Page 118 of The Maid's Secret

We make our way to the lower steps, and Gran-dad releases me. Juan steps up to take his place at my side—so dashing, so handsome. My lovely bridesmaids file in behind me, and behind Juan, his mates from the kitchen stand in a neat, black-tied row.

Charlotte speaks as the music dims. “Welcome, one and all. We are here today to join this hardworking maid and this talented pastry chef in lifelong matrimony. At the request of Juan Manuel Morales and Molly Gray, I’m to keep this service short and sweet—why? Because they’re both concerned that having so much of the Regency Grand staff gathered here leaves the rest of the workers shorthanded.”

Muffled laughter echoes through the lobby.

“If that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know about this wonderful couple, I don’t know what does,” says Charlotte. “You have watched this relationship blossom right here in this hotel, proof that love can grow pretty much anywhere—and under the strangest circumstances.”

Charlotte reaches into a pocket of her skirt and takes out a ring. “For many years, this ring graced my father’s finger. You know him as Mr.Preston, the former doorman of this hotel. This ring was given to him on his wedding day by my dear departed mother, Mary. He now offers it to Molly to give to Juan. Molly?”

I take a deep breath, then grasp the ring between my fingers. Juan is right beside me, his beautiful brown eyes brimming with tears. I take his warm hand in mine, and I place Gran-dad’s ring on Juan’s finger. Then I speak the vow I have practiced in front of the bathroom mirror so many times—“Juan Manuel, in the hope that our love will shine forever,” I say, “I have polished this ring to perfection. With it, I thee wed.”

I feel his hand grip mine.

My gran-dad steps forward. He takes a ring from his breast pocket, holding it up for the crowd to see. “This ring may look familiar to you. Molly has been wearing it as her engagement ring for many months now. Juan was desperate to buy her a new ring, but she refused. She wants only this one. It once belonged to her beloved grandmother, Flora Gray, and it was Flora’s dream that Molly would one day wear it on her finger, carrying her heart—and mine—with her wherever she goes.”

My gran-dad passes the ring to Juan.

“Molly Gray,mi amor,” Juan says, “in every language, you are the love of my life, and I will cherish you to the end of my days. With this ring, I thee wed.”

He fits the familiar ring onto my finger, and as I look down at it, I’m certain it’s shining more brightly than ever before. I look up into Juan’s beaming face as Charlotte says, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

We’ve gone through all of this before, but it suddenly occurs to me that we’re about to make a terrible faux pas, an unthinkable breach of etiquette and decorum.

“Wait!” I say, stopping Juan before his lips meet mine. I search outMr.Snow in the row of guests before me. “I forgot to request your permission,” I say. “Mr.Snow, is this okay?”

“Is what okay?” he asks as his glasses slip down his nose.

“That we kiss,” I say. “It’s most certainly against hotel policy for workers to snogen pleine vuein the lobby.”

“For the love of ducks, Molly!” Angela calls out.

“Be a rebel! Break the rule!” Speedy calls out.

“Molly, of course it’s okay,” says Mr.Snow.

I look at Juan, and I nod. He leans in and kisses me, and I throw my arms around him with complete abandon.

A whoop of joy crescendos around us. Am I levitating or has my brand-new husband lifted me off the floor? When I open my eyes again, I’m on the bottom step of the grand staircase, held in the arms of a man who for richer or poorer, in sickness or in health, will love me for the rest of my days. Never in my life have I been happier than in this moment.

—

It is late. I’m sitting on the stage in the Regency Grand Tearoom. I’ve kicked off my white kitten heels, though no felines were harmed in their creation. I’m sitting in my beautiful white wedding dress, resting my feet after too much dancing. This night—it’s been the most magical of my entire life. It’s not over yet, though. I just need a little break to catch my breath.

The guests are still on the dance floor—maids and bellhops, waiters and cooks, valets and receptionists. The men have loosened their ties, and like me, the women are now mostly barefoot. True to his word, DJ Slay is “killing it with the spins.” Song after song, the guests just keep on dancing. Even Mr.Snow is in on it. He’s removed his pocket square and is waving it as a flag as he leads a conga line around the room. Cheryl is between Sunitha and Sunshine, her face a tight grimace, but her feet do a little bunny hop that reveals more joy than I’ve ever seen her express before. Angela’s hair has gone completelyrogue, and Lily, who’s in line behind her, squeals every time she’s swatted by an unruly strand. My gran-dad sits at a table with Baxley Brown, Steve, and Detective Stark. They’re all grinning at the antics on the floor. Angela grabs the detective, who tries to protest but eventually claims her natural role as the conga line’s powerful tail.

Juan is walking toward me. He climbs the stairs to the stage and collapses in the seat beside mine.

“This is for you,” he says, offering me a Regency Grand plate with a slice of cake on it. It’s not just any cake. It’s the top layer of the Noah’s ark wedding cake his staff baked specially for us, featuring two of every marzipanimal Juan has ever created. The literalpièce de résistancenow stands on the slice in front of me—two giraffes, one in a black tuxedo, the other in a white wedding gown.

“We’re giraffe marzipanimals,” I say.

“It’s a marzi-miracle,” Juan replies.

“This whole night feels like a miracle, a dream come true.”

“The speeches,” Juan says. “I’ll never forget them.”

“Nor will I,” I say. First, Mr.Snow gave a toast that turned into a long-winded discourse on a drone’s duty to protect the queen bee. When Angela cut him off, Speedy took the floor, saying something I barely understood. Last, my gran-dad, a.k.a. Mr.Preston, thanked all the guests for attending and spoke at length about the great mystery of love. “If it’s false, it never returns; if it’s true, it comes back to you when you least expect it,” he said. He then reminded us that those who could not attend our wedding in person were there in spirit. At first, I thought he meant Juan’s family, but when he looked at me and bowed his head, I knew exactly who he meant—Gran. And I also knew that he, like me, had accepted the fact that Maggie—his daughter, my mother—was never coming back again.

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