It's not just the dress that makes her beautiful. It's her. She has such a glow about her today. She had it at our first wedding as well. But today it's back and even brighter than before, because now she's with her family and some of her friends. And in less than an hour, everyone will know her as Rachel Kensington. We'll no longer have to pretend. I think I'm glowing a little too because of that. I'm so proud to call her my wife, and soon I'll finally be able to do that.
"Pearce." She gives me a loose hug, not wanting to mess up her dress or her hair. Her hair is up and fitted with the veil.
"Your father said you wanted to see me."
"Yes." She steps aside, and when I go in the room I see all her bridesmaids there. They smile at me as they get up and leave. At least Rachel was allowed to pick her bridesmaids. I was allowed to pick my groomsmen, but I didn't really have anyone to pick. I'm not close friends with anyone and I haven't stayed in touch with my college friends. So Royce ended up as my best man and the remaining groomsmen are other men my age from the organization. I know all of them and went to high school with a couple of them but we aren't really friends.
"I'm nervous," Rachel says once the girls are gone. "Did you see how many people are out there?"
I hold her hands. "You'll do fine. You just have to repeat what the minister says, then say 'I do.' It's as simple as that. Just ignore all those people."
She smiles and squeezes my hand. "Soon I'll be your wife."
"You already are my wife."
"But now everyone will call me that. Maybe they'll accept me now."
"Rachel, don't worry about them. Those people aren't your friends and they never will be. You're far too good for them."
She gazes at me with those bright blue eyes. "I love you."
"I love you too." I lean down and softly kiss her. "Now are you ready to do this?"
"Maybe one more kiss for good luck?"
I kiss her again.
"Okay," she whispers over my lips. "Now I'm ready."
I go around her to the door, but stop when I see an envelope lying on the small table in front of the mirror where the girls were doing their makeup. The envelope is the size of a greeting card, but it hasn't been opened.
"Is this from your parents?" I ask.
She turns around. "No. They put their card with all the other ones. Where did you find that?"
"It was on this table, but it only has your name on it, not mine."
"Go ahead and open it. I need to put my shoes on." She sits down on one of the chairs and reaches for her shoes.
I open the envelope, but instead of a card being inside, there are three photos. The photos were taken the night of the banquet that was held after the Dunamis meeting in December. They show Shelby and me talking during the cocktail hour, then us walking down the hall, then going into the hotel room together. The photos are stamped on the back with the time and date of when they were taken.
My muscles tighten and I clench my hand into a fist as rage consumes me. Someone planted these photos here, hoping Rachel would see them and call off the wedding. It was obviously one of my fellow members, but which one? Who would do that? And how did they get access to this room?
"Pearce, I think I need my mom to help me with the shoes. I can't even find my feet with this dress on."
I shove the photos and the envelope in my pocket. "Yes, I'll go get her."
"Wait. Who was the card from?"
"It wasn't a card," I say, trying to sound calm, despite feeling like I want to go kill someone. "It was just a note from the church, telling you when services are, in case you want to attend sometime."
"Maybe we should."
I open the door and see both our mothers there.
"Rachel could use some help with her shoes," I say to Beth.
She walks in the room, but my mother stays at the door. "They need you to go line up."
My mother hasn't been in this room yet, so she couldn't have planted those photos. And I've had Jack keeping an eye on my father all day.
Who else could it be? I suppose anyone could've paid someone to drop off that envelope. I just don't know who did it, unless…
"Is Leland here?" I ask my mother.
"Of course he is. The whole Seymour family is here."
"Oh, Pearce," Rachel says. "I forgot to tell you that I saw Leland a couple weeks ago when I was out having lunch with Shelby."
I turn back to her. "Leland saw you and Shelby?"
"Yes. He came over and talked to us."
So he knows they're friends. Even more reason for him to share those photos. He knows it would be even worse if Rachel thought I was having an affair with her friend. And he's right. If Rachel saw those photos, I don't think she'd believe me when I told her there was nothing going on between Shelby and me. Not after the earring incident. Rachel knows I slept with Shelby and those photos would convince her that it's still going on.
"Was Leland with anyone else?" I ask her.
"He was with Katherine. They were looking at colleges."
"Pearce." My mother tugs on my arm. "You need to go."
"Yes. I'm going. Rachel, I'll see you out there."
I'm livid about those photos, but I have to shove my anger aside and focus on the ceremony. So for the next half hour, that's what I do. I focus on Rachel's beautiful face. Her radiant smile. Her voice as she says our vows.
The ceremony goes flawlessly. Neither one of us even stumbled on our vows. To the people watching, I'm sure it looked like the perfect wedding. I would've thought so too, if it weren't for those photos.
If Rachel had seen them, we wouldn't be standing here now, holding hands and facing our guests, as the minister says, "And now, for the very first time, I am pleased to introduce Pearce and Rachel Kensington. Pearce, you may kiss your bride."
I give her a kiss, then look in her eyes and whisper, "I love you."
"I love you too." Her whole face is beaming, even more so than before the wedding.
