Chapter 66 Chapter 66
Chapter 66 Chapter 66
At seven o’clock on Saturday morning, Laura opened her eyes in the suite with Cavalier’s hand on her belly and a brightness of light that heralded the day without her needing to look out the window.
“Cavalier.”
“Hmm.”
“Today.”
“Today.”
“Don’t be late.”
Cavalier kissed her hair, slowly.
“I won’t be late, Laura.”
Marcela went up to the room in the west wing at nine, with the dressmaker and two assistants. They draped the dress over Laura’s belly—lace on the bodice, white silk falling softly over her hips, a slit in the back that the dressmaker had redesigned three times because her pregnancy kept progressing. The short veil fell to her shoulder.
Marcela cried the moment she saw Laura standing fully dressed in front of the mirror.
“My love.”
“Marcela, you said you weren’t going to call me ‘my love’ today.”
“My love, I said that yesterday. Today is today.”
Carla walked in with Carlos by her side, and the look on her friends’ faces—they’d been waiting two months for this day.
“Lau.”
—Carla.
—You look...
“Carla, if you say I look like a virgin, I’ll drag you off the altar.”
“Like a virgin who’s eight months pregnant and wearing a short veil. That’s what I was going to say.”
—Okay.
—Lau.
—Yeah.
—One thing.
—Go ahead.
“I’m proud.”
Laura held her gaze for five seconds. Carla kissed her on the forehead without saying anything else.
Derek went up to the suite at ten. Cavalier was already downstairs finishing getting dressed. Derek knocked on the door of the west wing room.
“Ma’am.”
“Derek.”
“Just a quick thing.”
“Come in.”
Marcela and Carla stepped out into the hallway to give them some privacy. Derek entered holding a small box.
“Ma’am, the new ring. It’s on a different frequency than the previous one. It doesn’t interfere with the same jammer that was used at the farewell party. She wears it on her middle finger, above the others.”
“And the old one?”
—We destroyed the old one last night. No chance of it being replicated.
—Good.
“One more thing, ma’am.”
—Go ahead.
“Today in the garden there are fifteen of my men dressed as gardeners, florists, and waiters. That’s in addition to the six who are dressed as guests. We’ve tripled security over the last forty-eight hours. I’m not telling you why—because your husband asked me not to—but you deserve to know that you’re protected.”
Laura held his gaze for five seconds.
“Derek.”
“Yes.”
“Marcelo?”
Pause.
“Ma’am, your husband asked me not to.”
“Derek, I’m an ER nurse. I can read a face. Yes or no.”
Long pause.
“I can’t confirm anything, ma’am.”
“Fine. That’s something, at least.”
Derek slipped the ring onto her middle finger, on top of the four she already wore, kissed her hand as a sign of respect, and left.
Laura stared at her left hand, with its five rings, for three seconds.
“Daughter.”
She whispered.
“Honey, Dad’s hiding something. But we’re getting married today anyway. Okay?”
At 11:10, Manuel appeared at the door of the west wing room wearing his gray jacket and carrying his cane.
“Sweetheart.”
“Manuel.”
“Everyone’s already downstairs.”
“And Cavalier?”
“My grandson’s been at the altar for six minutes. He got there before the priest.”
—Good.
—Sweetheart.
—Yes.
—Ready?
Laura grabbed his right arm. Manuel took a deep breath.
“Manuel.”
—Yes.
“If it falls, I’m warning you now—I’ll let it fall and keep going.”
“Okay, sweetie.”
“All right.”
They slowly made their way down the stairs in the east wing, Manuel holding onto the railing with his left hand and Laura holding his right arm with her free hand. Marcela was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs with a bouquet of white roses she had saved for the very last moment.
—My love.
—Marcela.
“You look…”
“Marcela, don’t cry until I walk down the aisle.”
“I can’t promise you anything.”
He placed the bouquet in her hands and stepped aside.
The mansion’s garden was filled with a hundred people seated in four rows of twelve chairs, with the rest standing in the back. The altar next to the fountain was covered with white and pink roses. The two priests from the archdiocese, dressed in white cassocks, were waiting.
Cavalier stood beside the altar, wearing a dark gray suit, a white shirt with an open collar, and no tie; the scar on his chest was covered but still visible. The face of a man who had been waiting two months for this moment.
