Chapter 11
"Well, I know that, dear," Abigail responded, blithely. "But I still don't see why it would be impossible." Laura blinked a pair of times, dumbfounded.
"You… know?" she babbled, looking first at her mother, then to Remington. "She knows?"
"Of course, I do," Abigail replied, as though Laura had suddenly gone daft. "As the parent of the bride, it's my responsibility to pay for the wedding, so I'd need to know what types of plan you might have in mind." Laura's eyes widened.
"Paying?" She asked in a dazed tone, then with a mental shake of her head, collected herself. "We don't need you to pay for the ceremony, Mother. Remington and I are more than capable of—"
"Don't be silly, dear. Just like for Frances, you've had a wedding account since you were a little girl," Abigail informed her.
"I do?" she drew out the last word. Would the surprises of the last twenty-four hours ever stop coming?
"Of course. You'll see. When you have a daughter of your own—" Laura jumped in before her mother could complete that thought.
"Six days is not very long, not when you're speaking in terms of a wedding," she thought aloud. "Remington's made arrangements with a shop here in New York for my dress, but I don't know." She looked to Remington for his thoughts. "Can Kleinfeld squeeze in Frances, Mindy and Laurie Beth, as well?" He lifted a shoulder and dropped it.
"I suppose I could call in the morning and see what I can do," he answered, "But I must admit, it took a great deal of effort just to get the one appointment."
"Frances and the girls can just buy off the rack," Abigail insisted. "Given it's the holiday season, the stores are filled with dresses right now. All Laura has to do is see what we can find and decided on her colors." Laurie Beth and Mindy hugged one another, rightly understanding they'd be art of the wedding party.
"My colors?" Oh, God. She'd barely reconciled the thought of marrying Remington six mere days from then, but now her mother was talking colors?! What was next? Type of cake? Flower arrangements? Bunting?
"Donald, Remington will need a best man if Frances is to be matron of honor," Abigail plowed forward.
"Actually," Remington held up a hand, "I already have someone that will be joining us in the next day or two who will stand for me." That earned another pair of blinks from Laura.
"You do?" He nodded his head.
"Mmm," he confirmed, before looking at Donald. "I've a far more important job for you in mind, anyway." Taking Laura's hand in his free one, he lifted it to his mouth and bussed the back of her knuckles. "Walking my bride down the aisle." Laura would swear Donald grew a bit misty eyed at the suggestion. Clearing his throat, he took both her hands in his.
"It would be an honor, if that's what you'd like." Laura's answering smile was genuine.
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
"Hey," Danny called, surging to his feet. He'd been half-listening to what was being said, until he realized he was being left out in the cold. "What about me and Grandma?"
"You want in on the action too, so to speak?" Remington surmised, then rubbed at his chin, feigning consideration. "I suppose you'll do as an escort to the mother-of-the-bride." Danny looked at him suspiciously.
"What's an escort?"
"Well, you'd walk your grandmother down the aisle to her seat, right before I walk your Aunt Laura to the altar," Donald explained.
"Cool!" Danny proclaimed, seeing himself entrusted to do a job of equal importance to his father's.
"Then, I suppose we'll need to see to tuxedos tomorrow as the ladies shop," Remington proclaimed, as he nodded in the direction of the pair of waiters who'd finished setting up the dining room and had arrived back at the door of the suite. "It would seem breakfast awaits. I'll join you momentarily." As the family began their trek to the dining room, Remington was already digging in his pocket for a generous tip.
"I want to know all about the proposal, and don't leave anything out," Frances informed Laura, linking their arms together as they walked.
"What's to tell?" Laura asked, airily. "He asked and I said yes."
"Lau-ra," Frances drew out her name. "Details. Mother said there was a carriage?" Laura turned her head and grinned at her sister, finding the idea of sharing most of the details rather appealing.
"Well, after you left the ballet last night with the children, a carriage pulled up in front of…"
"You're sure you're ready for this?" Laura called into the living room, from where she sat on the bed in the guest room.
"No time like the present," Remington called back from where he sat on the couch.
"Here goes nothing then," she announced as she picked up the receiver of the phone located on the bedside table and dialed.
Laura savored a piece of Loft's parlay as the phone began to ring on the other side of the line. The Pipers and Abigail had filed out shortly after lunch, as Remington and Laura had pleaded a late night and lack of sleep. The families would meet again that evening for dinner, then retire to the suite for a night of movies. In the meantime, there was a phone call to make, presents to open, and a long nap to be had.
"You can pick up the extension!" she called to Remington. She heard the click of the line, as the phone was answered on the other end.
"Hello?" The familiar voice of Mildred's nephew came over the line.
"Bernard, it's Miss… Mrs. Steele and Mr. Steele. Merry Christmas," she greeted.
"Mrs. Steele! Mr. Steele! Merry Christmas!" Bernard greeted in a shocked, but pleased voice. On a nearby chair, Mildred's ears perked up and a smile lit her face. In the years she'd been with 'The Steele's' her 'kids' had never missed a call to her at her sister's Christmas Day. She was quickly at Bernard's side, eagerly indicated he should give her the phone.
