Meg wanted to ask Lucy if she'd really thought this marriage thing through, but, unlike Meg, Lucy didn't do anything impulsively.
They'd met in college when Meg had been a rebellious freshman and Lucy a savvy, but lonely, sophomore. Since Meg had also grown up with famous parents, she understood Lucy's suspicion of new friendships, but gradually the two of them had bonded despite their very different personalities, and it hadn't taken Meg long to see something others missed. Beneath Lucy Jorik's fierce determination to avoid embarrassing her family beat the heart of a natural-born hell-raiser. Not that anyone would know that from her appearance.
Lucy's elfin features and thick, little-girl eyelashes made her look younger than her thirty-one years. She'd grown out her shiny brown hair since her college days and sometimes held it back from her face with an assortment of velvet headbands that Meg wouldn't be caught dead wearing, just as she'd never have chosen Lucy's ladylike aqua sheath with its tidy black grosgrain belt. Instead, Meg had wrapped her long, gangly body in several lengths of jewel-toned silk that she'd twisted and tied at one shoulder. Vintage black gladiator sandals-size eleven-laced up her calves, and an ornate silver pendant she'd made from an antique betel-nut container she'd purchased at an open-air market in central Sumatra rested between her breasts. She'd complemented her probably fake Sung dynasty earrings with a stack of bangles she'd bought for six dollars at T.J. Maxx and embellished with African trade beads. Fashion ran in her blood.
And travels a crooked path, her famous New York couturier uncle had said.
Lucy twisted the strand of demure pearls at her neck. "Ted is . . . He's the closest the universe has come to creating the perfect man. Look at my wedding present? What kind of man gives his bride a church?"
"Impressive, I have to admit." Earlier that afternoon, Lucy had taken Meg to see the abandoned wooden church nestled at the end of a narrow lane on the outskirts of town. Ted had bought it to save it from demolition, then lived in it for a few months while his current house was being built. Although it was now unfurnished, it was a charming old building, and Meg didn't have any trouble understanding why Lucy loved it.
"He said that every married woman needs a place of her own to keep her sane. Can you imagine anything more thoughtful?"
Meg had a more cynical interpretation. What better strategy for a wealthy married man to employ if he intended to set up a private space for himself?
"Pretty incredible" was all she said. "I can't wait to meet him." She cursed the series of personal and financial crises that had kept her from hopping a plane months ago to meet Lucy's fiancé. As it was, she'd missed Lucy's showers and been forced to drive to the wedding from L.A. in a junker she'd bought from her parents' gardener.
With a sigh, Lucy settled on the couch next to Meg. "As long as Ted and I live in Wynette, I'll always come up short."
Meg could no longer resist hugging her friend. "You've never come up short in your life. You single-handedly saved yourself and your sister from a childhood in foster homes. You adapted to the White House like a champion. As for brains . . . you have a master's degree."
Lucy leaped up. "Which I didn't earn until after I'd gotten my bachelor's."
Meg ignored that piece of craziness. "Your work advocating for kids has changed lives, and in my opinion, that counts for more than an astronomical IQ."
Lucy sighed. "I love him, but sometimes . . ."
"What?"
Lucy waved a freshly manicured hand displaying fingernails polished the palest blush instead of the emerald green Meg currently preferred. "It's stupid. Last-minute jitters. Never mind."
Meg's concern grew. "Lucy, we've been best friends for twelve years. We know each other's darkest secrets. If there's something wrong . . ."
"Nothing's exactly wrong. I'm just nervous about the wedding and all the attention it's getting. The press is everywhere." She settled on the edge of the bed and pulled a pillow to her chest, just as she used to do in college when something upset her. "But . . . What if he's too good for me? I'm smart, but he's smarter. I'm pretty, but he's gorgeous. I try to be a decent person, but he's practically a saint."
Meg tamped down a mounting sense of anger. "You're brainwashed."
"The three of us grew up with famous parents. You, me, and Ted . . . But Ted made his own fortune."
"Not a fair comparison. You've been working in nonprofit, not exactly a launching pad for multimillionaires." But Lucy still had the ability to support herself, something Meg had never managed. She'd been too busy traveling to remote locations on the pretext of studying local environmental issues and researching indigenous crafts, but really just enjoying herself. She loved her parents, but she didn't love the way they'd cut her off. And why now? Maybe if they'd done it when she was twenty-one instead of thirty she wouldn't feel like such a loser.