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The door flew open, and an older teen with long, light brown hair stuck her head in. “Mom! Lady Emma and the others want you for pictures.”
Darting Meg a last hostile glance, Birdie shot out of the room, primed to repeat their conversation to all who would listen.
Meg grimaced. In her attempt to defend Lucy, she’d done more harm than good. This weekend couldn’t be over soon enough. She retied her dress at the shoulder, ran her fingers through her short, crazy haircut, and forced herself back to the party.
As the crowd raved about the barbecue and laughter spilled over the veranda, Meg seemed to be the only one who wasn’t having fun. When she found herself alone with Lucy’s mother, she knew she had to say something, but even though she chose her words carefully, the conversation didn’t go well.
“Are you really suggesting that Lucy shouldn’t marry Ted?” Nealy Jorik said in the voice she reserved for the opposition party.
“Not exactly. Just that—”
“Meg, I know you’re going through a difficult time, and I’m truly sorry about that, but don’t let your emotional state cast a shadow over Lucy’s happiness. She couldn’t have chosen better than Ted Beaudine. I promise, your doubts are groundless. And I want your promise that you’ll keep them to yourself.”
“What doubts?” said a voice with a faint British accent.
Meg spun around and saw Ted’s mother standing at her elbow. Francesca Beaudine looked like a modern-day Vivien Leigh with a heart-shaped face, cloud of mahogany hair, and moss green wrap dress hugging her still-trim figure. For the three decades that Francesca Today had been on the air, she’d challenged Barbara Walters as queen of the prime-time celebrity interviewers. While Walters was the superior journalist, Francesca was more fun to watch.
Nealy quickly smoothed the waters. “Bridesmaid jitters . . . Francesca, this is the loveliest evening. I can’t tell you how much Mat and I are enjoying ourselves.”
Francesca Beaudine was no fool. She gave Meg a cool, assessing look, then led Nealy away toward a group that included the red-haired fireplug from the ladies’ room and Emma Traveler, the wife of Ted’s best man, Kenny Traveler, another of professional golf’s superstars.
After that, Meg sought out the most unsuitable guest she could find, a biker who professed to be one of Ted’s friends, but even the distraction of a great set of pecs couldn’t cheer her up. Instead, the biker made her think about how overjoyed her parents would have been if she’d ever brought home anyone remotely resembling Ted Beaudine.
Lucy was right. He was perfect. And he couldn’t be more wrong for her friend.
,
No matter how Lucy adjusted the pillows, she couldn’t get comfortable. Her sister Tracy slept soundlessly at her side after insisting she share Lucy’s bed tonight. Our last night to be just sisters . . . Still, Tracy wasn’t sad about the wedding. She adored Ted just like everyone else.
Lucy and Ted had their mothers to thank for fixing them up. “He’s incredible, L
uce,” Nealy had said. “Wait till you meet him.”
And he was incredible . . . Meg shouldn’t have planted all those doubts in her head. Except the doubts had been there for months, even as Lucy kept reasoning them away. What woman in her right mind wouldn’t fall in love with Ted Beaudine? He dazzled her.
Lucy kicked the sheet free. This was all Meg’s fault. That was the problem with Meg. She turned everything upside down. Being Meg’s best friend didn’t make Lucy blind to her faults. Meg was spoiled, reckless, and irresponsible, looking for purpose over the next mountaintop instead of inside herself. She was also decent, caring, loyal, and the best friend Lucy had ever had. Each of them had found her own way to live in the shadow of famous parents—Lucy by conforming, Meg by racing around the world, trying to outrun her parents’ legacies.
Meg didn’t know her own strengths—the considerable intelligence she’d inherited from her parents but never figured out how to use to her advantage; the gangly, unconventional appearance that made her far more arresting than more predictably beautiful women. Meg was good at so many things that she’d concluded she wasn’t good at anything. Instead, she’d resigned herself to being inadequate, and no one—not her parents, not Lucy—could shake her conviction.
Lucy turned her face into her pillow, trying to shut out the memory of that awful moment tonight after they’d returned to the inn when Meg had pulled Lucy into a hug. “Luce, he’s wonderful,” she’d whispered. “Everything you said. And you absolutely cannot marry him.”
Meg’s warning hadn’t been nearly as frightening as Lucy’s own response. “I know,” she’d heard herself whisper back. “But I’m going to anyway. It’s too late to back out.”
Meg had given her a fierce shake. “It’s not too late. I’ll help you. I’ll do whatever I can.”
Lucy had pulled away and hurried into her room. Meg didn’t understand. She was a child of Hollywood, where the outrageous was ordinary, but Lucy was Washington’s child, and she understood the country’s conservative heart. The public was invested in this wedding. They’d watched the Jorik kids grow up and embraced them through more than a few youthful missteps. News outlets all over the world had shown up to cover the wedding, and Lucy couldn’t call things off for a reason she wasn’t able to articulate. Besides, if Ted was so wrong for her, wouldn’t someone else have noticed? Her parents? Tracy? Wouldn’t Ted, who saw everything so clearly, have figured it out?
The reminder of Ted Beaudine’s infallible judgment brought her just enough comfort to settle into a shallow, uneasy sleep. By the next afternoon, however, that comfort had vanished.
Chapter Two
The narthex of the Wynette Presbyterian Church smelled of old hymnals and long-forgotten potluck dinners. Outside, organized chaos reigned. The special section set aside for the press bulged with reporters, and spectators packed the bleachers, with the overflow spilling onto the side streets. As the bridal party lined up to enter the sanctuary, Meg glanced back at Lucy. The perfectly fitted lace gown flattered her small frame, but not even skillfully airbrushed makeup could mask her tension. She’d been so jittery all day that Meg hadn’t had the heart to say another word about this ill-advised wedding. Not that she could have anyway with Nealy Case Jorik watching her every move.
The chamber ensemble concluded the prelude, and the trumpets rang out announcing the beginning of the bridal procession. Lucy’s two youngest sisters stood at the front, with Meg next, and then eighteen-year-old Tracy, who was Lucy’s maid of honor. They all wore simple gowns of champagne silk crepe de chine accented with the smoky topaz earrings that were Lucy’s gift to her attendants.
Thirteen-year-old Holly started down the aisle. When she reached the midpoint, her sister Charlotte stepped off. Meg smiled over her shoulder at Lucy, who’d elected to enter the sanctuary by herself and meet both her parents halfway down as a symbol of the way they’d come into her life. Meg moved into position in front of Tracy for her own entrance, but as she got ready to take her first step, she heard a rustle and a hand shot out to grab her arm. “I have to talk to Ted right now,” Lucy said in a panicky whisper.
Tracy, whose blond hair had been arranged in an intricate twist, gave a choked gasp. “Luce, what are you doing?”
