A Wedding on Ladybug Farm (16 page)

And it broke her heart to turn back to him and say, “Dominic, it all sounds beautiful, and I love you so much for thinking of it, and it’s not that I wouldn’t love living here, but … we already have a place to live.”

He smiled.  “I know, love, and the ladies are very generous to want to share the big house.  But every married couple should have a home of their own, and this is ours.  If we start building now and the weather holds, we should be in by Christmas,” he added.

Lindsay’s eyes clouded with uncertainty.  “Not have Christmas at Ladybug Farm?”

He laughed softly.  “Sweetheart, this
is
Ladybug Farm.  You’re a hundred steps away from the front door.  Of course we’ll have Christmas there. Easter too, and most Sundays, and wine on the porch every evening.  Nothing will change.”

“Everything will change,” she whispered.  And it was as though, once she said it, the very hills and valleys and woods and streams, every blade of grass and spark of sun and random breeze took the words into themselves and echoed them back to her:
everything will change. 

She gave herself a little shake, as though if she refused to listen to the words they would cease to be true.  She turned back to Dominic, pleading for his understanding.  “It’s just that … oh, I wasn’t supposed to tell you, it was supposed to be a surprise, but … Cici and Bridget have gone to so much trouble fixing up a place for you, for us, remodeling the entire second floor, practically … it was their wedding gift to us.  They wanted us to have a room of our own. In the house.  They made a whole suite, tore down walls, repainted … They wanted you to feel welcome.”

“Ah,” he said, and nodded slowly.  “So that’s what all the construction noise was about.  I should have known Cici was up to something.”

“It’s just that …”  She looked at him helplessly.  “How can I hurt their feelings?  They’ve worked so hard.”

He said nothing for a moment.  Then he smiled and kissed her nose.  “Well then.  I’ll try to act surprised.”

She searched his eyes.  “You’re not disappointed?  Because if this is what you really want …”

“Sweet girl,” he said simply, “all I want is for you to be happy. That’s all this was about.  Making you happy.”

He squeezed her waist and kissed her hair, and they walked back to the house
.  Lindsay tried hard not to admit that she had never felt less happy in her life.

~*~

Kevin’s pillow smelled like jasmine.  He smiled even before he opened his eyes, letting the moment linger. He turned over in bed and found his glasses.  Lori was sitting in a patch of buttery sunlight on the faded upholstered bench of the window embrasure that overlooked the courtyard below, sipping cappuccino from a paper cup and turning the pages of an Italian newspaper.  She was wearing a loose white tank top and a long printed skirt, and her hair, spilling wild and curly over her shoulders, reminded him of bright new pennies tumbled in a stream.  He wanted to tell her that she looked like a Botticelli painting.  He wanted to tell her that he would conquer the world for her and ask nothing, not even a smile, in return.  He wanted to tell her that he loved her beyond all reason or possible understanding.  Instead, he propped himself up with a pillow behind his head and said, “Whatcha doing?”

She turned a page of the paper.  “Looking for a job.  I figure if you’re going to be able to continue to support me in the style to which I’ve become accustomed, at least one of us needs to be working.”

Kevin’s hotel, while a far cry from the hovel in which Lori had been living, was not exactly the Ritz Carlton.  But the air-conditioning worked most of the time and there was daily maid service, and it was on a quiet street less than a block from the shopping district. There was a coffee shop downstairs and some excellent restaurants within walking distance.  For the past two weeks they had lived like tourists, dining out for every meal, sharing a bottle of wine in the courtyard in the evening, taking the train to nearby attractions, walking the vineyards, touring the wineries.  Kevin wanted to show her everything, give her everything, make her eyes light up at every possible moment.  Of course he knew they couldn’t keep that up forever, but forever was not something either of them talked much about.

But he thought about it.
  A lot.

He said, “Since when did you learn to read Italian?”

“I didn’t.”  She got up and came over to him, two cups of cappuccino and the newspaper in hand.  “That’s why you should probably be the one with the job.”

He took the newspaper from her and set it aside. “As it happens,” he said, “I know a place where there’s an opening for a barista.”

He took the coffees from her and put them on the nightstand.  He pulled her into his arms and lost himself in her dancing eyes and the smell of jasmine.  She tasted like cappuccino and every dream he had ever had, and when finally, reluctantly, they parted, he could tell she kept her expression stern with an effort.