As I lead her down the aisle, Rachel is smiling the entire way. This may have been a fake wedding, but it's still a wedding and I can see how happy it's made her. Unlike our Vegas wedding, this one is in a beautiful setting and Rachel has her parents here.
When we get to the hotel ballroom where we're having the reception, Rachel stops for a moment, trying to take it all in. It really is incredible. It's a very large ballroom and there are flowers everywhere. We could smell them as soon as we walked in.
Rachel loves flowers, so this is perfect for her. There are flowers on the tables and in tall planters all around the room and along the perimeter of the dance floor. And tall green topiaries are scattered about, adorned with twinkling white lights.
"What do you think?" I ask her.
"It's absolutely beautiful. And the scent." She inhales it. "It smells just like a flower garden."
We're introduced again, then have our first dance to music played by a live orchestra. The reception continues with a cocktail hour, followed by dinner.
After dinner, I see Leland leaving the ballroom. I tell Rachel I need to use the restroom, then hurry to find him.
"Leland!" I say, stopping him.
He turns around. "Pearce." He shakes my hand. "Congratulations."
"Yes, unfortunately for you, your plan didn't work."
"What plan are you referring to?"
"Why did you do it?" I know why, but I want him to admit it.
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Have you been drinking?"
"The photos. The ones in her dressing room."
"What photos?"
"She said you saw her with Shelby."
He chuckles. "Yes, how ironic that your wife is close friends with one of our associates. Although I know her as Sophia. You've been with her, haven't you, Pearce?"
"So you admit it. You planted those photos, hoping it would end my relationship with Rachel."
His eyes narrow. "Your marriage will end on its own, without my help or anyone else's. You don't
belong with her, Pearce. Everyone knows it. Even you. I don't know if this is some attempt to get back at your father, or what your motives are, but this marriage will never last. You're a blue blood. She's white trash. So if—"
"Get out!" I try to keep my voice down because people keep going past us on their way to the restroom. "Leave. Now."
"I will leave when the rest of my family is ready to go." He walks around me, then stops. "I didn't give her any photos, which means someone else is trying to end this." He smirks. "Enjoy your evening."
I return to the ballroom and see Rachel talking with one of her bridesmaids.
Henry comes up next to me and puts his hand around my shoulder. "Well, son, how's it feel to be married?"
He's already calling me 'son.' I don't mind it, but my father would be furious if he heard Henry call me that.
"It feels good," I tell him.
"You didn't seem nervous up there at the altar."
"No, not at all. I don't think Rachel was either."
He smiles. "I know you two will have many wonderful years together. I better get back to my own bride. I promised her a dance."
As he walks off, I look over to the side and see my father watching me. I notice his tense stance, his body straight and rigid. He must've seen me with Henry. Or maybe my father is angry because the wedding went on as planned. I'm sure he was hoping it wouldn't. It makes me wonder if he's the one who planted those photos.
I make my way over to him. He's standing a few feet from the bar, a drink in his hand.
"Father," I say, standing in front of him. This is the first time I've spoken to him all day. We passed each other several times, both at the church and here at the reception, but he wouldn't acknowledge me.
"What do you want?" he says.
"You can't even give me a simple congratulations?"
"Congratulations for what? Disgracing our family? Tarnishing our family name? Embarrassing your mother and me? Destroying your future? Yes, Pearce, congratulations on all those things. You did a fine job tearing apart this family and everything we've worked for over the course of several generations."
"I did no such thing. Marrying Rachel has not harmed you or Mother in any way. In fact, this wedding is bringing publicity to the Kensington name. Good publicity. I'm guessing it even brought in new business to Kensington Chemical. Am I correct?"
He takes a drink instead of answering, which means I was right.
I remember why I came over and say, "Did you give her those photos?"
"What photos?" His eyes are on someone behind me.
I look back and see one of the waitresses. A very pretty woman with large breasts and long blond hair. She's half my father's age.
I turn back to him. "Did you give those photos to Rachel or not? Answer me."
"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, his eyes still on the waitress. "Why the hell would I give her photos? Photos of what?"
So it wasn't my father. If he'd planted those photos, he would've given me a smug grin. He would've been proud of what he'd done and even bragged about it. So if it wasn't Leland and it wasn't my father, then who the hell left those photos?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
24
PEARCE
"You were seen going into a bar with her father last week," my father says.
"You were spying on me?"
"Cecil Roth saw you. He was on his way to a meeting, and when his driver stopped at a light, Cecil saw you going into a bar. He said it was one of those places with all the TVs."
"It was a sports bar, where people go to watch games, so yes, they have several TVs."
"This is what I'm talking about. You continue to embarrass our family without any concern for how your actions affect your mother and me. You know better than to be seen at a place like that. If you want to drink, you do so at the country club, or in one of the other private clubs we belong to. Or you go to a decent restaurant and sit at the bar and discuss business with a colleague or a client. You do not go to a low-class watering hole with some idiot farmer and watch men toss a ball around on a giant screen while eating God-knows-what and drinking beer." He huffs. "It's a disgrace. A complete and utter disgrace."
