Lori Wilde - There Goes The Bride (4 page)

“Ah.” Rachael sighed. “That’s so sweet. I was afraid they were going to burn her at the stake.”

Tish snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Humph,” Jillian said. “I don’t think it’s fair that she had to give up the very thing that defined her just for the love of a man.”

“The magistrate gave up his job for her,” Delaney pointed out. “And he was exiled from his homeland.”

“Morag was exiled too.” Tish narrowed her eyes at the veil as if she didn’t trust it.

“You must remember,” Claire said, “this was three hundred years ago. Things were much different then. And the magistrate wasn’t just any man, but her soul mate. There’s a very big difference. You can love all manner of people, in all manner of ways, but we each have only one soul mate who not only completes us, but challenges us to grow beyond our fears.”

Was it true? Delaney wondered. Was there really such a thing as a soul mate?

Whether it’s true or not,
muttered a saucy voice in the back of her head that sounded a whole lot like her sister, Skylar,
one thing’s for sure. Evan Van Zandt is definitely not your soul mate. You’re too much alike. Peas in a pod. No challenge. No emotional growth going on in that relationship.

Delaney nibbled her bottom lip, disturbed by the thought. Maybe Evan wasn’t her soul mate, but he was kind and good and honest. As children they’d played in the sandbox together.

Evan was the one person who had told her she was pretty when she was chubby and bucktoothed and nearsighted and had a hump in her nose. Both of their families heartily approved of the marriage, and she did love him. Maybe not with a magic-wedding-veil-soul-mate-for-all-eternity kind of love, but she did love him. So what if there was no red-hot chemistry? In Delaney’s estimation sex was way overrated anyway.

Too bad you don’t have a magistrate to kidnap you and take you away with him.

It’s my fault,
Delaney thought,
not Evan’s
. She hadn’t tried hard enough to make their sex life something special and then she’d gone and agreed to the celibacy thing and now he was going off to Guatemala to heal crippled children.

She pushed the troubling thoughts away and leaned down to examine the veil more closely. Poetry in lace. It spoke to her in a singsong of the ages. It might not be rational or practical or even sane, but she could feel an enchanted force flowing through the air.

Goose bumps spread over her arms. What if there was some truth to the legend? What if she wore the veil on her wedding day and wished that her sexual feelings for Evan would grow stronger, richer, deeper, and truer? Would it happen?

A compulsion quite unlike anything she had ever felt before gripped her. The feeling was much greater than an itch or a whim. It gnawed at her. No matter how much it might cost, she had to have this veil. Weird as it sounded, Delaney just knew that if she had the veil she would get the happily-ever-after she so desperately desired.

But what about her mother? How could Delaney begin to explain this to Honey and convince her to let her wear this veil on her wedding day?

You can figure out how to deal with her later. Just get your hands on it.

There it was again. The undisciplined voice that sounded like Skylar. A voice boldly inciting her to do things she wouldn’t ordinarily dare.

“I’ll give you a thousand dollars for the veil,” she blurted, surprised at her feelings of desperation.

Claire shook her head. “I’m sorry, but it’s not for sale.”

“Three thousand,” Delaney said firmly, acting as if there was no way the woman could refuse. Three grand was probably twice what this little consignment store netted in a month.

“It’s not a matter of money.”

“Five thousand.” Enough haggling. She was determined to possess the veil.

“You would spend that much for a wedding veil?” Claire’s eyes widened.

“Her grandmother left her a two-million-dollar trust fund and she just turned twenty-five,” Tish interjected. “She can spend as much as she wants.”

“No.” Claire shook her head.

“If it’s not the money,” Delaney asked, “what is it?”

The shopkeeper took a deep breath and looked as if she wished they would all just go away and leave her alone. “There are complications.”

“Complications?” Delaney frowned. “What kind of complications are we talking about?”

“Um . . . well . . . throughout the years the veil has . . . er . . . backfired,” Claire stammered.

“Backfired? What does that mean?”

“There’ve been a few incidents.”

“Like what?”

“Whenever people hear about the legend, they feel compelled to wish upon the veil.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Claire nervously moistened her lips. “Nothing in and of itself. The problem occurs when people wish for one thing and what their hearts really want is another thing completely. Because you see, when you wish on the veil, you get whatever your soul most deeply hungers for. It’s just that some people aren’t ready to face what’s truly in their hearts and souls.”

“Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it,” Jillian said.

“Exactly.” Claire nodded.

“But this wedding veil is absolutely perfect,” Delaney said, feeling wildly out of control, but unable to reel herself in. “I have to have it. Would seventy-five hundred dollars convince you?”

A long silence stretched across the room. All five of them were staring at the wedding veil.

“You really are desperately needin’ a bit of magic in your life, aren’t you,” Claire Kelley murmured, her Irish brogue more noticeable now.

Delaney looked from the wedding veil to Claire and saw understanding in the shopkeeper’s eyes. Eerily, it seemed as if the woman comprehended all of Delaney’s doubts and fears concerning her impending marriage.

“Yes.”
Far more than you can ever know.
Delaney raised her hands in supplication. “Please, sell me the veil.”

“I cannot sell it to you.”

An emotion she could not name, but that tasted a bit like grief, took hold of her. Why was possessing this particular wedding veil so important? There was no rational explanation for it, but an odd feeling clutched deep within her. The yearning was almost unbearable.

“Ten thousand.” She felt like an acolyte begging a Zen master for enlightenment.

Claire sucked in her breath and looked around the shabby little shop. “You really want it that badly?”

Delaney nodded, too emotionally twisted up inside to speak.

“All right.” Claire let out her breath in an audible whoosh. Her reluctance was palpable. “You may have it.”

