“Ebby!” Lara shouts once more, as I cuddle Bradley closer. But she gets no response. Instead, Evelyn turns and wanders into the house, her gait slow as if she’s about to tackle a necessary but unpleasant task.
“She didn’t see me,” Lara says, looking at me with such dark brown eyes they almost match her midnight black hair, now up in a bun and ready to be topped with her flower girl headdress. Assuming, of course, she stays tidy enough that it doesn’t have to be redone.
I’m about to tell her that she can go downstairs and check on Evelyn, who looks like she could use some cuddles from a kid, but Lara’s already spun around, and before I can speak or follow she releases a joyous squeal. “Daddy!”
I turn as she races toward him, then leaps into his outstretched arms. He’s in a freshly pressed suit and looks like he could have stepped off the pages of a men’s fashion magazine. I wince, certain that our daughter is going to wrinkle him. But he doesn’t even flinch. Just balances her on his hip, kisses her forehead, then meets my eyes, the force of his love so palpable it takes my breath away.
Damien. I take a moment to let my gaze linger on every perfect feature. That strong jawline, clean-shaven but already with a slight shadow even though he shaved only a few hours ago. The raven-black hair with a hint of gray at his temples that only makes him look more powerful and dashing. And those dual-colored eyes that are examining me with such intensity that it’s all I can do not to melt.
All these years—all the hours we’ve spent together, the life and family we’ve built—and it doesn’t matter at all. With Damien, every time I see him is like the first, and he completely takes my breath away, my entire being flooded by love. And, yes, with desire.
“It’s totally unfair, you know,” I say.
He tilts his head, a tiny grin playing at his mouth. “Much is. What specifically are you talking about?”
“That not only are you already dressed and look like you’re ready for a cover shoot, but that you’re going to look just as fresh and pulled together two hours from now when the wedding starts. And that’s even if I make you dress this one,” I add, jiggling Bradley enough to make him giggle.
“Pass him over to me,” Damien says, as Lara slides down him like a little monkey, then scurries out the door calling for her sister.
“I’m teasing,” I admit. “Bree will get him ready.”
“She’s reading to Anne. I can do it. Father-son bonding time, right?”
I laugh as he comes to my side, then takes our boy from my arms before bending over to kiss me. He holds Bradley snug in one crooked arm, then hooks the other around my waist as we move back onto the balcony. He looks out over the yard as I was doing only moments before, watching the high-tech helipad get transformed into a nuptial paradise.
“I thought they were crazy when they suggested doing their wedding like this today, but I have to admit that I’m glad they did.”
“Me, too,” I say. “It’s the dress rehearsal to end all dress rehearsals.”
Long before Bradley was born, Damien had suggested we renew our vows. I’d always wanted a big ceremony, but my mother’s machinations had stolen the joy, and we’d ended up eloping. It was a beautiful, beachside ceremony with just the two of us, and I don’t regret that choice at all.
But through the years we’ve overcome so much, the least of which was finally exorcising my mother from our life. So when Damien suggested having a big ceremony, I couldn’t deny the appeal. I want to stand in front of the friends and family we cherish as I exchange vows with Damien. Not because either of us needs a reminder, but because the intensity of our love feels too big to be captured in one small ceremony.
When I became pregnant, we postponed those plans, deciding that we wanted all of our kids to play a role. Now that Bradley is two—and more or less willing to mind his sisters—the timing finally felt right.
Frank and Evelyn were the first people with whom we’d shared our plans, explaining how this time we wanted a huge ceremony on the property with our friends and family. Limited family, anyway. Neither my mother nor Damien’s father would be joining us.
We planned a ceremony, a full meal, and a party. Even a play area for the kids. No official honeymoon trip—both Damien and I travel too much—but a few days alone in the Lake Arrowhead house while the kids stayed with their cousins at Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Jackson’s place would be fabulous.
The ceremony was set for this coming Saturday, on the exact date in August when I’d met Damien at Evelyn’s party. It was, I’d thought, the perfect plan, and Frank and Evelyn had both agreed and congratulated us.
Later that evening, though, they’d suggested that we do a minor dress rehearsal the Saturday before. “Alaine will want to cater, of course,” Evelyn had said, referring to Damien’s childhood friend, Alaine Beauchene, who had toured with Damien during his tennis days as the son of a sports medicine doctor. Now, he’s universally regarded as one of the best chefs in the city.
“That’s not something his restaurant does regularly,” Evelyn had added, “but I know he’s been considering a catering sideline. And if he’s tackling your guest list, I bet he’d appreciate a dry run.”
“I’m sure Alaine can handle it without a rehearsal,” Damien had said. “He’s as competent as they come.”
Evelyn had squeezed Frank’s hand, then cleared her throat. As a rule, Evelyn’s as strong and outspoken as anyone I’ve ever met. That’s what’s made her such a powerhouse in Hollywood for all these years. Right then, though, she’d looked uncharacteristically nervous. “Oh, hell, Damien,” she finally said. “Don’t you get it? I want to be family—officially—before your wedding.”
She lifted her left hand that had been hidden in the folds of her dress. “Been meaning to find a way to tell you two,” she began, as I started to squeal with glee. “We’re getting married. And if it doesn’t inconvenience you, we’d love to be your dry run.”
Now, Damien shifts Bradley in his arms, the motion pulling me from the memory. “They’re already family,” he says, making clear that his thoughts had tracked my own. “Both of them. But I like the idea of it being official before our ceremony.”
“Me, too,” I agree, understanding what he has left unspoken. That both of us are the product of deficient parenting. Damien, with his snake of a father and a mother who passed away far too young. Me with an abusive, controlling mother and a father who walked when I was too young to understand and old enough to be hurt.
Neither my mother nor Jeremiah Stark have redeemed themselves. But Frank sought me out and worked slowly and deliberately to not only make up for his past mistakes, but to prove that he truly loves me and my family and wants to be part of our lives. Not for financial gain or the spillover from the spotlight that seems to constantly follow my husband. But simply because we are family.
Family. That’s the core of the pride I see coming off of Damien. This corporate warrior and master of the universe. For years he built his empire in a vacuum, without any purpose other than an innate need to conquer his past and build a tangible future. Now, he’s still as competitive and innovative and commanding as before, but the core of it is different. Now, his goal is a legacy for our children. Comfort for our family and friends. And the fact that we have the kind of home that Frank and Evelyn—two of the most important people in our lives—want to share on their most special day is both magical and humbling.