
“Someone,” he echoed, and my heart flipped.
We ate together at his kitchen countertop, laughing and making plans. Butterflies filled my stomach, but not enough to dampen my appetite. After polishing off a slice of chocolate cake, Neil tidied the kitchen while I changed into my dress in the bedroom.
Made of soft ivory cashmere, it was easily one of the most luxurious items in my closet, as well as being the least worn. With its long sleeves and pencil skirt, it could have been conservative to the point of plain. But the neckline dipped in a becoming V, and it fit me like a glove.
Because it was December and cold, I wore a cardigan sweater over it in a muted, leaf-green wool. Brown boots kept my legs warm.
I felt pretty.
I thought back to the plans I’d had when I was younger, plans for a giant dress and a church full of people. But as I heard the clink of dishes being washed and put away by the man I loved, I knew that the list of things I wanted had shrunk.
The big wedding? Didn’t even make the cut. But the man in the kitchen? I’d go anywhere for him.
Neil stilled when I reentered the living room, taking in the sight of me. “I don’t care that it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” he said. “You look beautiful. I hope you don’t mind if I did a little shopping this morning.” He reached into the pocket of his blazer, pulling out a velvet ring box.
He opened it with a smooth motion, lifting it as he did so.
The ring inside glistened in the winter light. “I don’t know if it fits,” he said. “And if it doesn’t, we’ll have it sized correctly. And if you don’t like it—”
“I love it,” I said. “Of course I love it. It’s beautiful.”
Neil slipped it from the box and reached for my hand. The platinum band slid past my knuckles with just enough ease, the filigree work setting off the center diamond.
I beamed up at him. “It’s perfect. I have to be honest: I don’t have a ring for you.”
“I picked one up for myself. Promise you like it?”
“Promise,” I said, tugging on the lapels of his jacket as I gave him yet another kiss. “Now let’s go get married.”
The sky poured buckets during the drive to Astoria—the coastal town home to the Clatsop County clerk’s office, though best known for being the film location for the ’80s classic The Goonies. We ran, laughing, into the courthouse, navigating the halls until we found the marriage-licensing department.
The clerk handed us the paperwork and reminded us about the three-day waiting period.
Neil and I exchanged glances.
“There is a waiting period,” the clerk repeated dryly. “Something has to set us apart from Nevada.”
“Other than sales tax?” I quipped.
“What does it take to waive the waiting period?” Neil asked.
“Fifteen dollars and approval from a judge or the clerk.”
Neil fished an extra fifteen dollars from his wallet. “We’ve got an appointment with an officiant at three,” he said.
“Can you verify that?”
Neil pulled out his phone and showed the clerk the e-mail.
She gave us a once over. “Well, you both look sober.”
We nodded.
She reached for the form and scrawled a signature on the bottom. “There you go, you two crazy kids. Go get married.”
Neil and I married on the beach, under a giant umbrella that threatened to turn inside out at any moment. Our witnesses included the chapel secretary, Delores, and the janitor, Sam.
Delores held my a bouquet, calla lilies I’d spotted in a vase outside of the florist’s shop on the way to the chapel. Sam snapped pictures with my phone. Neil and I stood, our hands clasped together, our noses—rather cold noses—nearly touching as we repeated the vows.
Under the umbrella, which protected us from a fine, misting rain, it felt like a private world. Just Neil and me together, on the beach, making vows.
We slipped the rings onto our fingers, and Reverend Tavish declared us man and wife.
That was it. We belonged to each other.
And then Neil kissed me, and all I knew was him.
Afterward, we trudged back through the damp sand to the chapel, thanking Reverend Tavish, Delores, and Sam heartily. I promised them each a free meal at Two Blue Doors when they next came through Portland.
We climbed back into Neil’s car; Neil turned to me. “What next?”
My cheeks burned. “I think—I think we should find cake.”
“Let’s find cake,” he said, starting the engine. “Cake and coffee.”
We warmed up at a cozy café, snuggling on a couch together with cups of coffee and cupcakes on saucers.
“We can look up hotels on our phones,” Neil suggested. “Unless you’d rather go back to Portland.”
“We ran off to the beach,” I said, threading my arm around his. “Let’s stay a little longer. We’ll have to go back to the
real world soon enough—let’s take today for ourselves.”
So we did.
