THE WEDDING THAT WASN'T

THE LAST CALL — Love Is Never an Accident By eleven forty-seven on what was supposed to have been the happiest evening of her life, Caroline Bennett had managed to disappoint one hundred and sixteen wedding guests, infuriate her future mother-in-law, reduce her own mother to tears, and leave a perfectly respectable man standing beneath an archway of white roses with a minister, two increasingly uncomfortable bridesmaids, and absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do next. She had also discovered that removing forty-seven hairpins from an elaborate bridal hairstyle was considerably more difficult than putting them in, especially after three glasses of champagne, a prolonged crying session in a hotel bathroom, and the realization that the man she had almost married was probably the nicest person she had ever treated so terribly. Now, sitting alone at the magnificent marble counter of the Beaumont Grand Hotel's bar, Caroline was wearing an expensive ivory silk blouse, the fitted black trousers she had hastily borrowed from her sister, and the ridiculous white satin wedding shoes that had cost nearly eight hundred dollars, while the remains of her bridal hairstyle still clung stubbornly to the back of her head. She had removed the veil, at least, although she wasn't entirely certain where she had left it. "Another champagne, madam?" Caroline looked up at the bartender, a striking red-haired woman who appeared to be somewhere in her early forties and wore a crisp white shirt, a perfectly fitted black waistcoat, and a small black bow tie with the sort of effortless elegance Caroline had spent most of the afternoon unsuccessfully trying to achieve. "Actually, I was wondering whether you have anything that tastes less like a wedding." The bartender regarded her thoughtfully. "That would eliminate champagne, prosecco, most sparkling wines, and possibly anything served in a glass with a stem." "Excellent, because I don't ever want to see another champagne flute as long as I live." "Whiskey, perhaps?" "I don't drink whiskey." "A splendid evening to begin." Caroline considered this for a moment, then nodded. "All right, whiskey, although perhaps you could put something sweet in it so I don't feel as though I'm swallowing furniture polish." "I believe I can manage that." The woman selected a low crystal glass and began preparing the drink, moving with the quiet confidence of someone who never seemed to hurry, even when the world around her was falling apart. Caroline watched her for a moment. "Do you know what happened upstairs?" "I understand there was a wedding." "There wasn't." "So I gathered." "There was supposed to be a wedding, but apparently the bride decided she wasn't interested in becoming a wife after all." The bartender set the glass on a coaster. "And what did the bride decide she wanted instead?" Caroline gave a helpless little laugh. "That's rather the problem, because she hasn't the faintest idea." "How interesting." "Interesting?" "Very, because knowing what one doesn't want is often considerably more useful than pretending to know what one does." Caroline stared at her. "Are you always this philosophical?" "Only after eleven." "What's your name?" "Mirelle." "That's beautiful." "Thank you." "I'm Caroline." "A pleasure, Caroline." Caroline lifted her glass, took a cautious sip, and raised her eyebrows. "Oh, that's actually rather good." "I should hope so." "What is it?" "An old-fashioned, with a little honey instead of sugar, and just enough orange to persuade the whiskey to behave itself." Caroline laughed. "You're very good at this." "I've had some practice." At the other end of the bar, Victoria Hale had been watching the conversation with considerably more interest than she wanted to admit, partly because she recognized the young woman immediately and partly because she had spent most of the evening feeling an uncomfortable mixture of professional frustration and unexpected sympathy for her. Victoria was fifty-two, a successful wedding photographer who had spent twenty-six years photographing other people's promises, and who had long since discovered that the expensive flowers, carefully choreographed speeches, designer dresses, and extravagant declarations of everlasting devotion were remarkably poor indicators of whether the people making those promises would still be speaking to one another five years later. Her own marriage had lasted nineteen years, which was considerably longer than some of the unions she had photographed, although she privately suspected that she and her former husband had spent at least seven of those years remaining married largely because neither could think of a sufficiently compelling reason to stop. When they finally separated, there had been no dramatic argument, no infidelity, and no broken crockery, merely a rather sad conversation over breakfast in which they both admitted that they had become excellent roommates and almost complete strangers. Since then, Victoria had lived alone, traveled frequently, built a successful photography business, and discovered that a woman could have a perfectly satisfying life without necessarily having someone waiting for her at home. At