Family Trust

by Amanda Brown

  When Becca peeked into the playroom, Emily directed her at once to remove her shoes. By the serious look on her face, Becca knew she was deeply involved in pretending something, and so she consented at once, kicking her Jimmy Choos into the corner.

  “They’ll scratch the deck,” Emily declared, sliding to Becca in her sock feet.

  Edward’s heart lifted with pleasure. He was grateful to see her, as a child playing with porcelain dolls would be at the sudden, skidding entrance of a squirming puppy. Becca always called out for Emily first, laughing as she greeted her child with hugs and kisses. Edward watched her lift Emily in the air with pleasure. Then, when she turned her shining eyes and her smile upon him, her laugh ringing in his ears, her sincere joy at hugging her little Emily…Edward turned his eyes to the floor.

  He found himself wondering about her speed dating. Somehow it did not strike him as quite so funny, when he thought about it. He felt protective of Becca. He felt ashamed to have invaded her privacy. But when he watched her laughing with Emily, her eyes bright and confident, Edward felt himself relax. He sighed, smiling too. It was such a relief to be together again.

  “Aye, aye, captain.” Becca said, saluting Emily as she put her down. Emily giggled, fixing her captain’s hat on her head before sliding back to the wooden boat.

  “We’re playing duck the boom!” she announced to Becca.

  Edward had removed the curtain rod from Emily’s puppet stage to swing it over Emily’s head, making much of the danger of “the boom” as Emily hit the deck with happy shrieks. Becca watched them play, noticing Edward held the curtain rod firmly, well over Emily’s head, without apparent exertion even while he kept it still in the air. She smiled at him, admiring both his strength and the imaginative games he played, which Emily loved.

  She had come to tell them she was going away, and seeing them together so happily helped her to let them go. Emily would be okay, she told herself, with Edward. He was a natural, as Arlene would say. Her plan was to use the rest of her two months to adjust. Maybe she’d take a trip. Paris was beautiful this time of year. She had standing invitations to visit colleagues who had second homes in Monaco, St. Tropez, St. Lucia—many places. Becca did not make many friends, spending all her time and energy advancing. Her associates and clients had filled this need.

  But not anymore. Becca felt that the whole world and every day forever—for the rest of her life—would lack color. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like a week from now—four days. This time in her life had altered her. She would have to learn to understand the new Becca. To say the least, it was a challenge.

  “Did you have a good event, the other night?” Edward asked her. His smile was devilish, without being unkind, and he brought her back from her reverie.

  Becca laughed. “Sure,” she said. She tossed her head defiantly, taking a bold attitude. “You bet, Eddie. It was a dream come true.”

  “Anyone interesting?” he persisted, watching her steadily. When she got defiant like this she’d toss her head so hard that her hair would fan out like one of those shampoo commercials. How he would miss it—how he would miss her—

  “For sure! Top men, Eddie,” she said, cracking a smile as she met his stare. “Really top men. A mortician, even. And an optometrist. Very diverse crowd of professionals. Have you ever met a specialist in grocery shelf arrangement strategies?”

  “Not that I remember,” he said, looking at her warmly. She could laugh at herself.

  “Turns out an inch of shelf space made free by ten degrees of product rotation can save you millions!” She laughed out loud, enjoying the release of talking about the horrific experience. “I met eight men in just under sixty minutes,” she bragged.

  “I admire your efficiency,” he said.

  She flashed him a cheeky smile. “I’m a quick one,” she told him, brushing an errant strand of hair from her eyes. She looked at him for a minute, then spoke more quietly. “Eddie,” she said, “I need to talk to you about something.”

  He stepped toward her abruptly. “Alone?” His eyes were hopeful.

  “No,” she replied, glancing at Emily. “Here is fine.”

  He sat down, and Becca told him about the strange call she had gotten on her cell this morning. Alex McKenzie, an old buddy from her early days in the technology group at Morgan Stanley, was getting married over the weekend. She had been invited ages ago, and as usual had declined with a gift. But something had happened during the week to one of the bridesmaids—she didn’t quite get it. His bride had no one else. Her friend needed a sub, so he called Becca.

