My Fair Lacey
Chapter 18
How About a Cape?
He really wanted everything to be perfect. He'd made lists and checklists and a timeline. He'd called Jefferson six times to run over his game plan. In exasperation, Jefferson had finally advised him to take a stiff drink and relax.
He was in the apartment alone, setting things up for an intimate supper. Lacey was out taking her first class of her only course, easing into the college life and getting a jump start on her program which wouldn't officially start until next September.
"Should I put the ring in a glass of champagne?" he'd asked Jefferson.
"Good Lord, no. She's likely to swallow it or if it lands in her mouth, bite down on it and crack a tooth."
Jefferson had advised him to keep it simple. "The more complex you make something, the more opportunities there are for things to go wrong."
All right then, simple was to be the watchword. He'd settled on a take-out meal from Granny's – a plain (lame-ass) salad with blue cheese dressing, lasagna, and then cannoli for dessert – all Lacey's favorites. He selected a rich wine (one of his favorites) to set off the food. He'd set things up in front of the library window that looked out onto the city. The table was spread with a cream and gold cloth with golden chargers and ivory-colored china. He planned to provide candlelight to augment the sparkling lights coming off the streets and buildings of the city.
And after the meal, when everything was all smooth and mellow, he planned to take her hands in his and proceed.
He surveyed the room, satisfied. It was damn near perfect. It was just missing . . . Lacey.
She was running late. When she finally arrived, it was past six and she was frazzled.
"One of the worst days ever! I couldn't find a place to park and when I did, I had to hike across campus, so I was late. Then my tablet died, so I got out some paper and pen only to find that my pen had been leaking so now I had this black hand. And then, when I stop to take a breath, I see that everybody is sooo much younger than I am and . . . and I don't think the professor likes me." She had tears welling up in her eyes.
"How could the professor not like you?" Rumple asked, in disbelief.
"Because I was late and had to borrow note-taking materials, so I felt like I was being unprepared and disruptive – which I probably was." She sniffed. "I stayed after to apologize, and the professor was . . . brusque, is that the word? He was short and snappish." She flopped down in the library. "I thought I would have been an old hand at dealing with rude people having lived with you for a couple of months."
"Thanks, I guess," he protested. "But, I've changed, right? So, you got out of practice, maybe, dealing with rude people."
She sighed, "Yes, you have changed. Hummm, maybe that's why I got a bit upset – I'm out of practice."
"I'd be happy to be a great giant arse again if you think it would help you," he told her.
She shook her head, "Thank you . . . I think, but I don't know that I could deal with two jerks." She stretched and started to get up. "I have a ton of reading I need to get done. I guess I should get started."
Rumple hesitated, "Lacey, I want to respect your study schedule, but have you forgotten what day it is?"
"No, it's . . . uh . . . February, uh . . . Saturday was the twelfth, so today would be the . . . uh . . . fourteenth. February fourteenth." She looked up at him. "Oh, my goodness, it's Valentine's Day! I've been so focused on school and this class. Did you have something special planned?"
"Just a quiet, simple supper here. I didn't want to fight the crowds in the restaurants, so I had a couple of your favorites delivered."
"That sounds perfect. I'm sure I can spare the time for supper with you," she got up. "I'll probably feel better if I eat something. Sometimes, you have a knack for getting things just right," she told him.
"Sometimes," he agreed. He led her to the library and the small table that had been set up in front of the large window. "Take a seat milady and I'll bring out the food."
"You don't need any help?" she called back to him.
"No, I have a push cart with everything we need," he called back to her. He soon came in pushing the little metal cart, stopping to turn off the overhead lights, leaving the room in muted light. The cart was loaded with their suppers, a red rose in a crystal vase and a box of matches. "A flower for milady," he placed the vase on the table and then took the matches to light the candles.
"So romantic," she told him. "It's all so beautiful."
"God, I hope so," he muttered. He placed the salad plates in each place setting. "We will be starting with your favorite salad, lettuce, tomato and cucumber with blue cheese dressing."
"I would have thought you would have served goat cheese and cranberries on a bed of . . . what's some classy sounding lettuce?"
He sat down across from her and began his salad. "Boston. If we had all that, we'd be having a balsamic vinaigrette, but Granny's vinaigrette is bland. I went with what I thought you'd like."
"Well, you hit a home run." Lacey had poured on the blue cheese dressing, drowning the salad components. "I do love this dressing." She ran her finger across the plate and popped it in her mouth. Then she stopped and sniffed. "And do I smell Granny's lasagna?"
