Chapter 22

TWENTY-TWO

Francesca

“ I don’t know, Frankie. I just don’t know.”

Even as she was getting me ready to walk down the aisle, Lea still couldn't help voicing her misgivings.

It had been two weeks since Xavier had proposed in the dark of night in my basement. Two weeks since he’d declared he’d make me his duchess and take me back to Kendal. And in those two weeks, everything had changed.

My man had been a flurry of action that extended to the rest of our life together. Xavier had moved upstairs properly, though he had insisted on exchanging his spacious king mattress for Matthew’s old double bed. I didn’t argue. After all, we made good use of the space, asleep or not.

The day after we told Sofia the good news, a wedding planner had turned up at my front door, prepared to take over my life and expedite our marriage. Meanwhile, Xavier had transformed the basement into ground zero to run both his restaurant empire and prepare for his meeting with Parliament, though neither was anything he wouldn’t interrupt for dinner at Nonna’s or taking me out on several more dates as we continued our reunion.

Now I sat in front of the vanity in Joni’s bedroom, having my hair teased out of hot rollers while the rest of my family was a bustle of activity in my grandmother’s house, helping me get ready for my wedding in a thousand other ways.

“Oh my God, Lea, give it up,” Kate called from across the room where she was working at a hastily set up craft table. “She’s getting married to the father of her children. Xavier finally got his head out of his butt and made things right. The man even subjected himself to your soggy manicotti to apologize to our entire family for what’s gone down. What more do you want from him?”

Kate was busy sewing last-minute alterations on the wedding dress she’d found for me at an auction. It wasn’t easy—my quickly changing shape required new measurements every time I tried it on until, at one point, Kate had thrown up her hands and declared she would sew me into it on the big day.

“My manicotti is not soggy,” Lea said as she gently coaxed another curl from a roller.

Both Kate and I coughed.

Lea frowned and pulled a little too hard on the next curl.

“Ow!” I reached up to lightly smack her hand. “That hurt!”

“So did the jab. That was Nonna’s recipe.”

“Well, it wasn’t Nonna who made it,” I said, earning a guffaw from Kate. “Ow! Fine, fine, your manicotti was just fine. I’m the bride here, in case you forgot. You’re supposed to be nice to me.”

Lea grumbled but went back to her job more gently.

Everyone in my family had a job today. Lea was in charge of hair and makeup since she had almost finished cosmetology school before she and Mike had their first. Marie, back from Paris for the weekend, was keeping track of the caterer and pastry chefs, putting her own final flourishes on the food when Xavier could not. Joni was charged with getting the party started at the reception now that she was off crutches. Nonna was providing all my special somethings. She had gifted me a new lace garter and an old pair of pearl earrings that used to be her mother’s and lent me a beautiful pearl clutch she used at her own wedding, in which she had enclosed a blue handkerchief that had belonged to Nonno. Matthew, of course, was walking me down the aisle while his wife, Nina, oversaw the flower arrangements.

Xavier had told me none of the extra work was necessary. He insisted on footing every bill, and the wedding planner Elsie had found assured me money was no object. Every last detail could and would be hired out. It was as if I could flick a wand and have my will be done. But it didn’t feel right, somehow, to get married without having my family contribute. Zola affairs had always been group projects.

And this wasn’t only about me and Xavier. He wasn’t just marrying me, but the chaotic clan that came with. For years, I’d been supported by my sisters, my grandmother, my brother. They had raised Sofia and me together. I wanted them all to have a piece of letting me go.

“What’s Lea bitching about now?” Joni asked as she swanned in, wearing her choice of bridesmaid dress, blush-pink silk that still managed to look revealing and slightly too tight despite its floor length.

That really was Joni’s magical power—she could inject her brand of sexy charisma into a circus tent, and people would think it was the hottest new trend. I shook my head in minor awe as I accepted the “virgin mimosa” (orange juice with seltzer) she held out to me.

