Love Struck (Miss Match #2) (36 page)

She had an idea, though. “Tim, could you maybe get us some drinks? You know, to calm our nerves?”

“Drinks
before
the wedding!” Tim’s response was somewhat calmer this time and therefore his words intelligible.

But his voice faded and the pounding stopped, so Lacy counted it as a win.

After again checking to make sure the door was unlocked (splintering wood was a concern, even on these metal doors, when Tim was involved), she headed to the back of the dressing room’s private bathroom to inquire about her sister. It wasn’t actually a dressing room, of course, but a back room at the Museum of Science that Tim had arranged to be used by the bride during the wedding.

Lacy had deduced that it must be a cataloguing station—long tables with various scientific items sat in clear protective bags stickered with long identification numbers. They’d signed an agreement to not touch any items, but a few of the objects were irresistible—a meteor-like rock, for one. Another was a large bone. Yet another, a broken piece of pottery carved with some sort of hieroglyphics. She touched them all. Probably it wouldn’t be the final step on her road to hell, but not touching the art was the hardest thing in a museum. And in galleries. And in people’s houses. She touched the bone again, just because she could.

It wasn’t the first time she’d thought it, and probably not the last, but what a weird place to have a wedding.

Lacy paused at the bathroom door, not wanting to make her sister anxious, but also afraid of the wedding planner’s return. After a second, she knocked softly, “Hey, honey. I don’t want to rush you, but I think Tim’s going to break the door down if we don’t let him in soon. Are you about ready?”

“No,” she said at the same time the makeup artist said, “Yes.” A moment of hushed words followed, then the door opened, and the artist bustled out.

“Perfectly understandable,” Lacy said. “I got it from here.”

Before Lacy could think about doing anything about it though, Andy stepped out from the bathroom.

Lacy gasped. “Oh, Andy!” Her sister was dressed in a simple gown of white silk, à la Caroline Kennedy. Her auburn curls were down, defined and shining, but about to be covered in a lace-edged mantilla veil that was even longer than her gown. The makeup she had been concerned about was perfect—soft rose and gold on her lids, mascara, and a nude gloss. Andy was absolutely radiant. “You’re breathtaking. Really. Blake is going to melt when he sees you.”

Andy lowered her eyes, a blush creeping up her neck. “Blake isn’t really the type to melt.”

“He’ll melt today. I promise.” There was no way he couldn’t. Andrea Dawson-soon-to-be-Donovan was the most stunning thing in the world. Okay, maybe Lacy was a little prejudiced, but, to be fair, she wasn’t the type to easily melt either.

And she was, most definitely, melting. The whole of her insides felt warm and squishy and good. With all the crap she’d been through—with all the crap
they’d
been through—seeing her sister happy, ready to walk on to something new … well, it was A Moment. One that made up for a lot of shit ones. One that almost made it bearable that when Andy walked down that aisle, she’d be walking out of Lacy’s spare room and into her own life.

Lacy reached for Andy’s trembling hand. “Mom and Dad would be so proud.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Lacy’s throat clenched at the end of her statement. They rarely talked about their parents, but today it seemed apropos. After all, it was never more apparent that they were orphans than when Andy was trying to figure out who would give her away.

Andy waved at her face as if she could fan away tears or heavy emotions. “Stop it. I have waterproof mascara, but let’s not test it, okay?”

“Okay. No tears. Just smiles.” They smiled at each other with big, matching, toothy grins.

Then Andy dropped Lacy’s hand and plopped down on one of the plastic office chairs, her face crumpling.

Lacy knelt at her sister’s feet, concern in her voice when she asked, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Andy looked up with blinking eyes, obviously trying not to let the gathering tears spill down her freshly made face. “What the hell am I doing? I can’t be a wife.”

“What do you mean? Of course you can be a wife.” Lacy dabbed at a corner of Andy’s right eye with her thumb careful not to disturb her liner.

