Despite what my dearest sister kept saying, I couldn't help but hate Clayton. And Daisy too, sometimes. And Harry. Mostly my dearest sister. I could forgive my mother- I had learnt to deal with her moods soon enough in my youth- but my sister was a whole other thing.
One would say that so many weddings had taught her something, had… the best expression I could think of was to "play it safe" or something like that, or something that would imply a simple wedding- but those people would be totally wrong.
Harry was -is– a bride-zilla. Or whatever they are called.
I remembered my wedding with Pete, when I had been too young and extremely naïve, believing every and each word he had uttered, his sweet nothings whispered at night when we prepared to what would look like the wedding of the century; back then, I had believed it was going to last forever and he would have been my one and only, but I had to admit that, after discovering that he had cheated on me, more than once I had asked myself if he too had lied about that- if he hadn't done it more than he wanted to admit.
That was one of the reasons I was reluctant to say a permanent "yes" to my monsieur le detective, Andrew Ryan- despite all the changes he was willing to do (and had done) just to be with me.
Other the fact that I would have never, ever gone through another wedding of the century. One was enough- plus, all Harry's weddings and now… now, mum and Clayton, the seventy-something years old who missed married life and had no children of his own.
And who wanted a huge wedding for the love of his life.
Also known as my mother.
Don't get me wrong: part of my agreed with him- Hell- I was going to allow him whatever he wanted; after all, his love had done what Harry, Kathy and I had failed to do- he had convinced mum to fight cancer, in a battle she was now winning- but there was just so much I could handle.
And apparently, going window-shopping for bridesmaids dresses wasn't one of them.
Yes, me, Temperance Brennan, the woman who fell into killers' traps as a hobby, who dealt with death on a daily basis, who had traveled the world and been through the worst weather conditions, couldn't handle sitting like a good girl for "a short while" (Harry's words- in truth, it had been a few hours) and look and try on dresses for our mother's sake.
Harry knew how to make me feel guilty and motivate me- by putting mum and her delicate psychological balance in the mix, she knew she was going to get a guaranteed result and my full cooperation. (I knew that otherwise she would have told mum, and mum would have lectured me, or looked at me with her melancholic and disappointed look and managed to make me feel guilty.)
"So… what did you say to your detective?" she suddenly asked while touching the delicate fabric of a wedding dress with dreamy eyes; I wondered not for the first time how life was for my sister, and if another prince charming could be in the picture, and maybe another wedding in the foreseeable future, too.
I almost gulped, partly because I was a little distracted, partly because I wasn't expecting harry to ask me such a question. Yes, I had told her about Ryan's proposal, but that was it, and it had been months before, and then the topic had never been touched again.
And now, this. I looked at her quizzically: was she genuinely interested? Did she wanted to arrange yet another wedding? Hell, for a second I even wondered if she hadn't put her sights on Ryan herself- she had called him hot, after all- but then I decided it was just because of the whole… wedding air she was breathing. If we could call it like that.
"We are moving in together." I simply said, blushing like a I was a schoolgirl and playing with the hem of my shirt.
"In Canada?" she asked, half-surprised; I shook my head no, and got ready to explain what had happened in the last few weeks, and told her what I hadn't informed them of yet- about renting our own apartments in Canada and getting- buying!- a place of our own (we had already chosen it, and were ready to move in as soon as possible)- about building a study for Andrew at the Annex and how he was going to quit his job and start working as a private investigator with Slidell.
Harry smiled, and I knew what she was thinking: Ryan had done so just to be with me, as he knew that I would have never left nether of my jobs, nor in Charlotte or in Montreal. Yes, I wasn't stupid- I knew that he would have never took this decision (probably) had he assumed my answer could be a categorical "no", and that knowledge scared the hell out of me. Because it made me understand how much power I had over him… something that I had never had before. With Pete it had always been the other way around, and I think that that was another reason I was so reluctant to accept to became Mrs. Ryan.
Not for the first time I almost laughed at loud: it was a bit of a contradiction. I lorded over Ryan's feelings, and yet I always ended up being the damsel in distress. Another topic touched lately by my "darling" (like mum liked to call him) and me: I had told Ryan I was sick and tired of being saved by him, that I didn't need saving, nor that he had to feel guilty when and if he couldn't be my knight in shining armor.
And yet… yet, part of me had wanted him to come and save me when Father G, and later Cora Teague, had… well, tried to murder me, for a lack of a better word. But that I wasn't going to tell him. Not yet, at least. I still needed to keep a bit of my independence, after all, and had I mentioned this to him, I knew he would have never left my side. Probably not even in the smelly room.
"You sure you don't want to try one on?" Harry asked me, smiling devilishly, her eyebrows reaching her hairline; I didn't even bother with an answer- my look said enough. "You are awful, sister dear… you spoil all the fun!" I smiled. I knew she wasn't really mad. It was just Harry- with a passion for drama and exaggeration.
In fact, I hadn't even finished shaking my head that Harry came out of a changing room, dressed in a microscopic… thing that I didn't ever dare to call a dress, in dark blue. It wasn't like she couldn't afford it- because with her body, she definitely could- I was just scared that she could ask me to wear the same piece- and in case you were wondering, no, despite everything, I couldn't put off such a thing.
