bride who wanted her mother—even a mother like Kiki.
But there was no sign of the woman. Desiree squared her shoulders and faced the altar.
Her father presented her to Luke. Brendan did not kiss his daughter good-bye.
Chapter 6
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the minister said.
He could have pronounced them dead.
The bride glittered in the cold blue light of the stained-glass windows. The groom looked cyanotic.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Luke wrapped his arms around Desiree for a soap-opera smooch, then jumped back as if he’d been stung. That sent her staggering backward. The maid of honor caught the rejected bride. Desiree burst into tears.
There were titters and disapproving murmurs from the congregation. Only Helen guessed what had happened: The groom had cut his hand on the crystal dress. It was a vicious cut. Helen could see blood drops on the white carpet.
A quick-thinking bridesmaid swung the cathedral train away from the dark red spatters. The best man whipped off his cummerbund and gave it to Luke for a bandage.
Muddy brown tears ran down the bride’s face and splotched her dress. So much for waterproof mascara. Desiree dabbed at the tears with her veil, leaving nasty brown smudges on the delicate fabric.
Another couple might have laughed off the mishap. But Luke didn’t laugh, nor did he comfort his new wife. Desiree did not care about his bloody hand. They stood at the altar, separate and self-absorbed. They’d failed as a couple from the first moment of their marriage.
The whole sorry incident was caught by two video cameras and a still photographer. Helen wondered if it would be edited out of the wedding photos or saved for the divorce proceedings.
This marriage was doomed, she decided. The perfect rehearsal led to a wedding-day disaster. All the practice and planning couldn’t prevent these problems. Who knew a randy Kiki would skip her daughter’s wedding for hot sex with her chauffeur? The bride didn’t wear her crystal dress at the rehearsal, so the groom had no idea it was like embracing broken glass.
Luke never did kiss the bride. When the confusion died down the minister said, “Let me present the new Mr. and Mrs. Praine.”
The traditional applause was tentative. Luke frowned. He was used to thundering ovations. He grabbed his wife’s hand and held it up triumphantly, like a victorious boxer. Now the applause was louder and mixed with laughter.
Helen wasn’t sure what Luke’s gesture meant, but she didn’t like it. Was he saying his wife was a prize? The little bride with her tear-blotched face looked confused.
That look pierced Helen’s heart. She felt tears in her eyes. Helen never cried at weddings, but she felt sorry for poor unloved Desiree. She was a showpiece for her parents’ ambitions and a bankroll for her husband’s career.
The organist had the presence of mind to start the recessional music. Desiree walked down the aisle with her new husband. Helen could see the ugly brown stains on her veil. The groom’s hand was wrapped in a bloody cummerbund. He smiled sheepishly. The bride seemed dazed.
Jeff, the wedding planner, was waiting in the cathedral vestibule with his emergency kit. While the receiving line formed, Jeff expertly bandaged the groom’s hand. Then he and Helen worked on the bridal veil. They were hidden behind the bride’s wide skirt, but they could hear the wedding guests.
Some stumbled through the reception line like bomb-blast survivors, too stunned to say anything. They just wanted out of there. Others made spiteful comments in what they thought were whispers. The cavernous cathedral magnified their voices. Jeff winced at every catty remark. He seemed to suffer for the bride.
Two black-clad women with bird legs, like crows in gold jewelry, were typical. Helen could hear snippets of their soft-voiced malice: “Her mother never showed up.”
“She was screwing a chauffeur twenty years younger.”
“Only
But there was no sign of the woman. Desiree squared her shoulders and faced the altar.
Her father presented her to Luke. Brendan did not kiss his daughter good-bye.
Chapter 6
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the minister said.
He could have pronounced them dead.
The bride glittered in the cold blue light of the stained-glass windows. The groom looked cyanotic.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Luke wrapped his arms around Desiree for a soap-opera smooch, then jumped back as if he’d been stung. That sent her staggering backward. The maid of honor caught the rejected bride. Desiree burst into tears.
There were titters and disapproving murmurs from the congregation. Only Helen guessed what had happened: The groom had cut his hand on the crystal dress. It was a vicious cut. Helen could see blood drops on the white carpet.
A quick-thinking bridesmaid swung the cathedral train away from the dark red spatters. The best man whipped off his cummerbund and gave it to Luke for a bandage.
Muddy brown tears ran down the bride’s face and splotched her dress. So much for waterproof mascara. Desiree dabbed at the tears with her veil, leaving nasty brown smudges on the delicate fabric.
Another couple might have laughed off the mishap. But Luke didn’t laugh, nor did he comfort his new wife. Desiree did not care about his bloody hand. They stood at the altar, separate and self-absorbed. They’d failed as a couple from the first moment of their marriage.
The whole sorry incident was caught by two video cameras and a still photographer. Helen wondered if it would be edited out of the wedding photos or saved for the divorce proceedings.
This marriage was doomed, she decided. The perfect rehearsal led to a wedding-day disaster. All the practice and planning couldn’t prevent these problems. Who knew a randy Kiki would skip her daughter’s wedding for hot sex with her chauffeur? The bride didn’t wear her crystal dress at the rehearsal, so the groom had no idea it was like embracing broken glass.
Luke never did kiss the bride. When the confusion died down the minister said, “Let me present the new Mr. and Mrs. Praine.”
The traditional applause was tentative. Luke frowned. He was used to thundering ovations. He grabbed his wife’s hand and held it up triumphantly, like a victorious boxer. Now the applause was louder and mixed with laughter.
Helen wasn’t sure what Luke’s gesture meant, but she didn’t like it. Was he saying his wife was a prize? The little bride with her tear-blotched face looked confused.
That look pierced Helen’s heart. She felt tears in her eyes. Helen never cried at weddings, but she felt sorry for poor unloved Desiree. She was a showpiece for her parents’ ambitions and a bankroll for her husband’s career.
The organist had the presence of mind to start the recessional music. Desiree walked down the aisle with her new husband. Helen could see the ugly brown stains on her veil. The groom’s hand was wrapped in a bloody cummerbund. He smiled sheepishly. The bride seemed dazed.
Jeff, the wedding planner, was waiting in the cathedral vestibule with his emergency kit. While the receiving line formed, Jeff expertly bandaged the groom’s hand. Then he and Helen worked on the bridal veil. They were hidden behind the bride’s wide skirt, but they could hear the wedding guests.
Some stumbled through the reception line like bomb-blast survivors, too stunned to say anything. They just wanted out of there. Others made spiteful comments in what they thought were whispers. The cavernous cathedral magnified their voices. Jeff winced at every catty remark. He seemed to suffer for the bride.
Two black-clad women with bird legs, like crows in gold jewelry, were typical. Helen could hear snippets of their soft-voiced malice: “Her mother never showed up.”
“She was screwing a chauffeur twenty years younger.”
“Only
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