The Big Fix (14 page)

As Harvey placed Laura’s hand into Thomas’s, I glanced at Mark. He was looking at me, his gray eyes softer than I’d ever seen them. I just wished I knew for sure who was behind them.

Chapter 13

“Ciel!” Auntie Mo cornered me at the bar.

All the wedding guests had gathered in the smaller English barn to await the changeover of the German barn from chapel to party central. The catering staff was well trained and efficient, so it wasn’t supposed to take long. In the interim, the bar was open, and appetizers were being passed around by servers dressed in black pants and white shirts with button-down collars. More flowers adorned every flat surface, from the bar itself to the tall tables scattered throughout the room to catch empty glasses and hors d’oeuvres plates.

The wedding party and the family members had finished the posed pictures in front of the altar. Thomas and Laura had gone with the photographer, who was hot to get some outdoor pictures with the fall foliage before the sun set.

I smiled my extra-bright, nothing-wrong-here smile at Auntie Mo, waiting to be grilled.

She engulfed me in a hug. “Honey, first of all, let me tell you how beautiful you look. That dress is gorgeous on you. Ro said you hate yellow, but that’s utter nonsense. It makes your hair look like a titian halo—positively lovely.”

Note to self: look up “titian.”

“Um, thanks, Auntie Mo. You look marvelous, too.” And she really did. The deep green of her below-the-knee dress set off her Maureen O’Hara coloring to perfection, and coordinated beautifully with Mom’s dark burgundy mother-of-the-groom dress.

“Thank you, darling. Now, second thing”—her eyes captured mine and didn’t let go—“where exactly is my son?”

Crap. She’d never believe I didn’t know, even though it was the God’s honest truth. I
didn’t
know, not for sure. But more and more I suspected Billy was right here among us, playing Mark to perfection, being the best man so the real Mark could finish his job with peace of mind on the home front. Something about the way Mark had smiled at me as we walked back down the aisle together after the ceremony had given me a Billy vibe.

I didn’t think that would fly with Auntie Mo, though. She would be really put out with Mark if she thought he’d put his job ahead of his best man duty, and so would Mom. I didn’t want either of them to hold it against Mark.

I sighed. “You know Billy helps Mark on some of his jobs, right?”

“I do,” she said. She wasn’t pleased about it, but she’d come to terms with it once she’d realized that helping Mark was probably less dangerous than some of the jobs Billy took on his own, not to mention a whole lot more legal.

I lowered my voice. “Billy’s been filling in for Laura on a really sensitive job all week, and he and Mark couldn’t both leave without it falling apart. Since Mark is the best man, Billy volunteered to stay on the job for him.” I held my stemmed wineglass between two crossed fingers and my thumb (not easy, but doable), in case I was lying, which I highly suspected I was. “I think that was really thoughtful of Billy,” I added.

Mo agreed, if reluctantly. “I suppose so…” She hugged me again. “Well, I’m sorry your date isn’t here. Try to have fun anyway, okay?”

Mark—Billy?—caught my eye from across the room, where he stood chatting with my dad. The intensity of his look warmed me even from a distance. “I’ll try my best,” I said.

*   *   *

The transformation of the German barn in such a short time was amazing. The chairs that had been set up in rows now surrounded tables covered by cream-colored muslin tablecloths embroidered with golden stalks of wheat. The flowers that had lined the aisle for the ceremony served as centerpieces. Tea candles set in short glass vases half-filled with river rocks provided a warm glow in the romantically lowered lights of the room.

Space had been left open in front of the stage for a dance floor. Brian’s band, looking remarkably unscruffy, was playing softly enough that the guests could hear themselves talk. That was a minor miracle—Mom must have laid down the law ahead of time.

Molly was hanging out at the foot of the stage, staring dreamily at the band, telling anyone who’d listen that the lead guitar was her date. Of course, everyone there knew Brian and his dating proclivities, so Molly was getting a lot of pats on the head and indulgent smiles.

Brian tapped on his microphone. “Everyone … if I can have your attention, please … it gives me great pleasure to announce Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Halligan. Hey, Laura, it’s great to have another sister!”

