Children of Dynasty (41 page)

On this perfect blue day, Mariah was to be married. At seven o’clock in June, nearly the longest day of the year, the sun still rode high over the Sierra Nevadas. Ringed by mountains studded with virgin forest, the cobalt lake rippled with whitecaps. Along the roads that rimmed it lay the evidence of man: houses, hotels, and ski runs, paler green slashes against the verdant slopes.

Cruising past the more gaudy marriage mills, Mariah was turned off repeatedly. She wondered if her reluctance was due to the butterflies in her stomach.

Stop it,
she thought. This had been her dream, to become Mrs. Rory Campbell. She should be delirious with joy, for she was in love with him again, as though their years apart had never been. Unfortunately, this was a new Rory, more complex, darker, and conflicted even now over his father.

Truth to tell, wasn’t she also changed, embittered by their past and the lonely years in between? Even as she went to the altar, wasn’t she holding back because she sensed that he was?

“There.” Rory pointed toward the blue lake.

The small wedding chapel on the shore occupied a rustic log structure, somebody’s ancient summer cabin turned commercial. Behind the quaint structure, a wooden pier jutted over the water. As he pulled the Porsche up and gave the chapel a scrutiny, Mariah’s nervous stomach tried to perform a back flip.

“What do you say?” Rory asked.

She took a long breath. “This should do.”

On the way into the chapel, he held her hand. His palm was dry and his grip firm.

Despite the quaint exterior, inside they found marriage mill kitsch. A churchlike foyer with dark wood paneling and a guest register overlooked the main chapel. Faded red carpet, worn pews and a bare altar did little to recommend it. Dust motes slanted in the sun through painted stained glass flowers.

Rory spied a bell and rang it. A moment later, they were in the motherly hands of Reverend Molly Sparks. Blond and bespectacled, she wore a knee-length black robe over her sturdy body. Her Reeboks matched her robe. She consulted a checklist on her clipboard, information for the license, ID, did they want music …

Rory cast what Mariah interpreted as a distasteful look through the archway. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. Sure, they had eloped and were here for the quickie version, but this place made her feel sad, with its dark, claustrophobic walls. With a feeling that she couldn’t breathe, she nearly rushed out the door. Maybe they could find someplace else, but the last one they had passed advertised you could be married by Elvis.

What about a nice Justice of the Peace? But it was after hours and they couldn’t afford to wait until tomorrow.

She spied the sunrays at the window.

Rory squeezed her hand. “Do you think we could do this outside?” he asked the Reverend. “Maybe on the pier?”

Whatever they wanted. Did they want it videotaped?

“No,” said Rory, while Mariah said, “Yes.”

A smile broke over Molly’s plump features.

“No video for ‘On The Spot’ to get hold of,” he insisted. “I’ve had enough of those guys.”

Mariah looked at Rory with his crisp jaw line and ink-dark hair, at his tuxedo with the ruby studs, and wanted the tape with an ache that matched the feeling she’d had on the dock when she had looked at his hair and thought of gray there. In the years to come, they’d be captured as they were today, rather than with the fading tinge of memory.

“We might want to show our folks,” she said, “or our …” She broke off before the word “children” formed, but she heard her voice say it inside her head.

Perhaps Rory understood, for he told Molly, “We’ll have video.”

“Got rings?”

“Yes,” Rory replied, showing the velvet box.

“No,” Mariah said.

They looked at each other.

She hadn’t thought to ask him if he’d even wear one. “Do you …?”

“All right.” His face bore a noncommittal expression, as though he were wondering if he wanted to advertise his marital status.

She wished they were alone so she could ask him what he was thinking.

Maybe all weddings were like this. Her friends who had gone through the ceremony had spoken of pre-wedding jitters and how they felt alone in the back of the church, even with their fathers at hand to walk them down the aisle. If only Dad were here to give her away, and Rory’s father stood by, an accepting — no loving — smile lighting his black eyes.

Some things were not to be.

Reverend Molly went to a panel in the wall and lowered it. “Men’s.” She pulled out a rack of rings.

Mariah looked at the confusing array. Even the plain bands came in different widths and textures, along with more intricate styles set with diamonds. In deference to Nevada’s gambling, there were even golden horseshoes.

Rory selected the widest of plain gold bands.

The Reverend did not offer a box, so Mariah clutched it in her hand. The gold warmed against her skin.

“That should do it,” Molly said.

“Not quite.” Rory bent to a bucket of roses. He bypassed the red ones like he’d given her in Carmel and chose a single white bud on the end of a long stem.

As they walked out onto the pier, the wind caught her hair that she’d spent such pains with. Rory’s bow tie flapped.

He held her arm in a protective gesture. “Will you be warm enough?”

Though the breeze was cool, she couldn’t imagine going back and being married inside the dark little chapel.

The ceremony was short and surreal. The video camera wielded by Molly’s pimpled nephew made Mariah nervous. The lake wind raised gooseflesh on her bare arms and she pricked the sensitive tip of her index finger on a rose thorn. In a voice that sounded remarkably steady to her, she promised to love, honor, and cherish Rory for as long as they both should live. He recited the same.

Prompted by the Reverend, Rory brought the ruby from his pocket and slipped it onto her left hand where it glowed in the sun-washed light. She slid the wide gold band onto his finger, and they clasped their ringed hands between them.