"Happy Christmas, Bernerd," Remington replied, taking the lead. "Might we have a word with Mildred?"
"I'm sorry, Aunt Mildred's not here," Bernard refused, with laughter in his voice. Remington and Laura chuckled a bit themselves as they listened to their trusted investigator scuffling for the phone.
"You're an awful boy," Mildred scolded Bernard, holding the phone in one hand and pinching his cheek with another. "Why do I love you?"
"Because I'm irresistible," he answered, then left the room to allow her time with 'the kids'.
"Mr. Steele, Mrs. Steele! Merry Christmas," she greeted effusively.
"Merry Christmas, Mildred," Laura warmly echoed the sentiment.
"Happy Christmas, darlin'," Remington returned.
"How has your Christmas been?" Laura wondered.
"Oh, you know me, I'm thrilled anytime I get to spend time with Bernard," she laughed. "That kid just makes me so proud. How's things going for the two of you in the Big Apple?"
"Ah, I believe Laura has some news for you," Remington offered. Laura frowned in the general direction of where he sat in the living room. Coward! The man was as allergic to upsetting Mildred as he was legwork.
"You and the Boss haven't gotten yourselves mixed up in something out there, have you?" Mildred speculated. "I can be on the next plane out."
"No, no. All's quiet here," Laura assured. Mildred's face fell. She was due to fly back home the day after next, and she wouldn't have minded spicing up the rest of the holiday with a nice juicy mystery to work on.
"Oh," she answered, the disappointment in her voice evident.
"Actually—"
"Are you sitting down Mildred?" Remington broke in. Back in Seattle, Mildred frowned. Something was definitely up and if the Boss was asking her if she was seated, it was gonna be a doozy.
"What have you done now, Boss?" she asked with suspicion. He grunted his disapproval while Laura tittered.
"Perhaps you should ask Miss Holt what it is I've done." Laura quickly sobered. He'd not only tossed the ball squarely back in her court, but he'd deliberately given Mildred a big morsel to take a bite at, which she did.
"Miss Holt?" The pictured crystallized in an instant. The Boss only called Mrs. Steele 'Miss Holt' when he was displeased with her. "Awww, it's Christmas day. Whatever the two of you are fussing about, forget about it, enjoy the day," Mildred counseled.
"Quite the opposite actually: Things couldn't be better between Miss Holt and I," he corrected. "She can tell you for herself." At that, she was fully prepared to strangle him, but calling a spade a spade rose to the occasion.
"Mr. Steele proposed last night and I agreed," she announced. Silence on the line spanned a couple of ticks of the second hand.
"I give. What's the punch line?" Mildred finally asked. Laura sighed. It was time to 'fess up, as Remington would say.
"Mr. Steele and I aren't really married," she admitted. Mildred began to laugh.
"That's a good one. I was there, remember?" Laura grimaced.
"Yes, you were," she acknowledged. "And I want you to know the only reason Mr. Steele and I didn't fill you in on the details is because we wanted to protect you. We—"
"Protect me? From what?" Mildred cut in.
"From the INS," Laura replied. "If you knew our marriage wasn't exactly… legal… and the INS were to discover that, you could have been in a great deal of trouble. Neither Mr. Steele nor I were willing ask you to take that risk." Mildred tapped her foot, growing impatient.
"What do you mean it wasn't 'exactly legal'?" she pressed, sounding very much like the stern IRS auditor she once was.
"To put it bluntly, darlin'," Remington stepped in, "The marriage license wasn't so much legal as it was creative, and the same could be said of the blood tests. I forged them all," he confessed with a little bit too much pride for Laura's taste.
"So what am I missing?" Mildred inquired in that same no nonsense tone.
"No blood test, no license, no marriage," he summarized. To their infinite surprise, instead of issuing a good dressing down or tearfully asking why they didn't trust her enough to bring her in on the scam, she she began laughing again… uproariously this time.
"You can mean to tell me…" she gasped "…You actually thought…" she paused again for another breath of air "…If it were April's Fool I'd have to…" She drew in a deep breath, fought for control, won, then deadpanned, "You're wrong, Boss."
"He's not wrong, Mildred," Laura defended, wearily. "Forged blood tests. A forged license. Our marriage is as fake as a three dollar bill."
"If you'd gotten married in LA, sure," Mildred agreed, "But you didn't. You got married in international waters. The blood tests and the license don't mean bupkis."
Remington felt the early vestiges of panic setting in. If Mildred were correct… if he and Laura had truly been wed that day after he'd vowed there wouldn't be one scintilla of legality... The edges of his consciousness began to grow hazy. Laura would never believe any protestations of innocence. She'd never trust him again. He'd lose her. He'd lose… Dear God.
As his breathing began to accelerate his mind traveled back to the day of their faux marriage. Her mud covered, hair tangled, clothes ruined and hose torn after several attempts had been made on her life while he'd been off gallivanting around putting into motion what he'd seen at the time as an innovative solution to his problems and realized far too late she'd see it as the ultimate betrayal. Yet she'd still agreed to save his sorry arse with only one, non-negotiable condition:
"You're sure this marriage isn't even remotely legal?"