“I’m serious,” she said.

“So am I.”  He pushed her hair away from her face with a single tender stroke and added softly, surprising himself, “Oddly enough.”

She looked a question at him, but before he could answer it, or even think of an answer, she lowered her lashes, which were pale and coppery without makeup, and turned in his arms. She rested her head against his shoulder and gazed at the ceiling.  “There’s something you should know about me, Kevin,” she said.

“Do you mean the part about you having terrible luck with men?”

She cast a quick sideways look at him.  “Yeah.  That part.”  Her fingers, like the delicate treble notes of a haunting melody, slid down his arm and entwined with his own. He actually heard music in his head when she did that.  She said, “You need to know this.  I loved them all, I really did. Jeff, he was a fantasy.  A daddy fantasy
, if I were to be completely honest.  And Sergio …well, he was the mystery, wasn’t he?  And there’s always something so irresistible about a mystery.  Mark … I think he was what my mother wanted for me.  Safe, practical, steady.”

She was aware of his attention, which was piercing and true, a physical thing.  She said, choosing her words carefully, “But I think every girl has a picture in her head of her ideal man, her Prince Charming.  Any guy who comes into her life has to meet those minimum Prince Charming requirements or it’s a no-go, a complete non starter.” She glanced at him quickly, a little shyly.  “My Prince Charming wore Clark Kent glasses and quoted Daniel Webster and was a total ass about getting the details right.  He’d drive an ordinary girl crazy in two minutes.  But somehow, in the back of my mind, that’s the standard I was holding everyone else up to and … that’s why, in the end, everything fell apart.”      

He was silent for a long time, just holding her.  Then he nodded somberly.  “Well, I guess there’s something you should know about me, too.”

“You mean the part about you being a criminal?”

“A not-very-good criminal,” he reminded her.

She smiled.  “Right.”

He said softly, “Guys have a picture in the back of their minds too, you know.  And all this time … I think it was you.”

Her smile slowly faded and she sighed, her fingertips stroking the back of his arm, her eyes upon the ceiling.  “Did you ever think you’d have to travel halfway around the world just to find what was in your backyard all the time?”

He kissed her hair.  “Never,” he replied, “in a million years.”

Now she turned to him, her eyes dark and serious.  “Everyone falls in love in Italy, Kevin.”

“Oh, thank God.”  He stroked her eyebrow, the curve of her cheek, and let his fingertip brush the fluttery silk of one coppery eyelash.  His throat was so full he could hardly speak, and his voice was husky. “Because I am quite desperately, hopelessly, madly in love with you.”

The breath of her sigh whispered across his lips.  “That’s good.  Because I’m pretty crazy about you, too.”

He kissed her nose, her ear, the curve of her neck.  She whispered, “Oh, Kevin, what are we going to do?”

He settled back against the pillow, drawing her again into the curve of his shoulder.  “Baby, you ask me that every day.”  His tone was gently indulgent.  “Do you want me to make something up?”

She turned her eyes up to him, fingers curled upon his bare chest. “Yes, please.”

He was thoughtful for a moment, and as he thought, his face grew sad. “Okay,” he said. “Summer will end.  It always does, even in Italy.  The winter winds will come, blowing the roofs off houses and freezing the water in the fountains.  You’ll hate it here.  You’ll go back to California, get your master’s degree in winemaking, go on to run a famous winery in the States. Marry some lucky investment banker, have three kids and a nanny. I’ll hop a freighter to the South Seas, grow a long beard, end up living in a shack on the beach giving legal advice to the natives in exchange for rum. And regret every day of my life that I let you get away.” 

Her fist tightened on his chest and her brow puckered.  “I don’t like that one.  Make up something else.”

“Okay.”  He threaded his fingers through hers and opened her hand across his heart. “Summer will end.  The winds will come, blowing the roofs off houses and freezing the water in the fountains. Our favorite restaurants will close, the tourists will go home.  You’ll have to start making your own coffee.  You’ll hate it here.  You’ll start talking about what the weather is like in Southern California and it’ll make me crazy.  We’ll have a fight.  You’ll call your dad.  He’ll send you a ticket home.  I tell you to go, you faithless little wench, and you’ll storm off to the airport, dragging that great big rolling suitcase of yours behind you.  You’ll be approaching the boarding gate when you hear someone call your name, and you turn around and see me, pushing past security, running toward you …”

Her fingers tightened on his. “Oh, please don’t tell me you get mowed down by a security guard with an AK-47.”

