Afterward, he lay beside me. “My fiancée. My own Marjorie.” His voice had the giddiness of a youngster. “The girls…I told them. Before I asked you, I wanted to let them know.”
I turned, angling my body toward his. “And what did they say?”
His beautiful face darkened. A slow exhale, and then Joe said, “At the risk of entirely ruining our celebratory mood, they told me they will do everything they can to break you and me apart.”
I nodded, taking a moment to collect my thoughts before offering a reply. “Well, Joe, I’m happy to hear it.”
His face crumpled in confusion. “What?” he asked.
I sat up, propping myself on my elbows, my voice resolute as I said: “I wouldn’t expect anything less, and frankly, it makes me think that much more of them. I wouldn’t have any use for a girl who felt differently. I only hope that, with time, I can show them who I really am, and what their father and I share.”
Chapter 35
New York City
“Third time, I’ll make it stick.” I stood before the full-length mirror in my bedroom suite, putting the finishing touches on my wedding gown, a velvet creation of pale pink with long sleeves and rose embellishments. Even though the tradition among society brides had been to wear white ever since Queen Victoria had set the trend, I was no virginal bride, and there was no pretending I was. I was a mother of three, marrying a divorcé who had three of his own, and since this would be my third time down the aisle, I had done away with the aisle altogether, Joe and I opting for a private, informal affair at my place, surrounded by just members of our families and a few of our closest friends, including, of course, May and Jay.
I’d had fun with the preparations, ordering a massive cake weighing over two hundred pounds, and I’d filled the home with more than a thousand fresh flowers. The winter morning dawned clear and cold. President Roosevelt sent us a telegram of congratulations. And Joe slipped me a note that arrived on my breakfast tray: “You are the best of me, and praise be, I am the best of you.”
How was such a man mine? I had always yearned for love. Twice I had thought I’d found it only to see the specter shift before me without my ever really understanding how—or when—the rupture had happened. After those twin failures, I’d lost hope that a lasting love would ever truly be mine. And yet here he was. The best man of them all. My Joey. And because of what I had been through before him, I could appreciate it all the more. The pain had all been worth it to bring me to this moment, the start of my life as Mrs. Joseph Davies.
As the hour for our exchange of vows approached and our handful of guests began to trickle in, dressed in their lush sable coats and creamy satin gowns, word got out somehow that I was getting married inside on that cold day a couple of weeks before Christmas. Within minutes, a crowd began to gather on the street in front of my door. A few brazen reporters tried to enter, and when my butler declined to let them in, they decided to stand sentry-like, flashbulbs raised, ready to snap a photograph should Joe or I decide to glance out the window.
“Send them all some cake,” I said, as I floated happily among my arriving guests.
Billie was there, and I smiled as I kissed her in welcome, asking how the preparations were going for her role as Glinda the Good Witch in the upcoming picture The Wizard of Oz. “It’s coming along,” Billie answered. “Judy is a lovely young girl. But speaking of lovely…Marjorie, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking this happy.”
At that my eyes slid across the small crowd to where my soon-to-be husband was greeting his close friend Stephen Early, press secretary to President Roosevelt. I turned back to Billie, taking her hand in mine. “That’s because I am happy, Billie,” I answered, squeezing her palm.
My friend returned my smile. “Then I’m happy for you, Marjorie, dear.”
And yet, I could not claim that sentiment was shared by all who were gathered in our home on that cold day. “You sound like Marie Antoinette,” Deenie grumbled as she stood at my side. “Let them eat cake.” She waved her hands with a theatrically haughty look on her beautiful young face. She was in a sour mood, angry with me, I knew, for getting married to a man other than her father. Had she punished Ned like this on his remarriage? I wondered. But I didn’t ask, because, really, what did it matter? That was between her and Ned. I was her mother, and I would do everything in my power to set things right between us, and between her and Joe as well. And I knew that she would come to love my Joey eventually. There was no way to know the man and not love him.