Authors: Meredith Greene
“Do you, Michelle, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband, with all that you are and all that you have, to love and honor him, in the name of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit?”
“I do,” Michelle said; her soft voice brought William from his trance-like state. The uniformed minister was asking him a long, very familiar sentence; as it ended, the colonel looked at William.
“I do,” he said, smiling down at Michelle. A look of pure delight shone out her eyes right back up at William.
“Then by the power vested in me by God...” The colonel said, grandly, “...and the State of New York, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may...”
William did not need an invitation; he covered Michelle’s smiling mouth with his. He did not hear the Gregorys stand up and cheer, or the general clapping that ensued; he did, however, feel Michelle’s soft arms encircle his neck and her lips as she kissed him back. Michelle was proud of herself for not crying; there were so many emotions swirling around her head and heart she felt her chest would burst. William stood there across from her, holding her hand as if it were a delicate thing, looking at her as if he didn’t really believe she was there.
“It must be the dress...”
she thought, smiling. As the minister said the last words, she saw a victorious look enter William’s eyes. He didn’t wait for the man to finish the last line, but he didn’t need to. They were man and wife William was finally hers and she was, undoubtedly, his.
A camera flash filled the air; Mr. Torville smiled through the lens at the happy couple in front of him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
As soon as the servers moved the chairs, the reception embarked onto a small voyage of food, conversation and merriment. The staff set up round tables with white cloths on them along two sides of the room; three candles adorned each one and they twinkled pleasantly, like far-off harbor lights beckoning to weary seafarers. Laurel hastily doled out place cards while servers brought drinks to the guests. The musicians played on, filling the room with Michelle’s favorite piece of music, the first two movements of Beethoven’s ‘Pastoral’.
William did not let go of his bride’s hand nor did his blue eyes often leave her face. Even though he knew they would be married on this day, the groom still felt a little overwhelmed by his good fortune. Not mention being more than a little enamored with his bride and her appearance. Michelle stood like slender, living statue, casting her radiant smile upon all; she gave William shy glances and blushed prettily under his admiring gaze.
“She’s finally mine,”
William thought. He repeatedly brought Michelle’s delicate fingers up to his lips, attempting to impart to his bride just a hint of their newly-validated bond. The scent of the apple blossoms followed them around the room as they personally greeted each guest. Several times, William shook his head at the wondrous coincidence of Michelle’s bouquet and his own, long-cherished dream of them picnicking in an orchard.
Michelle introduced her husband to a middle-aged couple; the man, Samuel, turned out to be a security guard here, at the hotel. His wife Mabel gave Michelle a motherly hug and wiped tears away.
“Don’t you look like the prettiest bride I ever saw...” she said, beaming. Michelle smiled fondly at her.
“Mabel and Samuel gave me the ticket to the Monet showing,” she informed William, with shining eyes. At this William shook hands warmly with Samuel and kissed Mabel’s hand.
“Then, I am indebted to you both,” he said, sincerely. “I had been looking for Michelle without any success; I saw her at the gallery that night... and, well, the rest is history.” Samuel nodded his bald head several times.
“Glad to be of service, young man,” he said, as he’d engineered the entire plan himself. “You both put on quite a party.” The hall doors opened, letting in a line of catering staff laden with trays; faint hints of good smells floating on the air. “And I do smell meat...” Samuel finished, looked over at his wife, with a coaxing grin. She smiled, with a little shrug.
“I suppose your doctors won't mind the diet going on hold, for a day,” she acquiesced. “It does smell good, if I say so myself.”
“Hot dog!” Samuel said, smiling and smacking his palms together.
William and Michelle shook hands with each family member before meandering over to the tables; warm congratulations and well wishes floated around the room like a thick, benevolent mist. The bride and groom found their seats, next to Margaret and Oscar, Alfred, and Sophie D’Angelo. Sophie was overwhelmed with the beauty of the wedding, but more so her son’s new found adoration of a sweet-looking young woman with blond curls; Laurel and Luca sat at the next table, their heads close together, with secret smiles traveling back and forth between them. Margaret and Sophie talked in hushed, happy tones, looking first at William and Michelle then over at Luca and Laurel.