least, that was what she usually told herself. Tonight, however, she was finding the argument somewhat less convincing than usual. She had photographed Caroline's preparations that afternoon, arriving at the bridal suite shortly after three to discover a beautiful, visibly nervous thirty-five-year-old woman surrounded by bridesmaids, hairdressers, makeup artists, and relatives who all seemed determined to make her look happy. Victoria had noticed Caroline's unease almost immediately, although she had initially dismissed it as the ordinary anxiety that accompanied a wedding costing more than a respectable family automobile. But during the photographs, Caroline had kept glancing toward the window, and when Victoria had suggested a portrait beside the enormous floral arrangement, the bride had suddenly asked a question that had stayed with her all evening. "Victoria, do you photograph many second weddings?" "Quite a few." "Are they happier?" Victoria had lowered her camera. "Sometimes." "And the first ones?" "Sometimes those too." Caroline had looked at her for a long moment. "You're not very reassuring." "I'm a photographer, darling, not a fortune-teller." Caroline had laughed, but there had been something desperately sad beneath that laughter, and now, several hours later, Victoria was beginning to understand why. "You're staring." Victoria turned toward Mirelle, who had appeared before her with a fresh glass of sparkling water. "I'm observing." "A useful distinction." "I'm a photographer, it's what I do." "Of course." Mirelle followed her gaze toward Caroline, who was examining the wedding ring she had removed from her finger and placed beside her glass. "Beautiful young woman." "Yes." "And a very unhappy one." "That too." Mirelle studied Victoria. "You know her?" "I photographed her wedding." "Did you?" "Well, technically, I photographed the preparations for a wedding that never actually happened, which makes the entire afternoon rather an expensive collection of portraits of a woman getting dressed for absolutely nothing." "Perhaps not for nothing." Victoria raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" "Perhaps she needed to get dressed before she could discover that she didn't want to get married." Victoria laughed softly. "That's a rather expensive way of finding out." "Some lessons are." Mirelle began polishing a small crystal glass. "She looks as though she could use a friend." "She has about a hundred and sixteen friends upstairs." "Apparently none of them are here." Victoria looked toward Caroline again. "She's my client." "And?" "And it would be unprofessional." "To speak to her?" "To bother her when she's obviously upset." Mirelle smiled. "I suspect she'd find a familiar face rather comforting." Victoria hesitated. "Besides, she's much younger than I am." Mirelle tilted her head. "An unusual qualification for offering someone a little company." Victoria felt herself coloring. "That's not what I meant." "Of course not." "You're rather impertinent for a bartender." "So I've been told." Caroline was considering ordering another whiskey when somebody spoke beside her. "Is this seat taken?" She turned and found herself looking into the face of the woman who had spent most of the afternoon photographing her from every conceivable angle. "Victoria!" "Hello, Caroline." "Oh, good heavens, I completely forgot you were still here." "That's all right, I imagine you've had rather a lot on your mind." Caroline gave a rueful smile. "You could say that." Victoria gestured toward the empty stool. "Would you mind some company, or would you prefer to be left alone?" Caroline looked at her for a moment, then smiled with unmistakable relief. "Please sit down, because if I spend another ten minutes talking to myself, I'm going to start answering back." Victoria settled beside her and placed her camera bag on the floor. "I was wondering where you'd disappeared to." "I escaped." "From your wedding?" "From everybody." "Ah." Caroline examined her drink. "Tell me something, Victoria, have you ever photographed a bride who simply walked away?" "Yes." Caroline turned sharply. "Really?" "Twice, actually, although the first one returned twenty minutes later after discovering that the groom had accidentally left their honeymoon tickets in the back of the taxi." Caroline laughed. "And the second?" "The second married her maid of honor three years later." Caroline stared at her. "You're making that up." "I most certainly am not." "Oh, my God." "Indeed." Caroline covered her mouth, laughing so hard that her carefully arranged hair threatened to surrender another pin. "That's terrible." "Personally, I thought it was rather romantic." "I meant for the groom." "He eventually married the best man, so it worked out rather nicely for everyone." Caroline looked at her in astonishment, then laughed even harder. "Victoria, please tell me you're serious." "Completely." At the opposite end of the counter, Mirelle quietly rearranged a row of bottles while allowing herself the smallest of smiles. The conversation began with increasingly ridiculous wedding stories, continued through a discussion of disastrous family vacations, and eventually settled into the comfortable