No man had ever spoken to Darcy that way before, with such candor, making himself vulnerable. This exotic, sophisticated man loved her? Believed she knew him? She flushed with pleasure. She felt glamorous and interesting and powerful. At last, she felt wanted.
They married that summer. It was an odd, lopsided wedding, with most of those in attendance members of the Szweda family. Darcy was grateful that Boyz’s family didn’t shriek in horror when they learned that neither of Darcy’s parents would attend. Darcy did invite them. They were both busy. Of course they were. For the entire month of July. Her best friends from Simmons had already moved to different states, leaving her roommate, Rachael, and the waitstaff of Bijoux to be present on Darcy’s side.
The sweet if slightly bizarre venue for the event was on the Cape, in the small chapel in the Sea View Community at the far end of the building. By then, Penny’s aging body had been so afflicted by the Lyme disease that she was taking several medications for the pain, and still having trouble doing the simplest tasks. But her mind was as sharp as ever, and she’d insisted on ordering the flowers for the chapel and the reception—white Casablanca lilies in masses everywhere.
Darcy wore a plain white ballerina-length dress and the family pearls, Penny’s wedding present. She wore a plain fingertip veil on her cap of brown hair. Everyone told her she looked like Audrey Hepburn. Two male friends from Bijoux escorted Penny, resplendent in turquoise chiffon and her grandmother’s diamond earrings, to the front row. Chase, Darcy’s favorite waiter, walked her down the aisle and gave her away. The retirement home minister performed the ceremony, with only the Szweda family and Boyz’s best friend, Tucker, on the groom’s side; a perfect and courteous balance to Darcy’s small showing. After they said “I do” and kissed, Darcy noticed a crowd of Sea View residents peering in the door. All of them were smiling. When the newlyweds adjourned to the small party room, they invited the other people in for cake and champagne.
The newlyweds honeymooned in Paris—of course. They strolled hand in hand through the Luxembourg Gardens, sighed with amazement in the Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay, kissed at the top of the Eiffel Tower. They dined on a boat touring the Seine. They gasped at the Moulin Rouge. They toured Notre-Dame and shopped at Hermès and Le Bon Marché and Galeries Lafayette and brilliant boutiques tucked in along the Champs-Élysées. They ate and drank far too much and slept until noon every day. It was a dream honeymoon.
The honeymoon was the best part of the marriage.
Back in Boston, they lived in Boyz’s apartment on Commonwealth Avenue for almost three years, always too busy even to consider moving to a house. After the honeymoon, Darcy didn’t return to classes at Simmons, even though she would have finished her degree that semester.
“Don’t go to class,” Boyz had coaxed as they lay curled in bed in the morning. “Don’t leave me all alone. You’re my wife now, not some student.”
She could finish her degree later, Darcy had thought, and surrendered to her husband’s enticements.
He liked it when she did that.
Darcy did take a part-time job at the Boston Public Library to satisfy her book obsession. Boyz worked with his family, selling real estate. Most nights they ate takeout and collapsed in front of the television, but two or three nights a week they got dolled up and attended events where Boyz and his family could network. Charity events; galas for the ballet, the opera, the library, the hospital. Their lives were a whirlwind. Darcy was too busy to make any new friends or to see her old friends. She did visit her grandmother on the Cape every Sunday. Sometimes Boyz dutifully came with her; most often he did not.
At first, she liked the Szwedas’ lifestyle: riding in BMWs, staying at the Four Seasons when they went to New York for theater, drinking Veuve Clicquot. After a year, odd and unsettling thoughts began to seep into her mind. Dita and her daughters were always so accommodating, so willing to please Makary and Boyz. Much of their day—and Darcy’s day, too—was about shopping and grooming. Under Dita’s knowing eye, Darcy lived on lettuce and salmon, took spin and weight-lifting classes, and kept plenty of Grey Goose vodka on hand for the times when Boyz lost a sale to another Realtor. She glittered at Boyz’s side when he took prospective clients to dinner, smiling at the wives’ chatter, even when she disagreed with their political views. She ignored Boyz when he flirted with the trophy wives and smiled when male clients with cigar breath put their hands on her knees. She never talked about being a librarian; that was a sure conversation stopper.