  “To fill in as a bridesmaid?” Edward asked her. Things were happening to them so quickly, he wanted to make sure she wasn’t filling in as her friend’s bride.

  “Yes,” said Becca. “Strange but true. Having twelve bridesmaids seemed to be a big deal to his fiancée. She’s got consultants in on it.”

  Edward nodded without speaking. Being up against female insistence in the matter of a wedding was one thing, but when consultants were involved, a guy didn’t have a chance. He saw the desperation of the groom’s position. In fact, he saw it better than Becca did.

  Though she didn’t understand what made her buddy Alex tick, she was eager to accept his invitation, just to get away. The “destination wedding” was in Rio de Janeiro. To Becca, the promise of a week away right now was a godsend. She had told him she’d be on the next flight.

  “Popular weekend to tie the knot,” she observed, glancing at him.

  “I guess so.” He shrugged, avoiding her eyes. Then, to Emily: “Duck the boom!” With a great burst of energy, alarming in its sudden force, he swung the curtain rod over her head. She squealed and hit the deck.

  “I got the sail!” she announced, catching the velvet cloth in her little fists.

  Edward allowed the sail to fall gently over her, and Emily, laughing, jumped out from under it. “Again! Again!” she pleaded. Edward, nodding to her, turned back to Becca.

  “So you’re going to be in his wedding?”

  “I had no other plans,” she returned evenly.

  He looked at the floor. He was guilty.

  “I know,” he said, shifting his feet, preparing to say something.

  “The thing is,” she interrupted him quickly, “I have to go today. It’s in Rio.”

  “As in Brazil?”

  She smiled at him, nodding. “You’re a real Magellan.”

  “You’re going today?” His eyes clouded with pain.

  “I’d like to,” she said, turning a long glance to Emily. She sighed and walked slowly toward her, avoiding Edward’s eye, and then kissed her good-bye, wondering if she would see her again before they met in court.

  He nodded without speaking.

  Emily closed her eyes to give Becca a hug.

  “What’s going on?” Emily asked, opening her eyes to look from one to the other. “Everybody’s so quiet!”

  “Nothing,” Becca said quickly. “I’m going on a little trip, Em, to a different country, Brazil. I hear the women wear big pretty dresses and flowers in their hair.”

  Emily’s eyes were wide. “Can I come?”

  “I’ll bring you back a present,” Becca answered, turning for the door.

  Emily clapped her hands. She remembered something, and tugged at the leg of Edward’s pants.

  “You said we could play hide the hat.”

  Edward nodded, rubbing her head. He heard Becca walking down the hall.

  “Bye, guys,” she called from the hall. “I’ll have my phone.”

  Emily had already closed her eyes and was counting to twenty.

  Edward tossed the hat under a seat in the boat and walked quickly across the room.

  “This time, Em,” he called behind him, “try to find it without clues. Okay? Special prize if you find it all by yourself.”

  “Okay,” she said, peeking between her fingers. She saw Edward walking away, skipped straight from number eleven to twenty, and began to rifle behi
nd the curtains, which was where she found it last time.

  Edward hurried after Becca, and caught her at the door.

  She smiled at him. “Okay,” she said, pulling her bag up to her shoulder. “I’ll be back on Sunday or Monday, depending how things go.”

  He looked straight into her eyes. They both knew he would be married by then.

  “I’d walk you to the cab,” he said, but nodded toward Emily’s room, to explain that he could not.

  “Of course,” said Becca. She lingered at the door. Despite the surprise of hearing from her friend, just when she was considering a vacation alone, despite a dissolute few days in the tropical heat of Rio, in which she could forget these weeks with Edward and refresh herself to move ahead, despite it all, she lingered there, smiling at him.

  He moved to take her hand, which he held firmly.

  “Be safe,” he cautioned, staring into her eyes.