He chuckled.  “No, they’re in a good mood that day.  You start running toward me, and I sweep you up and twirl you around, right there in the middle of the Rome airport, and I ask you to come live with me in a shack on a beach in the South Pacific.”

She turned and propped herself up on her elbows, looking down at him.  “And I say yes,” she whispered.

“And we have three kids …” he murmured, as her face came closer to his.

“But no nanny.”  She kissed him, long and sweet.  And then she murmured softly against his lips, “Ah, Kevin.  What is going to happen to us?”  

He took her face in his hands, his fingers tangling in her hair.  He looked into her eyes and all he wanted in the world was to make those eyes smile, to wipe away all her worries, to promise her everything was going to be all right and to spend the rest of his life keeping that promise.  But all he had to offer her was the truth. 

“Sweetheart,” he said simply, “I don’t know.”

S
he sighed, and wrapped her arms around him, and they both discovered, after a time, that it didn’t really matter much at all.

~*~

Chapter Seven

There Should Have Been Belly Dancers

N
ever in the history of engagement parties, everyone would agree later, had there been a more memorable one than the engagement party Paul and Derrick hosted for Lindsay Wright and Dominic DuPoncier at the Hummingbird House B&B on the evening of October 8.  The drive was lined from the street to the parking lot with colorful Japanese lanterns, and the parking lot, which had been extended to include a good portion of the west side of the property, was overflowing.  Valet parking was of course provided, because when Paul and Derrick gave a party, it was done right.

“On the other hand,” Paul confessed to Lindsay with a faintly worried frown on his face as he air-kissed her at the door, “we might have left a tad too many of the details up to Harmony.  She has a tendency to drive a theme into the ground.  I completely put my foot down about the belly dancers, though,” he assured her.  “And the fire walkers.”

“Now that,” remarked Dominic with every appearance of seriousness, “is a shame.”

The slightly atonal strains of Moroccan music drifted through the house from the back garden, where a band dressed in the traditional caftan and fez was set up under a striped canopy with exotic looking instruments and colorful drums.  “I hope they know something by the Stones,” Dominic murmured to Lindsay, which made her laugh.

The night was crisp and clear, just cool enough to make the warmth of the dancing fire from the brass braziers and the thousands of candles that lined the paths welcome.  The entire garden was alight with swaying flames and twinkling lights, and a perfect harvest moon hung overhead, as though it had been special-ordered for the occasion—which, Lindsay speculated later, it might well have been, given Paul’s propensity for perfection.  Gauze-draped canopies were set up across the landscape, highlighting various stations along the Moroccan buffet—appetizers on miniature skewers served with individual dipping sauces, rich roasted meats, and exotically flavored fried sweet potatoes, a dessert station with gooey honey pastries and bright fruits floating in champagne.  There was a flower-draped arbor with a bucket swing made for two, full-length mirrors in gold frames set at precise angles along the paths to reflect the lights and the gaiety, and, in the center of the patio that overlooked the koi pond, an astonishing life-sized photo poster of Dominic and Lindsay had been placed, dominating the crowd.  It was clearly a candid shot, with the two of them holding hands against a blurred background of green, looking into each others’ eyes and laughing.

Lindsay stared at it, hardly knowing what to say.  “How did they …?”

“I really can’t imagine,” Bridget said, but looked far too innocent to be convincing.

“It’s … spooky.” Lindsay didn’t seem to be able to take her eyes off of it.

Dominic’s eyes twinkled.  “I like it,” he said.  “Maybe they’ll let us take it home after the party.”

“I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t,” said Cici, and her tone reflected the kind of horrified fascination that was in Lindsay’s eyes.

“Marvelous, isn’t it?”  Harmony, sweeping by in an elaborate purple and red silk caftan with a matching turban headdress, blew her a kiss.  “All of your friends will write their good wishes on it before they leave, and you can keep it as a souvenir!”

Lindsay happened to notice Derrick standing a few feet away just then, and he rolled his eyes to the heavens in a gesture of helpless apology.  Lindsay grinned.  “Thank heaven it was Harmony’s idea,” she told Cici.  “I was starting to think something had gone terribly wrong with the boys’ taste.”

