The organ music swelled to a crescendo, and Zack felt as if his heart would burst at the sight that greeted him.
Starting toward him in a drifting swirl of white appliquéd silk with a cloud of veil trailing behind her was the woman he had kidnapped and laughed with and loved. She moved through the candlelight, her face glowing, and in her eyes he saw all the love in the world, the promise of his unborn children, a lifetime filled with all the joy she had to give. He saw all that, and then he saw her eyes widen when Barbra Streisand’s voice rose from the choir loft, and the song was the one Zack had asked her to sing when Julie came down the aisle.
Long ago and far away, I dreamed a dream one day—
And now that dream is here before me.
Long the skies were overcast,
but now the clouds are passed—
You’re here at last.
Chills run up and down my spine.
Aladdin’s lamp is mine.
The dream I dreamed was not denied me.
Just one look and then I knew—
That all I longed for long ago was you.
Zack reached for Julie’s hand and took it firmly in his, then they turned to the front.
Reverend Mathison smiled and raised the book he was holding in his hands. “Dear friends, we are gathered here together, in the sight of God . . .”
At the front of the church, Matthew Farrell gazed steadily into his wife’s eyes; Ted and Katherine Mathison smiled softly at each other.
Near the back of the church, Herman Henkleman shifted his hand and reached for Flossie’s, lacing his fingers tightly in hers.
In the row directly behind them, young Willie Jenkins observed the elderly couple’s exchanged looks and clasped hands, then he nudged the little girl beside him and in a loud stage whisper laughingly announced, “I’ll betcha Herman Henkleman won’t go along with Reverend Mathison’s bargain. He’s too old to wait . . .”
To which the little girl primly replied, “Shut up, Willie, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Undaunted, Willie said, “My older brother told me the bargain is for no kissin’ until the wedding night.”
“Yuk,” said the little girl with a shudder, leaning as far away from him as she could get. “Kissing!”
87
THE RECEPTION IN THE PARK that Zack had half-expected to be rather plain turned out to be a lavishly festive affair with twinkling lights in the trees and linencovered tables groaning under an array of beautifully prepared food that equaled in taste anything Zack’s caterers had ever provided.
Standing off to the side with Matt Farrell, he watched Patrick Swayze cut in on Harrison Ford, who’d been dancing with Julie, and he smiled to himself at the memory of her shocked face in the receiving line when Zack began introducing her to nearly all the men she’d mentioned being her favorite movie stars. After her initial amazement, however, she had recovered and handled her famous guests with an unaffected graciousness that had filled Zack with pride.
“Great wedding, Zack,” Warren Beatty said, holding his wife’s hand and juggling a plate of hors d’oeuvres in the other. “The food is fantastic. What is this stuff anyway?”
Zack looked at the plate. “Bar-be-qued ribs,” he said dryly, “Texan style.”
When they left, Zack glanced at his watch, then he looked around for Julie and saw her dancing with Swayze again, laughing at whatever he was saying to her.
“She’s captivated all of them,” Matt said with an approving grin.
“Especially Swayze,” Zack observed, noting how well she danced with Swayze and trying not to note how closely he was holding her.
Matt nudged him a few minutes later and nodded toward Meredith. “Look what I have to endure—that’s Costner’s third dance with her. Meredith,” he added, “is a great admirer of his.”
“And vice versa, it would seem. Luckily, Swayze and Costner are both married,” Zack observed with a lazy grin. Putting his champagne glass down on the table beside him, he said, “I think it’s late enough to claim the last dance and then leave.”
“In a hurry to start your honeymoon?”
“You wouldn’t believe the kind of hurry I’m in,” Zack joked. Reaching out, he shook Matt’s hand, but he didn’t thank him for the years of unflagging friendship or his many favors. His gratitude was too deep for that, and they both understood it.
Pausing to ask the orchestra leader to play a particular song, Zack went to retrieve his wife. She abandoned Patrick Swayze with gratifying speed, coming into Zack’s arms and smiling into his eyes. “It’s about time you came to get me,” she told him softly.
“Ready to leave?” he asked her as the orchestra’s song came to an end.
Julie was dying to leave, to go away with him and be alone together. She nodded and started to move away, but he shook his head and said in a husky, meaningful voice, “After the next song.”
“What song?” die asked in the silence, but he only smiled, and then the song Zack had asked the orchestra to play began its hot, steady rhythm.
“This one,” he said, meaningfully as the seductive words to Feliciano’s song began to pound in the night.
“Light my fire, Julie,” he ordered huskily, beginning to move with her to the beat of the music.
Julie fell under the spell of his heavy-lidded eyes and inviting smile within seconds. Oblivious to the crowd who was turning to watch them, she moved closer to him, her body matching the subtle movement of his. He slid his hands around her waist, holding her closer. “More.”
88
CURLED UP ON THE SOFA in the plane’s luxurious cabin, Julie peered into the inky darkness beyond the windows. Far below she could see an occasional light, but otherwise they seemed to be descending into a black wilderness. Zack was sitting across from her, his feet propped up on the coffee table, his tuxedo jacket open—the picture of contented patience. He’d rushed her on board Matt Farrell’s waiting plane as soon as they left the reception, refusing to let her change into traveling clothes, but now that they were on their way to a destination he refused to name, he seemed perfectly willing to wait until they got there to consummate their marriage. “I’m going to feel awfully silly walking into a hotel lobby in this gown,” she said.