"You do," he agreed. "I have to admit, that lasagna has become one of my favorites, too."
"This is certainly helping my mood," Lacey shared. "I was just all out of sorts when I came in. My head was hurting and I was feeling overwhelmed with all I have to do."
"You'll get used to it," he encouraged her. "You're a smart, strong woman and you can do anything you put your mind to."
She smiled at him. "As long as I have you behind me, cheering me on, I think that just might be true."
He brought out the wine and served the lasagna still in its foil container. He did bring out some freshly grated Parmesan to add to the pasta dish. Lacey eagerly dug into the casserole and filled her plate. "This is just the best," she told him, stuffing her face.
The two continued to enjoy the simple meal and each other's company. Lacey would sometimes stop and look at the lights of the cars going up and down the street. "This is really wonderful," she told him, taking a sip of the wine. "I am feeling sooo much better."
They had gotten down to the cannoli and Lacey was luxuriating in the soft pastry, closing her eyes and licking her fingers to get every morsel.
"Lacey . . ." Rumple began. He gulped his remaining wine and poured himself another.
"Yes darling?" she was still enjoying the cannoli.
"You know how important you are to me."
"You often tell me. I haven't forgotten."
"I . . . damn . . . I . . ."
"What?" she asked. He seemed befuddled, confused and this was not a man easily befuddled or confused.
"I want to marry you. Will you marry me?" His pretty speech all forgotten, he just burst out with the proposal.
He stood up, irritated with himself. Despite all his preparation and practice and input from Jefferson, he'd just gone ahead and blurted out the proposal.
"Damn, damn, damn. I meant for that to be prettier. I had all these words that I was going to use to tell you that you are a light in an ocean of darkness, and you make me want to be a better man and how much I want to take care of you and start right away on those babies."
"Rumple," Lacey interrupted him. He stopped talking. "Do you love me?"
"You know I do. Of course, I do."
"Well, I love you, too. And I would be honored to be your wife."
"Really?" he seemed surprised.
"Really."
"Hey," he suddenly remembered something, "I've got a ring. I was supposed to kneel down and offer it to you." He was pulling the small box out of his pocket. He handed it to her.
Lacey opened it and bit her lip. "It's beautiful."
"It's brand new. Not one that's been in my family. My family doesn't have a good track record for happy marriages and I thought we'd be better off with a new ring rather than a tainted one."
"Well, you know my family's history of marriage. We can only go up from here," Lacey told him. She picked up her wine glass and stood. "I do have one teeny, tiny stipulation."
He was instantly wary, watching her, "What would that be?"
"I want a prenup. I don't want people saying I married you for your money."
He laughed, "Jefferson said you would say that."
She paused for just a moment. "You told Jefferson you were proposing?"
"I needed his help," Rumple confessed. "Was that all right?"
"Certainly. But that means he'll be over here first thing in the morning."
First Thing in the Morning
Lacey wasn't wrong. Jefferson was at the breakfast table before either Lacey or Rumple had gotten up. He was sitting, pushing his egg white omelet around his plate, waiting in agitated anticipation.
Lacey showed him her hand, allowing him to see the ring on her third finger.
"I knew you'd accept," Jefferson told her.
"Of course."
"Well, you're going to need to find a venue. Fiona can help with that. She's got her finger on more fancy places than anyone. You'll need a caterer . . . and flowers . . . and . . . a dress. We need to get on the dress immediately. I'm thinking you and I can head off to New York."
"No, Jefferson," Lacey began.
"Well, I'm sure Atlanta will serve just as well."
Lacey was shaking her head. "I'd thought I'd hit some of the second-hand stores here in town and find something. I don't really want anything fancy, maybe a mid-calf length dress . . ."
Jefferson's face had fallen. "You are not . . . you are not going to deprive me of the opportunity to help plan your wedding, are you?"
"Jefferson, darling. We were thinking of something small and quiet, maybe just going down to City Hall and having a nice reception with our closest friends."
Jefferson gasped.
"Or we could do Vegas," Rumple interjected.
Jefferson stood up, his eyes closed and his hand on his heart as he collected himself. "I am going to go home and lie down and wait for you to come to your senses. City Hall? Vegas? What are you thinking, girlfriend? This is your wedding, your one, and only wedding. I'm telling you, don't pass up this chance to be queen for a day." He wagged his finger at her. "Just going home now. Lying down." And he minced out of the room. "Waiting. You. Your senses."
