Hydraulic Level Five (1) (44 page)

I tried not to follow him from the corner of my eyes. When he mingled in the foyer while Angel and Danita posed for altar photographs, I only saw a blur of crisp, black tuxedo and lightly bronzed skin. When he clasped Caroline’s hands and kissed her cheek as she arrived, I kept my face firmly riveted on the wall. Fascinating wall. Lovely old bricks.

This man wanted me. This man kissed me, and what a kiss it was…
Pink heated my cheeks and spread across my skin…not good in a strapless dress. Even with Caroline drifting around him, willowy perfection in a jacquard dress, Samuel wanted me. And because he wanted me, I had the power. Control. The Afghan hound could have been sniffing up his leg and rubbing her scent all over him, but I no longer felt threatened.

“Holy crap, you’re friends with Taralie Rocheford!?” Angel’s little sister exclaimed, grabbing Caroline’s elbow. “Wow, I always read about her in the New York social diaries, especially now that she’s involved with Prince Henrik von What’s-his-face…”

Okay, maybe I felt a teensy weensy bit threatened.

Hector sidled up to me, also looking dapper in a tux and new cuff links he’d purchased just for the wedding, sweet man. I linked my arm with his as Samuel and Caroline joined our chattering circle of friends. As Cassady and Santiago went on about a nasty thunderstorm during a biking trip, I peered at Samuel, getting an eyeful of his lithe, tuxedo-clad frame. Starched white shirt, skinny tie and black vest, freshly-shaven jaw. Heat scorched through my body. My throat went dry, leaving me with cotton-mouth, ugh. I left Hector’s side and wandered down the stairs into the fellowship hall, alone, in search of water.

Samuel didn’t follow me. I tried not to feel thwarted.

So far, so good, as long as I didn’t eyeball him.
Right, Kaye, because you can go an entire evening without a single glance at him.

But the past reared up and kicked us both in the teeth as we stood at the altar and witnessed Danita Cabral and Angel Valdez vow to love one another in sickness and in health, joy and sorrow, good times and bad. We fought valiantly to focus on our friends…the light in Danita’s eyes…the comforting curl of Angel’s lips as he held her shaking hands. But every now and then, my gaze drifted past Angel’s and Santiago’s shoulders.

“I, Danita Maria Cabral, take you, Angel Esteban Valdez, to be my husband, secure in the knowledge that you will be my constant friend, my faithful partner in life, and my one true love…”

I studied the intricate little buttons on the back of Danita’s shimmery dress, my vision focusing and unfocusing while she recited her vows. Samuel and I had both royally screwed up. When we exchanged them, I thought our vows would be easy to keep. We’d been childhood sweethearts, after all. Piece of cake. But now, seeing the solemn set of my two friends’ faces, it hit me that we hadn’t kept a single one of them.

“I promise to comfort you in times of distress, encourage you to achieve all of your goals, laugh with you and cry with you…”

He met my eyes, and I saw it again—that warmth, that urgency. That want
.
But overshadowing it all was profound guilt. Once again, his shoulders slumped. Once again, his mouth sagged sadly. Eyes rimmed in red. Tired. World-weary. I’d seen him like this too many times the past couple of months…warm, cold, warm, cold.

“I, Angel Esteban Valdez, take you, Danita Maria Cabral, to be my wife…”

Each time I sought him, his troubled blue eyes found mine. The reminder of our broken vows was killing us, even though we managed to plaster smiles on our faces. If we didn’t find a way to relieve our guilt, and soon, it would crush us.

“I promise to love you without reservation, honor and respect you, provide for your needs as best I can, protect you from harm, always be open and honest with you…”

Vows.

That’s what we needed. I perked up, growing animated in my idea. We could write new vows. Friendship vows. We’d both decided that, more than anything, the very foundation of our relationship needed to be re-laid. What better foundation was there than spoken vows? Friendship was a lifelong commitment, too, and having that contract would go a long way to re-solder our trust.

Samuel looked at me strangely as my demeanor shifted. I grinned at him. He returned my grin, and some of the misery fogging his features burned away.

“This ring I give you, as a sign of our constant faith and abiding love…”

Yes, friendship vows would serve us well.

Unluckily for Samuel, celebrity trailed him to Lyons—even to his sister’s wedding. One would think his hometown offered a breather from fan-girls. After all, these people had known Samuel when he was a gangly kid with braces. But that history also carried a sense of entitlement, because they
had
known him for a long time. And with so many new “best friends” vying for his attention, it was tricky for anyone—including me—to garner his attention for more than five minutes.

I watched with emulous eyes as Samuel’s first crush, frickin’ Jennifer Ballister with her red tresses, tight pink dress, and cherry ChapStick, rested a hand on his bicep and tittered at something he said. Several tables over, Caroline shot daggers at her, too, ready to clobber her like a minute steak. Several other old Lyons High gals were jonesing for time with Samuel Caulfield Cabral: World-Famous Author, Renowned Hottie. And now that Indigo Kingsley was allegedly out of the picture, they tacked “Eligible Bachelor” onto his title. If Jennifer wasn’t careful, she’d be torn limb from limb.

Women weren’t the only ones with Samuel in their scope. Alan Murphy had a blatant man-crush on his beloved author and spent half the night hovering, stalking, bringing him drinks, and firing questions as he clutched a precious, plastic-wrapped first edition of
The Last Other
to his chest. It was peculiar watching Samuel work the crowd. Before, he would have been too reticent to venture far beyond his assigned seat. He still didn’t enjoy playing the part of socialite author, but he was all politeness, subtly ditching cocktails on random tables. Just another script to follow.

