One of her—our—father’s pieces, an abstract portrait of Miss 1984 in hues of purple and gold, hung in this very room. On the opposite wall was a piece on loan from the Aubergine Art Collective & Retreat Center, our small town’s attempt at high society, a lovely snowscape with the familiar mountain ridges of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the background.
“I’ve borrowed some of the paintings from the Collectiveespecially for this weekend—put them all over the estate,” Savilla had said proudly when I’d noticed one upon my arrival. “This one was actually painted by a former pageant winner. Miss 1926, I believe. What do you think?”
Our town’s picturesque beauty had not only drawn the eyes of the wealthy Finch family more than a hundred years ago; it had also become a haunt for American artists, trying to pin down their muse long enough to create a masterpiece. The Finches had finally supported these artistic endeavors, all in an attempt to bring culture to our small town.
I moved toward the Impressionist-style painting Savilla had selected for this room. I didn’t know much about art, but something about the colors—the grays and blues and purples against so many shades of white—had a calming effect on me. The subject of the painting—my mountains—also brought up a surge of affection in me.
“It’s lovely,” I found myself saying as I stood in front of the painting. Suddenly, I realized that the Finch side of my family tree, dysfunctional as it might’ve been, had funded beauty like this. Surely that was something noble.
“Good,” Savilla said, though she was more interested in applying finishing touches to Lacy’s brow. “Because I had two similar pieces hung in this room and the Salon, where the bridal party will get dressed on Sunday before the ceremony, and I borrowed a few more modernist ones for the Billiards Room and bachelor quarters.” Savilla lifted a shoulder. “If we like them, the Collective told us we could borrow many more. I feel works like these add a bit of, I don’t know… elegastication.”
I closed one eye, trying to parse out this one. Elegance and sophistication perhaps? Either way, I appreciated her attention to detail.
Savilla spun Lacy to see her reflection, and my friend smiled gratefully at my sister’s handiwork.
“Well, then,” Savilla said, “I’d best get down to the WinterGarden and make sure they’ve set up enough heaters to keep us toasty as we admire the stars.”
“Don’t go to too much trouble,” Lacy said. “We’re just meeting Anton’s parents.”
“But, I thought…” Savilla pursed her lips as if she was about to disagree but then seemed to think better of arguing the matter. “No matter. We wanteveryoneto be comfortable.”
With that vague comment, Savilla practically skipped out of the room, reminding me once again how in her element she was as mistress of The Rose.
Three of Lacy’s suitcases—and one of mine—lined the wall of our suite, and several dress bags hung in the closet. On the vanity was a row of makeup and hair products, as well as the familiar sight of Lacy’s signature scent,Jasmine.
“I want you—and only you—staying with me,” Lacy had said when she’d booked the suite. “I’m fine with a ton of people at the wedding and reception, but I want everything leading up to that day to be small and intimate.”
That made sense. Though Lacy had always been more of the party type, never meeting a stranger, she also liked to cocoon with those who knew her best before or after any big event.
It was Friday evening, and in less than forty-eight hours, my best friend would be a married woman.
The evening would be a night down memory lane, visiting all of our old Aubergine haunts with her bridal party in tow. The bridesmaids included me, Savilla, and Jemma Jenkins. Lacy had known Savilla forever, and recently with the disclosure of her as my half-sister, Lacy had generously welcomed her into the fold of our makeshift family unit. As for Jemma, she’d grown on all of us since the pageant we’d competed in this past summer, and Lacy had been spending a lot of time with her as she booked her for events in between her off-off-Broadway shows.
Anton would be enjoying a more stationary celebration in the Billiards Room with the handful of guys he’d selected as his groomsmen. He still didn’t know people in Auberginewell, and the one friend he’d kept in touch with from home couldn’t make it on such short notice.
Lacy had suggested he ask three guys from town: Charlie, who would hopefully become a good friend going forward; Will Hurt, who was recently unemployed and also a new dad needing to get out of the house; and Joe Larson, a former classmate and all-around pretty decent guy.
Now, I laugh, thinking that I could’ve actually kept the bridal party celebration small and intimate, but at that point, I hadn’t yet met Anton’s very extensive, very intrusive family from the great state of Texas. My fantasy of a quiet-but-festive walk down memory lane was about to be turned upside down.
“How’s my makeup?” Lacy lifted her chin so I could take in the full view. “I got a new lipstick, but is this red too whore-ish?”
“You’re beautiful.” I placed both of my hands on her shoulders, turning Lacy away from the mirror. “Just the right amount of whore.”
I hadn’t seen her this nervous since the day she pitched the proposal for her event-planning business to the bank for a loan, but to be fair, she was about to meet Anton’s parents in person for the first time. We were scheduled for a quick meet and greet in the Winter Garden before the evening got underway. Apparently, they’d just flown in on a private jet from a ranch town in East Texas.
“They’rereallyconservative, you know? Like, donate to every Republican politician they can find,” Lacy said, holding her stomach again.
“Oh no,” I said, trying to lighten the mood with mock horror. “Don’t tell them about the time you got elected for fifth-grade class president by running on a ‘Girls-rule-and-boys-drool’ platform.”
“Ha-ha.” Lacy swung back around to face the full-length mirror and prodded gently at her hair, which was pulled into a bouquet of tight curls. “They’ve already asked why we’re getting married so fast.”
“And the answer is…?” I’d wondered that myself, but I also knew that Lacy was stubborn and she knew her own mind well enough to make her own decisions. I hadn’t even dared to bring up the question until now.
“It’snotbecause I’m pregnant,” she said, putting a hand to her stomach. “This is all nerves.”
“I figured.” I laughed. “Lest you forget, we share a period tracker. I’m alerted with a little chime every time your cycle starts over.” We’d downloaded the app together when we were thirteen, and we’d both kept up with it ever since, jokingly referring to ourselves as blood sisters.
“Anton’s the one,” Lacy said, suddenly serious as she stared back at me in the mirror. “So, I guess I thought… I don’t know, why wait?”
