W E HAD A BEAUTIFUL WEDDING. Three hundred guests, hosted by Mary and Roger Adler. Ruby was my maid of honor. I wore a jewelnecked taffeta gown, covered with rose-point lace, with sleeves down to my wrists and a full lace skirt. It was designed by Vivian Worley, the head costumer for Sunset. Gwendolyn did my hair, pulled back into a simple but flawless bun, to which my tulle veil was attached. There wasn’t much of the wedding that was planned by us; it was controlled almost entirely by Mary and Roger and the rest by Sunset. Don was expected to play the game exactly the way his parents wanted it played. Even then I could tell he was eager to get out of their shadow, to eclipse their stardom with his own. Don had been raised to believe that fame was the only power worth pursuing, and what I loved about him was that he was ready to become the most powerful person in any room by becoming the most adored. And while our wedding might have been at the whim of others, our love and our commitment to each other felt sacred. When Don and I looked into each other’s eyes and held hands as we said “I do” at the Beverly Hills Hotel, it felt like it was just the two of us up there, despite being surrounded by half of Hollywood. Toward the end of the night, after the wedding bells and our announcement as a married couple, Harry pulled me aside. He asked me how I was doing. “I’m the most famous bride in the world right now,” I said. “I’m great.” Harry laughed. “You'll be happy?” he asked. “With Don? He’s going to take good care of you?” “T have no doubt about it.” I believed in my heart that I’d found someone who understood me, or at least understood the me I was trying to be. At the age of nineteen, I thought Don was my happy ending. Harry put his arm around me and said, “I’m happy for you, kid.” I grabbed his hand before he could pull it away. I’d had two glasses of champagne, and I was feeling fresh. “How come you never tried anything?” I asked him. “We’ve known each other a few years now. Not even a kiss on the cheek.”