“They are betting on who will have babies first,” William whispered to his bride. Michelle's face turned scarlet; she was glad lunch was being served. The looks William constantly favored her with were laden with a manifest passion, and such growing in intensity. It seemed best to distract the man with food.
Michelle’s reception lunch menu seemed universally acceptable; it is difficult to go wrong with a great piece of wonderfully cooked beef, seasonal vegetables and crisp, flaky pastry. William was touched by the British flavor and the fresh, simple dishes. Alfred complimented the caterer several times and even Margret’s stuffy family ate well. The flavors of the braised artichokes and the olive-oil milled potatoes complimented each other beautifully; the more intelligent guests knew it was meant to represent the union they’d witnessed just a half hour earlier. Even the food was in harmony. The quartet took a break as well to eat; a simple Celtic instrumental melody played in the background over the room’s sound system.
Two servers slowly brought in an elegant, white cake after the last artichoke was consumed. The cake stood in six square layers of pure white icing, with a band of deep green icing at the base of each layer; here and there laid a real, white rose with deep-green leaves. Despite its uncomplicated appearance, the cake looked delicious. William helped his fair bride up from her seat; laughing a little, they stood over the cake, facing the guests and cut the first piece together.
They did not smash cake in each others' face, though Michelle accidentally got a little icing on William’s lip as she fed him a little piece; she wiped the icing off with her fingertip, looking up at him with a shy smile. William resisted capturing her finger and licking the icing off, since there were people present. It gave him a few ideas, though; he managed to convey these thoughts to Michelle via surreptitious winks. His bride managed not to blush, barely. A server took their place and sliced off pieces of the cake for the staff to hand out.
The bride and groom did not really feel like eating much; the majority of the lunch was spent looking at each other. Michelle sipped her sparkling cider, her hand in William’s; she kept her lovely bouquet next to her plate. William stopped at one glass of Merlot with the Wellington and a single flute of champagne with the cake. He wanted his mind very clear; it was already muddled enough with Michelle’s intoxicating presence. William honestly couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She sat so close to him he could smell the clean scent of her hair and faintly the flowers she carried. Michelle’s lovely gown did not seem too revealing, since she was a bride; William though it was unequivocally the most alluring thing she’d ever worn. One of the straps on her shoulder kept sliding off her smooth shoulder; when it did, Michelle discreetly slipped it back up into place. Each time she did so William grinned at her. Whether Michelle saw this silent communication mattered not; the groom perceived much from the blushes that appeared on her face.
After consuming his cake with frank appreciation, Oscar stood up and tapped his glass with a fork.
“Thank you all for coming. I want to publicly commend William for being a man of honor,” he began. “Not many guys today want a wife and a family before they’re 39.” A little bit of laughter rippled among the guests at this. Oscar continued on unabashedly. “But... William found a girl he didn’t want to be parted from, one who was worth waiting for and buying a ring for... a girl who said ‘yes’. May your love be honest and lasting. What God has put together, no man can put asunder. To William and Michelle... Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery!”
The names of the bride and groom were hailed repeatedly as the guests stood up, each holding their glass aloft. Nearly moved to tears, Michelle blew a kiss at her uncle. William stood up and shook Oscar’s hand, his face dressed in gratitude.
Easy conversation ensued, while the last plates of cake were eaten. The bonhomie was not unwelcome, however; more drinks found their way into the hands of guests and the air grew livelier. Michelle was amazed how a little alcohol could bring down social barriers between the elitist and the commoner. Roderick Junior talked and flirted with one of the Gregory girls, though her father hovered nearby. His sister Anne, after an unsuccessful attempt to get Luca’s attention, found herself fairly surrounded by the intensely charming Gregory boys; she did not appear unhappy about it, Michelle noticed. William had never seen his cousin blush before and chuckled a good deal at the sight.
