Between Octobers Bk 1, Savor The Days Series (23 page)

Every shop inside the gigantic mall-thingy
surrounding the hotel carried some form of wedding gown. But the
idea of wearing something traditional when getting hitched in Las
Vegas seemed so . . . predictable, tacky. I pondered over the type
of dress while paying a visit to the salon.

It seemed I needed a whole team. The stylist
made me remove my pumpkin suit before brushing out my hair. So I
sat in the green leotard as he rolled it up in several pieces and
pinned them together on the back of my head. It looked a lot like a
French twist, but better and prettier. While that was going on,
another girl did my mani-pedi, and another still, worked on my
make-up. They tried to talk me into a wax, but with my sensitive
skin, I had to decline or I’d be covered in red welts for the next
two days.

By the time I left the salon, I had exactly
one hour to find a dress, shoes, a bouquet and get back to the
chapel.

I wished Lily was here to help me. I fought
with myself over calling her, but in the end, decided not to. She
was going to be pissed when she found out, but she would have tried
to talk me out of it and I didn’t have time for a fight. I could
put that off until after the ceremony.

Mrs. Grace Matthews. Mrs. Grace
Zuniga-Matthews. That’s better.

I squealed, internally, at the prospect,
clapping my palms together. It was all I could do to keep myself
from behaving like an idiot in the crowded strip full of strangers.
It was just like Evan said, I wasn’t scared or worried. I was
dancing.

Passing in front of the last shop at the far
end of the building, it looked like as good a place as any to try
and find a dress. It wasn’t a bridal shop and they had hundreds of
lovely gowns to look at. I went straight to the salesgirl behind
the register and told her what I was looking for.

“Something simple, but sparkly; sexy, but
not too revealing; light tones, not white, but with a little color
so my complexion isn’t washed out when I have my picture taken. Oh,
and I need it in thirty minutes, so there won’t be any time for
alterations.”

I saw her mentally taking stock, measuring
what I wanted against what she had on hand. She looked me up and
down and guessed my size right on the money, then changed to a
smaller number. I knew we’d get along just fine.

She dutifully walked towards a rack
near the dressing rooms. I followed, staring at a dynamic display
of shoes. My mouth watered when I spotted one pair that, if carried
in my size, were
so
mine! I
couldn’t pronounce the designer’s name, but the look was off-white,
pearl-finished stilettos with a large ornamental bow affixed at the
back. Delicate strands of pearls hung in tassels from the bottoms
of the bows. I swerved to the right when the salesgirl went left,
picking the first box with my size printed on it before joining her
at a large circular rack in the back of the store.

She started sorting right away, asking,
“What’s the occasion?”

When I told her, she offered an empty
congratulations and kept working, pulling out various gowns for me
to approve. After I gave a negative response to the first three,
she quit asking and started setting aside certain ones. When she
had a nice selection, she showed me to the fitting rooms.

The horrible fluorescent lighting used in
nearly every ladies fitting room makes no sense. It made me look
old and green. One would think that they’d have fabulous lighting
to make everyone look young and skinny, no matter what they were
in. They’d sell more clothes that way.

The first dress was short with long sleeves,
and white and purple accents. And too tight around the shoulders. I
slipped it off and set it over the top of the door. The second
seemed more ‘me’. It was black and white, very long with bedazzled
cuffs. When it came off the hanger and landed on my back, it looked
awful. The fit was all wrong.

“Can I come in?” The salesgirl asked when I
grumbled.

“Why not?” I sighed, unlocking the door.

She discreetly stepped inside. “Well, that’s
not the one, is it?” She clicked her tongue, then started on how
tragic it was that some things looked fabulous on the hanger and
terrible on a person, and how she wished designers would stop
making clothing for hangers.

As she chattered, the second dress came off.
She sorted through the pile hanging on the wall behind her, taking
out one that I told her earlier I didn’t want. She must have
slipped it back in when I wasn’t looking. As I tried to maintain a
sense of dignity, she slipped the third piece on me, flipping me
around to face her.