“She still thinks Frankie should wait,” Marie said as she followed her in, carrying a sample of foods on a tray. “Here, try these. The caterer stopped by with some samples before heading downtown.”

“I do not,” Lea said as she pinned a few locks together at the back of my head. “I just did her lips for the big day. And use a straw on that juice, by the way, so you don’t smudge your mouth. Anyway, I wasn’t talking about the marriage when I said I didn’t know—it’s about time Xavier made an honest woman out of her. I was talking about the hair. It should be bigger.”

“I already told you, I don’t want a beehive,” I argued. “I’m not trying to look like Priscilla Presley.”

“But you’re so much shorter than him! You don’t want to look like a child bride in your pictures, Frankie.”

“Lea,” I said in the no-nonsense teacher’s tone that I’d been using more with my family over the past two weeks than any child in three and a half years. “I am not interested in looking like a nineteen sixties go-go dancer or a place where local bees might want to hibernate. Xavier is fully aware of our differences in height. Honestly, I think he likes it. And I’m fine with it too. Besides, I’ll be wearing heels.”

“Big ones too!” Kate called across the room.

“See,” I said. “We’ll be fine. Just do it like we practiced, please.”

Lea grumbled something unintelligible but obediently pulled my hair apart and re-pinned it with a decidedly less hive-like appearance.

“Crap,” she said, shaking an empty bottle. “I’m out of hairspray. Hold on, I’ll see if Nonna has some more downstairs.”

She left the room, and Marie took a seat on one of the folding chairs beside me, checking over her shoulder for Lea before offering me one of the hors d’oeuvres.

“Thank you,” I said gratefully before popping a salmon puff into my mouth. “Dang, that’s good. I’m starving.”

“Of course you are,” Kate remarked. “You’re baking a baby over there.”

“That was good. Let me try the other one. What is it?”

“Goat cheese mousse with shaved endive,” Marie said as I chomped down. “Pasteurized, of course. Xavier’s orders. I think it turned out pretty well.”

“Indeed, it did,” I said, reaching for the last one on the tray.

“You know, you could wait,” Marie said quietly enough that Kate wouldn’t hear. “On the wedding, I mean. You still have time.”

I swallowed my bite and examined her. “Why would I do that?”

Marie set the tray down on the dressing table and immediately started fidgeting with the collar of her own pink dress. True to form, it was also floor length, though to my surprise, the design included a slit to the knee that showed off one of my sister’s legs. It was probably the most revealing thing Marie had worn since childhood.

“Just in case,” she said. “It is fast. If you didn’t want to stay here, you could come to Paris with me. You and Sofia both. Have your own adventure without him, but stay close enough to London that you could see him when you want. Really, I have loads of space. The Lyons family gave me their apartment in St. Germain for the year, and it’s really more like a house in the middle of Paris. There are about a thousand bedrooms, and?—”

“Oh, Mimi,” I said, dropping my hand over hers. “I so appreciate that. I really do.”

It sounded truly amazing, living in one of the most vibrant districts in Paris. Two months ago, I might have jumped at the invitation.

“But I have no reservations here,” I told her. “I cannot wait to marry Xavier. I cannot wait to start our life together.” I tipped my head as something else occurred to me. “Marie, is everything okay out there? Is that why you’re asking me?”

An odd expression crossed my sister’s face—something between happiness and jealousy. It pinked her cheeks in a way I hadn’t seen before, only adding to the general impression we’d all gotten yesterday when she arrived from LaGuardia, looking like a completely different person.

The waist-length, mousy hair she typically tied into a bun had been cut to her shoulders in shiny, natural waves. Her glasses had disappeared, her nails were trimmed and manicured, and the shapeless sack dresses traded for more form-fitting if still conservative clothes that revealed a delicate bone structure and tiny waist. The changes were subtle, but it was obvious that the whole was more than the sum of its parts.

Marie was quietly transforming from a bit of an ugly duckling into an elegant swan—and she was doing it on the other side of the world, away from her entire family.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“It’s…different over there,” she admitted. “In a lot of ways. Sometimes I do miss home.”