He takes another drink.
"There was nothing wrong with that bar. And there is nothing wrong with watching basketball. Just because you don't like it, doesn't mean it's bad."
"So is this the effect that man has had on you? Turning you into someone like him? A beer-drinking, backwoods hick?" He raised his voice and the bartender looks over at us. I catch him staring and he looks away.
"Henry is not a hick. He may not have money or a college degree, but he's a good man. He's honest and a hard worker and a good father."
My father narrows his eyes. "What are you saying, Pearce?"
"Nothing. It's just a general statement."
"That man is NOT your father and you are NEVER to call him that."
"He is my father-in-law and what I call him is none of your business."
He steps closer, his eyes fixed on mine. "You have ONE father and that is ME, and only me. You will not fraternize with that man. You will not allow him to teach you things. And you will most definitely not call him your father."
"You cannot dictate my relationship with him. Beth and Henry are my family now."
"They are NOT your family. You are a Kensington. Your mother and I are your family. No one else!"
"Well, given that you and Mother disowned me, that's no longer true, now is it?"
His face tightens, his anger escalating. "This conversation is over. Your mother and I have put in enough time here. We're leaving. And we do not want to hear from you or the girl ever again. As far as we're concerned, you no longer exist."
He turns and walks off toward his table. I follow him.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"Saying goodbye to Mother."
He shakes his head and continues walking until he reaches the table. "Eleanor, we're leaving."
She was sipping her coffee but sets it down. "We're not leaving. I'm waiting for Cecil's wife to return from the powder room. We're discussing plans for the symphony fundraiser in May."
"You can discuss that with her later. Now get up. We're leaving."
"Holton. You have barely worked the room. Go talk to Cecil. He was looking for you earlier. He wanted to introduce you to someone who is interested in doing business with us."
My father storms off. He's only listening to her because she mentioned the company. She knows that's the only reason he'll stay here. There are a lot of important people in this room and my father should be talking to them rather than yelling at me.
"Mother, would you like to dance?" I told the wedding coordinators to skip the mother-son dance because I didn't think she'd do it, but it doesn't hurt to ask.
"Pearce, didn't you hear me? I'm waiting for Marienne to get back."
"I'm sure she won't mind if you dance with your son. It won't take long." I offer her my hand, but she doesn't take it. "Please, Mother. Just one dance."
She hesitates, but then scoots her chair back and takes my hand and we go over to the dance floor. The orchestra starts playing a waltz and I lead her around the floor alongside the guests, who all know the steps and move gracefully to the music. We've all been trained in ballroom dance, with instruction beginning at a young age.
"You look very nice tonight, Pearce."
"Thank you, Mother."
"The girl looks nice as well."
"I appreciate you saying that." I'd like my mother to use Rachel's name rather than always calling her 'the girl' but I don't want to push the issue. Not now. Not when my mother is actually being somewhat pleasant to me.
"So you're moving into the house soon?" she asks.
"Yes. Next week. I would love to have you come over sometime."
"You know that won't happen, Pearce."
"You don't have to bring Father. You can come over without him." I turn and step to the s
ide as we approach the edge of the dance floor, leading her back to the center.
"How is your job going?" she asks. "Do you like working for Jack?"
"Yes. Very much so. Jack is an excellent boss."
"Good. I've always liked Jack."
She smiled when she said his name. Does she still have a crush on him? He certainly has one on her. He's told me that many times. I wonder if Martha knows. Jack and Martha aren't faithful to each other, so maybe Martha wouldn't care, although I find that hard to believe.
I spot my father out of the corner of my eye. He's talking to someone but he keeps glancing over here.
"I see him," my mother says, referring to my father.
"He'll be angry that we're dancing."
"I am quite aware of that, Pearce, but your father can go to hell."
I'm so surprised by her words that I stop for a beat, then continue with the dance.
"Are you fighting with Father?"
"You know we don't fight. We disagree."
It's true. They never raise their voices, as most people do during a fight. Instead, they give each other the silent treatment, or they make snide remarks, or they do something they know will irritate the other person but then deny they had any ill intentions. The passive-aggressive approach has always been a favorite of theirs.
"What happened?" I ask.
Her eyes go behind me to where he's standing. "Your father came home last night with lipstick on his collar. The associates know better than to leave evidence like that, so it had to have been his secretary. She started just last week. A tall blonde. Younger than you." She looks away from him. "It's completely inappropriate."
My mother knows he cheats. She acts like she accepts it, but it clearly upsets her. I don't think she loves my father, but she does have some feelings for him. If she didn't, this wouldn't bother her.
"You'd think he'd have enough decency to change his shirt before he came home."
She's never talked about this with me in the past and I don't know why she's doing it now. Is it because she's so angry that she can no longer hold it in? She can't tell her friends about it. They'd never talk about such things, even though they all have cheating husbands. I guess that's why she feels the need to tell her son.
Keeping Her Page 26