She felt as if someone had lifted a chunk of granite off her heart.

Delaney’s breath came out on a squeak of pure joy. “Really?”

“Yes, but only under one condition,” Claire cautioned.

“Yes, yes.”

“You must swear that you will never, under any circumstances, wish upon the veil.”

“I’ll sign a waiver, a contract, whatever it takes. My friend Jillian is a lawyer; she can bear witness.”

“Delaney.” Jillian made a clucking noise. “Are you sure you want to do this? Ten thousand is a lot of money for a wedding veil.”

Defiantly she met Jillian’s eyes. “I want it, okay? Just back me up here.”

Something in her face must have telegraphed her seriousness. Delaney rarely took a stand on anything, hardly ever expressed an opinion or even a strong desire, but because of this, whenever she did take a stand, people usually listened.

Jillian held up her palms and took a step back. “Hey, if it’s what you want, I say go for it.”

“Thank you.” She turned back to Claire and reached inside her Prada handbag for her checkbook. “I promise never to wish on the veil. Now may I have it?”

Claire stuck out her hand to seal the deal. “Done.”

And that was the moment Delaney realized that although she’d managed to find the special magic she’d been aching to believe in, she had just made a solemn vow never to use it.

Chapter 2

T
hat night, Delaney dreamed of her sister.

Skylar had been dead for seventeen years, but she popped up in Delaney’s dreams with surprising regularity. Although she couldn’t say why her sister still played such a prominent role in her sleeping life.

Maybe it was because Skylar’s passing had left her an only child. Afterward, her mother had tied the apron strings so tightly Delaney felt as if all the personality had been strangled out of her. Maybe dreaming of her outrageous sister was an avenue into her own subconscious. A way to express the feelings she’d learned to suppress.

Tonight, for some inexplicable reason, her sister wore roller skates, purple short-shorts, and a silver-sequined top hat. Other than the bizarre outfit, she looked exactly as she’d looked the last time Delaney had seen her—blond, beautiful, and sweet sixteen.

Skylar perched on the curvy footboard of Delaney’s sleigh bed, enthusiastically chewing a persimmon.

“Who eats persimmons?” Delaney asked.

“I do.”

“Of course you do.”

“Persimmons are like me. Unique. If you were a fruit, Laney, you’d be an apple. Dependable, granted, but boring as hell.”

“Watch what you’re doing. You’re dripping juice all over my new Ralph Lauren comforter.”

Skylar rolled her eyes. “See? What’d I tell you? Boring. Go ahead and bitch all you want; you can’t fool me. I know what you’ve been up to.”

“I haven’t been up to anything except protecting my expensive bedding from a persimmon-sucking ghost.”

“Low blow, baby sis. But I am glad to see you’re showing some spunk. Bravo,” Skylar said. “However, insults aren’t going to distract me from what you’re hiding under the bed.”

It was true. Delaney didn’t want her sister poking fun at the wedding veil.

“Come on, pull it out. I know it’s there. You might as well let me see it.”

She sighed, knowing Skylar would pester her until she either showed her the veil or she woke up. “It’s no big deal, just a wedding veil.”

“Hmm, the plot thickens,” Skylar mused. “What are you going to do about the veil that you’ve already got hanging in your closet? Remember that one? The veil Mother picked out for you.”

“You’re just trying to start trouble.”

“But of course. Everybody knows stirring up trouble is what I do best.” Skylar polished off the persimmon and chucked the remains in the trash can.

“I didn’t know ghosts could eat,” Delaney said, trying to deflect Skylar’s attention.

“Technically, I’m not a ghost. Rather, I’m a figment of your dream imagination. You could send me packing if you really wanted to, but honestly your life would be pretty damn dull without me. So quit arguing and produce the veil.” Skylar made “gimme” motions with her fingers.

Delaney flipped her head over the side of the bed and grappled underneath the bed skirt until she found the sack. She slipped it out, sat up, and cautiously handed her the sack. “Be careful with it.”

Skylar peeked inside and whistled. “Holy shit, that’s an awesome veil.”

“I know.” Her sister’s approval meant a lot. Delaney felt eight years old again, full of wistful longing to be glamorous and grown-up. Hanging around Skylar’s vanity, watching her apply makeup and change outfits as she got ready for a date.

“And I see that you found the veil at a consignment shop.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Mom’s never going to let you wear it.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“You could fight her on this. Oops, oh, wait, I forgot. You’re so into being the perfect daughter, you could never buck the flawless Honey Montgomery Cartwright.”

“No need to get unpleasant.” Delaney snatched the wedding veil away from Skylar and folded it back into the sack.

“Ah, perfect little princess. Lucky for me I died when I did. I would never have heard the end of how perfect you are, and how perfect I am not.”

Skylar’s comment shot her full of anger. Delaney remembered the raw horror and agonizing grief she’d experienced over her sister’s death. Nostrils flaring, hands knotted into fists, she faced off with her. “No, it was not lucky! It was terrible the way you died.”

“Okay, sorry. Chill.”

“I won’t chill. The way Mother and Daddy were afterward was awful. Losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to this family. I had to be perfect because you got your silly self killed, sneaking off to a KISS concert, drinking with your friends, and then getting smashed up in a car crash. If you hadn’t been so damn rebellious, you’d still be alive and I wouldn’t have ended up spending my whole life making amends for something you did. I had to have chaperoned dates until I was nineteen. Mother wouldn’t even allow me to go to sleepaway camp, much less a rock concert. She refused to let me get my driver’s license until I was twenty-one. And it was your entire fault.”

“Ooh, where’s all this emotion coming from?” Skylar applauded. “I approve. Usually, you’re so pent-up.”