~ WEDDING CUPCAKES FOR TWO ~
For the cupcakes:
1 egg white
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 drops orange oil
2 tablespoons butter, melted and cooled
¼ cup flour
¼ teaspoon baking powder
Pinch salt
1½ tablespoons milk
For the frosting:
2 tablespoons butter, softened
½ cup powdered sugar
1–2 teaspoons milk
¼ teaspoon vanilla
½ teaspoon orange-blossom water
Edible flowers, for garnish
Preheat oven to 350°F. Line a six-cup muffin tin with two liners, and fill the remaining cups with water.
In a medium bowl, whisk together the egg white and sugar. Stir in vanilla, orange oil, and melted butter. Add the flour, baking powder, and salt, whisking until smooth. Pour in milk, and mix until just incorporated.
Carefully pour the batter into the cupcake liners. Bake the cakes for 12–15 minutes, or until the cakes have risen and turned gently golden. Cool on a wire rack.
In a small bowl, stir together all of the frosting ingredients. Add more milk if it feels too thick. Spoon into a plastic bag—a pastry bag or sandwich bag, both will do the job—and cut ½ inch off one corner. Pipe the buttercream onto the cooled cupcakes, and top with the edible flowers. If edible flowers aren’t your thing, try candied orange peel or candied ginger.
We should look for someone to eat and drink with before looking for something to eat and drink.
—EPICURUS
I woke up Saturday morning to find a man staring at me.
“Hi,” I rasped, my mouth dry. Dry, because I’d been drooling on the hotel pillow. “How long have you been looking at me?”
Neil’s eyes twinkled. “A while.”
I wrinkled my nose. “My mouth tastes disgusting.” I sat up. “You know, I always thought I’d wake up on my honeymoon and jump out of bed and brush my teeth and my husband would never notice, and apparently those dreams are for nothing because…I think I married a morning person.”
Neil laughed and pressed a kiss to my lips. “Good morning, wife.”
I climbed out of bed. “I’m brushing my teeth and drinking a glass of water before I kiss you back.” I used the bathroom and loaded up my toothbrush, scrubbing my mouth thoroughly before returning to the warmth of the bed. I returned Neil’s kiss and leaned back, studying his face. “So,” I said. “We’re married.”
“We are. Any regrets?”
I thought for a moment. “Nope. I’m good,” I answered, before flopping back on the pillow. “It’s the ‘going back home’ I’m not quite sure about.”
“No?”
“Because right now, it’s just us, and I like that. Pretty soon it’s going to be more than us. And the pop-up is opening…”
“Come on, you’re excited about that.”
“I am.” I leveled a steady gaze at my husband. “We rather hit the ground running, didn’t we?”
“We did. Do you wish we’d waited? Gotten married and taken a private honeymoon?”
I didn’t even have to think it over. “I’m with you right now,” I said. “That’s all I need.”
I considered phone calls, considered e-mails—briefly mulled the merits of a skywriter—but in the end decided to tell each of my siblings in the order of their birth.
Alex hugged me, told me he’d wondered if something was up when I’d left Gigi behind on a mysterious trip.
Sophie attempted to give me her version of “the talk.”
Caterina squealed over the phone before she started laughing and crying at the same time; Damian joined her on the phone when she started choking on happy sobs.
Nico nodded in approval. “Good for you,” he said as we stood together in the quiet dining room that would host Two Blue Doors. “I’m glad. Really. I just hate to lose you.” He took a deep breath. “Brother me is happy. Coworker me is sad to see you go.”
“I get it,” I said, hugging him even as my phone buzzed.
He nodded toward the phone. “Did you tell Caterina?”
“Yes,” I answered before explaining my birth-order rollout of information. Another buzz. “She’s still texting me about it, though.”
“Call her back soon,” he said. “The boys have been sick, so the wedding’s a nice break from that.”
“That’s true. How are things here?” I asked, my gaze drifting from the dining room to the kitchen.
“Good. We’ve got our ingredients, the D’Alisa dishes are coming out quickly and tasting, if I might say so, better than they do downstairs. We’re ready to open. Again.”
I nodded. “We’re going to pull this off, aren’t we?”
“Looks like it. How’s the retention rate for the reservations?”
“About eighty percent. I invited Linn and Marti from the newspaper, and Frank is bringing guests. The second seating looks like we’re at seventy percent, so really I think we’re in good shape.”