“Oh, now this is good.” She touched my hips.
“The fabric isn’t gathering like the last one. Does it feel
alright? The fit is great.” She set my arms out at my sides. “The
blue embellishments really set off your eyes, and the cream color
should photograph well. It’s the black I’m not sure I love.” She
shook her head. “Turn around for me.”

The dress was strapless. Evan would like
that. The sheer material of the bust line was tastefully decorated
in delicate, beaded ropes of gold, blue and black, mimicked at the
high waist. From there, the strip splayed down the back of the
dress, flowing to the hemline. The form-fit was comfortable and
lovely, feminine and not too restricting. It looked much better on
me than it did on the hanger. And the overall look would match the
shoes I’d chosen.

“I’ll take it.”

As I examined the intricate designs on the
bust, her fingers slipped inside my dress. There was a tug and yank
as she ripped my bra away.

“There, perfect,” she said, before she
seeing my top half had gone south. “I’ll go grab a strapless
push-up.” She checked the tag of the one in her hand and crept out
without another word.

I walked out in the dress, my green leotard
and pumpkin suit in the shopping bag.

The first flower shop I found was, not
surprisingly, near the chapel. I walked in and made my request for
a small bouquet and looked over a glass case with several samples.
I chose one with small white flowers and a single blue violet. It
was exceptional. With no time to spare, I walked—tip-toe was more
like, my heels were so high—to the chapel.

A guarded woman met me at the door to the
sanctuary. When I told her my name, she let me pass and directed me
towards the figures hunched together at the front of the
church.

Everything around me floated away. The
cascading flower arrangements at the end of each row faded, taking
their lingering aroma. The muffled voices that could only belong to
Evan and the minister fell silent beneath my hammering heart. The
pulse beat in my ears. I closed my eyes, trying to focus as I took
in the scent from my bouquet. Three deep, cleansing breaths.

When I looked again, my eyes locked on him.
And there was only him.

Even with his back to me, I could tell Evan
had forgotten to comb his hair. I smiled through the nerves,
thankful for the faithful mundane. He looked divine, clad in a navy
blue suit that fit like it was made for him. It was so unfair that
he should have such a frame to look good in everything. A nervous
chuckle bubbled up from nowhere.

Evan turned at the sound. The look on his
face, in his eyes . . . He was the reason I had to do this. His
lips puckered, forming a silent ‘wow.’ He smiled, brilliantly. I
raised my bouquet, drawing another long breath and hoping the
floral aroma would help make the transition from fantasy to
reality. I was floating, barely making contact with the carpeted
aisle as my pace quickened. The height of my heels brought me to
almost eye-level. He smiled and kissed my cheek.

“I’ve chosen the vows for us.” Evan pointed
to the section I was to read from.

“Let me see,” I snatched the paper. “Look at
you, making all the big decisions without me. Marriage is a
partnership, you know.” The mocking reprimand was ruined by my
uncontainable grin.

“You can change them if you want. I don’t
mind.” He ran his hand through his hair as if he’d just remembered
something.

I scanned the paper, eyes welling as I took
in the lovely words. “These are perfect.” Simple and beautiful—so
fitting, they must have been written just for us. “You’re very good
at choosing scripts.” He beamed as I stepped in and kissed his
cheek.

“Now that we are all present and accounted
for,” the elderly reverend waved his hand around the empty room,
“shall we begin?” He motioned for the witness in back to come
forward.

“Yes.”

“Yes.” A quiver broke through. I put my hand
to my lips.

The reverend cleared his throat. “If you two
don’t mind, I’ll skip through the parts about the gathered family
and friends.”

“I’m fine with that if you are.” It made no
difference what anyone said, or rather didn’t say, I had everything
I wanted in front of me. Nothing else mattered.

Evan nodded in agreement.

And so it began.

