Mystique (11 page)

"Luc, thank you."

"We'll be happy. Mystique." He
reached over and clasped her hand warmly. She looked with amazement at their entwined
fingers.

"Will we be coming back today?"
she asked.

"No. I've made reservations in an
old country inn where I used to stay when I went skiing upstate."

"Oh."

"I think you'll like it."

"I don't ski," she mumbled,
feeling like Alice falling into a deep, deep rabbit hole into Wonderland.

"I'll teach you, darling. Not that I
plan on doing much skiing during the short time we'll be there." He
chuckled, then shot her an annoyed glance. "Don't scrunch up to the window
like that, Mystique. Nothing bad is going to happen to you."

"You don't know me."

"I've already told you I know
everything I need to know about—"

"But you don't know what I'm like
deep inside. And I still resent your having investigated me."

"I know. I'm going to try to change.
It won't happen right away or all at once, but I want to be the kind of husband
you can be proud of." Luc paused before adding, "I overheard what Alice said to you about my cynicism." He sighed and reached out to squeeze her thigh.
"I am... I was a cynic about almost everything, but especially about
women. But in the short time we've known each other, my feelings have changed.
I'm not the same man I used to be. I want to be a man you can be proud
of," he repeated.

"Please, Luc, don't say that. I don't
want you to change for me... or do anything for me." Misty fought to keep
the stridency from her voice.

"Calm down, love. Everything will be
fine."

Misty was about to argue with
him, but it was so much easier to lie back and watch the countryside roll past
the window. Luc snapped a tape into the player, and soft piano music filled the
car. Misty recognized the skill of the musician who was playing and listened
carefully, taking note of his careful phrasing and meticulous technique. As she
absorbed the music, her gaze ran desultorily over the landscape through which
they were traveling. The thrumming of the music, the rich purr of the engine,
and the pulsing rhythm of the piano were like narcotics to Misty. Gradually she
fell asleep.

She began to dream. Her father appeared,
making her shift restlessly, though she didn't waken. Lord, she didn't want to
remember. But she couldn't help it. Suddenly she was sixteen again.

"No, Father, I didn't do anything
wrong, I didn't," Misty pleaded, her stomach churning with anguish.

"Slut! You're pregnant with Howie
Breston's kid. Even his parents know about it!" Misty's father shook his
fist in her face. "I never laid a hand on you, but I'm sorry now.
Whore!" He turned to his wife, who was standing next to him, wringing her
hands. "See! See what your daughter is, Marilyn? A whore."

"Alvan, don't use that
coarse word in front of me."

"But, my dear, you can see what she
is." He turned back to Misty. "Look at her. Her lips are blue, and
she's shaking. She hates to hear the truth about herself. She's a stupid
slut."

"I'm not, I'm not," Misty
whispered, nausea rising inside her. "Howie wouldn't say that about me.
It's not true. I never let him... Stop saying those things and listen to me. No
one ever touched me."

"Don't you raise your voice to your
father," Marilyn Carver said coldly.

"Let me tell you what
happened," Misty pleaded, her voice rising in desperation.

"I don't want you talking in front
of your mother about what you did with that boy!" her father roared.

"Listen to me. I didn't do
anything." Misty's voice quavered.

"Slut, slut," her father
bellowed. "I'm not, I'm not..."

In her dream, her father's
face grew and grew and became distorted into a grotesque mask. Then she saw
herself standing between Aunt Lizabeth and Uncle Charles, her parents facing
them, her gaze going from one couple to the other.

"I don't care if you are
my brother," said Aunt Lizabeth, "I won't let you do this to her
anymore."

"I tell you she had an
abortion," her father yelled.

"How do you know that?
Has she ever been examined by a doctor?" her aunt shot back.

"No," Misty
answered softly. "Never."

"Misty, be quiet," her mother
said through pursed lips. "Don't interrupt. Nice girls do not speak until
they are spoken to."

"You never talk to me," Misty
told her mother, earning a glare from her father.

Aunt Lizabeth and her father argued for
hours. In the end it was decided that Misty would stay in school but live with
her aunt and uncle.

In the car on the way to Misty's new
home, her aunt had looked over the seat at Misty huddled in the back. "No
wonder you called me, child. Now, don't you worry. We have a piano, so you can
practice at home instead of going to the music room at school after classes.
Why did that fool brother of mine sell the piano?"

"Mama told him it disturbed her, and
he said he didn't like the noise, either."

"Damn fools, both of them," her
uncle muttered.

"Charlie, there's no need to
swear," Aunt Lizabeth said mildly as Misty was jostled in the back seat by
the car's movements.

Gradually she emerged from the depth of
sleep and realized someone was gently shaking her shoulder. "Come on,
darling, wake up. We're here." Luc frowned down at her and gently pushed
curling tendrils of red-gold hair away from her forehead.

What was wrong? Misty tried
to clear her sleep-befuddled mind. Why was Luc scowling at her like that? She
became instinctively defensive. "We can always turn around and drive
back," she told him sharply. "I'll pick up the girls at your sister's
house—-"

"What are you babbling
about, love?" he interrupted, helping her out of the car and taking her
arm to lead her through the gate in a picket fence.

But now Misty was wide awake.
She paused to admire the series of humpbacked mountains that circled the town
of Hudson. "They're beautiful," she murmured.

Luc pointed toward the distance. "Do
you see that bare snakelike area on that mountainside? That's Sweetgum, the ski
resort where we'll be staying tonight."

Suddenly Misty knew she couldn't go
through with the marriage. Panic churned inside her. She inhaled deeply of the
crisp winter air and turned resolutely to face him. "Listen to me, Luc.
This marriage is a mistake. We can't do it."

The words seemed to echo in the cold air.
"I... I've been through two failed relationships." Her eyes slid away
from his.