“Well, the difference looks good on you,” I told her honestly. “I didn’t have a chance to say anything yesterday when you arrived, but you look amazing. Paris suits you.”

Marie’s cheeks flushed even more as she bit back a smile. “I had to get contacts,” she said. “Too many things splattered my lenses. And it was either cut my hair or net it every day. I didn’t want to look like a lunch lady. Joni already teases me enough.”

I grinned. “Joni can take a swim in the Hudson. It’s very chic. You look like Marion Cotillard.” I leaned closer. “Is any of this maybe inspired by…someone?”

“A guy, you mean?” Marie asked.

Her blush deepened even more. It made her look genuinely beautiful.

“I see,” I said with a grin. “So all this is for a guy.”

“It’s not for a guy ,” Joni interrupted as she flopped into a chair next to Marie. “It’s for Daniel Lyons. I told you that.”

Now Marie was positively tomato red. “Shut up, Joni. It is not.”

“There is zero chance you got over him in less than three months,” Joni retorted. “You’ve been obsessed with him forever. Writing his name and your name with little hearts all over your recipe book. Since you were sixteen!” She turned to me. “That’s like eight years.”

“Nine,” Marie corrected petulantly. “I’m a year older than you. Sixteen plus nine is twenty-five.”

“I can do math,” Joni sputtered, though she was clearly embarrassed by Marie’s dig at her less-than-stellar arithmetic skills. “And ten months is not a year.”

“Hey, hell cats. Can we not on my wedding day?” I put in.

Both sisters glared at each other but then simultaneously relaxed in a silent truce.

“I’m going to get another mimosa.” Joni got up and practically danced out of the room—or at least as well as she could on her bum knee. “But don’t let her lie to you. It’s more than just a haircut.”

Marie watched her like she’d enjoy tripping her, but when she turned back to me, she didn’t meet my eye.

“Is it true?” I asked. “Is this whole transformation about your boss?”

I hadn’t been around that much since Marie started working for the Lyons family at sixteen. By that point, I’d already started college and wasn’t particularly interested in my baby sister’s part-time job. But I knew she worked for a prominent New York family who owned about half a dozen industries based out of New England and whose sons were regulars in the Post . Daniel Lyons’s name had been bandied about our house for years—all of us knew about Marie’s crush. I just hadn’t known it actually went this deep.

“No,” she said quickly. “Daniel’s not in Paris. He’s not even in New York right now—I think he’s in Los Angeles, chasing an actress or model or someone.”

She looked up and flushed when she caught both Kate and me watching her. As if she knew she had just betrayed her own infatuation.

“Anyway,” she continued, “if it had been to impress Daniel, I would have done it earlier, don’t you think? Back when I actually saw him every now and then.”

I decided not to press her too much on the matter. “Makes sense.”

“But I wouldn’t mind if he saw it,” she admitted a moment later. “And I wouldn’t mind if he liked it, too.”

And there it was. Well, at least she knew it.

“Can I ask you a question?” Marie said.

I smiled and patted her hand. “Shoot.”

She frowned and worked her lips in a circle while she measured her words. “Xavier’s…well, he’s kind of like Daniel. In the way he’s good-looking, but also kind of rich?—”

“I think you mean stupid rich,” Kate put in sardonically from her craft table.

“And—and also a duke, so I’m guessing he could, um, well, I’m guessing lots of types of women would be interested in him, and…”

“Are you asking how someone like me ended up with someone like him?” I asked gently.

“Seriously, Mimi?” Kate wondered. “What kind of question is that on her wedding day?”

Marie sighed. “I don’t mean that you’re not pretty enough or worthy of him, Frankie—that’s not at all what I’m saying?—”

“I get it,” I interrupted gently. “It’s just unlikely. I know. Because you’re right. Before me, Xavier definitely got around, usually with semi-famous, rich, very beautiful women and all of that. So why did he end up with me, someone who isn’t a superstar? Someone who is just normal. Right?”

