“What’s wrong?” Francine asked.
“Someone was looking at us. I just stared back.”
She glanced quickly around the area. “Who was it?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
Her worried gaze found his.
“You don’t have to worry, Francine. I won’t let anyone near you.”
She squeezed his arm. “I know. Thank you, Raphael.”
The music changed to a more traditional wedding song. The families, first the groom’s and then the bride’s, walked down the aisle to take their seats at the front. Raphael thought Francine should be there, too. He caught her wistful, delighted expression as people filed past them. She was happy just to be here, and that was all he wanted.
The groom stepped from a side door at the front of the room, next to the altar. The music changed, signaling the bride was about to make her way down the aisle.
Prudence Duvall walked down the center aisle wearing an enchanter veil that hid her features completely. It was a wonder she didn’t stumble into every chair that lined the aisle, given the level of density sewn into the hairpiece. The bride must have been practically blinded by the opaque veil. It was typical of an arranged marriage and he supposed tradition was very important to some folks.
Raphael met Francine’s gaze. Her happy tears and giddy grin made him soft in the head with love for her. She held his arm with both hands and squeezed him, as if to settle her excitement.
The ceremony was simple and short, surprising in comparison to the over-the-top level of peach decoration. He’d expected to spend a couple of hours at the least immersed in the fruity light orange color. Soon enough, the service was over. The smiling bride, finally free of the blinding veil, and her beaming new husband made their way down the central aisle as the attendees stood and clapped. Raphael ensured Francine was blocked from view until the wedding party passed.
More guests from the front rows began exiting up the aisle one by one. First the left row, then the right and so on. Mr. Silver Eyes cast another constipated look his way. Raphael didn’t know if it was because he couldn’t see Francine or if he knew she wasn’t expected to attend the wedding. Either way, Raphael was on guard.
They followed the stream of people exiting the wedding venue, walking en masse to the reception. Raphael wondered if they’d be drowning in peach at the reception venue.
“Do you see the man who stared earlier?” Francine asked, keeping her face lowered.
“Nope. We’re good.” He searched the nearby crowd, but couldn’t see anyone paying particular attention to them. The guests seemed ready and eager to get into the reception, possibly to sample all the surely extravagant food and beverages awaiting them.
“Okay,” she said in a tone that suggested she was bearing up to be kicked to the curb by her family as soon as they saw her.
Raphael watched as guests ahead of them were announced and directed toward the receiving line.
First in line were the bride’s parents and the true difficulty. If Francine’s parents didn’t make a scene, they were home free.
Next in the receiving line were the groom’s parents, then the bride and groom, followed by the immediate members of each family. He knew Francine most wanted to hug her sister Prudence and wish her well. Raphael was poised to do whatever it took to make that happen. He didn’t know the groom personally, only by family name. The Roth family was well placed in the upper echelons of Ichor-Delta, but not quite as lofty as the Boudreauxes. Aside from being a great match, Antonio Roth was by all accounts a worthy man for Francine’s sister, Prudence.
Raphael handed the usher his invitation. “My plus-one is my fiancée, Francine,” he said in a low voice.
The man didn’t look up, but asked, “And her full name?”
He took a breath, exhaled, and said, “Francine Hayward Duvall.”
He heard a scuffle behind him and some whispered conversation. Someone said, “No, we don’t mind at all. Please, sir, you two go next.”
Raphael looked up to see what was going on and stiffened in shock.
Francine must have felt it, because she squeezed his arm and followed his gaze to the last person he expected to see here.
“Is it really you, brother?” William Boudreaux asked, staring at Raphael and Francine as if just as surprised to see them.
Francine looked away from the usher announcing the guests. If he’d been forewarned or given any notice of her possible arrival and instructions to keep her out, she missed it. The two men who’d cut in line behind them looked very familiar.
What especially caught her notice was the way the younger man said “brother” as he stared at Raphael in obvious shock.
