Page 94 of Girl Anonymous

“So it would appear.”

“You were right.”

“Keep that in mind.”

“Darlings!” From the center of the crowd, Octavia waved in their direction. “We didn’t think it wise to wait for you before we got started on the arrangements. With the wedding so soon, there is so much to do. One question only Maarja can answer—what kind of flowers do you want in your bouquet?”

Before Maarja could even begin to gather her thoughts, Dante answered, “She wants orange blossoms.”

“She does?” Alex sat in the foyer, in a wheelchair at a card table covered with planning paraphernalia.

“I do?” Maarja stared at him.

“Orange blossoms are traditional. Our wedding is to be traditional in every way.” He made his pronouncement like he was the king marrying the beggar girl.

Not like Maarja cared. She hadn’t even thought about the wedding as an event. But wasn’t the bride supposed to have some say in—

Octavia bustled toward them. “Yes, of course traditional, in the way that a wizard’s wedding is traditional. Maarja always loved wizards and I have the robes left over from a wedding I performed a few years ago—”

Dante spoke loudly and clearly. “I’m not wearing a wizard’srobe and neither is Maarja. She’s wearing a pure white wedding gown.”

Maarja tried to intervene. “Pure white isn’t my best color and—”

Octavia cut her off. “Dear boy, white is so passé. She would be lovely in a sapphire blue and if you’re trying to subtly impress on everyone her recently lost virginity, since medieval times, blue has been associated with the Virgin Mary.”

Dante didn’t even deign to answer that. “She’ll wear white.”

Maarja met Alex’s rueful gaze and wandered over by her sister. A brief gentle hug, and Maarja seated herself at the chair nearby. She knew better than to reproach Alex for leaving the hospital. Instead she asked, “Is this too much for you?”

“It helps,” Alex answered frankly. “I’m not constantly thinking about what hurts or my next physical therapy or my next surgery and what’s going to hurt. I’m the official organizer… Although from the sounds of things, all the stuff Mom had decided is about to change. It’s the battle of the Titans over there.” She tilted her head toward the ongoing vigorous discussion between Octavia and Dante. “Who do you think will win?”

“They’ll both convince themselves that they won,” Maarja answered.

The sisters cackled.

Maarja jumped when a familiar high voice caroled at her shoulder. “Hellooo!”

Maarja swung around and stared in astonishment at the wispy woman who had been Mrs. Arundel’s annoying, inefficient assistant. Her basset-hound face looked the same: thin blond hair, pale pink lipstick, bright pink blush. She was continually sniffing in that annoying manner that made Maarja want to hand her a tissue and tell her toblow. But somehow she looked different, less morose, less self-pitying, more interested and involved. Maarja asked, “Béatrice? What are you doing here?”

“When the commandment came from Dante that the familywas to attend his wedding to you here at Octavia’s house, I told Fedelma we should come and help.”

It took Maarja a moment to identify the expression on Béatrice’s face.

The formerly glum Béatrice was beaming.

Would miracles never cease? Maarja glanced around. “Fedelma is here, too?”

“She couldn’t come. The poor dear was in Dante’s condo when the elevator blew and she thought he’d been killed. When she heard he’d survived, she got down on her knees with her rosary to thank God, and she’s barely been up since. She has always been very devout. Meanwhile, I was in British Columbia on a whale-watching tour. I didn’t even hear about it until I flew home and by then Dante had sent out his commandment. So I came here and I’m helping!” A mere smile changed Béatrice’s face from long, thin, and vacant to something resembling beauty.

In light of her previous laziness, Maarja found her support highly suspicious. “What are you doing to help?” she asked the woman who valued her manicure above all things.

“Actually I’m here to get an assignment from Alex. I need a new task!” Béatrice beamed some more.

“You finished the tortilla roll-ups already?” Alex was clearly impressed. “You can either clean the silver or prepare another appetizer.”

“Not the silver!” Béatrice’s moue made her look more like her old vapid self. Then she ruined Maarja’s condemnation by saying, “The cleaner is bad for me and bad for the environment. Instead, shall I make my famous snickerdoodles?”

“Sure! Snickerdoodles are my favorite.” Alex smiled as Béatrice headed for the kitchen, then stared hard at Maarja. “Why do you have that expression on your face?”

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