As we reached the main floor, a hum of anticipation was already in the air. The Rose looked different from when I’d been there two months earlier. It was brighter and sleeker, with a cool ambience that still kept the history of the estate at the forefront.
Occasionally, a laugh filtered out into the long hallway as we made our way through the Color Gallery, featuring a few of the Finch family gems that had been reclaimed, as well as more art, from the town’s collective.
Lacy halted and took a deep breath as we rounded the corner and spotted the full, tented-over garden through the windows. Thankfully, no one noticed us standing in the shadows and out of earshot. “How many people did you say we were meeting?”
Savilla’s expression as she’d left to check on final preparations came to mind, as well as her parting words: “We want everyone to be comfortable.” She must’ve thought Lacy was being her usual unfussy self, but I wished that Savilla had said what she’d already known—that a bunch of Anton’s family and friends had shown up early. With Lacy’s nerves already on edge, she didn’t need any surprises this weekend.
Anton’s brow knit, his concern deepening into a frown. “Oh Lord.” He sighed. “It’s all of them—well, except for my father. Mother just texted and said that he’s not arriving until tomorrow.”
“All of…?” I asked on Lacy’s behalf.
“A couple dozen Swansons and a few old friends,” he breathed, obviously as shocked as Lacy by the news. He peered out the window again. “Looks like thirty or so people.”
Lacy turned to me, her eyes wide and pleading.
“You can’t run now,” I said, answering her unasked question. “It’ll be all right.”
“This is just like my mother, springing something out of the blue on us.” Anton closed his eyes for a handful of seconds as if steeling himself for an onslaught, and then took his future bride’s hand. “It’s all right. They’ll love you. They have to.”
The words, sharp and commanding, didn’t exactly settle Lacy’s nerves, but the kiss he placed gently on her brow and the look that passed between them did seem to strengthen her resolve to meet the many Swansons head on.
“Let’s do this,” Lacy muttered almost to herself, before taking my arm with her other hand and pulling me into the Winter Garden alongside her. The invasion of the Texas Swanson family at the Virginia Rose was happening, ready or not.
FOUR
We walked outside, into the Winter Garden. The air was chilly, but heaters stationed around the plants were keeping us warm. Orchids of every size and different colors—magenta, purple, and orange—had been brought from the solarium just for the evening, and they were displayed in pots along the walkway.
Two dozen or so heads turned to us as we approached the canopy of the wide tent, and voices quieted until we could hear the sound of our footsteps tromping across the paved pathway.
The Winter Garden had been designed with foliage that could withstand the cold. Yellow witch hazel, purple Christmas roses, and pink winter-blooming camellias provided color, and the yellow lights that had been strung through the trees and tent canopy set everything and everyone aglow. Though I could barely make them out, I knew my Blue Ridge Mountains loomed in the distance, which was always somehow reassuring. A constant in the midst of chaos.
Seating had been stationed under the tent in circles and squares. There was a bar with drinks at the end, and Savilla was currently pouring. Though Lacy and Anton had planned to meet just his parents for drinks out here, I suddenly realized that Savillamust’ve shifted things last minute to include the twenty-five or so more guests. She was good.
Nearest us, at a cocktail table, was a thirty-something-year-old priest and a fifty-something woman, boldly dressed. I caught something in her eyes that matched Anton’s and realized that this must be his mother.
Lacy squeezed my hand as she noticed the same thing.
Anton cleared his throat as we approached the two of them, absorbed in one another.
Mrs. Swanson looked every inch the Texas elite in a light pink skirt that ended right above her knee and a quarter-length-sleeved jacket. She had long acrylic nails painted the exact same shade, and her hair was big and blond, sprayed in a way that had come back to haunt us from the early nineties. She’d obviously had some work done because her forehead was smooth and her eyebrows couldn’t quite ascend as she laughed riotously at something the priest said.
The priest was handsome, though perhaps not age-appropriate for whatever was going on between him and Anton’s mother. He wore a collar, even though I was fairly sure he wasn’t currently on duty, but perhaps collars were an all-day, all-season fashion statement. I cringed when I saw Anton’s mother caress his arm and then pull him closer. Then, the priest’s hand was low on the small of her back. Another inch, and he definitely shouldn’t have been wearing that collar.
Anton coughed lightly, and his mother jumped as if she’d been caught in the act of something forbidden.
Putting a manicured hand over her heart, she leaned forward to kiss Anton’s cheek. “Oh, hey there, darlin’,” she drawled in a thick East Texas accent. “You about scared me to death.” She glanced around at the crowd with the confidence of a woman used to having all eyes on her. “If you’d been a snake, you would’ve bit me.”
At that, the rest of the party chuckled. Anton did not.
Perhaps he would’ve laughed too if his mother hadn’t obviously been flirting with the priest before Anton’s approach—or evenif the age difference between the priest and his mother hadn’t been so pronounced. Maybe it would’ve even been fine if Anton had already been told about the two of them, but his shocked expression said that he’d been completely in the dark.
“Mrs. Swanson, so lovely to finally meet you in person,” Lacy said, generous and composed as ever, her earlier nerves seeming to have fled in the face of Anton needing her steadiness now.
“Yes, uh, Mother, good… good to see you,” Anton finally stammered, swallowing back his surprise before glancing around at the other guests, who were nodding and smiling at them.
With the greeting, some of the tension in the garden eased, and attendees returned to their separate conversations, though I did sense that more than one eye remained on us as we talked.
Lacy turned to me and lifted an eyebrow in a way only I could read. She was hoping I would jump in and act like everything was normal.