rhythm of two women who discovered that they found much the same things amusing. Victoria had a wonderfully dry sense of humor, an elegant silver streak running through her short dark hair, and a face that became particularly attractive when she smiled, which she did rather more frequently after Caroline began asking questions about her work. "So you've been photographing weddings for twenty-six years?" "Twenty-six and a half, although the half year included only one wedding, three christenings, and an extremely unfortunate assignment involving a wealthy woman's collection of prize-winning poodles." Caroline laughed. "Don't tell me." "She wanted individual portraits of all twelve dogs dressed as members of the British royal family." "You're joking." "I wish I were." "Did you do it?" "Certainly, because I had a mortgage and the woman was offering an absolutely obscene amount of money." Caroline leaned closer. "Please tell me you still have the pictures." "Locked away where nobody can ever find them." "Oh, Victoria, now I absolutely have to see them." "Perhaps another time." Caroline smiled. "Is that a promise?" Victoria met her eyes. "Perhaps." Something passed between them then, something small and unexpected that caused Caroline to become suddenly conscious of how close their shoulders had come, although neither woman moved away. She studied Victoria for a moment. "Can I ask you something personal?" "Of course." "Are you married?" "Not anymore." "Divorced?" "Nearly nine years." "I'm sorry." "Don't be, because we're both considerably happier now, and my former husband has married a perfectly delightful woman who enjoys gardening, sailing, and discussing the stock market, which are three activities I have always considered excellent reasons to leave the house." Caroline laughed. "And you?" "What about me?" "Did you find someone else?" Victoria looked down at her glass. "Not really." "Why not?" "Oh, there have been occasional adventures, a few perfectly pleasant relationships, and one rather spectacular mistake involving a French sculptor who turned out to have three girlfriends in different cities, but nothing that lasted." Caroline raised her eyebrows. "A French sculptor?" "Don't ask." "Now I absolutely have to." Victoria laughed. "Another evening, perhaps." Caroline smiled. "You keep saying that." "Do I?" "Yes, and I'm beginning to suspect you're trying to arrange another meeting." Victoria looked at her, surprised. Then, very slowly, she smiled. "Would that be so terrible?" Caroline felt an unexpected flutter in her stomach. "No," she said quietly, "I don't think it would." By twelve forty-five, the Beaumont's magnificent bar had become almost deserted, and Caroline had finally removed the last stubborn hairpin from her bridal hairstyle, allowing her shoulder-length chestnut hair to tumble around her face. "Oh, thank heaven." Victoria laughed. "Feel better?" "Enormously, because I've been sitting here with what feels like half a hardware store attached to my head." "May I?" Victoria reached toward Caroline's hair, then paused. "There's one more." Caroline nodded. "Please." Victoria gently removed a tiny silver pin from a strand near Caroline's temple, her fingers brushing the younger woman's cheek for the briefest moment. "There." Caroline looked at her. "Thank you." "My pleasure." Neither woman immediately looked away. Then Caroline smiled nervously. "You're very beautiful, you know." Victoria blinked. "Me?" "Yes, you." "Caroline, you've been drinking." "Two drinks, and I was perfectly capable of recognizing an attractive woman before the first one." Victoria laughed, but there was genuine surprise in her expression. "Well, thank you." "You're welcome." Caroline looked down at the tiny hairpin Victoria had placed beside her glass. "Do you think I'm a terrible person?" Victoria's smile disappeared. "For what?" "For what I did tonight." "Do you think you should have married him?" "No." "Then why would refusing make you terrible?" "Because Daniel is a good man, Victoria, and he loves me, and we've been together for almost six years, and everybody was so happy for us, and I kept telling myself that all the things I was feeling would disappear once we were married." "What things?" Caroline hesitated. "The feeling that I was playing a part in somebody else's life." Victoria said nothing. "Daniel has always been very certain about what he wants, you see, and he's always wanted the house in the suburbs, the children, the annual holidays with his parents, and a wife who makes his life comfortable, and for years I convinced myself that I wanted all of that too." "But you didn't?" "I wanted to want it." Victoria nodded slowly. "That's rather different." "Yes, and the worst part is that nothing he wanted was unreasonable, because plenty of women would have been perfectly happy with him, but I kept finding reasons to postpone the wedding until his mother finally insisted that we set a date, and suddenly there were invitations and flowers and a three-tier cake, and I had absolutely no idea how to stop it." "What happened today?" Caroline took a deep breath. "I was standing in front of the mirror in my wedding dress, and my sister was fastening the necklace Daniel