Having eaten and rested the string quartet warmed up a little and began playing a rousing waltz. William offered Michelle his hand, standing up; he winked at her a little as she stood with him. Smiling, she shook her head at his subtle tomfoolery and let him lead her out onto the cleared portion of the floor. A few other couples joined them, including Samuel and Mabel; they looked to be having a very good time and clearly loved to dance. As she danced with her husband, Michelle reminded herself that a world of rain, problems, smog, work and tears existed outside this room, but she felt no worry. Intermixed with the pains and toils of life she knew there would be moments of brevity, joy and peace; both would she share with William... the good with the bad. In his arms, Michelle felt light and safe; a simple assurance shone out from her eyes and lifted the heart of her husband. Smiling down at his lovely bride, William knew here stood a young woman who’d experienced want, pain and censure, but had never given into it. He was certain there was nothing they would not be able to endure together.
After a few dances, William stood by his bride somewhat near to the door, talking with Oscar and Donnan Gregory. Oscar, true to his character, had unbuttoned his jacket to reveal an eye-arresting ‘Stars and Stripes’ waistcoat. He wore it well however, and told Michelle he’d opted for it instead of the full ‘Uncle Sam’ outfit. Michelle smiled at him and told him she thought he was a true patriot. Oscar offered to purchase William a ‘Union Jack’ waistcoat; this offer was very politely refused.
Michelle stood with her back turned a little towards the door as she discussed amusing stories of her mother with Maggie Gregory. The bride did not see a tall, blond woman slip into the room, some twenty feet behind. The newcomer wore an expensive, black cocktail dress, which appeared a little rumpled at the moment; she walked with a slight sway, like she’d just stepped off a merry-go-round. Her odd movement caught William’s attentive eye; he stared at the woman, shocked.
“Miss Matheson?” he said, sharply; William’s tone cut through the pleasant atmosphere of the room. All eyes turned towards the unwelcome sound. Cassandra Matheson felt the looks and managed a rather melancholy smile, trying to pull herself from her alcoholic daze. As her blurry eyes encountered Michelle, she seemed to suddenly snap out of it. The young bride looked like all the things she would never be... fair, sweet and happy; Cassandra’s smile faded and her expression hardened to one of fury. Michelle stared back at her, wondering how in the world she’d found them.
“You!” Cassandra snarled. Her eyes narrowed into furious slivers. “You got me banned and humiliated!” William stepped forward to his bride’s side. Oscar and Donnan circled slowly around behind the new mystery guest.
“You did that to yourself, Miss Matheson,” William said, coolly “Society frowns on assaulting people in public.”
“No one invited you here,” Michelle said, warily. “You need to leave.”
“Not yet,” Cassandra spat. “I have a gift for the bride...” She reached into her large, designer purse and stepped forward. Whatever the drunken, misguided woman had planned, she did not get the chance to execute it; Donnan and Oscar had Cassandra by each arm before she could take another breath. They bodily dragged her out of the room, so quickly it almost seemed she hadn’t been there at all. After the door closed, the guests looked at each other, bewildered.
Margaret took a sip of her wine, her face surprisingly calm.
“I knew I didn’t like that girl,” she said, clearly. William gave a short laugh; even Michelle managed a weak smile. Turning to the guests, the groom smiled and indicated the door with his hand.
“Sorry folks,” he said. “Ex-girlfriend.” The men all nodded sympathetically and went back to their various conversations, while the women shook their heads in disapproval. In spite of the tense few moments, Michelle smiled a little into her bouquet at Margret’s critical expression.
William and Michelle did not stay long after that. They did not do the traditional suggestive-search-for-the-garter bit. Michelle did, however, toss her bouquet. Laurel did not catch it, though she did not mind that fact so much. Luca picked up a fallen blossom and tucked it behind her ear, with a kiss. Catching it just didn’t seem necessary; it fell instead to one of Michelle’s younger cousins, who blushed prettily as she received the teasing remarks. Roderick Junior chose that moment to wink at the girl, an action which caused her face to flame even brighter; the girl’s father cleared his throat and glared at the young, British aristocrat.
William hovered by his bride’s side once the bouquet-merriment had died down.