“Are you, darling?” he asked softly, smiling.
Julie nodded, wishing he’d let her change into one of the new outfits in her suitcases. “I could change into something else in a matter of minutes.”
He shook his head. “I’d like for both of us to be dressed exactly as we are when we get there.”
“But why?”
“You’ll see,” he said, holding out his arm to her.
She moved over to sit beside him. “Sometimes,” she said wryly, “I don’t understand you at all.”
But she did understand. She understood perfectly the moment she stepped off the plane onto a small runway where a car was waiting, and she looked around at the looming shadows of mountains. “Colorado!” she breathed, hugging herself against the chilly night air. “We’re in Colorado, aren’t we!”
* * *
Driving up the private road to the mountain hideaway they had shared during that tumultuous week was an unbearably poignant experience for Julie. So was walking into the house with Zack and seeing the beautiful, familiar rooms where she had fought with him and danced with him and then fallen in love with him.
While he brought in their suitcases and built a fire in the fireplace, she walked over to the windows and looked out at the place where he had once built his “snow monster.”
Zack came up behind her and slid his arm around her waist, drawing her back against him, and in the window was their own reflection . . . a tall groom holding his bride in his arms. They looked at their reflection and Zack saw the tears shimmering in her eyes. “Why are you crying?” he asked softly, bending his head to nuzzle her neck.
Julie swallowed and tipped her head back. “Because,” she whispered achingly, thinking of the sentimentali
ty that showed in everything he did for her. “You are so perfect.”
Zack tightened his arms protectively around her. “We’re perfect together,” he whispered.
“I’ll make you happy,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. “I swear I will.”
Her husband turned her in his arms, and there was a smile in his voice as he lifted his hand to smooth her hair back. “You’ve made me happy from the first night we spent here together, when you sat on that sofa and blithely pointed out the absurdity of football rules which allow a tight end, but no loose end.”
She smiled a little at that, but she saw the firelight glinting on the wedding ring he now wore on his left hand, and she pressed his palm to her cheek while her lips touched the ring. “I love you, Zack,” she whispered. “I love the sound of your voice and the touch of your hand and the way you smile. I want to give you babies . . . and a life filled with laughter . . . and I want to give you me.”
Desire began to beat fiercely in his veins, fueled by weeks of abstinence, and Zack pulled her close, his mouth opening over hers with sudden urgency. “Come to bed with your husband, wife.”
Husband. Wife. The words revolved slowly in Julie’s mind, soft and sweet and profound, as she walked with him into the bedroom they’d shared. They swelled in her heart as he took her in his arms in bed and turned to her in love and need. She responded to both with an exquisite eagerness that made Zack’s hands tremble as they rushed over her, caressing her skin and pulling her hips tightly to his. She met his passion with her own, encouraged him with stirring kisses and when he finally slid deep into her, she wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders and whispered, “Welcome home, Zack.”
The sweet words tore a low groan from his chest and he began to move within her. His wife moved with him, bathing his senses in extravagant pleasure until the wild beauty of what they were doing to each other drove them both to a shattering climax.
Wrapped in each other’s arms, sated and spent, they floated slowly back to reality in the same bed where once they had not dared to think of the future. His hand drifting slowly over her back, Zack thought of the years that lay ahead with the woman who had loved and trusted him and taught him to forgive. Welcome home, she’d said.
For the first time in his life, he finally knew how it felt to have a home and a family. Julie was his home, his family.
Epilogue
SURROUNDED BY LAVISH BOUQUETS OF long-stemmed roses in every color of the rainbow, Julie cuddled her newborn son to her breast in her private room at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, but for the first time since the birth of their son two days ago, her attention was not on the tiny, perfect infant that she and Zack had created.
Until a few minutes ago, the nurses had been crowded into her room to watch the Academy Awards with her, but they’d left to carry babies around to mothers, and Julie was secretly relieved to be alone. The award for Best Actor in a Leading Role was coming up pretty soon, and although she was quite certain Zack was going to win it, she really didn’t want an audience when the winner was announced.
“Look, Nicky!” she whispered, turning him slightly so he could see the television set, “There’s your future godfather and godmother, Mr. and Mrs. Farrell. And your daddy’s right beside them, even though the camera didn’t show him this time.”
Nicholas Alexander Benedict, who’d stopped nursing a few minutes before, took immediate exception to being deprived of his mother’s breast, so Julie settled him back into place and helped him find what he was searching for, then she returned all her attention to the television set.
Zack’s first movie after their marriage had not only broken box office records, Last Interlude had also garnered Academy Award nominations in a number of categories for the people who participated in it, and tonight it was cleaning up. Zack had won for Best Director, Sam Hudgins had won for Best Cinematography, and so had people involved in everything from visual effects to musical score.