  Before she could answer, he had leaned forward to kiss her. His arms circled her with sudden strength. He ran his hands up and down her back, luxurious and smooth, tangling his fingers in her free, black hair, kissing her deeply and rejoicing as he felt her welcoming him. Edward’s heart beat as he felt her arms wrap around his shoulders. He heard her bags drop to the floor. He caressed her neck, her head, her back, feeling her soft mouth press against his. He pulled her tightly to him. He wanted her to stay.

  Becca opened her eyes, and she saw that his were open. Her eyes were wet and shining.

  They stared at each other without speaking.

  Becca broke the silence. “I should go,” she whispered, looking away to avoid his eyes, which were burning with the strength of his passion for her. There was no place in the world she wanted to be more than here, more than with him, and it took all her will not to step forward again, and simply lay her head against his chest, listening to his heart.

  Edward turned her face to him. She felt the warm palms of his hands cupped under her chin, his fingers resting gently against her neck, gently holding her cheeks. It was how he held Emily, she thought, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Becca, can you stay?” His voice was firm, and he stared intensely at her, waiting.

  She took a deep breath, collecting herself. Her eye caught the curl of his golden hair on his oxford shirt collar, the half inch of collar that always showed above his jacket. It was frayed, a bit, at the top, from starch. His shirts were always starched. Edward’s life was different, would always be different than hers. She had to go.

  “Your collar is a little frayed, Eddie,” she said, rubbing her hand gently behind his neck. “You’d better clean that up before your big weekend.”

  His eyes turned to the floor in discouragement. He watched her hands reach down to collect her bags. He watched her feet turn from toe to heel. She was leaving.

  “Becca—” he began, raising his eyes to meet hers.

  She looked away, crying. “I have to go,” she said, and he stood silently. He watched her walk away, hurrying as she headed down the hall. She was crying. Her beautiful shoulders shook as she waited for the elevator. He stood silently, watching her back. She did not turn to look at him again.

  The elevator door closed behind her.

  Emily had stolen close to him like a mouse. She began to cry.

  Edward turned with a start.

  “Why did she leave?” she asked him through her sobs.

  He smiled gently, with pity for the child who shared his emotion. He held her, rubbing her back, making no answer because he had none.

  “How long have you been standing here?” he asked her finally, kneeling down before the child, who had calmed in his arms and stood pouting, catching her breath.

  “Long enough to see you kiss,” said Emily, giggling into his shoulder.

  “You did?” he asked. His cheeks turned red.

  “You kissed for a long time,” Emily added.

  “We did?”

  She nodded, with wide eyes. He smiled.

  “I guess we did.” Edward closed his eyes, trying to relive the moment. But holding her, finally kissing her, had answered all his questions and at the same time, spoiled whatever happiness or even contentment he might have found with Bunny, because when he kissed Becca all the restless pieces inside him that no one knew about came together and he knew what it meant to need, love, desire forever. What was he going to do?

  “So why is she going away?”

  Edward swallowed hard. “She has to, I guess.” He took a deep breath. “Come on, Em,” he offered, standing. “We’re going to take a trip to the country.”

  He lifted her, and she dropped her head on his shoulder. She was not altogether consoled.

  “I wish Becca were here,” she pouted.

  Edward nodded, rubbing her head. “We can’t always get what we want, Em.”

  She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. A general prohibition was never enough to satisfy Emily’s thirst for understanding.

  “Why not this time?”

  He smiled, carrying her to her room to pack her suitcases.

  “You’ll see, Em. You’ll see when you grow up.” But as he spoke, he wondered the same thing.

  CHAPTER 28

  A Peacock to Do Your Wedding

  In Adrian’s fifteen years of business as a consultant in the highly competitive wedding industry, he had never met anyone like Bunny Stirrup. He was actually thankful to Rosita Naranja for the Five Days of Olé, as her destination wedding in Brazil had been tagged. He felt the need to put an actual physical distance between himself and his most demanding client. His poor assistant, Jo-Jo, would earn his stripes this weekend at Bunny’s wedding, Adrian reflected, reclining comfortably in his first class seat. It was an event he would put in the category of a funeral for the groom.