Besides, it was a wedding. Wasn't people supposed to be classy? To not draw attention away from the bride? Had Harry decided to wear that number, mum would have killed us. Well, maybe not kill- but I knew all too well how much she enjoyed making us (especially me) feel guilty.
Harry saw my expression, and sighed- or maybe roared or groaned, I'm still not sure- than shook her head, rolling her head. "You're no fun at all." she repeated once again. She went back to the changing room, and left with a dress in her hands- a polka-dotted dark blue long dress, it seemed from what I could see- and she threw it at me while she went back looking for other options between the racks. "Try this on. I should look good on you."
Not believing a word she was saying- and frankly, a little scared- I followed her order; I was so scared that I didn't even kept my eyes open as I was putting the dress on, and I couldn't bring myself to look at my reflection in the huge mirror. Even if the fabric felt fantastic on my skin and the dress didn't seem too bad from what I had understood.
"Seriously, Temp? You keep your eyes closed? Don't you trust me at all?" I grunted in a un-lady like manner when Harry opened the curtains of the dressing-room, apparently bored with waiting for me. I sighed, knowing all too well the expression she was showing- even if I couldn't see it- and opened my eyes, one at time.
And, oh boy… she was right at looking all smug and arrogant and sure of herself in that mirror. She definitely did.
"Now, now, now… don't I have good taste, Tempe?"
I didn't answer. I guessed she knew that I would answer in the positive, had I had my voice.
But the fact is… I looked damn good in it; the dress was perfect for someone my age, and the colors were good with my incarnate; it was long and soft, flowy like a cloud, with short sleeves and an imperial waist. In short, it was the sort of thing I would have chosen for me for this kind of ceremony.
Harry joined me by side, her arms interlaced just like when we were teens, and I suddenly noticed that she too had changed- she was wearing another bridesmaid dress, still short but definitely longer than the previous one, definitely more suited for the wedding of the king of starch and vapor.
I didn't answer her. I just laughed and kissed my baby sister on the cheek.
When I had told Ryan that mum and Clayton's nuptials were going to rival Kate and William's he had chuckled, mirth in those wonderful too blue eyes of his, thinking I was exaggerating. At the time, I wasn't- not if I wanted to believe what Goose and Daisy and Harry were telling me- but when the time actually came, I had to admit he wasn't wrong.
Was the thing quite big? Yes. But it was classy, and not as enormous and pompous as I would have thought, knowing mother dearest- because yes, Daisy had style, but she liked everything French a tad too much.
Just before the ceremony, I had walked down the aisle at the arm of Ryan, and we had done our best- actually, I did, Ryan's always been good at being serious- to avoid laughing at the absurdity of the maid of honor (me) hooking up with the best man (Ryan); Harry had been accompanied by the love of the week, while my sweet baby girl had preferred to avoid the spotlight, staying between the cheering and sniffing crowd. Kathy wasn't wearing military attire any longer, the army now forgotten (for now, at least), but I guessed that she didn't feel like… participating, in a way. She had seen too much death, too much horror to not get back to us unchanged, and that's something that will stay with us forever.
I didn't pay too much attention at the ceremony, my mind focused on the man right before me; yes, Andrew Ryan was hot, but it wasn't the only reason I couldn't keep my eyes away from him: Daisy was right, and it was time to take a leap of faith- besides, when was I going to get Kathy here with me once again? And she was what mattered the most in my life. My baby girl. Despite the age.
When everything was done and dealt with, we were dancing, his hands delicate and yet possessive on my body, the nature and the music a lullaby for our hearts, when suddenly, my head still on his shoulder, I looked at him in the eyes and smiled, leaving a butterfly kiss on the corner of his mouth.
"Oh, public display of affection! What's the occasion?" he asked, laughing, half-serious. I could be very passionate, as he was witness, but I wasn't the sort of woman to display her feelings when out in the world. Another thing he knew all too well.
"Would you mind eloping?" I asked. Ryan looked at me as if I was suddenly growing a second head- which in his eyes was the same as proposing marriage, I guess. "I'm serious. I don't care…" I stopped, closed my eyes, took a big breath, and then opened my mouth again. "I don't want all white and fluffy, or a huge crowd. I just… me, you, Kathy, a judge of peace, wedding rings… that's all I want."
"Are you sure?" I saw disbelief in his eyes. I wondered if he asked himself why I was suddenly proposing marriage when he had told me, just few weeks before, that living together for now was fine (even if he had told me that he wouldn't be waiting for me for the rest of his life). But suddenly it wasn't enough for me any longer. I wanted to be his wife- and I wanted to be able to tell the world that. Not that I was going to change my name or hyphen (also because I somehow couldn't bring myself to call him Andrew. He was Ryan to me, always been and always will), but… well, I wanted to have a wedding band on my finger, say that I was his woman, and say that no, deputy sheriff, you can't ask me out because I've got an husband back home.
I nodded, smiling, and sealed my promise with a kiss, without even noticing that Ryan was putting an engagement ring on my finger while we were swinging to the slow notes.
In a matter of days, I would have followed my mother's example.