Zack had wanted to stay here and watch the awards ceremony with her, and when Julie couldn’t talk him out of it in any other way, she’d argued implacably that he should be there for the sake of the other people who’d worked on Interlude, including the supporting cast who were also up for Oscars.
In reality, Julie felt this was his night to shine, and she was adamantly determined that neither she nor the baby nor an act of God would interfere with that. This morning, the advance copy of the book that Zack had agreed to let her write to help raise support for women’s literacy programs had finally arrived at the house. Although she was nervously eager to show it to him and get his opinion, she’d asked Sally to send it over, then made her promise not to show it to Zack or tell him it had arrived.
The nominees for Best Original Screenplay were being announced, and Julie anxiously bit her lip, then she laughed softly as Peter Listerman’s name was called out and he strode swiftly up to the stage to accept it for his work on Interlude. “Nicky, look,” she whispered happily, “there’s Pete and he won! You should be very grateful to Pete,” she teased. “Thanks to him you have the only high chair on earth that looks like a director’s chair with your name across the back.”
Pete was one of Julie’s favorites. Part of it was because the studious-looking man had spent so much time at the house working with Zack on Interlude that she’d gotten to know him well, and part of it was because he seemed to be developing some sort of love-hate relationship with Debby Sue Cassidy, who’d quietly mentioned to Zack and him, while they were trying to figure out a better ending for the screenplay one day, that she’d thought of one. Pete’s bland looks masked a fiery artistic temperament, and the only thing that had saved poor Debby Sue from his ire at her interference was that Zack instantly liked her idea. Really liked it. He made Pete work on it with Debby’s input, and it was Interlude’s new, touching climax that had helped make the film such a hit.
Pete’s acceptance speech went along the usual route until the very end, when he looked up at the camera and added, “ . . . And I’d also like to thank Miss Debby Cassidy, whose contribution to my work was invaluable.”
“Pete, you darling!” Julie cried, hugging Nicky tightly to her. Debby’s unquenchable desire to learn coupled with her tireless efforts and Pete’s reluctant admiration and demanding tutelage were working miracles.
A few minutes later, Julie felt her heartbeat quicken and her entire body tense as Robert Duvall and Meryl Streep walked out on stage and began to read the nominees for Best Actor in a Leading Role. “Cross your fingers, sweetheart,” Julie said. She kissed his tiny fist, then she wrapped it around her finger and laid her forefinger over it for good luck.
“And the nominees are”—Robert Duvall looked up at the camera—“Kevin Costner, for End of the Rainbow.”
“Tom Cruise, for The Way Home,” Meryl Streep said.
“Kurt Russell, for Shot in the Night,” Duvall added.
“Zachary Benedict, for Last Interlude,” Streep put in.
“Jack Nicholson, for The Peacemaker,” Duvall finished.
He stretched his hand out for the envelope and Julie felt a strange, inexplicable prickling begin at the back of her neck.
“And the Oscar goes to”—he looked at the slip in the envelope and broke into a broad grin—“Zachary Benedict! For Last Interlude!”
Applause exploded and rose to a thundering crescendo as some of the attendees rose to their feet in a standing ovation; the camera aimed at a tall, dark man in a tuxedo striding swiftly down the aisle toward the stage, and Duvall leaned forward, and added, “Accepting the award for Zack is Matthew Farrell..
And Julie suddenly knew the reason for the strange prickling at the back of her neck . . .
Leaning against the pillows with a helpless smile, she said without looking toward the doorway, “You’re here, aren’t you?”
“How’d you guess,” Zack’s voice teased.
“Turning her head, she watched him stroll forward with his tuxedo jacket slung negligently over
his shoulder and hooked on his thumb, the gleaming gold Oscar he’d won for Best Director dangling from his left hand.
“You’re supposed to be there, accepting your award,” Julie reminded him, but she wrapped her free arm tightly around his broad shoulders as he sat down beside her hip. “Congratulations, darling.”
Careful not to squash his sleeping son, Zack kissed his wife’s mouth and then her cheek. “I’m exactly where I wanted to be at this moment,” he whispered tenderly as he nuzzled her neck. “The only place I wanted to be.”
She brushed her fingertips against his cheek. “Nicky and I are awfully proud of you,” she said softly, and Zack felt the unaccustomed sting of tears behind his eyes as he looked at her shining face and his son cuddled at her breast, his tiny fist resting on a satin fold of her dressing gown. “He’s falling asleep,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “Shall I put him in his crib?”
“You can try,” Julie said, carefully handing the sleeping baby over to him.
After putting his son down, Zack kicked off his shiny tuxedo shoes and stretched out beside her on the bed, pulling her tightly to his side. “Thank you for my son,” he whispered, and because his emotions seemed perilously close to the surface tonight, he looked around for something to distract him. His gaze fell on the book lying face down on the table beside the bed, and he seized on that. “What book are you reading?”
Not once during the writing of Julie’s book or its steps through production had she been willing to discuss it with him. Zack was an exacting professional, and she’d been afraid that any criticism from him would either crush or panic her. The time of reckoning was here, however, and she drew a nervous breath. “It’s my book—an early copy, fresh off the press. Sally sent it over to me this morning.”