The Wedding Veil(19)
“Excuse me,” he said, “my wife and I are on our honeymoon, but we weren’t able to book seats together.” He winked at me. “Is there any way you could help?”
The gate agent took our passports and typed for what seemed like an absurd amount of time for a simple seat change.
“All right, love birds,” she finally said. “I managed to get you seats together and a first-class upgrade too.”
“Wow! Thank you so much.” I took the few steps to the small waiting area and sat down in the navy seat that looked like it had the least amount of crumbs on it.
“I’m Julia Baxter, by the way,” I said as my “husband” sat down next to me. “Probably good to know your fake wife’s name in case we’re questioned.”
“I’m Conner Howard.” He leaned over. “I would shake your hand, but the gate agent might find that weird.”
I stopped, my mouth gaping and my mind racing, putting the pieces of what I knew about this man together frantically. “You’re Conner Howard. Like the Conner Howard?”
The man complaining about his shitty CAD drawings was the up-and-comer in the architectural world that everyone was watching, that was making every who’s who and big voice in the industry feel threatened and thrilled all at the same time. He’d been the youngest member of Architectural Digest’s AD100 this year. He was, like, my age.
I was on the verge of gushing as the voice on the loudspeaker announced, “Priority, you may board now.”
Conner, looking amused, stood and led me through the line.
“Garrison Towers is my favorite building. I mean, seriously, my favorite,” I gushed as I stepped over the metal threshold and onto the plane.
“Okay, wifey, let’s take it down a notch.” I barely noticed how nice it was of him to put our matching bags in the overhead compartment, I was so taken.
“I mean, the lines and the symmetry… The way you implemented those half floors.” I gasped.
We sat down side by side and got situated. Then he placed his hand on mine. “Are you joking?” He looked around. “Did someone put you up to this? Because there is no way anyone in the world is nerdy enough to have a favorite building, especially not one designed by me.”
“Um, no. No one put me up to this. I’m honestly just that nerdy.”
“So, are you an architect too?”
As his question seared through me, I felt the detestable scrunch between my eyes that my mom said was going to give me wrinkles. Maybe technically I was. Or, at least, could be. But I wasn’t in the habit of sharing my failures with cute plane strangers, so I just said, “You could say I’m an architecture enthusiast.” There. That was true.
“May I get you something to sip on before we take off, Mr. and Mrs.…” she trailed off.
Conner smiled at the flight attendant with the grin that had changed for me in the past few minutes. Where I had been interested in but a little annoyed by this stranger, now I was completely starstruck.
“Have you decided yet whether you’re going to take my name?” he asked.
Earlier I would have said no, but now… “Um, yes.” I looked up at the flight attendant. “Julia Howard has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”
Conner laughed and squeezed my hand. “I’ll have an IPA and Julia here would love—”
He turned to look at me. “Oh, honey, you know,” I said playfully, suddenly feeling giddy. “I always have a rosé before takeoff.”
He looked back at the flight attendant. “You know what? We’re celebrating. How about some champagne?”
My mind raced with questions for one of the foremost architects in the country who had also proven himself to be funny and kind. So, no, today had not gone exactly the way I had planned. But, even still, I was going to end it by drinking champagne with a cute guy. As the plane took off for its four-hour flight, my problems started to seem so far away—and, for the first time in a long time, I felt like anything was possible.
CORNELIA Laid to Rest
March 6, 1914
Thirteen-year-old Cornelia Vanderbilt had always preferred Asheville to Washington, D.C., but, even still, this house on K Street had felt like home. Now, her heart racing in her chest, she knew it would never feel like home again.
“Daddy!” Cornelia screamed breathlessly, shaking her father’s arm. “Daddy!”
“George!” Edith yelled, uselessly, putting her hand to her husband’s face.
Cornelia and Edith had returned upstairs after getting George’s glass of water and newspapers and found him slumped over, lifeless.
“Emma!” Edith screamed to her lady’s maid. “Get Dr. Mitchell immediately!”
“Dr. Finney said you were fine, Daddy!” Cornelia screamed. “Wake up!” Her shouts turned to sobs.
Cornelia’s and Edith’s eyes met over George, Cornelia’s hot panic turning into a deep, silent dread. She noticed her mother was breathing hard as they shared a look, a knowledge: they had lost him.
Just the night before George had seemed almost well to Cornelia, joking about keeping the boys in D.C. away from his daughter, who was attending an all-girls school but who still had plenty of opportunity to come in contact with suitable young men. George had had nothing more than a routine appendectomy. He had been to one of the finest surgeons in the country. He had to be okay. He just had to.