Out of nowhere, the church doors blew open. And there he stood, silhouetted against the setting sun. Theodore Day Beaudine.
Trumpets began to sound. Honest-to-God trumpets blowing a chorus of hallelujahs.
"Jesus," she whispered.
"I know," Lucy whispered back. "Stuff like this happens to him all the time. He says it's accidental."
Despite everything Lucy had told her, Meg still wasn't prepared for her first sight of Ted Beaudine. He had perfectly bladed cheekbones, a flawlessly straight nose, and a square, movie-star jaw. He could have stepped down off a Times Square billboard, except he didn't have the artifice of a male model.
He strode down the center aisle with a long, easy gait, his dark brown hair kissed with copper. Jeweled light from the stained-glass windows flung precious gems in his path, as if a simple red carpet weren't good enough for such a man to walk upon. Meg barely noticed his famous parents following a few steps behind. She couldn't look away from her best friend's bridegroom.
He greeted his bride's family in a low-pitched, pleasant voice. The trumpets practicing in the choir loft reached a crescendo, he turned, and Meg got sucker punched.
Those eyes . . . Golden amber touched with honey and rimmed with flint. Eyes that blazed with intelligence and perception. Eyes that cut to the quick. As she stood before him, she felt Ted Beaudine gazing inside her and taking note of everything she worked so hard to hide-her aimlessness, her inadequacy, her absolute failure to claim a worthy place in the world.
We both know you're a screwup, his eyes said, but I'm sure you'll grow out of it someday. If not . . . Well . . . How much can anyone expect from an overindulged child of Hollywood?
Lucy was introducing them. " . . . so glad the two of you can finally meet. My best friend and my future husband."
Meg prided herself on her tough veneer, but she barely managed a perfunctory nod.
"If I could have your attention . . ." the minister said.
Ted squeezed Lucy's hand and smiled into his bride's upturned face, a fond, satisfied smile that never once disturbed the detachment in those tiger quartz eyes. Meg's alarm grew. Whatever emotions he felt for Lucy, none of them included the fierce passion her best friend deserved.
The groom's parents were hosting the rehearsal dinner, a lavish barbecue for one hundred, at the local country club, a place that represented everything Meg detested-overindulged rich white people too fixated on their own pleasure to spare a thought for the damage their chemically poisoned, water-guzzling golf course was inflicting on the planet. Even Lucy's explanation that it was only a semiprivate club and anyone could play didn't change her opinion. Secret Service kept the international press corps hovering by the gates, along with a crowd of curious onlookers hoping to glimpse a famous face.
And famous faces were everywhere, not just in the bridal party. The groom's mother and father were world renowned. Dallas Beaudine was a legend in professional golf, and Ted's mother, Francesca, was one of the first and best of television's celebrity interviewers. The rich and prominent spilled from the back veranda of the antebellum-style clubhouse as far as the first tee-politicians, movie stars, the elite athletes of the professional golfing world, and a contingent of locals of various ages and ethnicities: schoolteachers and shopkeepers, mechanics and plumbers, the town barber, and a very scary-looking biker.
Meg watched Ted move through the crowd. He was low-key and self-effacing, yet an invisible klieg light seemed to follow him everywhere. Lucy stayed at his side, practically vibrating with tension as one person after another stopped them to chat. Through it all, Ted remained unruffled, and even though the room hummed with happy chatter, Meg found it increasingly difficult to keep a smile on her face. He struck her more as a man executing a carefully calculated mission than a loving bridegroom on the eve of his wedding.
She'd just finished a predictable conversation with a former television newscaster about how she didn't look anything like her incredibly beautiful mother when Ted and Lucy appeared at her side. "What did I tell you?" Lucy grabbed her third glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "Isn't he great?"
Without acknowledging the compliment, Ted studied Meg through those eyes that had seen it all, even though he couldn't have traveled to half the places Meg had visited.
You call yourself a citizen of the world, his eyes whispered, but that only means you don't belong anywhere.
She needed to focus on Lucy's plight, not her own, and she had to do something quickly. So what if she came across as rude? Lucy was used to Meg's bluntness, and Ted Beaudine's good opinion meant nothing to her. She touched the fabric knot at her shoulder. "Lucy neglected to mention that you're also the mayor of Wynette . . . in addition to being its patron saint."