A Convenient Proposal - By Lynnette Kent Page 0,67
pulled out the electric razor to give his jaw a smooth finish, surveying the feminine disarray as he worked. A rolled up tube—obviously not toothpaste—caught his eye.
The label stopped his heart for several seconds.
Spermicidal lubricant.
He flipped off the razor and looked at himself in the mirror. “Now why would you be trying to kill the little buggers if you wanted to make a baby?”
AFTER WAITING AS LONG AS she dared, Arden reached the church just before the grandmothers of the bride and groom were to be seated. The Campbells filled up an entire pew, so she sat alone, farther back, leaving space for Griff on the aisle.
When she’d confessed that she’d never attended a wedding, Griff had enacted for her, in hilarious detail, the traditional Southern marriage service. She now felt quite prepared to enjoy every aspect of Zelda and Al’s ceremony.
Especially since she would not be having one of her own.
The church, dating from before the Civil War, was lit by candles and filled with large arrangements of white lilies and gladiolas accented with red roses. The customary tune of Wagner’s “Wedding Chorus” played quietly as Zelda’s attendants came down the center aisle, each dress a slightly deeper shade of pink than the last, until Kayli Morgan appeared as the matron of honor, wearing a true, deep red. The five of them made a lovely gradient effect at the front of the sanctuary, balanced on the other side by Al’s friends, all wearing black tuxedos with red and pink roses in their lapels.
Zelda’s entrance was heralded by trumpets from the organ and a sudden crescendo. She wore a lovely, fullskirted dress, with a long veil over her face, and carried a trailing white bouquet.
Griff slipped into the pew beside Arden a moment before the minister started to speak. He gave her a tired grin, then took her hand and directed his attention to the bride and groom.
So here they were. They’d accomplished what he’d set out to do six weeks ago—project the image of a successful and satisfied man as he returned to his hometown. She’d fulfilled her side of the agreement and given him an adoring girlfriend to show off. No one had expressed the least doubt about their relationship. She could go back to Chaos Key with pride in a job well done.
And if her heart was broken, that wasn’t Griff’s fault. He’d done absolutely everything a man could to make her happy. The flaw was hers. And she would bear the cost alone.
The marriage ceremony took only minutes, which seemed odd given the amount of time spent planning and anticipating it. Al and Zelda faced each other, holding hands, as the minister asked the standard questions. “Do you take this man…for better or worse, richer or poorer…as long as you both shall live?” After the vows, Al and Zelda lit a candle together, then knelt while the minister prayed. And then came the official pronouncement: “Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present to you Alexander and Zelda McPherson.”
Mendelssohn’s triumphant recessional rang through the church. Audience members rose to their feet as Al and Zelda returned along the aisle, smiling widely and greeting people on either side. The bridesmaids and groomsmen followed, creating a brushstroke effect of red against black, which would produce a lovely image to treasure through the years.
Griff turned to Arden. “Are you okay?”
“Are you?” He’d told her about talking to Zelda and Al at their new house, with a humorous slant that seemed to prove he’d recovered from the betrayal.
“I’m great.” They made their way outside through the press of people, sharing the standard “Wasn’t it a lovely wedding?” comments as they went.
On the front steps of the church, however, the conversations changed abruptly. “Look at that,” Griff said. “There’s your snow, Arden.”
After a cloudy day of cold rain mixed with ice and a few snowflakes, nightfall had brought about a change in the precipitation. In the short time they’d been inside the church, a thin layer of white had coated the grass and shrubs. Like a heavy fall of powdered sugar, snow coated the bare tree branches and the individual needles of the pine trees.
She clapped her hands in appreciation. “Beautiful. What a breathtaking scene—everything draped in white for the wedding.”
“Except the roads,” Griff pointed out. “Safe driving and a winter wonderland. That’s the advantage of a Southern snowfall. No shoveling.”
They were the only people still standing on the steps; the rest had hurried through the falling snow to their cars,