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Cast of Thousands
W Wedding Tonight!
Sun Jun 5, 2005 16:11
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Moira was an evil woman, Lucy decided.

Sitting on her ass in the middle of the parlor, while Penny, the redhead, Jane and several Italian relatives of the female persuasion piled wrapped gifts on her lap was the last thing the bride had wanted to do this last Friday of her single life.

There was already a pile of sexy little thongs and lacy bras, gifts certificates for expensive spas. One of the bridal shower’s guests had flown in from Vienna, a noblewoman of the Hapsburg line and married to Pietro quite happily. Her name was Elsa, and she was tall and blonde, and very nicely curved. She lived half the year in Austria and half the year in Florence with Matteo’s son, and they had three beautiful sons.

Aunti Elsa had brought along the most expensive gift so far – a necklace of flawless black pearls. It was from the couple, but as Pietro had been called back to Florence in his father’s absense, only Mrs Medici would be attending the wedding.

So when the phone rang, Lucy leapt for it with the desperation of a woman who would not be denied an escape from lots of giggling guests.

Lucifer! What the hell is up with all these sadistic fukks with the cameras? Did you go running around topless down Broadway again?

“Hi!” Camera? Ahahaa. “Oh, them. Yeah, we’ve got some trying to sneak into the party by any means neccesary. Moira organized a bridal shower slash bachelorette party over here.”

But he could tell that by the laughter and the music in the background, which sadly prevented her from hearing much of what her lover was saying.

“What am I swearing? Oh, wearing.” Uh. She glanced down. “That white sundress you bought for me, the one that loops around my neck.” She grinned, figuring he was picturing it at that point. “Hey, I love you right back … but we’ve got two days. Be patient, snookums.”

Okay, someone had been drinking champagne.

And then she made kissy noises into the receiver just before hanging up on him, her mood rising rapidly after being able to hear his voice. It made getting through the rest of the night easier, especially when they tried to spring the male strippers. Half of her was dying to see the show, the other half suspected that Caleb wouldn’t understand.

So Lucy opted for marital harmony.




The flashes kept coming at her, hordes of reporters and photographers waiting outside the hotel, along with half of New York it seemed. In one hour, she would be standing next to Caleb, listening to the priest intone their marriage vows in Latin. Another of her grandfather’s little quirks, apparently marriage ceremonies required Hight Ancient Latin muckety much, not that she’d voice that opinion verbally.

Andrea had gone to retrieve the limo personally, which left Lucy and Matteo down in the Plaza’s lobby at the mercy of the press. She was wearing an honest-to-god cloak over her wedding dress, since no one was supposed to see it before the guests or the groom; but her hair had been swept into a cascade of brown curls, offset by the diamond stars scattered throughout the chestnut mane.

“There’s still time for me to call him and make reservations for Reno,” she muttered at her grandfather half-heartedly. His snort answered that tentative question. “No, cara mia, we will do this properly.” The older gentleman patted her shoulder. “And there is Andrea with the car. Come.” His hand pressed against the small of her back, guiding the young woman past the groups of staring tourists and out into the circus.

“Look over here, Luciana!”

“Smile for the camera.”

“Are you really going to marry a federal agent?”

“Is it true you had an affair with Gary Oldman?”

Actually, that last question came from inside the limo. Penny was seated in the back, grinning like an idiot, and wearing a very tasteful maid-of-honor dress in cream to match the bride. Her hair had been wrestled into a bun, and it looked to be behaving for the day. Lucy slid in to settle beside her best friend, soon joined by Matteo and Andrea. The door shut behind them, muting the incessant catcalls of the press.

“Here we go, La Principessa.” Fingers interlaced, the two girls huddled together as the limo began moving, spending their last few minutes of immaturity together, like best friends should.



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