had given me, and suddenly I realized that I was going to spend the next thirty or forty years trying to become the woman he thought I was." Victoria reached for her hand. "And you couldn't." "I couldn't." "Then you did the right thing." Caroline's eyes filled with tears. "Even though I've hurt him?" "Especially because the alternative would have been hurting both of you for years." Caroline looked at the hand holding hers. "You're very kind." "Not always." "I don't believe that." Victoria smiled faintly. "You haven't seen me when someone puts a finger on my camera lens." Caroline laughed through her tears. "Thank you." "You're welcome." Mirelle returned to the counter shortly after one, carrying a small plate of miniature chocolate desserts. "Compliments of the house." Caroline looked at the miniature chocolates and smiled. "Oh, that's lovely, but I really shouldn't." "Why ever not?" "Because I've spent the entire day being told that I mustn't eat anything until after the ceremony, and now I'm so hungry I could probably devour the entire wedding cake by myself." "Then I believe we should begin with chocolate," Mirelle replied, "and perhaps find you something more substantial afterward." Victoria laughed. "I like your reasoning." "Thank you." Mirelle placed the plate between them. "I believe there is an old saying about the best things in life appearing when one has stopped looking for them." Caroline smiled. "Is that French?" "Possibly." "You don't know?" "My dear, I've heard so many sayings over the years that I occasionally forget who said them first." Victoria regarded the bartender with amusement. "You do have a rather mysterious way of talking." "An occupational hazard." She inclined her head and withdrew. Caroline selected one of the chocolates. "She's fascinating." "Isn't she?" "How long has she worked here?" Victoria shrugged. "I've photographed weddings at the Beaumont for at least fifteen years, and I can't remember ever seeing anyone else behind this bar." Caroline glanced toward Mirelle. "Really?" "Although to be fair, I normally spend most of my evenings chasing relatives who have wandered away from the reception." Caroline laughed. "Well, she certainly knows how to make a drink." "And how to interfere discreetly." "What do you mean?" Victoria smiled. "Nothing." At one twenty-three, Caroline confessed something she had never told Daniel, her mother, or even her sister. "When I was nineteen, I fell in love with a girl." Victoria looked at her. "Did you?" "Her name was Rachel, and she was my roommate at university, and for almost an entire year we were absolutely inseparable, although neither of us had the courage to admit what was happening until the night before she left for a semester in Italy." "What happened?" "We kissed." Caroline smiled at the memory. "Actually, we spent most of the night kissing, and the next morning she caught her flight, and we promised to write every day." "And did you?" "For a while, but she met someone in Florence, and then I met Daniel a few years later, and somehow I convinced myself that Rachel had just been one of those things girls do at university." Victoria considered this. "Do you still believe that?" Caroline looked at her for a long moment. "No." "Then perhaps it wasn't." "Have you ever been with a woman?" Victoria laughed softly. "Darling, I've been with rather more women than men." Caroline stared at her. "Really?" "Does that surprise you?" "A little." "Why?" "I don't know, because you're so elegant and sophisticated, and I suppose I just assumed—" "That elegant, sophisticated women only fall in love with men?" Caroline blushed. "When you put it that way, it sounds rather ridiculous." "It does rather." They laughed. Then Caroline became serious again. "Victoria, can I ask you something terribly personal?" "You seem to be making a habit of it." "Have you ever regretted not taking a chance with someone?" Victoria's expression changed. "Yes." "Who?" "A woman I met in Lisbon about twelve years ago." "What happened?" "We spent three extraordinary days together, walking through the city, eating in little restaurants, taking photographs, and talking until dawn, and when it was time for me to leave, she asked whether I might stay another week." "And?" "I told her I had work waiting at home." "Did you?" "Nothing that couldn't have waited." Caroline looked at her sadly. "Why didn't you stay?" "Because I was frightened of wanting something too much." For a moment neither spoke. Then Caroline placed her hand gently over Victoria's. "Do you still think about her?" "Occasionally." "And if you had another chance?" Victoria studied the younger woman. "I think I'd be considerably less foolish." At one thirty-eight, the music changed. A slow, melancholy jazz ballad drifted from the speakers, and Victoria glanced toward the little dance floor between the tables, which was now completely deserted. "Oh, I love this song." Caroline smiled. "So do I." "My father used to play it on Sunday mornings." "Mine too." Victoria turned toward her. "Really?" "Every Sunday, while he made pancakes, and my mother complained that he was ruining her kitchen." "Perhaps our fathers knew each other." Caroline laughed. "Perhaps." Victoria