Читать книгу Eternal Vows - Rochelle Alers, Rochelle Alers - Страница 10

Chapter 2

Peyton knew she was speeding but she wanted to get to Mama Lula’s to pick up the order she’d called in, and then to the salon. If Celia had planned to marry on the weekend she doubted whether they would’ve been able to secure an appointment. The technicians at Unique Creations were usually booked up two to three weeks in advance.

She gave Celia a sidelong glance. She was a feminine version of her brother, reminding Peyton of a doll with her small round face, black curls grazing the nape of her neck, large dark eyes, and pert nose, curved mouth and thumbprint-dimpled brown cheeks.

“I’m sorry I came at you like a rabid dog,” Peyton apologized.

Pressing the back of her head to the headrest, Celia closed her eyes. “And I’m sorry if you misunderstood me. I would never presume to identify your racial designation. I have an uncle with light green eyes whose hair was much lighter than yours. He has a grandson who looks exactly like him even though Alejandro’s parents both have black hair. When Uncle Josh tans his complexion is similar to yours. And he doesn’t bite his tongue when he brags about being an Afro-Cuban down to the marrow in his bones.”

Peyton felt duly chastised. People who hadn’t seen her parents would rudely ask “what are you?” And her pat comeback was “An American.” “I inherited my eye color from my father and everything else from my mother. Mom is very mild-mannered and laid-back, and the only time I witnessed her going ballistic was when I came home to tell her that my second-grade teacher, who was new to the school, asked me what I was. When I’d innocently told her my name she said knew that, but wanted to know if I was white or black. My mother called a lawyer and had the teacher transferred to another school.”

Celia opened her eyes. “Why should it matter what you are?”

Peyton shook her head. “I really don’t know what the big deal is when it comes to a person’s race. Didn’t we elect a mixed-race president?”

“Word,” Celia drawled. “By the way, the Coles are a patchwork quilt of different races and ethnicities.”

“Do you speak Spanish?” Peyton asked.

“Yes. My father and grandmother always spoke to me and my brothers in Spanish. My father felt it was important we know more than one language. It was different with abuela. She didn’t want us to forget our Cuban roots.”

The two women talked about their medical careers, professors, fellow students, course work and internships. Their order was waiting when Peyton maneuvered up to the drive-through window at Mama Lula’s. They had twenty minutes to spare, so they sat in the parking lot behind the salon eating grits, fluffy scrambled eggs and fileted whiting seasoned and fried to perfection.

Celia took a deep swallow of coffee. “Do you think we’re going to be able to fit into our gowns?”

Touching the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin, Peyton nodded. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t. We probably won’t eat anything else until later on tonight.” Their gowns were scheduled to be delivered to the farm at noon.

Celia patted her flat belly. “Thank you for forcing me to eat. I really needed to put something in my stomach.”

Peyton gathered the containers and coffee cups, storing them in a plastic bag. “I knew you would feel better if you ate something.”

A beat passed. “Would you have really attempted to seduce Gavin?”

She looked at Nicholas’s sister as if she’d suddenly taken leave of her senses. “I was just blowing smoke, Celia. I’ve never attempted to seduce another woman’s man and I pray I don’t lose my mind and actually do something that skanky.”

Combing her fingers through the mass of raven curls, Celia held them off her forehead. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I believed you. I lost one fiancé, so it’s always in the back of my mind that I could lose another one.”

“What happened? Talk to me while we walk.”

Peyton listened, stunned when Celia disclosed the gang-related shooting rampage in the Miami hospital emergency room where her fiancé had been one of six murdered in cold blood. Two doctors died that night along with her patient and three other gang members. She and three others were wounded in a mêlée that lasted no more than thirty seconds and had turned the E.R. into a killing field.

“It’s been a year, but I still have nightmares,” she whispered as they entered the salon through the rear door.