They entered from the alcove in the back, looking flushed and a little windblown. The photographer tailed them, snapping photos like a mad paparazzo. Thomas (who normally had no patience at all for that sort of thing) and the new Mrs. Halligan ignored the man elegantly.

Have to admit, I was a little surprised when Laura decided to take the Halligan name. She was so independent that I’d thought surely she’d keep her own, but while Mom and I were helping her dress earlier, she’d told us that, all things considered, she’d rather share Thomas’s last name than her asshole father’s. (Well, she hadn’t said “asshole” in front of Mom, but I could read between the lines.) Mom had teared up, and told her she couldn’t be happier to have another Halligan in the family. In fact, she wouldn’t mind
many
more Halligans in the family. Laura had smiled and hugged her, but made no promises. She obviously knew how to handle Mom.

“Oh, dear,” Mom had said, “I’ve wrinkled your dress. Ciel, get the portable steamer.”

Laura had laughed and reached for me, hugging me tightly. “Never mind the steamer—I’m hoping to gather lots of these kind of wrinkles today.”

Looked like she was making headway on her goal. Instead of a formal reception line, she and Thomas were circulating through the room, stopping to say a few words to everyone, upping the hug tally by the minute. But the wrinkles accumulating were minor and only made her dress more beautiful.

Mark came up to me as I beamed at the happy couple and said, “I believe you’re my date for the evening.” His eyes were soft, not a hint of the spook. Not that I’d expect there to be, even if it was the real Mark. He was too good at compartmentalizing his life.

I searched his face for a clue. Surely Billy would give me some sign if it were him … or perhaps not. Not with so many knowing adaptor eyes around. He wouldn’t want to take a chance that someone else might notice he wasn’t the real deal.

“Best man, maid of honor … it does make sense,” I said, taking a drink from the tray of a passing waiter.

“Careful with that—it tastes like apple cider, but I have it on good authority that it will knock you on your butt.”

I sniffed the contents of the sturdy goblet. “I’ll keep that in mind. Wouldn’t want to stumble into the wrong limo later.” Mom and Dad had hired drivers for the whole wedding party.

“Don’t worry. Since Billy got held up, I’ll give you a ride home.”

Was there an odd inflection when he said “Billy”? Could that be my clue?

Before I could dig for more hints, my brother James approached with his boyfriend, Devon. He and Devon had been through a rough patch, but had recently agreed to give their relationship another go. When I looked at Devon, I could certainly see why James had been willing to summon up a little forgiveness of spirit—the man was gorgeous, with platinum blond hair, pouty lips, and violet eyes.

James was no slouch himself in the looks department, with his longish strawberry blond hair and pale green eyes. Kind of a male version of me, only without freckles, the lucky bastard. Looked better on him.

“Ciel, there you are. You look lovely,” James said, and gave me a rather stilted kiss on my cheek. He’d never been terribly comfortable with public displays of affection. “Mark, good to see you. Have you met Devon?”

Mark shook Devon’s hand. “Devon. It’s a pleasure…”

Devon smiled, and a flash went off nearby. I’m sure he was used to it. The photographer’s assistant was wandering freely, taking candid shots of the guests. Coming across a face like Devon’s was something that didn’t happen every day, and he was taking advantage of it.

“Ciel,” Devon said after shaking Mark’s hand, “your brother is the master of understatement. You are beyond lovely—a piece of summer sunshine. Totally gorgeous.” He kissed both my cheeks, European style.

Was everybody blind? Or being kind? The fact is, yellow washes me out, highlights my freckles, and makes my hair look like a Dreamsicle. But I murmured a thank-you anyway, and was spared from further embarrassment when an announcement from the band instructed us to take our seats for dinner. Mark guided me to our table with his hand at the small of my back. All the members of the wedding party were seated together, so it wouldn’t seem strange to anyone for me to be with him.

Thomas and Laura had their own small “sweetheart” table near the stage, and seemed oblivious to the crowd as they gazed adoringly into each other’s eyes. (Gag me. No, wait … that wasn’t very nice, was it? I mean, everyone’s entitled to be sickeningly sweet on their wedding day. It wasn’t their fault weddings made me cringe.)