Marie nodded weakly. Maybe a little gratefully as she avoided the daggers Kate was glaring her way.

I searched for that seed of doubt that always seemed to bloom whenever thoughts exactly like that struck. It was still there, but the truth was, it had been starved more and more over the past few weeks. I barely noticed it anymore.

Because I knew who Xavier was. I knew who I wanted to be. I knew what we were together. And at this point, I didn’t have reasons to doubt that anymore. Because, like he said, we were choosing each other, and we would do that every day.

So I just shook my head and decided to be honest.

“I don’t know,” I told her. “All of those differences should have gotten in the way. And they very nearly did, as you know. We probably shouldn’t have made it. But now that we’re here, all I can say is that when you find your person, the rest of the world kind of fades away. He chose me, and I chose him, and now, all that other stuff just…doesn’t matter.”

I shrugged. I didn’t know how else to explain it other than that.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to soothe Marie.

“Well, I know there’s no chance there,” Marie said. “Daniel’s a Lyons. He barely knows who I am, and I’ve worked for his family for almost a decade. I’m just a servant who makes the asparagus souffle he likes on Sundays. It’s all right. I’ll get over him sometime.” She offered a weak little smile that made my heart squeeze for her. “That’s what Paris is for, I think.”

“All right, I got it.” Lea burst in, holding a can of Aqua Net. “If this doesn’t hold, nothing will.”

“Well, it makes Nonna’s hair into a helmet every day, so I think she’ll be fine,” Kate said.

I just sat still as Lea finished pinning my half-updo, which still left a good number of dark tendrils curling over my shoulder, and sprayed the hell out of it.

“Perfect,” she said approvingly.

I smiled. “It really is. Nice work, sis.”

“Frankie,” Kate called, holding up the dress with a few pins sticking out of her mouth. “It’s time.”

I crossed the room and allowed Kate and Lea to help me into my wedding dress, then stood still while Kate sewed the final seams together. When she affixed the waist-length veil to my hair, I had to avoid Marie and Lea, who had grown quiet, eyes shining as they watched.

“Don’t say a word,” I said to them through the old mirror over the vanity. “Don’t make me cry, Lea.”

“Oh, Frankie.” For once, my oldest sister didn’t have a critical word for anyone. “You look perfect .”

When Kate finished, I turned to the floor-length mirror hung over the door to look myself over. And damned if Lea wasn’t right.

Somehow Kate had found the dress of my dreams—the 1960s-era sleeveless gown was nothing I’d ever imagined, but also exactly what I would have chosen for myself. A row of silk flowers marked an empire waist that called back to the dress styles of Jane Austen. Kate had sewn an additional layer of delicate lace over what she said was shantung—a roughly woven type of silk that showcased irregularities in the weave. Perfectly imperfect. Just like Xavier and me.

“Oh, Katie,” I said. “You did good .”

“Don’t cry!” Lea sprang toward me, tissue in hand. “You’ll ruin your eye makeup. Those cat-eyes are perfect!”

I laughed but dabbed under my eyes just the same. There was a knock on the door. When it opened, my brother poked in his handsome head. Matthew wore another dapper suit that had to be new—none of the vintage pieces he’d gotten from Kate’s shop looked quite that polished.

It had to be nice being married to an actual heiress.

I pinched my own arm. I was about to marry a duke, for Pete’s sake. Not a lot of room to criticize Matthew on that count.

“Car’s here,” Matthew said as he adjusted the camellia pinned to his lapel. “Nonna already left with Sof, Joni, and Nina. Lea, Mike said he’d come next for you and everyone else.” Then he looked up. “Holy shit, Frankie. You look…you look fuckin’ amazing.”

I blushed under my brother’s frank praise. “You’d better not let Sofia hear you talk like that. Fees for the swear jar have gone up since Xavier moved in, you know. We charge in pounds, not dollars.”

“Tell her to put it on my tab.” He held out an arm. “Ready?”

I grinned and slipped my hand around his elbow.

It was time to marry the man I loved.