A Piece of My Heart

Part 75:The Rose By Any Other Name....

The estate was too grand, too quiet—like a Downton Abbey set left on pause. But on the back lawn, it was anything but quiet.

Roger Taylor was still officiating an elaborate mock wedding between two ceramic lawn gnomes, reading vows in a dramatic Scottish accent while Karen filmed with a camcorder and Rosalie provided tearful commentary from a wicker chaise.

"Do you, Lady Gnome of Rosepot, take this bearded fellow with the mushroom hat to be your unlawfully wedded troublemaker?" as he chugged from a bottle of Stoli.

"I object!" Brian May called from across the lawn, still wearing a plastic tiara he'd found in the upstairs nursery. "She's in love with the flamingo!"

John Deacon sighed, sipping tea and muttering, " Hey that's my tiara that I am going to wear as the flower boy, give it back. Every time we rent a place, we should warn them we're bringing circus energy."

Inside the house, Freddie stood near the French doors, holding a glass of lemonade, watching it all with bemused pride. Cynthia sat nearby, one leg propped up on a velvet ottoman, gently rubbing her pregnant belly.

Freddie turned to her. "Have you thought about names?"

She didn't even look up. "First word will be world domination, darling."

He snorted. "World domination isn't a name."

"It is if you say it with confidence."

He walked over, crouching to her eye level. "What if the baby's shy?"

She gave him a sideways look. "Then they're clearly from your side of the gene pool."

Outside, Roger had declared the gnomes "legally entangled" and kissed both of them on their heads.
The joking had settled into quiet laughter and piano noodling. Freddie played bits of Love of My Life on a baby grand while Rosalie leaned against the wall with a cocktail.

Then Cynthia stood up.

Silence rippled across the room.

Giuliani, who had arrived earlier with a flask and a list of untraceable favors, stepped closer. "This new transfer just posted," he said, tapping the report. "It's not money. It's communication. He's not just stirring trouble from prison—he's giving orders."

"From inside?" Brian asked.

"Via a sympathetic guard," Cynthia confirmed. "He's trying to poison the wedding guest list—send letters, threats, misinformation. If he can't sabotage the ceremony, he'll taint every person who walks into it."

Freddie's jaw tightened. "Then we burn the guest list. And build our own."

Roger raised his drink. "To war and weddings."

Freddie touched his glass to Cynthia's. "To world domination."

The long mahogany table looked almost respectable—at first. Dozens of white taper candles flickered in tall brass holders. Fresh-cut hydrangeas overflowed from centerpieces. Crystal glasses sparkled under antique chandeliers. The kind of dinner setting fit for royalty.

Except... the "royalty" here included a rock band in mismatched suits, a guitarist still wearing a tiara, and a drummer who'd brought one of the lawn gnomes as his plus-one.

Cynthia entered last, radiant in a pale gold maternity gown. Freddie pulled out her chair gallantly, bowing low like a ridiculous gentleman. She smirked. "If you trip over that cape again, I'm leaving you for Brian."

Brian didn't look up. "I'd treat her so much better. She'd have her own observatory."

"Can we not start a custody war over me at my own rehearsal dinner?" Cynthia said, taking her seat.