“Because I’m not wife material.” Andy’s hand resumed the earlier fanning. “I’m lousy with housework. The first time I had to make ramen by myself, I googled how to boil water. I was worried I’d burn it. Remember in my first apartment when I burned the curtains down with the scented candle? I can barely keep a plant alive. That’s a lie. I have never kept a plant alive. The cactus on my windowsill? Has been dead for a year, only you can’t tell, so I pretend. What if we have kids? Imagine me with children! I can’t stick a kid on my windowsill and pretend! And I can’t hold my tongue in public. I’ll be such an embarrassment to Blake. What am I going to do?”

It was typical to have jitters of course, but Lacy knew that the banality of them didn’t make them any less real. She remembered having them on occasion as she and Lance were preparing for their wedding. Though she’d like to think differently, it was possible that she may have felt the exact same worries on her big day. Particularly about the children. She thought guiltily for a moment about the time she’d killed an air plant. The kind that only needed a mist every two weeks.

She smiled sympathetically and patted Andy’s knee. “Oh, silly. You can’t embarrass Blake anymore than he embarrasses himself. Remember all the blackmail material you have on him? Besides, it’s Blake “Control Freak” Donovan. He knew what he was doing, proposing to you.”

She stood and reached for the veil on the table next to them. “So what you’re going to do is you’re going to get up. I’m going to put this on you. And you are going to marry the man. And you’re going to have a wonderful honeymoon. In England, because you are fancy as hell now. Then you’ll hire a maid. And a cook. A nanny. You’ll have fake candles and fake flowers or you’ll buy new cactuses and fake everyone out like you did me. I was always fairly impressed you kept that thing going.” While she spoke, Lacy fastened the clip to Andy’s hair.

Then Lacy straightened the long sheer material so that it ran straight down her sister’s back. When she was finished, she took Andy’s hand and helped her to her feet. “And as for children—you’re going to be an excellent mother. Or at least as good as anyone else because none of them can do any of the things you think they can. Don’t you know? Everybody’s faking it.”

Andy squinted an eye suspiciously. “Do you mean that or are you trying to make me go through with this because you’re scared of Tim?”

“No, I mean it. Everyone’s faking.”

“Even Mrs. LaRue who lived down our street when we were little and she had all those daughters and she did their hair in perfect braids everyday with matching outfits and even their dog’s collar matched and her house was immaculate and always smelled like fresh-baked cookies?”

Lacy was surprised that Andy made it through her run-on sentence without a breath, especially considering how close to blubbering she seemed to be. “Yes, Andy, even Mrs. LaRue. She was definitely faking it. She probably hated that dog, only had sex in the missionary position, and drank cough syrup straight from the bottle to get through her days.”

Andy’s face twisted in disgust. “Please don’t ever let me drink cough syrup straight from the bottle.”

Lacy took a step back and admired her sister. She was absolutely gorgeous. She turned Andy to see herself in the mirror that Tim had brought in and propped against the wall. “Look at yourself. You’re stunning.”

A shy smile played on Andy’s lips as she gazed at her own reflection. Then her eyes met Lacy’s in the mirror, her brow creased in uncertainty. “You’re sure everybody’s faking it?”

“Yep. Positive.” Lacy hesitated, trying to decide if this was a good time to admit her secret. She decided it most definitely was. “In fact, even I’ve been faking it. I didn’t grieve for Lance like I should have. You know that. And I didn’t write a song for more than a year after his death, until the tour, actually, and I pretended I had.”

Andy spun to face Lacy directly. “You didn’t? What was all that composing time? All the music I heard you playing?”

“Me faking it.” Lacy took a deep breath. It actually hadn’t been as hard to admit as she’d thought it would be. It probably helped that she was past it now. As Andy would get past her own fears.

Lacy took her sister’s hands in hers. “My point is, Andy—I faked it long enough to get me through, and then things worked themselves out. Fake it ’til you make it—that’s probably the truest cliché of them all. And that’s what you’ll do. Because you love this guy, don’t you? You
want
to marry him.”

Andy nodded. “I do love Blake. And I love you.”

Lacy was afraid to pull Andy into a hug and mess her up, so she simply squeezed her hands. “I love you too, sister. More than you know.”

Then, because any more heart-to-heart conversation would ruin both their makeup jobs, Lacy let go of her sister’s hands and changed the tone. “So you’re ready?”

“I suppose I’m ready as I’ll ever be.”