  He declined the offer of another vodka tonic, feeling a pleasant hum from his first drink, or perhaps simply from the relief of escaping his bionic client, who ate, drank, and slept with images of her own glory impossible for even him to provide in her sprint to the altar.

  Compared to Bunny, even the parties he arranged for the sultan of Brunei were a breeze. Before he went on vacation he had organized twenty-five black limos to transport the sultan’s wives and daughters to the private discotheque they had rented for a party. One sultana per car. But the sultan’s challenges were merely logistical in nature, putting Adrian basically in the shoes of an air traffic controller. Bunny was impossible, to the marrow of her bones.

  It wasn’t just her constant demands: That was old hat for Adrian. During wedding season he whittled his sleep down to four hours, which was enough to revive his typical demeanor, that of a happy frog. He expected to take calls and make decisions at any time except his sleeping hours, which he scheduled between six and ten in the mornings, when most of his clients were sleeping or dressing for brunch.

  Adrian could hardly believe it himself, but he had come to loathe Bunny Stirrup, privately crossing the line he always drew between himself and his clients, whom he regarded, more or less, as cartoons. Bunny was simply in a different zone of selfishness, ego, and manipulation than anyone else he had known. He had watched the gracious smile she turned on her cowering bridesmaids, dazzling them with her perfection while she salted the wounds of their insecure hearts by prying, with cutting faux innocence, into the progress of their love lives. She dug her heels into the kittens she called her friends with a joy he could only call vicious. Bunny made the poorer girls beholden to her, dangling custom-made black pearl necklaces for them to keep as if pearls were nothing but pebbles to her, in all her extravagant graciousness. The next afternoon she would leave them surprised by the responsibility to pay their own lunch tabs at the Colony Club, simply to remind them that she had the royal prerogative: She could extend opulence, but she could withdraw it at whim.

  He saw that Bunny counted Edward as less than nothing in this process, and he saw the mere mention of this same Edward made her friends quiver with longing to their paraffin-waxed kne
es. And the callous way she treated the poor child, Emily, would have violated the dignity of a turtle.

  Adrian guessed it all must wash under the arching bridge of Bunny’s beauty. But how could Edward submit to this fate? He supposed that love, in this case, was not blind but rather the opposite, a case of too-vivid sight blocking the effectiveness of reason.

  In this manner, Adrian put himself to sleep until the touchdown in Rio. Refreshed by his catnap, the irrepressible bubble bobbed up from his seat, and floated away to begin working his magic.

  He could thank Bunny for one thing, he thought, hailing a cab in his travel-book Portuguese. She had trained him hard. He could manage the remaining Day of Olé with his eyes closed. The mishap with Linda Libra, the bridesmaid gored by a bull on Tango Thursday, was an unfortunate setback, but the groom had actually secured a substitute whom he promised was en route. Adrian couldn’t believe that Rosita Naranja had a thirteenth friend, but Alex promised him that someone named Becca Reinhart would meet him today for a little nip and tuck session to get Linda’s dress hanging on her right.

  Everybody was so drunk, asserted Alex with pride, that he didn’t believe anyone would care about the slight change in cast. Adrian felt especially thankful to this emergency substitute bridesmaid for filling in at the last moment. He really should have arrived earlier to keep an eye on the olés for all five days. Bunny had kept him too long.

  After showering and changing his clothes at the hotel, the eagle-eyed, feather-collared wedding coordinator headed to the Naranja ranch to oversee the dressing of the bridesmaids. He sought first a minute to coordinate with Haze Oolong, a South Beach fashion photographer who had flown in yesterday to shoot the wedding event.

  When Adrian entered, Haze was losing a valiant struggle against yards of frothy orange fabric, trying to get a swarm of gigantic bridesmaids’ dresses to “hang right” for his picture. The bride had designed the dresses to imitate tutus, only on a much larger scale. Each was appliqued with beaded tangerines, and the overall collision of sparkle and crunch in the fabric was absolutely overwhelming.