A wave of elation lifted her and she clung to him with a grip so tight she wondered why he didn’t ask her to stop. He could have stayed at DCI without challenging his father and let her and Dad both go down the drain. He could have married a senator’s daughter.

Yet, he was marrying Mariah and the sight of him beside the cobalt water with his tuxedo snapping in the breeze was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“And now, by the power vested in me by Almighty God and the State of Nevada,” the Reverend intoned, “I pronounce you man and wife.”

It was done. For better or worse, and now that Rory had stood with her in the sun and promised everything, Mariah wanted it all.

At a restaurant on the mountainside overlooking Lake Tahoe, where the last light of day had an ethereal quality, they toasted with champagne and ate briny, yet clean-tasting, Puget Sound oysters.

Though Mariah deplored the reason they’d been forced into a hasty elopement, when their talk turned to business, she was surprised to find she welcomed it. It was the first time she’d felt free to speak with Rory without wondering what his father would do with the information.

She took a bite of crusty French bread, savored it, and swallowed. “What shall we do with Grant Plaza? Dad and I were planning to office there, but now maybe we should lease it out.”

“Hell, no. It’s a great plan.” Rory raised his flute. “Let’s move our joint offices to the top floor.”

“Even after …” Despite her hopes for the skyscraper, seeing Charley die there had her feeling superstitious.

Rory gestured with a forkful of oyster he’d dipped in a horseradish sauce. “Especially after the accident.” He looked at the mouthful of food and set it back on his plate.

Pain knifed through her as when her friend had fallen to his death. These last weeks had been filled with so much that she’d been repressing her sense of loss.

“Charley was such a darling cut-up.” She imagined him and Rory joking together as they had on that long-ago day on the Bay. Charley hauling on the jib sheet while she cranked the winch, Rory manning the wheel with his legs braced against the seas. “I wish you’d known him better.”

“I knew him enough to understand how you cared for him,” Rory answered. “You remember when I said we should have a memorial sail for Charley?”

Mariah nodded.

Rory leaned forward and put his hand over hers on the table. “Since he died working on Grant Plaza, that whole masterpiece of edifice, complete and filled with tenants going about their business and their lives … that will also be his memorial.”

Though Charley had accepted that his limited abilities precluded shining in the boardroom, he’d been happy as part of the Grant Plaza crew, his contribution to the company his father helped build. With Rory’s words, Mariah realized she didn’t want to give up on the building, either.

“You’re right.” She turned her hand over and twined her fingers with Rory’s. “I couldn’t see it.”

Their synergy made her see she and Rory could be a team, designing and implementing projects even more spectacular than Grant Plaza. Working together through the years began to seem real.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say something about it, but a fear of jinxing the situation kept her quiet. For, as night fell over the Sierras, she wondered if their marriage would be enough to make Davis stand down.

On the drive up the mountain to their rented condo, Rory was amazed at how he felt. Perhaps knowing Mariah’s friend Charley was gone, while the blood continued to flow through his veins, was what made Rory so glad to be alive. He hadn’t been this happy in … God, it was eight years and that meant the source of his joy was sitting beside him in the front seat.

He reached for Mariah’s hand and pressed her wedding ring. It didn’t matter that his feet had felt a little cool before the ceremony; that happened to most guys.

As he negotiated the winding road, she asked, “Where should we live?”

“How about my place for a while?” he said easily. He’d never had a woman there, keeping his social life separate from his home. Even so, the townhouse wasn’t the kind of place he wanted to live with Mariah long-term.

He shook his head and chuckled. It was exactly like some of his married buddies had said. If you married the right woman, the minute the wedding was over, you felt different. You suddenly thought ahead to things like houses and hearths.

That house off the 17-Mile Drive … Rory made a mental note to call and find out if it was still on the market. If it were, he’d pack them for a weekend down the coast and present the key as a surprise wedding present. That is, if he had the funds after the chips finished falling with his father.

The driveway for the condo came up, and he turned down the steep hill to the complex. Lights twinkled from windows and balconies, welcoming. He imagined bringing Mariah here during snow season, building a fire and taking off her clothes in dappled light beside the hearth.

When they reached the top of the stairs and he unlocked the door, he pointed down at the threshold. “See that?”

Her brow furrowed prettily. “What?”

He scooped her up and carried her inside, depositing her on the kitchen counter.

Mariah put her hands up and twined them in the hair at the back of his neck, sending goosebumps down his spine. “I seem to recall a prior countertop experience.” Her voice went husky.

Though his body urged him to take her up on what sounded like an offer, he bent and kissed her earlobe. “Tonight, I think we’ll use that king-sized bed. But first …” He lifted an index finger and went back to the car for an extra bottle of champagne.

On his way up back up the stairs, he found himself whistling. A pulse in him spoke of having all night. All of many nights.

When he came in, Mariah had disappeared and the master bath was closed off. From his suitcase, he brought out the black velvet robe she had left at McMillan’s. It felt soft in his hands, as he tapped on the door panel.

Mariah opened up a crack and peeked around. “It’s bad luck to see the bride.”

“You’re not a bride anymore. You’re my wife.” After all the negative noises he’d made about marrying again, he did like the sound of it. “Slip into something more comfortable?” He held out the robe where she could see it.