Peyton wanted to know how seriously Celia had been injured and what had happened to the shooters, but it was too late to ask when they were approached by the owner of the salon. “Good morning, Mrs. Barnes. I’m Peyton Blackstone and this is Celia Thomas.”

Barbara Barnes, or Babs as she was referred to by her closest friends, pressed her manicured hands together. It was impossible to pinpoint her age; the woman had been nipped and tucked to where she’d literally stopped time. She was tall and claimed a figure that would rival a woman decades younger. Her short coiffed honey-blond hair, flawless peaches-and-cream complexion and her makeup were in keeping with someone who had achieved grande dame status. It was only on a rare occasion she would be seen in the upscale unisex salon.

“Welcome, Miss Blackstone. When one of my technicians told me you needed an appointment for a bridal package I knew I had to come and personally meet you. I had Iris move several clients to another day.”

Earlier that morning Peyton had complained to Ryan that being a Blackstone in horse country was more of a disadvantage than an advantage, but apparently she’d been wrong. She knew she’d been given an appointment when she told the receptionist her name; the woman called her back to inform her that someone had cancelled and they would be able to fit her and Celia in.

“Thanks so much for being so accommodating,” Peyton said, smiling.

Barbara inclined her head in acknowledgment. Her brown eyes shifted from Peyton to Celia and then back. “Who is the bride?”

Celia flashed a dimpled smile. “I am. And Peyton is my maid of honor.”

“You’re both lovely girls. My husband and Sheldon are very good friends. He was part owner in one of Sheldon’s Thoroughbreds that made Grainger a very wealthy man. So, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for a Blackstone. I know you didn’t request it, but I’m throwing in full-body massages for both of you.” She winked at Celia. “A bride should be completely relaxed on her wedding day. Do you ladies have a favorite fragrance?”

Peyton exchanged a puzzled glance with Celia. “Anaïs Anaïs.”

Barbara smiled. “And you, Celia?”

“Trésor.”

“I asked because I know the wedding begins at four, so you’ll be able to shower and apply your fragrance before we do your hair and makeup. This way when you return home you’ll just have to slip into your gowns.” She motioned to a young woman dressed in a flowing black smock with her name stitched on one pocket and Unique Creations on the other. “Ingrid, please take care of

Ms. Blackstone and Ms. Thomas.”

Peyton and Celia gave each other fist bumps, as they followed Ingrid to a dressing room where they left their street clothes in a locker and were given plush black velour robes and matching slippers. Soft, relaxing Zen-like music coming from concealed speakers competed with the hypnotic sound of flowing water in a large corner waterfall filled with stalks of bamboo. They were brought into the massage room; scented candles and diffused light threw soft shadows on the walls and ceiling. Peyton felt as if she’d entered a cave or a grotto. The masseurs stepped out while they exchanged the robes for a towel, then lay facedown on the heated massage tables.

Both women lost track of time when they were simultaneously massaged and kneaded from head to toe. The massage was followed by a facial that left their faces cool and tingling. Peyton was almost listless when she was told she had to take a shower. They headed back to the massage tables where the masseurs applied scented body creams in their favorite fragrances. Dots of perfume were applied to all the pulse points. Her entire body glistened and glowed from the ministration.

Peyton slipped back into her robe, accepted a mug of steaming herbal tea, and as soon as she finished it she was seated in a shampoo chair. She ignored the conversations going on around her, luxuriating in the feel of strong fingers massaging her scalp. Every service was performed in precision like an assembly line. The highly skilled technicians knew exactly what to do, and there was no wasted motion. Her pedicure was completed when she sat in the chair with her hair slathered in a rich avocado-based conditioner under a plastic cap. Following the conditioning treatment, her hair was blown out and styled in a loose twist behind her left ear.

Her eyes met Celia’s in the mirror as they sat next to each other. Celia’s raven curls were set on large rollers, and then blown straight, brushed off her face and pinned into a chignon on the nape of her long, smooth neck. Celia had decided to wear flowers in her hair instead of the traditional veil or headpiece, while Peyton had chosen pearl and crystal hairpins.