He put his hands on his hips. “When are you and Neil leaving?”
“After Montagnac,” I answered. “It’ll be a wedding trip of sorts and then Atlanta from there.”
“Atlanta.”
“Atlanta,” I repeated, drawing out the syllables. “For better or for worse. We’re road-testing that part of the vows first.”
“You know I’ll miss you, right? Both brother me and coworker me will miss you.”
I gave him a soft jab with my elbow. “You old softie.”
My phone buzzed again.
“Call Caterina back,” Nico said. “It’s the humane thing to do.”
The last buzz turned out to be an e-mail from Sandrine, rather than Caterina. I dialed Sandrine back, gazing out the window while the phone dialed.
“Allô?” Sandrine’s voice came through the speaker.
“Allô! C’est moi, Juliette,” I said.
“Ah, Juliette!” She switched to English. “Did you see my e-mail?”
“I did, that’s partly why I called. I wanted to tell you that we’re absolutely planning on coming to Montagnac, and also that Neil will be coming too. We eloped yesterday, Neil and I.”
“Merveilleux! That is wonderful news. I could cry, that is so happy! And so romantic.”
I could hear her husband Auguste in the background, asking what the commotion was all about, and listened as she explained and Auguste gave a whoop of joy.
“So the trip,” I explained when she returned, “it’ll be something of a wedding trip.”
“You’ll have a wedding here?”
“No, it’s more like a honeymoon.”
“But you eloped, you had no ceremony. You should have a ceremony here at the chateau, Juliette. We will find you a dress and bring the prêtre and it will be beautiful.”
“Oh yes, that would be very beautiful. I will talk to Neil about it.”
“Oui, you talk and I shall plan.”
“Okay,” I said. Yes, there was a lot being lost in translation. But Sandrine had nursed my mother for a month. If she wanted me to spend the trip walking on my hands, I’d do my best to accommodate her.
We said our good-byes and I called Caterina next.
“I think I’m having a wedding ceremony in Provence,” I said.
“What?”
“Wedding ceremony. Me. Neil. Chateau. And a French-speaking priest that Neil won’t understand.”
“Sweet mother of dragons, that sounds amazing. I love it. You eloped and a ceremony is loping after you.”
“That is a terrible joke,” I said dryly.
“I laughed. But seriously, so pretty. The boys will be ring bearers. And a good excuse to get everyone together, that’s the whole point of a wedding, anyway. We can see if the Italy family could come. I’d love to see Nonno.”
“And it’s Sandrine
,” I said. “I’d have to be a monster to tell her no, I won’t have a wedding ceremony in a pretty dress at her gorgeous chateau.”
“There are first-world problems,” Caterina said, “and there are ‘just get ahold of yourself’ problems. I’m thinking that’s the latter.”
I laughed. “You’re right, per usual.”
“You’re so sweet.” She took a breath. “I just can’t believe the two of you eloped. That’s just crazy and perfect, all at the same time.”
“It is,” I agreed. “I’m moving some things into his place later today.”
“You are only going to be one hour’s time difference from me.” She gave a happy sigh. “I can’t wait.”
“It’ll be nice,” I said.
If I were honest with myself, I was glad to have her closer in some way. Atlanta felt very far away, I wouldn’t have a job immediately, and Neil would be away at work.
I took a bracing breath and straightened my back.
“I should get back to things. We’ll talk more later,” I promised. “I’ll let you know how the opening goes Wednesday.”
“You’ve got this,” she said. “You’re a pro.”
“Thanks,” I said with a grin. I hung up and started down the stairs, but my foot stilled on the stair when I saw Adrian.
“Hi,” I said.
“I hear congratulations are in order. Sorry—nix that. Best wishes. That’s what you say to the bride, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, still frozen in place.
What was I supposed to say? Adrian asked me to marry him and I fled for Chicago. Neil? I married the man within twenty-four hours.
Awkward, to say the least.
“It’s— Neil and I are right together,” I tried again. “I hope you find that.”
“Is he going to put you first?” Adrian asked without blinking. “You’re leaving for, what, Atlanta, aren’t you?”
My heart raced. “He puts us first,” I said. “I was the one who insisted on going with him to Atlanta.”
Together at the Table Page 20
