Chapter 75
5 MONTHS LATER
I stand before a full-length mirror and do not see my mother. It is an odd thought to have on your wedding day, yet it is a happy notation. I turn, expensive hands rushing to adjust the train of my gown, the beaded edges that frame my back. I am beautiful, San Francisco’s most elite wedding planner guaranteeing that fact, every detail around me perfectly coordinated to pull off the most immaculate tiny wedding ever had.
There will be none of society’s elite here today. No fake smiles of the women I have pretended, for so many years, to like. We will be a small party of nine: Brant’s parents and my own, Anna and Christine, Brant and I, plus our flower girl. My relationship with Brant’s parents has changed. We aren’t close, Brant’s own relationship with them stilted from his years of isolation due to Jillian’s controlling hand. But the lines between them are mending, his family unit becoming less dysfunctional as time passes and trust grows. I turn, hearing the squeal of our flower girl before she arrives, a bundle of white careening around the corner and coming to a short halt before the mirror.
“Wow,” Hannah breathes, her eyes on the mirror. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks sweetheart.” I hold out a hand and an attendant helps me down the pedestal stairs, where I crouch before the little girl. “You look equally beautiful.” I pick up her small hand and widen my eyes, impressed at her cherry pink nails.
“A lady did them.” She plops down on the carpet, unmindful of the mini Dior that christens her body. Gripping a thousand dollar jeweled slipper and ripping it off, she holds up her bare foot, wiggling the toes before me. “Look! My toes match!”
“Very impressive.” I smile. “Got your petal tossing technique down?” I pass her shoe back and watch as she pulls it on, a small pink tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth in concentration.
Task complete she looks up with a smile, jumping to her feet and making exaggerated tossing gestures, complete with mini jumps. “Yep!” she beams.
“Awesome.” I hold up my fist and she bumps a mini version with it, giggling when we ‘blow it up.’
“Where’s Mister Brant?” she suddenly asks, looking around.
I shrug, rising to my feet. “Not sure. Why don’t you go track him down and escort him to the garden? We don’t want him to be late for the ceremony.”
She nods solemnly, the importance of her task taken very seriously. “I’ll find him right now,” she promises, before turning and, with a peal of laughter, taking off through the open doorway.
I turn back to the mirror, straightening the line of the dress.
“She’s an adorable little girl,” the woman behind me says, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
I nod, smiling at the memory of Hannah aboard our jet, her hands touching every surface twice before the plane even took off. “She is. Always has been. Adorable with a side of demon,” I warn her. “Keep an eye on her; she finds trouble as quickly as hugs.” A timely crash sounds from the direction of the kitchen, sending the woman before me fleeing. I laugh, stepping toward the vanity and grabbing the final piece of today, the diamond studs that Brant gave me our first Christmas together, putting them on as I stare in the mirror.
My wedding day—a big moment about to occur—the forever joining of my and Brant’s lives. I search my eyes for trepidation, but find none. I’m not surprised. I can mark the leaving of Lee as clearly as my birth, the change in our relationship greater than I would ever have expected. Looking back, it was as if our relationship began anew that day.