“I think it’s just what you need over the mantel at Ladybug Farm,” Dominic said, and Cici slapped his arm playfully. 

Seventy-two people wandered through the garden, sipping wine and sampling the buffet, laughing and chatting and embracing the happy couple. Many of them were friends Lindsay hadn’t seen since she’d left Baltimore, and the Hummingbird House was filled to capacity with overnight guests. They snapped photographs of the elaborate décor for their social media pages and caught up on old times, and when they went home they would take memories, stories, and recommendations to friends and colleagues for the eclectic and elegant little B&B in the Shenandoah.

“Say what you like about Harmony,” observed Cici to Derrick as she paused to fill her glass from a champagne fountain that flowed from the mouth of a lion into a sparkling blue tiled tabletop pool, “and we have said plenty, but she does know how to make the most of her marketing dollar.  This party is going to be tweeted and retweeted for weeks.  You won’t be able to keep up with the reservations.”

“That’s true, I suppose.”  He tried not to look too worried.  “I just hope it isn’t too over the top. We had hoped for something a little more … dignified.”  Then he cheered.  “But the buffet is incredible, isn’t it?”

“Out of this world,” Cici assured him.  “And how many times does anyone in this county get to taste Moroccan food?  You boys have definitely taken the quality of life around here up a notch since you moved in.”

He looked pleased.  “Do you think so?  That’s sweet of you to say.  We do try.  Oh, there’s George and Arianna.  Did you speak to them?  My,” he added confidentially, “she’s put on weight, hasn’t she?”

He hurried off to welcome his guests and Cici was still chuckling when Bridget came up beside her. “Oh my goodness, is that champagne?”  She stretched across Cici to get a glass and filled it from the lion’s mouth.  “Isn’t this fun?  It’s just like the old days back on Huntington Lane.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Cici agreed.  “It’s good to see old friends.  Although I can’t actually remember Paul and Derrick ever giving a party with a turbaned fortune-teller, even on Huntington Lane, and they gave some pretty outrageous parties.”

“Lindsay seems to be having a good time.”

“I don’t know why she was so worried about trimming back the guest list for the wedding.  She should have known Paul and Derrick would outdo themselves for her.  And now the people we didn’t get to invite to wedding got to come to a Moroccan feast, even some of Dominic’s friends from the university.”

“The important thing for a second wedding is to be flexible,” Bridget said, sipping her champagne.  “It’s really silly to try to have a traditional wedding at this age, even if you
are
wearing Vera Wang.”

And then she glanced at Cici, her expression a little hesitant, as though she were embarrassed to ask the question.  “Do you ever feel … I don’t know, jealous of Lindsay?  Just a little?”

“Do you mean because of Dominic?”

Bridget ducked her head in assent.  “And the wedding.  And … well, yes, the husband.”

Cici thought about that, but not for long.  “Not really.  In the first place, I like Dominic a lot, but he’s really not my type.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Well, it would make a difference,” Cici insisted reasonably. “There’s nothing worse than two women interested in the same man, especially if he’s only interested in one of them.”

“I suppose,” Bridget said.  “But I’d certainly like to think that grown-up women would have better sense.”

“There’s nothing sensible about romance, no matter what the age.  But the truth is, I’ve got nothing to be jealous of Lindsay about—except maybe that dress.  She’s happy, and I’m so glad, but she’s no happier than I am.  I love my life.  I wouldn’t change a thing.”  Cici looked at Bridget, but even before she asked the question, her smile understood the answer.  “What about you?  A little jealous?’

Bridget nodded.  “Sometimes.  Just a little.  I loved being married, and I wasn’t ready for it to be over.  I miss my husband.  Sometimes I think it’s not fair.  But then I realize that if Jim hadn’t died when he did, I wouldn’t have what I have now.  Ladybug Farm, and you and Lindsay, and The Tasting Table and the winery and the animals and the garden and even Ida Mae … pretty much everything I’ve ever dreamed of.  So yes, I’m happier than I’ve ever been, or ever expected to be … but sometimes a little sad too.”

“And that,” said Cici, touching her glass to Bridget’s, “is perfectly okay.”   

“Good evening, my ladies,” said Dominic, coming up beside them.  He smiled and lifted his glass to someone across the garden before adding, “Are you having a good time?”

Bridget laughed.  “The important thing is, are you?  This is really off the charts, isn’t it?”