The menu was as rustic and simple as the wedding: a hearty vegetable soup served in hollowed-out miniature white pumpkins, with a sliced beet salad (not nearly as disgusting as I’d feared it might be) and crusty bread on the side. There were crocks of hand-churned butter and mason jars of local honey, complete with honeycombs and wooden honey dippers. For those who preferred more protein, there was grilled salmon or tender filet of beef. Or, if you happened to be starving, like me, all of the above. Mom and Auntie Mo knew how to put on a spread.

The wineglasses were a pale bottle-green, thick and sturdy, and etched with Thomas and Laura’s names and the date, so the guests would have a memento of the occasion. I planned to make off with as many as I could get my hands on—my stock of stemware at home was in dire need of replenishing.

I sat between Mark and Brian, who had joined us after announcing the band would be taking a break to “get some food, man.” James was also with us, Devon having been seated at a table reserved for the dates of the wedding party and the other band members. He’d have fun entertaining the two young lawyers who’d escorted Sinead and Siobhan around town the previous evening. Apparently they’d behaved themselves, seeing as how they were here and, you know, still alive. They cast wary glances in Uncle Liam’s direction, but seemed to be having a good time otherwise.

All through dinner I tried to watch Mark without looking like I was watching him. The more wine I had, the harder it was. (Hey, I knew I wouldn’t be driving, so why not? Wine is the anesthetic that makes weddings bearable. Even Jesus knew that.)

I was still running about fifty-fifty in my head as to whether my date was Mark or Billy. Talk about d
é
j
à
vu. The last wedding I’d attended—that time filling in for the bride—I hadn’t been able to tell if my “date” (aka the groom) was Mark or Billy either. Now,
this
guy was quintessentially
Mark.
Of course, Billy could pull that off without a blink, knowing Mark as well as he did. But I thought maybe some of the looks he gave me were … well, more
knowing.
Or something.

Mark caught me looking, and gave me a long, slow smile. I looked away, feeling myself blush.
Oops.
Was I staring at him too much? What if it was Billy, and he didn’t know I knew it was him and thought I was ogling Mark? That wouldn’t be good. On the other hand, if he knew I knew it was him, but didn’t know
I
knew he knew I knew it, then maybe he was … oh, hell. This was getting confusing. I signaled the waiter for another glass of wine.

Brian excused himself as the dessert cheese platter (complete with wedges of dark chocolate—
way to go, Mom!
) was being served. He whispered something to Molly, rounded up the band, and started the dance music going. According to Mom, who had of course grilled him on it prewedding, he’d actually put together a nice, romantic playlist, ranging from Frank Sinatra to Michael Bubl
é
. He’d also included a few zippier numbers from They Might Be Giants and Train to keep things upbeat and spirited.

The first postdinner song was one Brian and James had written especially for Thomas and Laura’s first dance as man and wife. James joined the band onstage for the number. He and Brian harmonized the sentimentally mushy lyrics into a work of transcendent beauty, judging by the tears streaming down our parents’ faces. Yes, my dad can be a crier. (Okay, I may have leaked a few drops, too. Sue me.) Thomas and Laura loved it, that was the main thing.

As we’d been preinstructed to do, the wedding party members—other than James and Brian, of course—joined the happy couple on the dance floor about halfway through the song. Sinead and Siobhan laughingly pulled their unsuspecting lawyer dates onto the floor with them. Mark guided me into the dance so expertly I almost felt coordinated. I guess I was still leaking, because he let go of my hand for a moment, and gently wiped my cheeks with his thumb, without ever missing a step.

“You okay, Howdy?” he said, taking my hand again and pulling me closer to his chest, but not inappropriately close. It was a slow dance, after all.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Stupid wedding song.” I sniffled. “Remind me to slug James and Bri when I get a chance.”

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that made me want to lay my cheek against his lapel. If I’d been dancing with Billy—Billy in his own aura, I mean—I wouldn’t have hesitated to do it. But almost everybody here knew about my long-standing crush on Mark, so if I were to do that, they might think I was backsliding.

I looked up into dove-soft eyes. Hell, maybe I
was
backsliding …

No.
I dragged my eyes away from his and gave myself an infinitesimal shake.
Ciel Halligan, you will not backslide.

“Something wrong, Ciel? Are you cold?” His quiet voice vibrated into my ear.

I shivered. “No. I’m not,” I said, and looked boldly into his eyes.