The Marriage Agenda. Allison Leigh
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to interview him, to get the first statements from the long-lost Bravo Baby. Dekker told them to get lost.
He got a call from his brother an hour or so after he chased the reporters away. Jonas told him that the story had broken in Los Angeles that morning. He urged Dekker not to let it bother him. He said it had been bound to leak out sooner or later.
“As a Bravo,” Jonas warned. “You’ll have to get used to being in the spotlight now and then.”
“No, I won’t,” said Dekker.
Jonas laughed and assured Dekker that the whole thing would blow over eventually.
By Wednesday the wire services had gotten hold of it. The tale of how Dekker Smith was really Russell Bravo of the fabulously wealthy southern California Bravos made the second page of the Daily Oklahoman. And everyone in the family had been able to read all about it for themselves.
So part of the reason that Camilla cried through Joleen’s wedding was because she had recently learned that her best friend in the whole world had not been Dekker’s mama, after all, but the accomplice of the evil uncle who had stolen him from his real mother—who, as it turned out, had died just a few short months ago, never having seen her precious second son again.
Niki cried for her own reasons. Because her big sister and her beloved Dek were getting married, and because her mother was crying, and because…well, just because.
Dekker had found the time to go out and buy Joleen a ring. It was so beautiful—two curving rows of diamonds set into the band, surrounding a single large marquise-cut stone. He kissed her after the judge pronounced them man and wife—a light kiss, hardly more than a gentle brushing of his mouth across her own.
Right then her mother and sister burst into renewed sobbing. Joleen and Dekker turned from each other to try to settle them down.
They all went back to Camilla’s house together, in the beautiful new silver-gray Lexus that Dekker had bought the day before. Two cars filled with reporters followed along behind.
“Ignore them,” commanded Dekker, his voice a low growl.
Joleen granted him her most unconcerned smile. “No problem.” And it wasn’t. For her. She was a little worried about her new husband, though. Since Tuesday, news people seemed to be popping up wherever Dekker went. He was getting very tired of it.
“You go on in,” he said when they got to her mother’s. “Give me a minute.”
Joleen put her hand on his sleeve. “What are you going to do?”
“Have a few words with the media.”
“What will you say?”
“That I’d appreciate a little privacy on my wedding day.”
“Don’t you think that it might be better if—”
“Jo. Go in. I won’t be long.”
She could tell by the thrust of that cleft chin of his that it would get her nowhere to keep after him, so she got her son from his car seat and herded her mother and sister toward the front door.
The aunts and uncles and cousins and lots of finger foods were waiting inside. Joleen moved from one set of loving arms to the next, getting kissed and congratulated by one and all.
“Well, don’t you look beautiful,” said Aunt LeeAnne, stepping back to admire Joleen’s ivory-colored street-length silk sheath and the short, fitted jacket that went with it.
Joleen thanked her aunt and kept an eye on the front door until Dekker slipped through it a few minutes later.
“How did it go out there?” she asked him, when she finally got him aside for a moment.
He shrugged. “They said they would leave.”
“They’re gone, then?”
“I have my doubts. They all have this kind of glassy-eyed, hungry stare when they deal with me. To them, I’m not even really human. I’m just a story they’ll do anything to get. Maybe I should have listened to you and left it alone—and don’t give me that I-told-you-so look.”
“I’m sure I do not know what look you are talkin’ about.”
“The one on your face right now.”
She made a show of crossing her eyes—and then grew more serious. “Did you tell them straight out that we just got married?”
“Hell, yes. They followed us from the courthouse, and that leads me to believe they probably already knew—which is just fine. Let Robert Atwood read all about how you’ve married the famous—and rich—Bravo Baby, let him think about the ways it will mess up his plans. Let him—”
“Hey, you two,” called Uncle Hubert from over by the big bowl of sparkling-wine punch that Aunt Catherine had made. “Stop that whispering. Get over here with the rest of us. Time for a little toast…”
“Yes, come over here right now.” Camilla paused to sob and dab at her eyes with a tissue. “We want to wish you both the best of everything.”
* * *
Camilla cried until six-thirty. But then the doorbell rang. It was one of Wayne’s bachelor uncles from the wedding the week before—the one who had stayed so late last Saturday night. The uncle, whose name was Ezra Clay, did not come empty-handed. He had a gift for the newlyweds and a huge bouquet of tiger lilies for the mother of the bride.
At the sight of her admirer, Camilla ran upstairs to freshen her makeup. When she came back down, she took Ezra Clay’s hand and led him to the kitchen. They stayed in there for quite a while. When Joleen went in to hunt down more pretzels, her mother and Wayne’s uncle were standing close together at the counter, a tall crystal vase in front of them. Half the lilies stood in the vase, half lay in wait, bright splashes of sable-spotted gold, on the counter.
Camilla chose a flower from those waiting on the counter, clipped the stem at an angle with her gardening shears, and carefully propped it up in the vase. Then she leaned close to Wayne’s uncle and whispered something.
The uncle laughed, a low, intimate sound. Camilla laughed, too, and leaned close again to whisper some more.
Joleen watched them from the corner of her eye as she got a fresh bag of pretzels from the cupboard by the stove. Ezra Clay could have been anywhere from forty-five to sixty. He had intelligent dark eyes and nice, broad shoulders. He owned a couple of ice-cream store franchises, Joleen thought she remembered Wayne mentioning once.
Could this be the man who would convince her mother to settle down at last?
Sure. And maybe tomorrow the sun would set in the east.
Joleen closed the cupboard door. Whether Ezra Clay lasted in her mother’s affections or not, Joleen was grateful to him. Camilla had not shed a single tear since he’d walked in the front door.
Romance, Joleen thought wryly, did have its uses.
* * *
Dekker, Joleen and Sam left the party at a little after nine. The reporters—who had not gone away when Dekker asked them to—snapped pictures when the newlyweds emerged from the house, their flashes explosions of blinding light in the warm autumn darkness. Then they jumped into their cars, ready to give chase.
Dekker swore under his breath as he swung out of Camilla’s driveway. “They said they’d leave us alone for tonight, damn it.”
“Well, they are not doing it.” Joleen fastened her seat belt. “Take your own advice and ignore them.”
Dekker muttered a few swear words under his breath. Joleen pretended not to hear. She smiled and waved at the family members who had gathered on the porch to watch them drive away.
“And how the hell am I supposed to see to drive?” Dekker grumbled as they took off down the street. He had to squint through the words Just Married, which Bud and