Free School of Fortune by Amanda Brown Page A

feathers. “I’m so happy to see you,” she cried, plastering his face with kisses. “Where have you been?”
    â€œKeeping the guys out of jail.” Lance buried his nose in Pippa’s neck. “Diorissimo?”
    Lance had always been exceptional at identifying perfume. “It’s a custom Ricci blend. Ginny and I were looking for you today.”
    â€œSo I hear.”
    â€œYou haven’t introduced me to Woody.”
    â€œHe’s in the next car.”
    â€œDid you two find a cummerbund?”
    Lance put two fingers under her chin and raised her face. “Is this an interrogation?”
    â€œAbsolutely. I’m insanely jealous.”
    â€œYes, we found a cummerbund.”
    â€œI would have loved to help you shop.”
    â€œAnd I would have loved to have you there. But I wasn’t about to risk the wrath of Thayne by removing you from scheduled events.” Lance kissed her. “Forgive me?”
    Pippa’s smile lit up the back seat. “Always.”

Five
    A n hour before the Henderson Ball was to begin, seven hundred people had gathered outside Texas Stadium to watch guests arrive in their Bentleys, Aston Martins, and Hummer limousines. When it started to sprinkle, valets held umbrellas aloft, protecting the hair of Dallas from contact with ordinary rainwater. Crews from the local stations and
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recorded every step as women in glittery gowns and men in tuxedos traversed a red carpet into the stadium. The onlookers applauded almost nonstop. This was way more fun than rubbernecking at Oscar night because Dallas society women, unlike Hollywood actresses, did not believe that less was more, especially when it came to hair, jewels, makeup, sequins, ermine, and teeth.
    Commandos in headsets kept the parade flowing evenly from vehicle to arena. Inside the stadium, guests wandered between four climate-controlled tents, one for each season, as they awaited the wedding party. Rosimund had borrowed the season idea after reading about a gala that the Emir of Kuwait had thrown for the Sultan of Brunei. In keeping with her Chinese numerologist’s reading that four was her lucky number, she planned to serve a four-course meal that included black and white truffles, delicate game meats, rare grains, four wines, and Veuve Clicquot instead of the gassier Cristal that Thayne preferred. The first tent, stark white, was a winter garden containing a veritable forest of bamboo trees as well as two gigantic Plexiglas enclosures, one housing a pair of pandas, the other a pair of Siberian snow leopards. While sipping cocktails, guests could marvel at the animals, eat Kumamoto oysters, and watch a laser light show. A gamelan orchestra from Java serenaded A-listers who had come to Dallas for the wedding of the century. Souvenir booklets informed all that the laser exhibition was visible from the moon; the big hit of the evening was a gigantic hologram of Lance and Rosimund hovering like benevolent deities one hundred feet above the stadium.
    When she was finally en route from Meyerson Center, Rosimund phoned her majordomo. “Begin moving guests into the second tent.”
    â€œThank you, madam,” Harry replied. The chefs were going ballistic because dinner was one hour behind schedule. “Did rehearsal go well?”
    â€œAs well as could be expected of a three-ring circus.”
    Within moments the word “dinner” began flashing over and over in the sky. Guests headed for the next tent. During their long wait to be fed something more substantial than oysters and finger sculptures, they had had ample time to study the seating charts situated throughout the bamboo forest. Everyone now poured toward their tables with a great sense of anticipation.
    The decor of the second tent evoked springtime. Forty tables were set in soft blues and pinks; a brass cage ensconcing two mechanical lovebirds topped the floral centerpiece on each table. The birds chirped