"Wow!" Ashley said.
"How soon can we get rid of the guests?" he whispered to her.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said the judge, turning them about, "may I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Ryan Finbar Mulcahy."
There was much clapping and laughter as everyone pressed forward to congratulate them. Angelina hugged and kissed them both. Frankie was crying, along with Nina and Tiffany Pietro d'Angelo. Mr. and Mrs. Byrnes were standing proudly by, as pleased as if she were their own daughter. Ashley had insisted they hire servers so the Byrneses might be guests at the table today.
"So all's well that ends well," Ray Pietro d'Angelo said with a pleased grin. "Joe and I did good by you, huh? What do you think, Lina? Are you happy, cara ?”
"For the moment," Angelina Mulcahy said with a meaningful nod to Ashley.
"Shall we all go up to the house now?" Byrnes suggested.
"Yes," Ashley agreed. "There are drinks and nibbles before dinner." She slipped her arm through her new husband's, and began to move toward the house.
"You're a beautiful bride," he told her quietly as they walked. "I thought you weren't going to wear a wedding dress?"
"It isn't a wedding dress. It's just a dress," Ashley told him.
"On you, it's a wedding dress. I want a picture of you in it," he told her.
"There'll be a photographer waiting up at the house," Ashley said. "I'm giving the local paper an exclusive. We'll be front-page news next Thursday." She laughed.
"You hired the paper's photographer?" he asked.
"No, the local photographer, but I'm giving him permission to sell the pictures to the paper. He just thinks he was hired for a social event. I told him it was a charity party. Is he in for a surprise." Ashley chuckled.
Ryan grinned. "You've got a wicked sense of humor, Ash," he said. "I like it."
She smiled up at him. She was married. He was her husband. He wanted to make love to her. He liked her sense of humor. Something akin to a tiny spark of hope bloomed inside her at that moment. Was it just possible that this convenience could turn into something else? She had never had any luck with men. Until now…?
They entered the house, leading their guests into the gracious living room. Almost at once there were servers with trays holding glasses of wine and canapés. Most of the guests had been in the house before. Ashley saw Frankie sneak off with Rose and Tiffany Pietro d'Angelo, Carla Johnson, and Nina. She knew full well that Frankie was taking the women up to see the master suite.
"You will forgive her, of course, cara ," Angelina said quietly. She had seen them leave too. "Francesca is an enthusiastic woman."
"I like her," Ashley replied. "We're becoming friend's. I thought I would hold a party in October sometime for the rest of your family. Will you tell your other daughters that Ryan and I have gotten married, Lina? The announcement cards are ready to go out on Monday, but I really think they should be told personally."
"I believe that chore is up to your husband," Lina said, her warm brown eyes twinkling mischievously. "Can you do one of those conference calls to all of them at once? It will give you an idea of how passionate my older daughters are. That is probably a good word to describe them. They aren't bad women, although Ryan and Frankie would have you believe it. They are simply middle-aged and bored with their lives. Some people, when they get that way, find useful things to do. My daughters, however, cause trouble for their own amusement. How they became so certain of their own righteousness I will never know. I did not raise them that way."
"I think it might be fun to call Ryan's sisters," Ashley agreed. "But is he brave enough to beard them all at once, I wonder?"
"Beard who?" Ryan had come up on his mother and bride. His arm slipped about Ashley, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek.
"We'll have to call your sisters tonight or tomorrow, and tell them you're married," Ashley said. "The announcements go out on Monday, and they can't learn of your marriage that way. It's cold and impersonal. It's bad enough we didn't invite them to the wedding, Ryan."
"I wanted us to have a happy wedding day," he said, "and with the harpies here it wouldn't have been. But you're right. We need to call them. We can do it tonight."
Byrnes had been watching for the women to return to the living room, and when they did he nodded imperceptibly to the head server, who then announced dinner. They all trooped into the formal dining room, oohing and ahhing at the table setting as they sat down. Immediately a clear vegetable broth was served and the wineglasses filled. It was followed by a salad of mixed lettuces-Boston, both green and red, endive, arugula, and peppery nasturtium flowers, dressed in a raspberry vinagrette. The main course was leg of lamb cooked with garlic and rosemary, fresh French cut green beans, slivers of yellow summer squash, and small white potatoes that had been roasted about the meat as it cooked. The wineglasses were filled again. When the meal had concluded the guests once more adjourned to the living room, where the wedding cake had been set up.
"The first one of you who starts singing 'The Bride Cuts the Cake' is going to get it," Ashley said grimly. "It's so corny."
"I'd like to get a shot of you two cutting the cake," the photographer said. When he had learned the charity party was actually Ashley's wedding he almost fainted. And then when she generously told him he could sell three pictures to the local newspaper, he was rendered almost speechless. He had taken a picture of both the bride and the groom together, with Judge Palmer, with Mr. and Mrs. Byrnes, with Angelina and Frankie, with their friends. He had taken a picture of Ashley seated demurely with her wedding bouquet, and then he had taken another of her seated and Ryan standing behind her, his hand on her shoulder, her hand on his hand. At one point she turned to look up at him and smiled. The photographer had photographed that too. Now he took pictures of the bridal couple cutting their wedding cake while the guests mischievously hummed the forbidden tune. Ashley fed her new husband a bite of cake. The photographer snapped. Ryan fed Ashley a bit of cake, and some of the frosting got on her nose. She laughed, and the photographer snapped. The cake was served with miniature scoops of lemon sorbet.
It was evening, and the party was coming to an end. A stretch limo had arrived to take Ray and Rose Pietro d'Angelo, Angelina, and Frankie back into the city. The local guests were departing in their own cars. The top layer of the wedding cake was wrapped, boxed, and put in the freezer to celebrate their first anniversary. The servers were busily cleaning up. Byrnes and his missus had disappeared, probably to their own quarters.
Ashley turned to look at her new husband. "I guess we had better call your older sisters now," she said.
"Yep," he agreed. "Business first. And then pleasure." Reaching out he pulled her into his arms and kissed her mouth gently. "I like the way you kiss, Mrs. Mulcahy."
"Ditto," she admitted as her cheeks warmed.
They went into the library, where there were two handsets for the telephone. Ryan pressed the appropriate buttons to set up the conference call, and then he dialed. "Bride, it's Ryan. This is going to be a conference call with all of you, so hang on," he told her, and before she could question him he moved on to the second number. "Betta, Ryan." And he gave her the same message.
"How can you be certain they're all at home?" Ashley asked.
"It's Saturday night," he said with a grin, and then he was speaking with his sister Kathleen, then Magdalena, and finally Deirdre. "Okay, girls, you all there?"