“You were with your sister. I recognized you as two of the five Duvall sisters. And you hadn’t changed your hair color yet.”
“Did you like me better as a blond?”
“I really like the red. But, truthfully, you’re beautiful either way.”
She slid her arms around his middle, gazed deeply into his eyes and said a heartfelt, “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “It’s just hair color.”
“No. For the other.”
“The other?” His eyes narrowed. Francine wanted to kiss him.
“For not being difficult about my sleep talking. I can’t imagine every man would be as understanding.”
“Oh. Well. I guess I don’t find it productive to bedifficultabout unimportant things that can’t be helped.”
She kept her arms around him and he propped his chin on her head. They stood that way for a long while.
Francine was falling in love with Raphael. She didn’t panic in the least at that revelation. She delighted in the fact she’d found love after all this time.
True love.
Chapter Eight
The Ichor-Delta Wedding
Raphael eyed the narrow path toward what he considered a rather ostentatious wedding venue. He offered Francine his arm. She grasped his elbow and together they walked slowly toward the entry in the center of a large throng of wedding guests. No one seemed to notice them.
As they moved at a snail’s pace, several conversations from a multitude of directions impinged on his awareness. He listened only enough to ensure no one recognized Francine before their grand entrance at the reception.
He flashed a smile at one of the ushers standing at the door welcoming folks inside. He held up the decorative invitation and got the nod from the usher, who pointed to an electronic register on the wall. Raphael waved the invite at the register. When nothing happened, he decided they were golden. He would have been stunned if a siren or alarm had gone off, disrupting the event.
Beside the usher, a teenaged girl dressed in a pretty peach outfit handed Francine a program. Raphael secured the invitation in his pocket, as they’d need it to get into the reception. They strolled inside the opulent building like they belonged. In his opinion, they did. Well,shedid. He was simply protection. Raphael would protect her from any and all problems, no matter what happened.
Francine had feared she’d be on some sort of wedding watch list or there would be wanted posters of her tacked up around the event, that if anyone spotted her, she’d be kicked to the curb. Raphael wasn’t worried. There were so many details involved in these wealthy public spectacles that he was certain the required invitation was all the security there’d be to keep out unwanted party crashers.
No expense had been spared on the decorations. Raphael blinked at the variety of adornments scattered absolutely everywhere. Peach tones covered every wall. Every surface. Every conceivable place in the room. Everywhere he looked, peach.
Peach streamers flowed in an arch above where the couple would exchange their vows. More streamers flowed from the ceiling and decorated the Gothic windows that lined each side of the spacious room. On either side of the central walkway, rows of very nice cushioned chairs had been lined up like a regiment of soldiers ready for parade. Attached to the aisle chair of each row was a bouquet of—wait for it—peach-colored flowers wrapped in a peach ribbon. He thought if he looked underneath, there would probably be some sort of peach glue used to stick the bouquets to the chairs.
Shockingly, the chairs were covered in white, perhaps to mitigate the head banging sea of peach spewed around room. Otherwise everyone would be peach blind.
They found a place toward the center on the right side. Francine wanted to move all the way to the far edge of the row, but Raphael seated them closer to the center aisle, with Francine on his right. He wanted her to be able to see the ceremony. He gave her a wink of reassurance and they sat down. The venue filled up quickly and a time check told him the ceremony would start soon.
Francine kept her head bowed. She held the program, staring at it intently as if studying for an exam on the material. He didn’t blame her. She had been highly embarrassed at the last wedding reception and it would be foolish to assume there wouldn’t be someone looking for her at this wedding. Or perhaps she was shielding her vision from the room’s blinding peach decor.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered as he watched for anyone who might point Francine out or embarrass her. The shimmery emerald-green dress Jacques Pierre had created was perfect for her. She looked like a goddess. Well, to Raphael she always did. He’d thought her worthy of worship as she’d sleepily staggered around their suite that morning in her wrinkled, slept-in jammies.
“Thank you. You look amazing, too.” She kept her hand on his arm, perhaps for added tactile support. He was fine with that.
Music flowed from unseen speakers throughout the gigantic room. He didn’t know the tune, but assumed it had the word “peach” either in the title or listed in the lyrics somewhere.
In an aisle seat a few rows ahead, a man with dark hair and piercing silver eyes turned to look up the center path, perhaps taking in the peach runner lining the walkway. As he twisted to face the altar, he did a double take and sent a glare in their direction.
Raphael glared back. The man didn’t notice. His gaze was fixed on Francine, his expression malevolent as he stared rudely for several seconds. Raphael leaned forward, blocking the man’s view of Francine. Mr. Silver Eyes directed his animosity toward him. That was fine. Raphael returned the man’s spiteful gaze with one of his own until the other man faced forward.