Alonso was on the left side, seated in the front row with Marcela. Marcela was already crying, just as everyone had expected. Alonso had his hand on her shoulder, with the look of parents who don’t know how to cry in public but clap with both hands when necessary.
Carla stood on the right side of the altar, with Carlos clinging to her left breast and wearing a dark blue dress that Marcela’s dressmaker had tailored for her. She was the official godmother.
Miguel was in the back with Vargas, Patricio Reyes, the doctors from Memorial, her old friends from Mount Sinai, her distant Cavalier cousins, and Gloria on the staff side.
And Derek, dressed as a guest, standing at the far end of the garden with his eyes darting in five directions at once.
Manuel walked arm-in-arm with Laura down the path to the altar.
Twelve meters of grass. Twelve meters that, for Manuel, felt like twenty years. For Laura, eight months. For Marcela, the thirty-two years she’d spent waiting to see her son actually get married.
When they reached the altar, Manuel kissed Laura on the forehead, offered his right arm to Cavalier, and sat down next to Alonso. Alonso patted him on the shoulder.
Cavalier took Laura’s left hand—the one with the five rings.
“Laura.”
“Cavalier.”
“You made it.”
“You got here first this time.”
“Good.”
The priests began the ceremony. The readings, the blessings, the questions. “I do.” “I do.” The blessed rings—the new ones, the Catholic wedding rings—joined the five Laura was already wearing. Six rings on her left hand.
—You may kiss.
Cavalier lifted her short veil with both hands. He cupped her face. He kissed her.
The entire garden applauded. Marcela cried three times in a row. Manuel jumped up from his seat faster than his body would allow. Carla let out a scream.
And for the first time in forty-nine days, in the middle of the garden covered in white roses, Laura Mendoza was officially Ethan Cavalier’s wife before God, the two priests, a hundred guests, and the baby who kicked twice during the kiss.
The family photo took twenty minutes.
Manuel insisted on the two he’d requested. One with Laura and Cavalier. One with his hand on her belly, Laura’s other hand on top of his, the photographer’s emotional face holding back tears. Then the big one with everyone. Marcela in the center. Alonso next to her. Carla with Carlos. The cousins. Gloria. Derek squeezed into just one, in the background, without smiling.
Champagne in glasses for everyone except Laura, who had cider in hers. Music.
A small orchestra that Marcela had hired played the first waltz from the side of the garden.
“Cavalier.”
“Yes.”
“Will you dance?”
“I’ll dance.”
“Without stepping on my toes?”
—I try.
“Good.”
Cavalier slipped his right hand around her waist, took her left hand in his, and they began to spin slowly in the center of the garden. The guests stood around them, clapping softly. Marcela leaned on Alonso’s shoulder. Manuel was sitting back in his chair with a smile he hadn’t shown in years.
Laura rested her head on Cavalier’s right shoulder. She closed her eyes for a second.
“Cavalier.”
“Yes.”
“We’re here.”
“We’re here.”
Twenty seconds into the dance, Laura felt a hand on her waist from behind.
It wasn’t Cavalier’s hand. Cavalier still had his left hand on her left side and his right hand on her right. This was another hand, another palm, another weight, another temperature.
And a voice in her ear.
“Sister-in-law.”
Three seconds.
“Sister-in-law, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”
Laura didn’t move.
Cavalier did. But not to let her go. To hold her tighter. He squeezed her left hand with his, tightly, while speaking into her ear.
“Laura, don’t move. Stay exactly where you are. Okay?”
Laura nodded against his shoulder, without lifting her head.
The hand on her waist from behind tightened another millimeter. And the voice spoke into her ear again, this time more softly.
“Sister-in-law, I’m warning you. If your husband moves one centimeter more, I’ll shoot you in the stomach first and then your husband. Okay?”
And while the orchestra continued to play the first waltz and the hundred guests continued to clap softly and Marcela continued to cry on Alonso’s shoulder and Manuel continued to smile from his chair, in the center of the garden covered in white roses at the Cavalier mansion, a woman eight months pregnant, dressed in white, with six rings on her left hand and a short veil draped over her shoulders, felt the barrel of a gun pressed against her back for the first time in her life.
And she knew that her brother-in-law had arrived in Manhattan exactly forty minutes before the last note of the waltz.