Glancing at a wall clock in the glass and mirrored salon, Peyton noted the time. It was minutes before two. All that remained was a manicure and makeup. Although the invitations read four o’clock, Celia insisted the ceremony begin no later than four-thirty.

The manicurist noticed her staring at the clock. “Don’t worry, Ms. Blackstone. Someone will be applying your makeup while I do your manicure.”

* * *

“What’s going on?” Celia asked when Peyton maneuvered into the driveway at Nicholas’s house. A woman dressed in a black pantsuit with a pair of oversize sunglasses perched on the top of her reddish-pink hair was shouting into a walkie-talkie at the top of her lungs. The color in her face went from pink to bright red in seconds. She beckoned them to get out of the truck.

Peyton came to a stop, shifting into Park. “She has to be the planner.” Within seconds of getting out of the pickup two young women wearing similar pantsuits appeared as if out of nowhere.

The woman stepped forward, extending her free hand. “I’m Danielle Lawson, the event planner. We’re working on a very tight time frame, which means you have to go with the bridal attendants who will help you get ready. The groom and best man are dressed, so we’re only waiting for you. By the way, you look very nice.” She put the walkie-talkie to her mouth. “Get someone here to move this truck to the parking area.”

Celia and Peyton followed the two women around to the back of the house, entering through a rear door. A small storage room off the pantry had been converted into a makeshift dressing room. Both gowns, covered in clear plastic, hung from wall hooks and a full-length mirror was propped against one wall; the wedding flowers, boxes with shoes, lingerie and jewelry were set out on a cloth-covered table.

The bridal attendants worked quickly and efficiently when they helped Peyton and Celia out of their clothes and into their wedding finery. Both women stared wide-eyed at themselves in the mirror as jeweled hairpins were secured in Peyton’s hair, while Celia’s attendant tucked tiny pink rosebuds into the ebony coil of the bride’s hair.

Celia had chosen a platinum silk sheath with embroidered tulle, a sweetheart neckline, short cap sleeves, beading, sheer back and a sweep train. Peyton’s gown was similar, a darker gray and designed without the train. The simplicity of the gowns, hairstyles and dramatic eye makeup was perfect for a summer afternoon wedding.

Slipping her feet into a pair of charcoal-gray silk rhinestone-studded sling-blacks, Peyton added four inches to her five-three height. Celia had decided on a pair of satin pumps with a lower heel in a becoming platinum shade. She’d admitted if she was going to be up on her feet for hours, she much preferred a two-inch heel rather than a higher one. Standing five-eight in bare feet, four inches would have put her at the six-foot mark.

“Please hold out your left hand, Miss Blackstone.”

Peyton complied, her eyes widening as Celia’s attendant looped a bracelet with princess-cut diamonds around her wrist, securing it with a double safety catch. Peyton looked at Celia. “We didn’t order this.”

Celia’s dimpled smile was dazzling. “It’s my gift to you for being an incredible maid of honor.” She held up her hand when Peyton opened her mouth. “Please let me finish. It’s the least I could do for you, because you arranged and paid for the beauty makeover. You also got your cousin to agree to let Reverend Merrill officiate. And you’ve also kept me sane. So please be gracious and accept it.”

She wanted to be gracious, but the weight of the white metal and the size of the stones in the bracelet probably cost more than some people earned in six months. “It’s exquisite, Celia. But it’s too—”

“Please stop it, Peyton,” Celia implored, interrupting her. “Nicholas and I grew up with trust funds, and our parents taught us it’s gauche to talk about money.”

Peyton’s smile did not reach her eyes. She may not have been a trust-fund kid and she hadn’t grown up dirt poor; however Celia’s gift was not only extravagant but also unwarranted. “Thankfully I’ve never been accused of being gauche,” she said under her breath as the attendant handed her Gavin’s double milgrain platinum wedding band. She put the ring on her thumb. She reached for Celia’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Gavin is very, very lucky. You are the perfect bride.”

