Priscilla wrinkled her brow as she scrubbed another plate. “I was there, not in a white dress, though. I’m not sure if it was my wedding or not. But there were white roses and Elvis. Not young Elvis, but the rhinestone-jumpsuit version.” She shrugged and stacked the plate in the drainer. “How silly is that?”
Luc sucked in a breath and concentrated on not overreacting. Stay calm. His heart pounded, but he managed to say in a low voice, “Was he singing ‘Love Me Tender’?”
Her hands stopped cleaning the plate. “How did you—”
“That was our wedding.”
That brought her head up with a snap, shock rimming her eyes. “What?”
“We got married in the Graceland Wedding Chapel.” He swallowed past the lump of emotion clogging his throat, the thought that maybe this was a breakthrough that would lead to their having a real discussion about their future. “An Elvis impersonator presided over the ceremony.” His lips twisted with a smile. “Or, I should say, Jumpsuit Elvis did.”
Priscilla’s entire body stilled.
Luc kept his voice steady as he added, “He sang ‘Love Me Tender’ after he pronounced us husband and wife.”
* * *
Priscilla stared at Luc, her hands holding the plate she’d been about to wash suspended over the suds. Her dream wasn’t a dream at all but a memory! Were the bricks at last coming down from the wall her subconscious had erected after witnessing the shootings?
The plate plopped back into the sink, shooting bubbles into the air like confetti. “That was us? You were the one beside me?” She couldn’t slow the revved emotions in her body any more than a blow-dryer set on high. “I’ve had that dream off and on for years, but never saw the groom’s face or even thought it was my wedding.”
Despite the soapy water, Luc took her hands in his and gave them a light squeeze. “I am relieved to know you didn’t completely block out everything from that night.”
“You make it sound like I did it on purpose.” She pulled her hands away and plunged them back into the water to grab another plate. His tone might not have been accusatory, but his words still rankled.
“I didn’t ‘block out’ anything—I saw something so horrifying, I haven’t been able to remember all the details of that night or the hours before the shootings.” She rinsed the plate and stopped herself from slamming it into a slot in the drainer.
Luc spread his hands, palms up, in a conciliatory gesture. “Priscilla, I didn’t mean to imply...”
While washing the last plate, she plowed over his words. “Maybe not, but you seem to think that I should be overjoyed to see you, and by merely telling me we’re married, I should fall into your arms.” She set the plate into the drainer and pulled the plugs in the double sink.
“No, that’s not true.” He held out the towel to her.
“I think it is.” She snatched it and dried her hands. It felt good to let some of the anger and fear over the situation with Culvert spill over.
She tossed the towel on the counter. “How did you find me? I know you said a bunch of stuff about knowing where to look, blah, blah, blah. But since you appeared, I’ve been shot at, nearly set on fire, and hit on the head.” She planted her hands on her hips, her voice rising. “How do I know you didn’t bring Culvert’s attention to me? That he didn’t find me because of your searches?”
“That’s a very good question.” Mac offered a tight smile from the kitchen doorway. “One that we’re looking into.”
Priscilla reined in her emotions with several deep breaths. “I didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow morning.”
Mac pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head as he assessed her with a sweep of his eyes. “You look better than when I dropped you off here at 6:00 a.m.”
“I feel better. Not quite back to my old self, but better.” She flicked a glance at Luc, then voiced a question that had been burning in her mind since Luc’s initial revelation that he was her husband. “Have you found out whether he’s even telling the truth about us being married?”