It was late August by the time Bix heard Paris laugh again, at a joke someone told, and he was so startled, he looked around to see who had laughed. It was she. And for the first time in four months, she looked like herself. He didn't know when it had happened, but when it had, it had happened overnight.

“Is that you?” He looked relieved. He'd been worried sick about her. They all were.

“Maybe. I'm not sure.”

“Well, don't go away again. I miss you too much when you do.”

“Believe me, I'm not planning to do that again. I can't afford it. I'm done. No more men.”

“Oh? Are we doing women now?”

“No.” She laughed again. It was a delicious sound. She had done her work for the past four months, but nothing else. She didn't go anywhere, see anyone, and she had only spoken to her children, just to check in. Wim was away for the summer again, on a work program in Spain, and Meg was swamped in L.A. The wedding was in four weeks. “I'm not planning to ‘do’ anyone. Men or women. Just me.”

“That'll do,” Bix said, looking pleased.

“I have to buy a dress for the wedding.” She looked panicked. Like Rip Van Winkle, who had just woken up. She'd been a zombie for four months. And she had never told him about the call in June to Jean-Pierre, which had only made it worse.

Bix looked sheepish, as he unlocked the door to his locked closet. He had had a dress made for her. If she liked it, she could have it, as a gift from him. If she didn't, he would give it away. It was a beautiful beige lace dress with a pale pink taffeta coat, and it looked perfect with her coloring and hair. “I hope it fits. You've lost a hell of a lot of weight.” Again. She had been through it before. But that had been worse. This was bad enough. She felt cured for life. She didn't want to get involved with anyone again. It just hurt too much. And maybe it always would. Maybe there was no way to avoid the price. Paris no longer knew, or cared. She was just glad to be back, and sane again.

“I'll take it home and try it. You're an angel, Bix.” They spent the rest of the afternoon going over the last details. Everything was in order. As usual, Bix had done an incredible job, even without a lot of help from her. Even though she had done her best. But her best hadn't been at its top form for a while, since Jean-Pierre left.

And that night when she went home, she tried on the dress. Even Paris had to smile when she looked in the mirror. She looked beautiful and young. He had made exactly the right choice. And it coordinated with the rest of the wedding. The bridesmaids were wearing beige silk. Seven of them. At the wedding of Meg's dreams.

The only nightmare for Paris was that Peter and Rachel were going to be there. And their baby. And Rachel's boys. The perfect little family. And Paris would be alone. It was a condition she accepted now, as she had once before. But losing Jean-Pierre was different. It had not been inflicted on her, like a prison sentence she had been given. It was a choice she had made. She had decided, after much thought, in the past four months, that she was better off alone. It wasn't what she had wanted, or how she had envisioned her life once upon a time. But it was what had happened to her. Her destiny maybe. And she knew without a moment's doubt now that she could be happy and comfortable without a man. She had come to that conclusion once before, and then everything had gone wrong again. But it wouldn't this time. And in the last two months, she had done a lot of thinking, and she had a plan.

She knew what she wanted. She wasn't sure how her children would feel about it. But it was her decision, no matter what anyone else thought. She had made quiet inquiries, and she had two names. She was going to call them after the wedding, and proceed from there. And even before she called them, she knew it was right for her. It was the only avenue that made sense to her now. The one thing she knew she was good at, and wouldn't break her heart. She didn't know how she'd get there, but she knew she would if it was meant to be. Paris wanted a baby, but not a man.





Chapter 28




Meg's wedding was everything Paris wanted it to be. It was elegant, beautiful, done in exquisite taste, not too showy. Unforgettable. Meg wanted it in a garden setting, so they held it at the Burlingame Club. And Paris and Bix agreed it was one of the prettiest weddings they'd ever done, which was what her mother had wanted for her.

She had spoken to Peter a few times over the final details, and estimates about cost, since he was splitting it with her, but their conversations had been cursory, businesslike, and brief. And each time she'd spoken to him, she'd felt shaken, and had to catch her breath afterward, but she knew it would be very different being able to set the phone down and walk away, than having to face him on Meg's wedding day. Paris had been dreading seeing him again. She hadn't in two years, since they'd settled Wim in Berkeley, and she had hardly spoken to him since. Now she had to face not only him but Rachel, her children, and their baby. Her stomach and her heart were in knots over it.