A fringe of long lashes concealed Celia’s eyes. “Thank you, Peyton. And you’re a beautiful maid of honor, a wonderful friend, and I hope one day we’ll become more than friends.” She leaned in close. “I’m willing to bet Nicholas won’t be able to take his eyes off of you tonight.”

Danielle walked into the room, clapping her hands. “Ladies, we’re ready to begin. Maid of honor first, then the bride.”

Peyton didn’t want to think about Nicholas. She’d begun to believe her fascination with him was due to his mysteriousness. She’d watched him interact with other people, and not once was she able to discern from his expression what he was feeling. If he had been angry or annoyed that emotion also remained hidden behind a facade of polite indifference. She rarely saw him laugh or smile. Dinner at the restaurant had been the exception and she wondered if it had anything to do with Celia’s presence. It was obvious he adored his sister.

She wanted to forget the episode in the restaurant restroom when she confessed to Celia she was in love with Nicholas. Hours later Peyton realized she hadn’t been totally truthful about her revelation. She didn’t know how to explain to Celia that she’d mentally replaced Reginald with Nicholas in an attempt to emotionally exorcise a man whom she’d loved selflessly. A love he’d exploited and abused to fuel a life filled with deception.

Picking up her bouquet of pink-and-white roses, Peyton lifted the skirt of her gown with her free hand and walked out into the afternoon sunlight, following the planner down a flagstone path to an archway covered with climbing pale pink roses. The plantings were mixed, roses set among perennials that created a riot of color. Beyond the arch was a wooden fence with a doorway.

Danielle settled her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose. “I’m going to open the door, but I want you to wait until I give you the signal to go through. The maid of honor will go first, followed by the bride.” A photographer stood off to the side snapping frames of pictures.

Peyton, glancing over her shoulder, gave Celia a reassuring smile. She didn’t want to think about her own wedding day; she had been in love and believed when she’d married Reginald it would last forever. However, forever lasted a year and when her loving husband had called her to come and bail him out of jail her world came crashing down around her. She would’ve understood if he’d been arrested for DWI or DUI, but not solicitation. While she’d believed her husband was traveling on business, he’d actually been busy soliciting prostitutes.

Her musings were shattered when Danielle opened the gate, revealing a charming English garden. A videographer was on hand to tape the entire ceremony. It was the perfect setting for an afternoon wedding. Marble statues of fairies peeked through a border of ornamental grass; water spilled from the mouth of a large fish perched atop a wide fountain and wildflowers in every variety grew in wild abandon among with vibrant hibiscus and hanging baskets overflowing with orchids. Several low stone benches were positioned around a large waterfall, making it the perfect spot to begin or end the day.

Peyton didn’t want to look at the opposite end of the flower-strewn path, yet she found she couldn’t pull her gaze away from the tall, ramrod-straight figure seemingly willing her to meet his eyes. Nicholas stood next to Gavin under a pergola intertwined with ivy and grape leaves. It was as if he possessed special powers with an indescribable force field pulling her in his direction.

Everything around her vanished: the wedding guests sitting on white tufted chairs waiting for the ceremony to begin; Gavin watching and waiting for his bride; Reverend Jimmy Merrill clutching his bible to his chest and the guitarist’s lightning-quick fingers playing flamenco on an acoustic guitar. Nothing existed except the man with whom she felt a connection despite his overt remoteness. The guitarist’s fingers slowed as he segued from the staccato strumming to a hauntingly beautiful rendition of “I’ll Always Love You.”

Danielle moved closer. “I’m going to start counting and when I reach ten I want you to start walking. I want you to take a pause a half second between each step so everyone will get a good look at you before you reach the pergola. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.” Peyton wondered if the event planner had been a drill sergeant in a former life. She didn’t ask or make requests. She barked orders, expecting them to be followed without question.