The next half hour moved by in a blur. There were no more moments to talk or hug as Tim gathered the ladies for their walk down the aisle of the main room in the Blue Wing of the museum. The music began playing—a beautiful octet of stringed instruments that Lacy had worked with at the studio and recommended for the event—and Tim dinged a triangle to cue each woman’s entrance.

In what seemed like the blink of an eye, Lacy was at the front of the room waiting for the music to change and her sister to appear. And when she started her walk down the aisle, Lacy glanced toward Blake to see that he did indeed melt.

Lacy touched the diamond at her neck. As she’d expected during the bachelorette party, watching the display of love before her, Eli was the one who came to mind. Today was the day he and LoveCoda had originally set to meet. She’d hoped it would be a beginning for them. Now her sister would be leaving for her honeymoon and Lacy would be left … alone. At least her tear-filled eyes could be attributed to the wedding and not her broken heart.

Don’t think about him, don’t think about him.

But not thinking about him made her think about him even more. She thought about the way he held her and kissed her. Thought about how her songs were so much better with his additions. Thought about the things she’d said to him and wondered if they meant anything at all to him. If he’d even thought about fighting for her or if he’d simply decided it was too hard.

Then right in the middle of Blake and Andy’s exchange of rings, it occurred to Lacy—
she
hadn’t fought for
him
!

“Oh, shit!” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

All eyes of the wedding party turned to her. The minister scowled. “Pardon?”

Lacy felt her cheeks redden. “Sorry, sorry. I, uh—” Nervous, she fumbled the bouquet she was holding, nearly dropping it before she recovered. “Um, I’m just so happy I couldn’t keep it in any longer.”
Only a partial lie.

The excuse seemed to go over well—Andy beamed, a tear sliding down her cheek, and even Blake’s mouth turned upward in a half smile. The minister’s glare lingered a second more on Lacy, but soon enough he returned his attention to the couple before him.

Whew.
And also, damn, what a time for an epiphany. Why hadn’t she realized before now that she needed to apply her own advice to herself? What kind of a hypocrite was she to say that he had to do all the work in their relationship while she simply waited and moped?

The situation had to be remedied immediately. She had to go after him, had to find him. Would Andy notice if she skipped the reception? If she didn’t, Tim certainly would. Maybe if she snuck out the minute the ceremony was over, during the chaos …

Her eyes danced around the crowd looking for the wedding planner so she could devise her escape. He was sitting in the front, crying like a baby. Typical. But after they left Tim, they found another familiar face. There, in the second to the last row, in the last chair, his own eyes glued to her was Eli.

And if she wasn’t sure it was him or if her eyes were playing tricks on her, she had no doubt when he lifted his hand and gave her a tiny wave.

What the…? How did…?

Dammit, Andy!

Except, not really
dammit, Andy
but
I love you, Andy
because she couldn’t think of a thing that Andy had ever done for her that pleased her more than inviting Eli to the wedding. Maybe Andy wasn’t quite as self-centered as Lacy always said.

Also, she was a better matchmaker than Lacy gave her credit for. Andy had realized that Eli was the person for her long before Lacy had. He really was too. Seeing him like that, even across the room, made her head spin and her stomach flutter and warmth spread through every nerve in her body. He had to be there because he wanted her, right? Why else would he come? Andy wouldn’t have invited him unless he was going to try to fix things between them.

God bless Andy!

When the minister pronounced the couple man and wife, after Blake kissed the bride, Lacy grabbed Andy and gave her the biggest hug she could muster, not caring anymore if she messed her up or not. Lacy was full of emotion. She had a million words she could say, but nothing that would ever express her love and appreciation so she just clung and hoped Andy understood.

“I love you too,” Andy whispered in her ear before letting Lacy go and taking the hand of her new husband.

Yes, apparently Andy did understand.

Chapter Twenty-Six

With the ceremony over, the chaos had just begun. Lacy, unfortunately, lost sight of Eli during the recessional. Then she was swept away by a sobbing Tim for photos. After that there were the wedding toasts, followed by a weird thing where Andy stood in a cagelike contraption that made lightning bolts when she touched the metal edges.