hesitated, then placed her glass on the counter. "Would you like to dance?" Caroline stared at her. "What?" "Just a dance." "Victoria, I was supposed to have my first dance with my husband about four hours ago." "I know." Caroline looked toward the empty floor. Then she smiled. "Well, I suppose it would be a shame to waste the shoes." Victoria rose and offered her hand. "May I?" Caroline took it. "Please." They moved onto the dance floor, where the warm light from the chandeliers fell across the polished wood, and Victoria placed one hand gently at Caroline's waist while Caroline rested hers upon Victoria's shoulder. For a moment they stood rather awkwardly, laughing softly at themselves, until Victoria began to move with the music and Caroline followed. "You're very good at this." "I've had plenty of practice." "With brides?" "Occasionally." Caroline laughed. "You're terrible." "So I've been told." They danced slowly, moving closer as the music continued, until Caroline became aware of the warmth of Victoria's hand against her back and the faint scent of her perfume, something soft and sophisticated that reminded her of rose petals and sandalwood. "Victoria?" "Yes?" "Can I tell you something?" "Of course." "I'm having a wonderful time." Victoria smiled. "So am I." "And I feel terribly guilty about it." "Why?" "Because everyone upstairs probably thinks I'm sitting somewhere crying my eyes out." "Would you prefer to be?" "No." "Then perhaps you should stop worrying about what everyone upstairs thinks." Caroline laughed. "You're very good at making complicated things sound simple." "They usually are simple, darling, it's people who insist on making them complicated." Caroline leaned closer. "May I ask you one more personal question?" Victoria laughed. "Another?" "Just one." "Go on." "Do you think thirty-five is too young to know what you want?" Victoria looked at her carefully. "No." "And fifty-two?" "Certainly not." Caroline smiled. "Good." Victoria felt a small, unexpected flutter in her chest. "Why?" "Because I think I might finally be beginning to understand something about myself." "And what's that?" Caroline lifted her eyes. "That I've spent far too much time trying to make other people happy." Victoria's hand tightened gently against her waist. "And what would make you happy?" Caroline looked at her. "Right now?" "Right now." "A kiss." Victoria stopped moving. "Caroline." "Yes?" "Are you sure?" Caroline smiled. "I've been unsure about practically everything in my life for the last six months, Victoria, but I'm beginning to think this might be the first thing I've been absolutely certain about." Victoria hesitated. Then she smiled. "Well, in that case." She leaned closer, and Caroline lifted her hand to Victoria's cheek, her fingers brushing the elegant silver streak in her dark hair, and when their lips finally met, the kiss was gentle, unhurried, and wonderfully different from anything Caroline had experienced in years. She had expected to feel frightened, or guilty, or confused. Instead, she felt as though something inside her had finally relaxed. When they separated, Victoria was smiling. "Was that all right?" Caroline laughed softly. "Better than all right." "Good." "And Victoria?" "Yes?" "I'd rather like another." Victoria smiled. "Then I think we can arrange that." And they kissed again, longer this time, with Caroline slipping both arms around Victoria's neck while Victoria drew her closer, neither particularly concerned about the empty hotel bar, the late hour, or the fact that somewhere upstairs a wedding cake stood almost untouched beside one hundred and sixteen abandoned place cards. At one fifty-two, Mirelle approached the dance floor with a discreet smile. "Ladies, I am terribly sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid we shall have to close shortly." Caroline turned toward her, blushing. "Oh, goodness." Victoria laughed. "I'm sorry, we completely lost track of the time." "A most understandable occurrence." They returned to the counter, where Mirelle had already prepared their bill and placed it beside Caroline's abandoned hairpins. Caroline looked at the tiny silver objects and smiled. "I think I'll leave those." "Would you like me to dispose of them?" Mirelle asked. "Please." Mirelle gathered them into her palm. "As you wish." Victoria reached for the bill, but Caroline caught her hand. "Oh, absolutely not." "Caroline—" "No, because you've spent the entire evening cheering up a disastrous bride, and the least I can do is buy you a drink." Victoria laughed. "A disastrous bride?" "Former bride, I suppose." "An important distinction." Caroline smiled. "And a much happier one." She paid the bill, left a generous tip, and turned toward Mirelle. "Thank you for everything." "It has been my pleasure." "And for the chocolates." "Of course." "And the whiskey." "A particular favorite." Caroline looked at Victoria, then back at Mirelle. "And for whatever else you might have done." Mirelle raised an eyebrow. "My dear, I merely served the drinks." Victoria laughed. "Of course you did." They walked together toward the elevators, their footsteps soft against the magnificent carpet, and when they reached the doors, Caroline suddenly