At Danielle’s whispered signal, she began the measured walk along the path, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. A mysterious smile parted her lips when she recognized the shocked expressions on the faces of those who lived with her at the farm. They were used to seeing her without makeup and her hair styled in a ponytail or braid.

She gave Sheldon a perceptible nod when he winked at her. Her father’s third cousin, widowed at thirty-two, had become a sought-after widower. Twenty years later he fell in love again and married Renee Wilson. He’d also become a father for the third time when Renee gave birth to a daughter.

Lowering her chin slightly, she stared at Nicholas through her lashes when she stood opposite him. The look on his face mirrored those who knew her: shock.

Gotcha! her silent voice shouted in triumph.

* * *

Gavin shifted until his shoulder brushed Nicholas’s. “The lady vet cleans up real good,” he said sotto voce.

Nicholas went completely still, as if someone had impaled him with a sharp instrument, while his breath solidified in his lungs. “No lie,” he whispered back.

If it hadn’t been for her hair Nicholas wouldn’t have recognized the veterinarian. She may have been given a boy’s name, yet there was nothing boyish about her petite, compact curvy body.

His gaze lingered on the toes of her shoes peeking out from under the hem of the gown that was a perfect match for her eyes before slowly inching up to the soft swell of breasts rising and falling above the revealing neckline. Staring at Peyton called to mind one of the dolls in Celia’s doll collection: perfectly coiffed golden hair, expertly applied makeup and drop-dead-gorgeous figure clothed in an exquisite evening gown.

Nicholas had feigned a lack of interest whenever Sheldon invited him to eat with his family, where invariably he and Peyton would be seated together. He’d purposely ignored her whenever they occupied the same space because she had become a constant reminder of how much he’d missed female companionship. Peyton also reminded him of when he’d ignored his intuition and had formed a relationship with a woman who was the opposite of any with whom he’d become involved. He didn’t know how, but he always felt tension radiating off Peyton, wondering why she was so uptight.

But he did get to see a very different Peyton at the restaurant. Nicholas wasn’t certain whether she’d bonded with Celia because both were doctors but she laughed easily, while exhibiting a wicked sense of humor. She appeared so much younger than twenty-seven, and with her petite frame he’d tried imagining her treating an animal as large as a horse.

Twice within the space of a week she’d tried to talk to him. Well, he mused, tonight would be different. After all, he was the best man and she maid of honor and that meant they would be forced to interact with each other. His entrancement with Peyton ended when the guitarist played the opening strains of the “Wedding March.” As if on cue, everyone stood up.

Nicholas had offered to walk Celia down the aisle, but she’d insisted that privilege belonged to their father. She’d also made him promise not to tell their parents she was marrying Gavin. He didn’t ask why but assumed Celia had a good reason for wanting to keep her marriage a secret.

He smiled, lines fanning out around his eyes with his sister’s approach. Never had she looked more serene. He’d witnessed her joy during her medical-school graduation, but this was different. Celia had been given a second chance at love. She’d been seriously wounded, while her fiancé Dr. Yale Trevor-Jones was killed instantly during the E.R. shootout. Nicholas flew from Virginia to Florida, sitting by his sister’s bedside until her medical condition was upgraded to good. He’d invited her to live with him while she recuperated, but Celia, similar to their mother, did not like horses. It’d taken a year, her falling in love and her agreeing to marry Gavin Faulkner for her to visit Cole-Thom Farms for the first time.

“Sweet heaven! She...she looks amazing.” Gavin’s voice cracked with emotion.

“All Cole women are beautiful,” Nicholas countered smugly.

Gavin chuckled. “It’s like that, brother?”

Nicholas nodded. “Damn straight, brother. You’ll see once you meet the family.”

Gavin took Celia’s right hand, tucking it into the bend of his elbow when she stood next to him. His dark eyes caressed every inch of her face. “I love you more than life itself.” A murmur went up from those sitting close enough to overhear his impassioned words.