“Lindsay has some amazingly generous friends,” he admitted, glancing around for the hosts, “and they know how to pick good wine.  This, however …” he nodded toward the champagne fountain, “I wouldn’t drink at gunpoint.”

“It’s not that bad,” Cici said.

Bridget added, “It has bubbles, that’s all that matters.  I’m so glad so many of your friends could make the trip, Dominic.”

“I think they feel like the lucky ones.  Apparently there’s a waiting list for reservations at this place, except for this weekend.  The guys cleared the schedule for people who were staying over after the party, and they’re providing free transportation to the Holiday Inn for the overflow.”

Cici smiled.  “That’s just like them.  And there’s nothing they wouldn’t do for Lindsay.”

His eyes crinkled with a smile.  “Then I’m lucky to be joining the family.”  He gazed over the crowd thoughtfully. “You know, next week we really should schedule a meeting with Paul and Derrick to talk about coordinating some events between the winery and the B&B.  Tours, tastings, pairing dinners, that sort of thing.  It would be good for both businesses.”

“That’s a fabulous idea,” said Bridget, her eyes lighting up.  “We could have farm-to-table dinners at The Tasting Table served with Ladybug Farm wines!  Just like they used to do in the old days of Blackwell Farms.”

“Of course,” Dominic pointed out, “back then, farm-to-table was just called dinner.  Who knew eating real food would turn out to be trendy one day?”

“Maybe,” Cici said with a pointed look at Bridget, “it would be better to have the meeting after the wedding.  We still have an awful lot of work to do. “

“Oh,” Bridget said, remembering that she still had two walls to paint Wedgewood blue, not to mention two hundred miniature crab puffs to bake and freeze.  “Oh, yes, that’s right.  Food and stuff.”

Dominic said, “Come to think of it, I have to meet with the lawyer about the sales contract next week.  The buyers want to do a long-distance closing so …”

“Closing?” Cici repeated.  “Dominic, did you sell your house?”

He looked confused.  “Didn’t Lindsay mention it?”

“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Bridget.  “We’ll help you pack.  When are you bringing the horses?”

“She must’ve forgotten,” Cici said.  “You know how it is with all the wedding chaos.  She probably thought she’d mentioned it already.  But congratulations!”

He said, “Thanks.  As a matter of fact …”  But his attention was caught by something over Cici’s shoulder and he smiled. “Excuse me, ladies, my lovely bride-to-be is waving me over.  Someone she wants me to meet, I see.  I’ll catch up with you later.”

Cici watched him go with a faint, puzzled frown.  “I wonder why Lindsay didn’t tell us about the house?”

Bridget had no answer.

~*~

Eventually the band, which was as versatile as it was talented, switched to more familiar Western instruments and contemporary music, and the main patio became a dance floor.  Lindsay loved to dance, and couldn’t believe her good fortune in finding a man who enjoyed it as much as she did. 

“If we lived in the city we could take ballroom dance lessons,” she told Dominic.

The music was slow and easy; her arms were around his neck and his were around her waist.  He bent his forehead to touch hers briefly.  “I don’t want to live in the city.  Do you?”

“We could go on cruises with all the other old people, only we’d be the best dancers.”

“I don’t want to go on cruises with old people.  We probably should have talked about that.”

Lindsay looked up at him, smiling.  “Thank you for being such a good sport about this party.”

“What’s there to be a good sport about?”

“It’s a little bizarre.  Most engagement parties are all about hearts and flowers and champagne and diamonds. ”

“Boring,” he scoffed. “Besides, there was champagne.  Of a sort.”

She laughed.  “Anyway, thank you for being nice to my friends.”

“I like your friends.  All of them.  I can’t bear to think what my life would have been like if you all hadn’t moved here.”

They finished the dance in tender silence, and turned to applaud the band when it was over.  Dominic said, “Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell Cici and Bridget my house had sold?”

She avoided his eyes.  “Didn’t I?  I could have sworn I mentioned it.”  Then, “Oh, look!  Harmony is reading palms.  Let’s go get ours done.”

Harmony had set up a table layered in fringed scarves flanked by standing iron chandeliers, their flames bobbing and weaving in the breeze.  A brass dome incense burner was centered on the table, and a stream of blue, patchouli-scented smoke curled upward from it.  Cici was in the guest chair across the table from her when Lindsay and Dominic arrived, her hand extended palm up while Harmony studied it.