"I know all about that." He led
her up several steps to a wraparound porch with a grass doormat in front of the
oak door. A sign pasted to the glass window said Enter.

Misty stopped in her tracks. "Come
on, darling," Luc said in low tones.

"I've never done anything like this
before," she muttered, dragging her heels.

"Neither have I," he said,
opening the door and waiting for her to precede him inside.

"That's true." For some reason
his words sent an unaccountable feeling of relief through her. "We can
help each other during the hard parts," she said.

"That's my thought exactly."

A plump woman well past middle age came
forward from a back room to greet them. She was wearing a gray dress with a
white lace collar and cuffs.

"Hello, I'm Judge Latimer. You must
be Lucas Harrison and Mystique Carver."

"Yes," Luc answered
for both of them, removing the jacket from Misty's shoulders.

She was about to explain that Mystique
wasn't her real name, then decided that if that's what Luc liked to call her,
she might as well let him.

Judge Latimer led them into a spacious
parlor with a bay window in which a marmalade cat sat washing its paws. It
looked up briefly at the company, then resumed it's methodical licking.
"I've arranged for my housekeeper and my lawyer to serve as witnesses to
the ceremony. Is that all right with you?" asked the judge.

"Of course," Luc said, his hot
gaze roving over Misty. "You look lovely, darling." He slid an arm
around her waist and hugged her to him as the judge excused herself.
"Here. I have something for you." He took a jeweler's box from his
pocket and handed it to her.

Misty stared at it in confusion. "I
can't put the wedding band on until the judge—"

"This is your engagement ring,"
he told her, leaning forward to let his mouth graze hers.

"We're not engaged. I mean, I don't
need one."

"Indulge me by wearing it," Luc
whispered into her hair as he lifted her right hand and slipped a square-cut
emerald on her finger. "Do you like it?"

Misty slowly lifted her hand, letting the
stone catch a ray of late afternoon sunlight. "It looks too large to be
real."

Luc laughed. "It's real, all
right."

"Don't do too much for me,"
Misty requested, overwhelmed by everything that had happened that day. How
could she explain to Luc that she feared becoming too dependent on him? Not
because of the material things he could give her, but because the sweetness and
passion he had shown her were already binding her to him irrevocably. If, later
on, he took away the caring, withdrew the tenderness, she would be utterly
bereft.

"I am giving you my life this
afternoon. What you do with it is up to you," he said solemnly, his eyes
holding hers, his hand clasped warmly in her own.

"It will be spoiled," Misty
said with a moan, shutting her eyes in momentary pain, her left hand coming
over to protectively cover her right one.

She felt Luc's hand grasp her
shoulders to draw her close just as Judge Latimer returned with a balding man
and a thin woman, both middle-aged.

"Mr. Harrison, Miss Carver, this is
George Lemond, my lawyer, and this is Esther Gregson, my housekeeper. Shall we
begin?" Judge Latimer pressed a button on a stereo system, and
Mendelssohn's Wedding March played softly in the background.

Following the judge's instructions, Misty
and Luc took their places side by side in front of the fireplace between the
two witnesses. Judge Latimer faced them.

"Dearly beloved," the judge
began, "we are gathered here..."

Misty supposed the judge must be speaking
because her mouth was moving, but Misty couldn't hear over the roaring in her
ears. Her eyes didn't seem to be focusing properly. Blinking to keep the
judge's face from becoming blurry, she was grateful for the strong grip of
Luc's hand in hers.

When he looked down with one eyebrow
arched, Misty knew he wanted her to respond to the judge's query. "I
do," Misty said. He smiled with what looked like relief and squeezed her
hand. Misty watched his mouth move in response, reading his lips as he
repeated his vows. The roaring in her ears faded away.

"Now, by the power vested in me by
the sovereign state of New York, I pronounce you husband and wife." Judge
Latimer beamed at them as Luc bent to kiss her.

"I will make you happy,
darling," he promised against her lips.

"Thank you," Misty said, and
then she felt silly at her inappropriate remark. Her smile slipped on and off
her face.

Congratulations were spoken all around,
and Mrs. Gregson produced a bottle of New York State blanc de blanc with which
to toast the bride and groom.

Soon they were saying good-bye and Luc
was leading Misty out onto the porch. He insisted that she button her jacket up
to the neck.

"I don't care if the fur tickles
you; you have to keep warm," he insisted. "It's colder up here, but
you don't notice it because the air is so dry." He frowned down at her
feet. "I should have insisted that you wear boots instead of those
pumps."

"Don't be silly. The car is
warm," she answered as Luc hurried her into the front seat and started the
engine. All at once she remembered something. "I put a ring on your
finger. I didn't know you were going to wear a wedding ring."

Luc held out his hand to show her the
heavy gold band, which exactly matched her own. "I decided I'd like to
wear one. Do you mind?"

"Oh, no. I'm glad. I mean, it's a
very nice ring."

"Yes, it is. So is yours. Are you
going to put your engagement ring on your left hand now?"

"Ah..." Misty held out both
hands. "No, I think I'll wear them this way. Then my wedding ring won't be
overshadowed by the emerald."

Luc threw back his head and laughed as
the car shot forward. "You also have emerald earrings coming to you, my
pet." He glanced at her. "I called you on Christmas Day to see if you
liked them, but you weren't home."

"I was at Aileen and Dave's."

"Then you sent the earrings back to
me." He shook his head. "That angered and confused me." Suddenly
he smiled. "But now you're getting them back."

Misty glanced at him. "Why don't you
keep them?" she suggested, laughing out loud for no particular reason. She
was still chuckling when she noticed that Luc was giving her peculiar glances.
"What is it?" she asked. "Did I say something?"