Peyton felt hot tears prick the back of her eyelids with Gavin’s pronouncement, blinking wildly in an attempt to keep them from falling and ruining her makeup. It was obvious he was in love with his bride but she never would’ve predicated the man with the face and body of an A-list Hollywood actor would bare his soul in front of strangers. Her eyes met Nicholas’s briefly before she looked away, his expression giving away nothing.

She exhaled a soft breath, concentrating on Jimmy Merrill when he motioned for everyone to sit. The tall, rawboned minister had served as an assistant pastor in a little church in Texas before coming to Blackstone Farms to work as an assistant groom. There was a school, but no church at the farm, which prompted Sheldon to approve the construction of an interdenominational church on the south end of the sprawling property.

Jimmy opened his bible. “We’re gathered together here to join this man and this woman in the bonds of marriage. I will begin with a reading from the book of Numbers. ‘If a man vow a vow unto the Lord, or swear an oath to bind his soul with a bond; he shall not break his word, he shall do according to all that proceedeth out of his mouth. If a woman also vow a vow unto the Lord, and bind herself by a bond, then all her vows shall stand, and every bond wherewith she hath bound her soul shall stand.’”

Peyton didn’t know how, but she felt the heat of Nicholas’s gaze on her face. Giving him a sidelong glance she met his curious stare. Rays of sunlight piercing the leaves of a nearby tree slanted over his face, turning him into a statue of gold. He and Gavin had elected to wear tuxedos, the tailored jacket flattering his broad shoulders. The pale pink silk tie, fashioned in a Windsor knot under the spread collar white shirt, matched the rose boutonniere. He smiled, an elusive dimple in his lean jaw deepening.

“You look lovely,” he mouthed slowly enough for her to read his lips.

Smiling, Peyton inclined her head, acknowledging his unexpected compliment. She was brought back to the ceremony when Jimmy asked Nicholas for Celia’s ring. Reaching into the pocket of his tuxedo, he handed Gavin the platinum band. Peyton repeated the gesture, removing the groom’s band off her thumb. She held Celia’s bouquet of pale pink roses tied with two yards of wide silver picot-edged ribbon.

Resting his hand over Celia’s and Gavin’s, Jimmy whispered a quiet prayer blessing the newlyweds’ union. Smiling, a network of fine lines fanning out around his eyes, he said in a clear voice, “Gavin, you may kiss your bride.”

Wrapping both arms around Celia’s waist, Gavin lifted her off her feet and kissed her passionately. Celia responded by looping her arms around her husband’s neck, returning the passionate kiss.

Jimmy smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to present Mr. and Mrs. Gavin Faulkner.”

His announcement was followed by applause and shouts. Peyton handed Celia her bouquet and taking Nicholas’s proffered arm, she retraced her steps down the path as the many guests showered Gavin and Celia with flower petals, rice and birdseed.

As they stepped through the garden door, they were met by the photographer. “Please wait off to the side until everyone leaves because I want to take photos of the wedding party.”

Nicholas placed his arm around Peyton’s waist, smiling when the bride and groom accepted best wishes from complete strangers. He shook the hands of those who congratulated him on his sister’s marriage.

He knew his mother was concerned that he would never marry, yet that wasn’t a concern for Nicholas. He hadn’t said he would never marry. The question was when. If or when he met that special woman then he wouldn’t have to be coerced to commit.

Peyton, who’d slipped her arm around Nicholas’s waist inside his jacket, whispered, “It was perfect.”

“Celia is more than worthy of perfection because she’s gone through a lot this past year. It’s the least I could do for her.”

“You did real good, Nicholas.”

They shared a smile. “So did you, Peyton.”

The last guest had filed out of the garden, heading for the reception area when the photographer and videographers ushered the wedding party back into the garden for photographs that would recapture the occasion for posterity.