that she didnât have a bouquet. She left her purse in the limo, in which she and King would be leaving for the airport immediately after the service. A reception hadnât been possible in the time allocated. King would probably have arranged some sort of refreshments for his office staff, of course, perhaps at a local restaurant.
Tiffany entered the church on her fatherâs arm, and they paused to greet two of Kingâs vice presidents, whom they knew quite well.
King was standing at the altar with the minister. The decorations were unsettling. Instead of the bower of roses sheâd hoped for, she found two small and rather scruffy-looking flower arrangements gracing both sides of the altar. Carelessly tied white ribbons festooned the front pews. Family would have been sitting there, if she and King had any close relatives. Neither did, although Tiffany claimed Lettie as family, and sure enough, there she sat, in a suit, and especially a hat, that would havemade fashion headlines. Tiffany smiled involuntarily at the picture her fashionable godmother made. Good thing the newspapers werenât represented, she thought, or Lettie would have overshadowed the bride and groom for splendor in that exquisite silk dress. And, of course, the hat.
The minister spotted Tiffany in the back of the church with her father and nodded to the organist whoâd been hired to provide music. The familiar strains of the âWedding Marchâ filled the small church.
Tiffanyâs knees shook as she and her father made their way down the aisle. She wondered how many couples had walked this aisle, in love and with hope and joy? God knew, she was scared to death of what lay ahead.
And just when she thought she couldnât feel any worse, she spotted Carla in the front pew on Kingâs side of the church. With disbelief, she registered that the woman was wearing a white lacy dress with a white veiled hat! As if she, not Tiffany, were the bride!
She felt her father tense as his own gaze followed hers, but neither of them were unconventional enough to make any public scene. It was unbelievable that King would invite his paramour here, to his wedding. But, then, perhaps he was making a statement. Tiffany would be his wife, but he was making no concessions in his personal life. When confronted by the pitiful floral accessories, and her lack of a bouquet, she wasnât particularly surprised that heâd invited Carla. She and her dress were the final indignity of the day.
King glanced sideways as she joined him, her father relinquishing her and going quickly to his own seat. Kingâs eyes narrowed on her trim suit and the absence of a bouquet. He scowled.
She didnât react. She simply looked at the minister and gave him all her attention as he began the ceremony.
There was a flutter when, near the end of the service, he called for King to put the ring on Tiffanyâs finger. King searched his pockets, scowling fiercely, until he found it loose in his slacksâ pocket, where heâd placed it earlier. He slid it onto Tiffanyâs finger, his face hardening when he registered how cold her hand was.
The minister finished his service, asked if the couple had any special thing theyâd like to say as part of the ceremony. When they looked uneasy, he quickly pronounced them man and wife and smiled as he invited King to kiss the bride.
King turned to his new wife and stared at her with narrowed eyes for a long moment before he pulled up the thin veil and bent to kiss her carelessly with cold, firm lips.
People from the front pews surged forward to offer congratulations. Lettie was first. She hugged Tiffany warmly, acting like a mother hen. Tiffany had to fight tears, because her new status would take her away from the only surrogate mother sheâd ever known. But she forced a watery smile and started to turn to her father when she saw a laughing Carla lift her arms aroundKingâs neck and kiss
Tiffany entered the church on her fatherâs arm, and they paused to greet two of Kingâs vice presidents, whom they knew quite well.
King was standing at the altar with the minister. The decorations were unsettling. Instead of the bower of roses sheâd hoped for, she found two small and rather scruffy-looking flower arrangements gracing both sides of the altar. Carelessly tied white ribbons festooned the front pews. Family would have been sitting there, if she and King had any close relatives. Neither did, although Tiffany claimed Lettie as family, and sure enough, there she sat, in a suit, and especially a hat, that would havemade fashion headlines. Tiffany smiled involuntarily at the picture her fashionable godmother made. Good thing the newspapers werenât represented, she thought, or Lettie would have overshadowed the bride and groom for splendor in that exquisite silk dress. And, of course, the hat.
The minister spotted Tiffany in the back of the church with her father and nodded to the organist whoâd been hired to provide music. The familiar strains of the âWedding Marchâ filled the small church.
Tiffanyâs knees shook as she and her father made their way down the aisle. She wondered how many couples had walked this aisle, in love and with hope and joy? God knew, she was scared to death of what lay ahead.
And just when she thought she couldnât feel any worse, she spotted Carla in the front pew on Kingâs side of the church. With disbelief, she registered that the woman was wearing a white lacy dress with a white veiled hat! As if she, not Tiffany, were the bride!
She felt her father tense as his own gaze followed hers, but neither of them were unconventional enough to make any public scene. It was unbelievable that King would invite his paramour here, to his wedding. But, then, perhaps he was making a statement. Tiffany would be his wife, but he was making no concessions in his personal life. When confronted by the pitiful floral accessories, and her lack of a bouquet, she wasnât particularly surprised that heâd invited Carla. She and her dress were the final indignity of the day.
King glanced sideways as she joined him, her father relinquishing her and going quickly to his own seat. Kingâs eyes narrowed on her trim suit and the absence of a bouquet. He scowled.
She didnât react. She simply looked at the minister and gave him all her attention as he began the ceremony.
There was a flutter when, near the end of the service, he called for King to put the ring on Tiffanyâs finger. King searched his pockets, scowling fiercely, until he found it loose in his slacksâ pocket, where heâd placed it earlier. He slid it onto Tiffanyâs finger, his face hardening when he registered how cold her hand was.
The minister finished his service, asked if the couple had any special thing theyâd like to say as part of the ceremony. When they looked uneasy, he quickly pronounced them man and wife and smiled as he invited King to kiss the bride.
King turned to his new wife and stared at her with narrowed eyes for a long moment before he pulled up the thin veil and bent to kiss her carelessly with cold, firm lips.
People from the front pews surged forward to offer congratulations. Lettie was first. She hugged Tiffany warmly, acting like a mother hen. Tiffany had to fight tears, because her new status would take her away from the only surrogate mother sheâd ever known. But she forced a watery smile and started to turn to her father when she saw a laughing Carla lift her arms aroundKingâs neck and kiss
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