Lacey and Rumple watched him go.
"You do have a dark side," Rumple told her. "I'm surprised he didn't drop right here from a stroke. You shouldn't tease him so."
"He'll get over it," Lacey said. "And I wasn't teasing him. I don't want a huge wedding with all the fuss and tensions and all the craziness. I want to put my energies into my marriage."
"Lacey, I'm on board for whatever you want to do, you know that. But, I'm here to tell you that you are going to have a fight with Jefferson . . . and my mother . . . if you want to make this a simple, private affair. Neither one of these people understands 'enough'."
"I think I can manage Jefferson. Your mother. . ." Lacey wasn't so sure of herself here.
At that moment Rumple's cell rang. He glanced at it. "It's my mother." He stared at it a moment. "If I don't answer it, she's likely to just come over."
"Answer it," Lacey told him, and she listened to his end of the conversation.
"Yes, mother. . . yes, mother . . . I'm glad you're happy . . . oh . . . you talked with Jefferson . . . I understand . . . yes . . . I understand . . . but . . . but . . . Mother, we just want to keep things simple and understated . . . I understand . . . yes . . . I understand . . ." He looked up at Lacey. "She wants to talk with you." He handed her the phone.
"Good morning, Fiona," she greeted her soon to be mother-in-law.
"What is this I hear that you two aren't going to have a big wedding? Best wishes, by the way."
"Thank you, but I've got so many things on my plate right now and I really would just like for us to get married without a lot of fuss and fanfare."
"Darling, you now have people who can take on all the fuss and fanfare for you. Can you meet for lunch, one o'clock at Bouchon's, and we'll talk?"
Lacey looked at Rumple who shook his head. "You're doomed," he mouthed to her.
"Of course, Fiona," Lacey replied, agreeing to Fiona's favorite little French restaurant. She hung up the phone and handed it back to Rumple.
"Do you want me to come with you?" he asked. "Moral support."
"Thank you. I would appreciate the support, but I think this is something I'm going to have to deal with myself."
"Then let me give you some advice. My mother is like a Force of Nature. You won't win a full-on frontal fight with her, but . . . if you play your cards right, you might be able to get things to bend your way."
Lacey nibbled on some toast. "I have an idea . . . ."
"Good luck then."
Lacey spent the rest of her morning trying to read over her assignment, taking notes on the text. She began to make up some flash cards to help her learn the barrage of new terms. She then dressed in her black stockings, her little denim skirt and a long-sleeved bright blue teeshirt. She brushed out her hair and put on a little lipstick and mascara. It was an unpretentious look and one that Jefferson had told her made her look chic. She got a kiss from Rumple and then trudged down to the restaurant.
Fiona, as always, looked fantastic. She was also dressed simply in a form-fitting black dress with FMP's and a dash of silver jewelry. A soft cream cashmere shawl was draped on the back of her chair.
The two women ordered, but Lacey refused wine, getting water instead.
"Jefferson told me you're thinking of a City Hall ceremony?" her mother-in-law-to-be asked.
"That's what I said this morning. Neither Rumple nor I want to dawdle around. And I've got university and I'm very out of practice being a student, so I don't have the time to plan anything big or fancy."
Fiona looked down at her perfectly manicured nails. She then looked at Lacey's water. "You aren't pregnant, are you?" she asked.
"Oh no, but . . . well, truth be told," Lacey looked down at her lap and blushed, "we're both wanting children and would like to get started right away."
Fiona sat back. "Rumple made me a grandmother at thirty-five. Never have quite forgiven him for that. But now, I'm at an age that being a grandmother is not a bad thing."
Lacey smiled at the woman. "Then you'd be available to babysit?" she asked mischievously.
"Oh Lord, no. And would you honestly want to leave an infant in my care? But I . . . I do want Rumple to be happy and I know he has this paternal drive – where he got it from, I can't imagine. Milah, that road whore he married when he was young, didn't make him happy and he was never able to be the father he wanted to be for Neal." She signaled the waiter for a second glass of wine. "So, you're going to give him a second chance at fatherhood?"
"I'd like to try."
Fiona considered. "And you want a small, private wedding and you want it soon?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"You're an exceptional young woman. You know, most women when they get married, they aren't thinking about their vows or the hard work a good marriage is going to take – they're thinking how good they look in their dress. You're thinking about the marriage and making my son happy."
"I am," Lacey confirmed.
Fiona drummed her nails on the table, obviously considering different possibilities. "You're in school now, aren't you?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Let's see now. You've got Spring Break coming up, but that will be in, what? Six weeks? Not nearly enough time. When are you out of exams?"