"Laura, when I make a bargain, I stick to it."
"Okay. We've got a phony marriage license and fake blood test results. What about the captain? He'll have the authority to marry us."
"Um hum. Absolutely correct, Laura."
"Then what are we doing here?!"
"Juan's not the captain."
"Who is he?"
"He cleans fish."
And with the memory of that accordion playing, Spanish-speaking, fishing cleaner had come a beacon of hope, his salvation.
"Ah, but I asked very specifically and Juan was not the captain of that floating bucket of bolts," he reminded, unable to disguise the note of triumph in his voice. In Seattle, Mildred huffed a breath and planted a fisted hand on her hip.
"Chief, how many Bible toting fish cleaners do you know?" she challenged in that no-nonsense auditor tone again. The tone suggested she knew something he didn't know and his fears swelled. Moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue, he sought an appropriate response.
"Can't say I know many fish cleaners at all, Mildred." When all else failed, resort to a bit of cheekiness, that was his motto.
"I guess you didn't ask if Juan happened to have another occupation?" she pressed, ignoring his retort. His heart pounded against his ribs, and he waved a hand in front of his face. Were there actually black dots floating about in the air?
"Get to the point, Mildred," Laura prodded.
"Juan's an ordained minister. Why do you think Becker was so quick to sign off on the ceremony?"
"But that doesn't make sense, Mildred," she argued. "Tony showed Mr. Steele proof of the false blood tests and the verification we'd never applied for a license. He knew we weren't married, flaunted it even."
"Aw, c'mon, Mrs. Steele," Mildred dismissed, incredulously. "That sleezeball? Chasing your tail while trying to get rid of Mr. Steele? Why would he tell you the truth? Heck, Becker had your license certified before you stepped foot on that plane to Mexico for what was supposed to be your honeymoon. I guarantee you that… that… that snake knew the two of you were legally hitched before you showed up at that hotel."
"I see," Laura acknowledged, dumbfounded.
Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. Archaelogist. UCLA Lecturer. INS agent. M-5 operative. Liar. Now add to that a man who had not only knew she believed herself unmarried, but knowing that she was, had pursued her anyway. Her head had been so clouded by anger at Remington for his foolishness with the hooker that her normally sharp instincts had been dulled and at every turn and Tony had taken advantage.
"You're sure, Mildred?"
"As sure as I am of my own name," Mildred confirmed. Laura nodded slowly.
"I'm going to kill him," she growled. "We'll have to call you back.
Hanging up the phone, Remington stood up and walked to the window. Shoving one hand in a pocket and splaying the other over his face, he stared out the window. From experience, he knew the longer Laura took to appear, the worse it would be for him. If it were to be sound tongue lashing and a reminder of what a conniving creep he was - after which he'd be permitted to plead his case – she'd be out relatively quickly. If it were to be glacial silence and a frigid shoulder that would thaw only when she was prepared to talk – ala their days at the Sensitivity Spa - would be a bit longer. And if she decided to end it as she had in Cannes, then again another eight months after that? Well, it would be a good while before she showed herself, and when she came to him she'd be thoroughly shut down, telling him in a cool, indifferent monotone while looking at him with eyes that had shuttered away all the warmth he'd once basked in, that their days had come to an end.
"Well, this is a fine mess," Laura groused, as she strode briskly into the room, "And it's all your fault," she pointed at him. He winced at the accusation, failing to notice her casual tone, and dropping the hand from his face, shoved it into his other pocket.
"Laura." His voice was strained when he spoke, drawing her eyes to him. She'd briefly considered he'd been assuming the worst of her while sitting out in the living room, but then had tossed the idea aside, rationalizing they'd come so far so surely he'd know… Apparently not. With an emphasized huff of resignation meant to help put him at ease, she crossed her arms.
"Alright," she elongated the word in feigned exasperation, "Let's get this over with then. Did you know?" He licked his lips nervously and shifted where he stood.
"No," he answered, then hurriedly continued, "I know I've—"
"I didn't think so," she replied, with the shrug of a shoulder.
"…Done some buggering stupid—" His words stopped in their tracks. Craning his neck slightly towards her, his eyes narrowed disbelievingly. "You didn't? You don't?"
"Look, you resorted to some pretty cheap tricks to try to persuade me into bed, once upon a time," she answered honestly, "But while your ploys made it very clear," she laughed as the memory of some of those absurd attempts ran through her mind, "What you hoped would happen, you always left that decision to me. That you'd intentionally marry me without my knowledge? That flies in the face of everything I know to be true about you when it comes to our personal relationship." The bright smile that covered his face as he crossed the room to her could have lit the entire city at dusk.
"Laura, there are days that you shock the hell out of me, in the very best of ways," he told her, as he wrapped his arms around her waist.
"I've learned the only way to survive with you is by keeping you guessing," she answered in a teasing tone, then with a brush of her lips over his, disengaged herself from his arms. "Now, speaking of your grand schemes that rarely work out the way you intended," she said, referencing the reason news of their wedded state, "Exactly how are we going to explain to my mother that we're already married?"…