“We are gathered here today to join Grace
Rose Zuniga and Evan Rhys Matthews together in a vow of marriage,
which is built on love. With love, comes faith. A faith that says
you believe God has blessed you with the gift of the person before
you. If your devotion to one another in love and faith is the
foundation of your relationship, then it will grow from this day to
the end of days.” The minister’s time-weathered voice echoed in the
empty space, emphasizing the significance.

“I pray, God bless you with the courage to
care for one another in times of trial and tranquility. May your
love never be obscured by the familiar, and may you both find
comfort in the faults that surface as time passes.” He trained his
gaze on Evan.

“My cue,” he mumbled with a nervous twitch.
He took my hand and cleared his throat. His eyes burned into me,
through me, as he spoke. “I, Evan, take you, Grace, as my only love
and my friend, to be with you, even when we are apart. To honor
you, in good times and in bad, asking that you be no one other than
yourself. Loving what I know and trusting what I have yet to
learn.”

“I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow
to honor you with all that I am and all that I have, in the name of
God and His son, Jesus Christ.” He pulled a ring from his pocket
and slipped it on my finger.

My ring . . . Holy Cannoli! I’d never seen
anything like my ring—easily the most stunning piece of workmanship
I’d ever laid eyes on. The stones, five emerald-cut diamonds
surrounding a ruby, set flush into a thick platinum band. The gems
were laid in the shape of a cross that wrapped around my finger,
with the ruby at the heart. It was precious and breathtaking. I was
flabbergasted by the enormity and beauty.

From the look on Evan’s face, he was pleased
with my reaction. I whispered a word of thanks before reciting my
vows, which were the same, only not as eloquent as his. He spoke
clearly, with conviction. I stumbled, struggling to speak through
the tether on my throat, and came undone when slipping the band on
his finger. It fit.

I thanked God for everything He’d given.
Especially Evan and waterproof mascara.

The scratchy voice sounded again. “Evan, do
you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?”

“I do.” He didn’t hesitate.

“Grace, do you take this man to be your
lawful wedded husband?”

“I do.” My acceptance sounded just as choked
as his.

The minister smiled, giving permission,
“Husband, kiss your Bride.”

It seemed my
husband
had been very busy in the last two
hours.

The doorframe to our new suite surged within
inches of my head. Evan seized upon me, sweeping me into his arms
and nearly dropping me in a poorly executed attempt at romance.

“I’m dieting!” I hung on for dear life,
squealing.

He steadied himself, adjusting his grip
around my thighs and back.

“Never let my inability to comport the
masculine tradition of carrying my wife over the threshold
influence you into thinking you’re anything less than perfect.” The
bright red filling his cheeks was either stress or chagrin. “I’m
consistently awful at lifting.”

We laughed raucously as he carried me into
the luxurious, two-story space. I marveled at the plush carpeting
sticking up between my toes once I kicked off my shoes. We headed
out on the private terrace and turned on the spa for later. Inside
the full kitchen, Evan presented me with a glass of champagne
before I ran upstairs to check that our bags had been
delivered.

Inside the master suite, the first thing I
noticed was the enormous bed mounted on a platform in the center of
the room. And my stomach plunged.

Typical me. I was at the precipice—jumping
into the air—and suddenly worried about the consequences I’d
increasingly enticed him with?

Decidedly ignoring my bubbling anxiety, I
locked myself in the bathroom and turned on the shower, doing my
best to be quick and thorough. Just because my stomach was in knots
that felt like boulders was no reason to keep him waiting.

My husband is
waiting
. I bit my lip.

After, I slipped into the lush robe that
hung near the shower. The fact that I’d neglected to pack anything
for the occasion had not escaped me. The nicest underwear I had
with me was the bra I’d just bought. All my bottoms were plain
cotton. If I’d thought ahead at all, or had any inkling as to the
way things could play out, I would’ve brought something. As it was,
though, I had no plan to sleep with Evan and he gave no clue as to
his intentions, so any thought of the necessity never crossed my
mind beforehand, and when it should have after, it didn’t. So, I
was stuck with the hotel robe.

Thoroughly moisturized and sweating bullets,
I steeled myself for presentation.