She was so busy with Meg the day of the wedding that she almost didn't have time to think of it, and when she saw Peter finally, he was waiting for his daughter in the back of the church. Richard was secluded in a separate room, with the best man, so he wouldn't see his bride before the ceremony. Meg wanted to do everything according to tradition, and she looked like a fairy princess in the gown Bix had designed for her, with a vast ephemeral cloud of veil, a tiny pearl tiara, and the white lace dress with the seemingly endless train. It was everything Paris had wanted for her. An unforgettably beautiful day, marrying a man who loved her just as much as she loved him. Paris had long since stopped worrying about the difference in their ages, she agreed that Richard was the perfect man for Meg.

And as she walked into the back of the church to check on the last details, she saw Peter standing quietly by himself, waiting for Meg. She was downstairs with her bridesmaids, having a last nervous giggle with the girls as they settled her veil over her face and wished her well. She was anxiously clutching an enormous bouquet of lily of the valley and the tiniest white orchids. Bix had had the lily of the valley flown in from Paris especially for her.

As Paris entered the room, she saw Peter standing there, and they said nothing to each other, just stood there. It was impossible not to think of their own wedding day twenty-six years before. She had never thought it would be this way when their children married. She had fully expected to go to Meg's wedding with her husband next to her, and not to meet him for the first time in two years in a church, knowing he was married to someone else.

“Hello, Peter,” she said formally, and she could see in his eyes that he was affected by seeing her. Thanks to Bix, she looked almost as breathtaking as Meg. The pink taffeta coat swirled around her and enveloped her, and underneath it the beige lace dress molded her still youthful figure. He wanted to say something to her about how remarkable she looked, but he couldn't find the words at first, and then he slowly approached her, looking shaken by the emotions of the day, and the sight of her. She was lovelier than he'd allowed himself to remember.

“Hello, Paris. You look beautiful,” he said simply. And for a moment, he even forgot that they were there for Meg. Like Paris, all he could think of suddenly was their own wedding day, and how everything had gone awry since then. He was happy with Rachel, and he loved their baby, but seeing Paris seemed to sweep the present away. He felt transported backward into time, and when he hugged her, she could sense in him and herself, everything they had once felt for each other. She pulled away and looked up at him.

“You look very handsome.” He always had. She had always loved him, and always would. “Wait till you see our daughter.” But it wasn't Meg who filled his heart now, it was Paris, and everything they had once shared, and lost since then. He didn't know what to say. He knew there was no way he could ever make up to her for all he'd done to her. It was so different knowing that at a distance than seeing her face-to-face again. He hadn't been prepared for the flood of emotions and regrets that would overwhelm him when he looked into her eyes. He could see there that she had forgiven him. But the worst of it, he realized, was that he no longer knew if he could forgive himself. It was far harder to do while looking at her. She was so elegant and so dignified, so vulnerable and so proud. Just feeling her stand next to him, his heart went out to her, and he had no idea what to say. He only hoped that one day life made it up to her. And he knew from what his children said that thus far at least it had not.

“They'll be ready in a few minutes,” she warned him, and then left the room again. Wim took his mother to her seat in the first pew, and she saw that Rachel was sitting directly behind her with her two boys, and she tried not to stiffen, but wished they had put her a few rows farther back at least. Paris turned to face forward, and Wim took his seat next to her, and an instant later the organist began playing the music that she knew meant the wedding was about to start, and the first of Meg's bridesmaids glided slowly down the aisle.

And when she saw Meg come toward her on her fa-ther's arm, Paris could hear her own breath catch, and others murmur. She was such a lovely bride, it tugged at the heart, and was everything a wedding was meant to be. She was all innocence and beauty, and hope and trust. And as she looked into Richard's eyes, there was such joy on her face that Paris thought her heart would burst and she could feel tears fill her eyes. Peter caught Paris's eye as he came back down the aisle toward her, and there was so much tenderness in his expression that she wanted to reach out and touch his hand. But she knew she couldn't. He slipped quietly into the pew behind her, beside his new wife, and Paris had to steel herself not to cry harder. The single gesture and the reality of where he was sitting summed up the entire situation, and Wim looked down at her to make sure she was all right, just as his sister would have. Meg had warned him that morning to be extra nice to Mom, because the wedding would be hard on her, Meg knew, and Wim had understood. And as they sat down again, he patted his mother's hand, and Paris smiled up at him through her tears. Paris knew she was lucky. He was a good boy, and a loving son.