Pushing my envy aside, I absorbed the magic of the Cabrals’ garden, transformed to a world of tea lights and hydrangea. Sheets of filmy white tulle and ivy were draped from tents. Crisp linens covered dozens of round tables, each set with glistening porcelain and silverware. Beyond the dining area, a dance floor and stage had been assembled, where the mariachis crooned sultry bolero. And the lights…thousands of little white lights twined around trees and dangled from canopies, bathing the entire banquet area in luminance against a dusky sky.

Hector rested a hand on the back of my tulle-covered chair, chortling with the rest of our table as we watched Samuel towed between classmates, classmates’ moms, and classmates’ younger sisters, sending “help me” glances my way. Frick, I even used to babysit a few of them.

Santiago chuckled. “I think Mr. June wants you to rescue him, sweet pea.”

I felt a little wicked. “I’m his ex-wife, sugar tush. People expect me to let him suffer.”

“If you won’t chase off those girls, then I will,” Molly huffed. “Get ready for your toasts, honey muffins. It’s that time.”

Santiago cleared his throat, becoming very stiff and very anxious. I gave him an incredulous look.

“You did write a toast, didn’t you?”

He ran a finger under his collar. “Well yeah, but it wasn’t very good. Too saccharine, not personal enough. Samuel helped me revise it. You?”

“Danita sat on me and jabbed my ribs until I promised to leave out the embarrassing stories, so that didn’t give me much to work with.”

The wedding party slid into their respective seats, Samuel diving for his as if he’d just bounded through a pit of pedicured crocodiles. Caroline gracefully settled next to Samuel and leaned over, flashing a hint of cleavage for the entire table. Tart.

Molly flipped on a mic, cringed when it squealed, and handed it to Santiago.

Showtime.

Despite his obvious nerves, Santiago did a fantastic job toasting the new couple. “It’s been said that marriage is an adventure, like river rafting…” That was all Santiago. Then came a couple of embarrassing stories about Danita and Angel: “I’m not going to tell you about the night they spent in jail after mooning the town sheriff. Second date, right, Angel?” (I was shocked this particular story cleared Samuel’s screening. Judging from his quaking shoulders as he hid his face in his hands, I gathered it was an ad lib).

Santiago grew serious. “Remember to listen to the
un
spoken words as well as the spoken. Wake up each morning, loving to give and giving to love.” He lifted his glass. “Angel, Danita—may you fall in love every evening, only with each other.”

I pressed a hand to my throat, feeling a lump swell. That. Now that was vintage Samuel. I gulped my ice water, loosening my voice so I could speak.

When I stood, I thought my kneecaps would pop out, they wobbled so badly. I closed my eyes and imagined I was prepping for a TrilbyJones presentation (the whole “audience in their underwear” method didn’t work for me), and plunged in.

“Phyllis Diller said ‘Never go to bed mad…stay up and fight.’”
Laughter, not stunned silence—good.
“And for all of us who have been blessed to watch Danita and Angel’s love for each other deepen, we have seen them perfect ‘the fight,’ infusing it with passion, love, and humor…”

I kept my gaze schooled on the newlyweds, not hazarding a look at Samuel. I shared a bit about growing up with the couple. How she braided my hair and forced me into my first pair of heels. How he taught me to ride a bicycle. Angel brushed away a tear as I thanked both of them for putting up with me, for tormenting me, for becoming siblings to idolize.

“Thank you, Angel, for being
so
wonderful, Danita relentlessly gushes to me about her perfect boyfriend.”
More laughter.
“And thank you, Danita, for making this mountain man grin and drool every day of his life. When I see the two of you together, I know what home looks like. So each day you come home, revel in each other. Never take that home you’ve found for granted.” Dani grabbed my hand, and I raised my glass. “Congratulations, Danita and Angel Valdez.”

Setting my glass down with a clink, I fell into my chair and tucked my shaking hands under my thighs. Angel hugged me, followed by Danita squeezing the breath out of my lungs. I downed the rest of my champagne, glad to have survived the toast without stuttering, flubbing, or tripping.

Something small, like a pebble, beaned me in the forehead. I rubbed the spot and scanning the table for the object.

Another hit me. And a third. This time, it bounced across my half-eaten lime chicken and settled next to my dessert plate. I leaned closer…a piece of wadded-up wedding program.

A fourth hit me just below my collarbone and my eyes flew up, catching Samuel mid-toss.
Busted.
I picked up a wad of paper and chucked it back. He deflected and it bounced off his hand, onto another table. Hector snorted. Caroline hid her face in embarrassment.

“What are you, five?” I quipped.

A lazy smile stretched across Samuel’s face. “Will you dance with me tonight, Firecracker?”

“Nope. I’m dancing with Santiago.”

“After Santiago, then.”

“Hector’s called dibs on that one.”

Hector gave Samuel two thumbs up. Samuel groaned. “The third dance, then.”

I relented, deciding not to tease him too terribly. “Fine, but only if it’s a slow song. I don’t do fast.”

“Deal. Great toast, by the way.”

“Ditto.” I shamelessly winked at him. Caroline turned her back to Samuel and started a conversation with Cassady. I knew it was wrong to flirt with Samuel in front of his wedding date. But then, I’d already crossed the Rubicon when I kissed him back. She was a big girl and she’d get over it, I hoped.

The newlyweds cut their cake—a magnificent, four-tiered
tres leche
with clusters of roses and vibrant strawberries. They managed to feed each other without face-smashing or any other naughtiness that would earn Angel a night at the plane hangar. They danced their first dance to a mariachi version of “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head?” Angel was surprisingly nimble. Dani was, of course, all class. The mother-son dance followed, then the father-daughter (dang, Alonso was still gorgeous), then the wedding party. Santiago was a fabulous partner who didn’t complain when I stepped on his feet (thank Jiminy for tea-length hems). He only stepped on my feet twice. Maybe we could invest in dance lessons.