Cameron laughed. “No offense, Tom, but I didn’t fly a thousand miles to bunk with you and the groom.”
“Of course, of course,” Bridgett said, moving between Tom and Cameron, batting down the contention. “I’m sorry, I should’ve planned better. Oh, bother, we don’t have any more rooms in the house. Lindy could share, but she’s such a light sleeper and I promised her a private room. The rest of the family arrives in the morning and will need their rooms to rest and get ready. I’d hate for the staff to have to redo them . . . Oh, I know. Ginger,” Bridgett crossed over to her, eyes wide with her pending solution. “You can stay out at the homestead tonight.” The bride peered at the others, satisfied with her quick solution.
“The homestead?” Tom said. “That place at the end of the property? It’s like a mile away.”
Ginger snatched Tom’s arm. What was he, reverend attorney? She didn’t need his defense. “Tom, it’s okay. Don’t make more out of the situation than necessary.”
“Thank you, Ginger. Yes, Tom, it’s a bit far but it’s very nice. Daddy’s been fixing it up. Ginger, you’ll love it. It’s right on the edge of the woods.”
“Is there a road to this homestead?” Tom insisted on defending her. “Last time I was here, the old road had been busted up. You had to cross a field to get there.”
“Yes, Tom,” Bridgett said with a sigh. “There’s a road, sort of, a path really.”
“Is it safe?”
“Of course.” Bridgett laughed, but not in a fun way. More of an aghast way.
“Look,” he said, stepping forward, addressing the entire wedding party like a jury. Tom, please shut up. But Ginger couldn’t release the words. Speaking out would only draw more attention to this humiliating situation. “Let Ginger stay in my room. I’ll go out there.”
“Kind of need you here, man,” Eric said, securing his arm around Bridgett, holding her close. “You’re my best man.”
Enough. Ginger hopped off her stool. “Bridgett, thank you for dinner.” She mined every ounce of cheer and joviality. “I’ve not unloaded my things yet so I can easily move. Point me in the direction of the old homestead.”
“Perfect.” Bridgett walked Ginger through the clustered bridal party, and guest, Cameron Bourcher, out of the drawing room, down the hall, their footsteps echoing with fading ooohs and ahhhs over Cameron, who apparently arrived via his private jet.
“Really, Ginger, the old homestead is lovely.” Bridgett walked with her onto the veranda, into the rain-soaked night. Bridgett’s instructions to the homestead billowed in the frosty air.
“Go to the end of this driveway . . .” she circled her hand in the air. “Turn left like you’re going back to the main road. About twenty yards down . . .” She leaned toward Eric, who had just joined them. “Wouldn’t you say about twenty yards?”
“Roughly. Just look for the sign.”
“Right, the sign. It’s on your left. It says ‘Homestead.’ Can’t miss it. Turn there and just keep going straight until you run into the old place. A one-story ranch.”
“Do I need a key or anything?”
“Nope, Daddy keeps it unlocked.”
“Then how can you say it’s safe?” Tom’s voice boomed over Ginger’s left shoulder.
“Because it’s a mile out that way . . . because the plantation is gated.” Bridgett swatted at Tom. “Stop being a killjoy. The homestead is safe, Ginger.”
“The woods aren’t gated.” Tom moved to the edge of the veranda, staring into the darkness.
“And what’s back there?” Bridgett demanded. “Nothing but deer and wildlife.”
“Maybe a bear or two.”
“Now you’re just making stuff up.”
Ginger stepped forward, unwilling to be an object in their debate, tugging her keys from her jeans pocket. “Turn left at the sign?”
“You can’t miss it.” Bridgett smiled. “See you in the morning. Come early for breakfast. Oh, Ginger, tomorrow’s my big day.”
“I’ll be here at eight to set up.” Ginger took one step down. “You’re going to be beautiful.” If she was banished to the outer regions of the Maynard plantation, she was going to do it with grace. “I’m bringing my A-game tomorrow.”
“I knew you would. I showed you the look I wanted, right? The one on Tracie’s last album. That was your handiwork?”
“It was, and I’m all set to make you even more beautiful than Tracie.” Now, let’s forget this mess and move on. Ginger moved down the steps, through the freezing rain, keys gripped in her hand.
If she was known only for making others beautiful, if that was her life’s signature, wouldn’t that be enough?
Slipping behind the VW’s wheel, Ginger slammed the door and fought a surprise wash of tears. No, it wasn’t enough. The heart wants what it wants. And Ginger’s heart wanted love and freedom from her scars.