"Late May," Lacey told her.
"Then an early June wedding it is. Will that suit you?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I have several ideas for venues that we should be able to get on such short notice, but your dress. Please don't get a vintage one – you have no way of knowing what kind of voodoo might be attached to it. We'll need to go immediately and see what's available. What are you doing this weekend?"
"Studying," Lacey told her.
"Good, nothing important. I should be able to finagle an appointment and we'll get Jefferson to come along with us. I'll call you with details as soon as things are confirmed." Satisfied, Fiona sat back, "Now, did you have any ideas for flowers or catering?"
"We were thinking red roses. It's kind of a signature flower for us and, afterward, we thought we'd just all go to Cracker Barrel," Lacey managed to say blandly.
Fiona blinked. It took her a moment to pull herself together. "You are joking, right? I mean I can live with the red roses – they are rather banal but if that's what you want . . . but afterwards . . . ?"
"I think Rumple just wanted a small sit-down meal for family and close friends. Where would you suggest?"
"Oh," Fiona let out some air. "I can get together a list of suitable places and run it by you."
Lacey was breathing easier when she got back to the apartment.
"We're looking at a small June wedding, location to be announced later. We will have roses for our flowers. We'll have a sit-down meal for everyone at a restaurant, also to be announced later. And . . ." she sat down, "I am going with your mother and Jefferson this weekend to find a dress. We have to get the guest list to your mother right away and she'll work on getting invitations."
"Fix you a drink?" he asked.
"Please. Force of Nature is a good description of your mother. They should put her in charge of military campaigns – there is no detail too small that she would forget about it."
"But you survived . . . and," he handed her his best effort, a gin Ricky, "we're going to get through this."
"I played the grandchildren card and she jumped for the fast turn-around," confessed Lacey.
"I'm surprised. She was royally pissed when I made her a grandmother the first time."
"She was thirty-five and it's not that she wants grandchildren now. She . . . she wants you happy and she thinks having children would help that along."
"She wants me happy?"
"I think so. She may actually feel guilty about your childhood, although she'd never say it."
"Well, now I need a drink."
Dress Shopping
It was an elite little shop in Buckhead, the rich end, of Atlanta. Fiona and Jefferson sat in comfortable chairs sipping white wine. Lacey was being dressed in their different picks. Fiona had told her that she would be paying for the dress and not to be concerned about the budget.
Fiona and Jefferson chatted with the consultant about their choices.
"I agree – a ballgown would swallow her frame unless the proportions were exactly right," Jefferson was saying. "Drop waist?"
"Maybe. Or mermaid – she's curvy enough. A sweetheart neckline?"
"Absolutely," Jefferson agreed.
Lacey listened with some amusement. She had been agreeable to trying on their selections but none of them sang to her. In the dressing room, she spoke with the consultant about her own ideas.
"I like lace. I guess I'm old-fashioned that way. And I'd like the dress to . . . uh . . . flow. Something I could dance in, so I wouldn't want it to be too heavy. Maybe something ballerina length. I was originally going to look for something that was vintage - before Miss Fiona and Jefferson became involved."
The consultant, Miss Giselle, nodded. "Those two are trouble. I have an idea. It's a dress not just anyone could pull off, but I think it might have been designed for you."
In fifteen minutes, when Lacey walked out with her selection, Fiona and Jefferson both sat silently. It was Fiona who spoke first, "Lovely. It's understated, but elegant, very much like yourself. What do you think Jefferson?"
Jefferson was sitting with his hand on his face, wiping his eyes and covering his mouth in a fluttery motion.
"Jefferson, are you all right?" Fiona asked him.
"It's just . . . it's just so . . . ." He took a breath. "I remember when I first met you, you thought that vinyl was a suitable fabric for clothing and you wore a tube top to breakfast. I look at you now . . . and," he got up to walk around her, "I can see, my work here is done." He sniffed, "Lacey, you look beautiful."
"Thank you, Jefferson. You have taught me a lot," Lacey told him.
"We'll all agreed then," Fiona announced, "This is The Dress." She got up to talk with the consultant about price and arrange for express alterations.
Lacey changed back into her street clothes and came out to find that Jefferson was still struggling to regain his composure. She heard Fiona speak sharply to him, "Oh for Christ's sake, I'm going to need you to sack up, man. I can't have you dissolving into a puddle of goo with every decision we have to make on this wedding."