stopped. "Victoria?" "Yes?" "I should probably tell you something." Victoria turned toward her. "What is it?" "I don't want you to think that I'm simply doing this because my wedding fell apart, or because I'm upset, or because you've been so kind to me." "I don't." "Really?" "Really." Caroline studied her face. "And I don't want you to think that I'm looking for someone to rescue me." Victoria smiled. "Good, because I make a dreadful rescuer." "You do?" "Absolutely, I have no patience for climbing towers, fighting dragons, or retrieving lost glass slippers." Caroline burst out laughing. "Well, that's reassuring." "What I would like, however, is to see you again." Caroline's expression softened. "Would you?" "Very much." "Even though I'm seventeen years younger?" Victoria smiled. "I believe we're both old enough to decide whom we'd like to spend time with." Caroline stepped closer. "And what if I wanted to spend rather more than a little time with you?" "Then I should consider myself extremely fortunate." Caroline looked at her for a long moment. "Would you like to have breakfast with me tomorrow?" Victoria smiled. "I'd love to." "And perhaps lunch?" "Possibly." "And dinner?" "You're becoming rather demanding." Caroline laughed. "I've had a difficult day." "Then perhaps I should make an exception." The elevator arrived. Caroline stepped inside, then turned back toward Victoria. "Would you like to come upstairs for a little while?" Victoria hesitated. "Caroline, are you certain?" "Yes, although I should warn you that there's an enormous wedding dress lying on my bed, approximately six thousand dollars' worth of flowers in the bathroom, and a wedding cake that somebody insisted on delivering to my suite despite everything." Victoria laughed. "That sounds rather intimidating." Caroline looked toward the elevators, then back at Victoria. "Actually, I have a better idea." "Oh?" "Would you take me home with you?" Victoria's eyebrows rose. "To my apartment?" "Unless you've got another home somewhere." Victoria laughed. "No, just the one, and I should warn you that it's full of cameras, books, and photographs of people you don't know." "Perfect, because I've spent the entire day surrounded by people I do know, and frankly, I've had quite enough of them." Victoria slipped an arm around her waist. "Well, in that case, I'd be delighted." "And Victoria?" "Yes?" "Could we stop somewhere for something to eat? I'm absolutely starving." "At two in the morning?" "Surely Chicago has something open." Victoria smiled. "Darling, I know a little all-night diner where the pancakes are enormous and nobody cares what you're wearing." Caroline looked down at her ivory blouse, black trousers, and white satin bridal shoes. "Even if I look like a bride who escaped from her own wedding?" "Especially then." Caroline laughed, slipped her hand into Victoria's, and followed her toward the hotel's revolving doors. Mirelle de Valcour stood alone behind the magnificent bar, gathering the abandoned glasses while Daniel, the night waiter, returned from the service corridor carrying a tray of clean linen. "Another interesting evening, Madame de Valcour?" "Rather." He glanced toward the elevators. "Wasn't that the bride from the wedding upstairs?" "Indeed." "Poor thing, I heard the whole reception was canceled." "So it was." "And that was the photographer with her?" "Very observant, Daniel." He shook his head. "Well, at least they seemed to be having a good time." "An excellent time, I should think." Daniel began arranging the linen. "Funny, isn't it, how an evening can turn out completely differently from what people planned?" Mirelle looked toward the elevator doors. "Yes, Daniel, although I've always found that some of life's loveliest surprises occur when our carefully arranged plans fall apart." He laughed. "You sound as though you've seen it happen a thousand times." Mirelle smiled. "Oh, considerably more often than that." Daniel looked at her curiously, but she was already turning away, extinguishing the small lamps along the counter one by one. When he had gone, Mirelle returned to the spot where Caroline had been sitting and discovered a tiny silver hairpin she had overlooked, which she picked up and examined beneath the last remaining light. She remembered another bride, many years ago, who had fled a wedding in a carriage drawn by four white horses, and another who had abandoned a magnificent ceremony in Venice after discovering that the woman she truly loved was waiting beside a canal. Some things, she reflected, never really changed. She placed the little hairpin in the lost-property drawer, folded Caroline's receipt, and switched off the final lamp. "Well," she murmured with a satisfied smile, "at least somebody got a wedding kiss tonight." Outside, beneath the golden lights of the Beaumont Grand's entrance, Victoria opened the passenger door of her car for a woman who had spent the afternoon preparing to marry somebody else, and as Caroline leaned across the seat to steal another kiss before they drove away in search of pancakes, neither woman gave another thought to the wedding that hadn't happened, because something considerably more interesting had just begun. THE END