The Surrogate

Epilogue

The hotel was every New Yorker’s dream, decked out in wintry greenery and white blossoms of every floral fragrance. The brick walls were illuminated by glowing ivory and gold paper lanterns of every shape and size. The Beekman was a place of history and magic, and the only thing more wondrous than the venue was the menu Esther planned with the resident celebrity chef.

The whispers of her waiting audience echoed through the cracks in the antique wood and throughout the space. Through the closed doors, Esther could see her aisle was illuminated by the custom chandeliers with a bed of white petals lining her path to the man of her dreams. Fifty loved ones flanked the aisle, but he was the only one who mattered. In his pristine tuxedo, he whispered with the justice of the peace, making the older woman laugh. Hillary and her father were waiting impatiently as Esther took her one peek, capturing the image in her mind.

Designed by the same woman who designed bridal dresses for the finest of British royalty, Archie had surprised her for her birthday in usual-Archibald fashion. The gown was decorated in little beaded stars appliques on the ethereal overlay that stretched into a sweeping train. The creamy chiffon of the bodice and in the layers below felt light to the touch and wore as if it had been woven out of a cloud. Her body felt enveloped in a soft silken breeze.

The designer made a tiara of stars to match, and the beauty artist had braided her hair up into a crown to accentuate the delicate details of her hair accessory. From the base of her neck a layer of tulle swept downward for her veil, and Esther had worried all morning it would hurt to carry such a length of fabric anchored onto her with a plastic hair comb.

She could not wait to see the look on Archie’s face. Esther bent down to adjust the fit of her satin kitten heels, nervous about stumbling suddenly. Page Six gossip columns had been fussing about this event for weeks. Ever since the large ovular diamond had shown up on Esther’s finger, commentary about the rich and fabulous had shifted to her. It took some time to have people talking about her like they did now, but none of that seemed to matter. All that mattered was getting down that aisle in one piece without tripping or breaking out into a run to finally meet her Archie at the end.

“Dad, can I lean on you if I fall?” Esther whispered, brushing the fabric of her veil into its proper place.

“You can lean on me as long as you need to, baby girl,” he replied with a smile in his usual deep velvety voice.

Grace came out from the bathroom in the lobby, still holding the sleeping infant in her arms with a white sphere of blossoms for the flower girls to share. The infant looked a bit comical with noise-cancelling earmuffs making the world a place of perpetual quiet for her, but to the rest of the wedding she looked laughable in the bedazzled domes nearly the size of her tiny head. Both daughters were in gold dresses and crowns of rosebuds, designed to coordinate with the designer gown Esther wore.

“My two favorite girls!” she exclaimed with a whisper, kissing each of her babies on the cheek.

The baby squirmed but did not wake up at the touch of Esther wiping off her lipstick. Esther fussed with her older girl’s skirt as she nervously looked over the hem beginning to lose its crispness.

Asking softly as not to disturb the baby out of habit, Esther said, “Are you going to be okay with just you and Nora for the week?”

“Grandma is staying with us, and the nanny will come over every afternoon as usual. We will be fine. Please don’t let your worries ruin Rome for you two. If anything, you need to make sure that Archie keeps away from work for the week. If it was anything like our Independence Day in Westchester, he’s going to miss his work phone after about two hours after arriving.”

Hillary smiled wickedly smoothing the evergreen silk she wore. “Oh, I think there will be too much to occupy his thoughts to worry about the company next week. So many sweet things, I don’t know if a week will be enough.”

Esther poked her friend, taking her bouquet of winter greenery, fragrant with the scent of herbs and fir. White roses and anemones blossoms intermingled with the eucalyptus and fern fronds. She clasped it tightly in one hand as she took her father’s arm in the other. Hillary tapped on the door, and the wedding coordinator queued the string quartet. A man in white gloves opened the doors, revealing her as everyone turned to see the bridal party make its entrance.

Starry-eyed and radiating with excitement, the beauty of the impeccable ceremony fell away. As she followed her father down the aisle, she saw nothing but him. She saw his endless blue eyes. She admired his boyish grin. He may have grown and matured over the years, but Esther could see the same foolish teenager that she had adored all those years ago.

He was still her Archie MacArthur, and this was their new beginning.

The end.