"I know, and I didn't expect this to be such an emotional roller coaster, but . . . Fiona, Lacey has been my . . . protégé, especially where fashion is concerned and to see how she has blossomed into this beautiful swan, left the nest and flown on her own . . ." he choked up again.
Fiona rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Lacey rubbed the bridge of her nose. This was going to be a long, exhausting process. There was still the venue, the cake, the wedding party, the photographer, oh, so many decisions to be made.
June
They had survived.
Lacey thought they could very well get tee-shirts printed up with that message.
Fiona had found them a venue – a small winery in the mountains. Afterwards, there was to be a simple meal with a plain vanilla cake with white icing and marzipan red roses. It would be served in a dining hall at the winery. The guests would be staying overnight in the guest houses at the same little winery.
Lacey had insisted on keeping the wedding party small and she only had one attendant, her best friend Ruby, wearing a red dress and carrying white roses. Rumple only had Jefferson as his best man, foregoing ushers.
The last major tussle had been with Jefferson when Rumple had asked him to wear a plain Armani tuxedo with a white shirt. It had started out well.
"Jefferson, I don't tell you this often enough . . . or ever. But, you've been a good friend. You've been there for me in some really bad times and . . . it's nice to have you here, now, in one of the really good times. Thank you."
"We would have been good together," Jefferson told him. "Perhaps not as good as Viktor and I am together and not as good as you and Lacey are together . . . but we would have been good." Jefferson paused. "You've always accepted me for who . . . what . . . I am and that's been . . . satisfying. Knowing you're a straight guy but you're still comfortable around me, that you see me as a friend, your closest friend. Thank you."
Rumple nodded, and the two men stood in awkward silence for a moment.
Jefferson broke the silence, "Well, that was good for me. Was it good for you?"
Rumple smiled and shook his head, "Yeah . . . all right. Now, what do you think of the tuxedos I picked out?"
"The classic unstructured jacket. A bit plain. Can I wear a hat?" Jefferson asked. "A high topper? Please?"
"No," Rumple told him.
"How about a red cummerbund to match the red roses?"
"No."
"How about a cape?"
"No."
"Red socks?"
"No."
"But this is sooo plain," Jefferson whined.
"Wear a red speedo then."
"Already doing that."
Rumple winced and closed his eyes, but it was too late. The image was there.
"But no one will look at me," Jefferson told him.
"You're not supposed to be the focus of attention." Rumple tried to explain. "All eyes should be on my bride. And she's given me the keywords 'elegant' and 'understated'."
"You mean 'boring' and 'more boring'."
"I thought you said you liked her dress? And it was elegant and understated."
"She can pull that look off. I'm . . . I'm a peacock, I have to spread my wings."
"Peacocks spread their tail feathers," Rumple reminded him. "Listen, how about this? After the ceremony, at the little supper we'll be having, you can wear whatever you want."
"Whatever?" Jefferson repeated. He brightened.
"I trust that you'll keep in mind that this is the wedding of your best friend and . . . me and you won't gay it up too much."
"I don't understand," Jefferson said. "What is this concept, 'too much'? How is possible to have 'too much'?"
Rumple rubbed the bridge of his nose. This wedding could not get here soon enough. He wasn't nervous about what he had to do and knew that his bride was strong enough to get through whatever else Jefferson and his mother threw at them. But still . . .
He just had no idea what might happen when Jefferson was taken off his leash (Rumple envisioned him stripping to You Can Leave Your Hat On). He had no idea what might happen when Lacey's trampy best (female) friend had too much to drink (another one to strip; she'd stand on one of the tables). He had no idea what might happen when his mother and father were within ten feet of each other (he envisioned them either trying to kill each other or taking all that pent-up energy and doing it on the cake table). And then there was Lacey's family (he assumed they would be sneaking in beer and spray cheese and Marlboro Lights).
He planned to spirit his bride away in the helicopter that would pick them up (hopefully) before things got too messed up. They would be flown to a nearby airport and from there, fly to the little island Rumple owned off the coast of North Carolina. He'd been working with some contractors to have the main cabin on the island upgraded so that it would be a suitable place to begin his married life with Lacey.
And now the day had finally come. He stood in the small assembly hall, with a subdued Jefferson at his side, and his son and his parents there for him. The music changed and at Jefferson's cue, he turned and saw her . . . and she took his breath away.
A.N. Well, this journey is almost done. We'll have a little epilogue in the next chapter to get the gist of their happily ever after. Thank you - twyla