I don't want to wear my bridesmaid's dress a moment longer than necessary, so after I shower, I curl my hair and put on an eggshell sundress with pale flowers printed all over it. I pair it with an ecru sweater. Troy's impatient to go, so he doesn't even put up a fuss when I dress him in a little blue suit with an Easter green tie and shiny white shoes. I do have to admit, he looks precious. Mary chose Easter-y colors: pale blue, green and purple. Her other bridesmaids, Paisley, Addy, and one of her work friends, Robin, are wearing pale green with bright blue hydrangea bouquets. But for me, her maid of honor, Mary wanted something special.
Which is how I ended up with a three thousand dollar, lilac, gosh awful monstrosity.
I wad up the dress that could have paid for my last semester in college twice over and stuff it into the trunk of my car. At least my bouquet is gorgeous, a scaled down version of Mary's. Huge white roses, breathtaking blue orchids, and purple hydrangeas with a few perfect, punctuating spots of bright greenery. The florist sent us a photo this morning.
“Ready, ready, ready Mom?” Troy asks.
I load up his bag of stuff and usher him into the back. I buckle him in, and we're on our way.
To Paul's house.
I'm at a red light when Mary texts me. TELL MOM SHE CAN COME AND SIT IN THE BACK.
Of course. Because Saint Mary always does the elegant thing. Why'd she get all the grace while I got all the spite? I shoot off a quick text to our egg donor. YOU SIT IN THE BACK. YOU DON'T EMBRACE US OR GUSH OR MAKE A TOAST. YOU SIT. YOU WATCH. YOU LEAVE. GOT IT?
She replies. YES.
Fine. I send her the address and put my phone down so I can drive the rest of the way safely. When I pull up in the circular drive in front of Paul's house, Troy says what I'm thinking. “Does the President live here?”
The house isn't white, but Troy's too young to know the President lives in a white house. It is absolutely enormous, a traditional red brick facade, but with small white stone accents that seem to emphasize the grandeur. “No, honey, this is Uncle Luke's brother's house.”
His mouth forms into a large O. “Uncle Luke's brother must be really, really rich.”
“I think you're right.”
A valet greets us, and I'm glad we don't need to coordinate parking at this private residence. Geo is really good at her job. I pass my keys off gratefully and help Troy out of his seat in the back. I sling his bag and mine over my shoulders and then open the trunk to retrieve my dress.
“Here let me,” Paul offers. I didn't even see where he came from. He's just suddenly here, offering his help.
“It's your friend who’s a boy,” Troy says. “Hi!”
Paul takes a bag from my shoulder before I can stop him, and then snags my garment bag. He squats down near Troy and says, “You can call me Paul if you want.”
“Paul.” Troy studies Paul's face, from his short beard to his bright hazel eyes. “I think that's a good name for you.”
“Better than Jack?” I ask.
Troy scrunches his nose. “I know someone named Jack at church. He poops his pants sometimes.”
I bark a laugh before I can help it. “The Jack I know makes a big stink on occasion as well.”
Paul's mouth curves into a smile. “I'm going to stick with Paul then. How does that sound?”
Troy nods. “Good idea.”
We follow Paul up the inclined walkway toward his front door, Troy's basket clutched tightly in his tiny hands. When we reach the steps, Troy takes Paul's hand in his free one. My heart skips a beat and I stop walking to watch. Troy's usually so clingy that he'll refuse help from anyone but me. Sometimes he'll allow Mary to substitute, but just as often he refuses even her.
“Mom?” Troy turns around at the top of the steps. “Aren't you coming? We've got to see this cool house. I bet there's a great train table inside.”
“Oh no.” Paul smacks his forehead. “I don't have a train table yet. I guess I should get one soon.”
“Wait, this isn't your house. It's Uncle Luke's brother's house. Mom told me.” Troy looks from me to Paul.
“Your mom is right.” Paul crouches down again. “In addition to being your mom's friend, I also happen to be your Uncle Luke's brother.”
Troy's tiny eyebrow rises and his nose scrunches. “Why didn't you tell me that before?”
“I didn't know,” Paul says.
Troy lifts both eyebrows this time. “You didn't know Uncle Luke was your brother?”
Paul laughs. “I didn't realize he was your Uncle. I hadn't figured out who your mother was yet. She worked with me, but we hadn't realized we had another connection.”
“That's weird.” Troy walks through the front door and Winnie nearly knocks him over.
Paul yanks Winnie back by the collar, but Troy doesn't seem to mind the canine exuberance.
“I agree,” I say to Troy. “This whole situation is weird.” I follow him through the doorway and into a huge entry hall. Vaulted doesn't begin to cover the arched cathedral ceilings, entirely done in beautiful red brick.
“Why you don't have a train table?” Troy spins around in a circle. “With such a big house, you have room for four train tables.”
Paul laughs. “I didn't have the vision for it, I suppose.”
“This brick is stunning,” I say. “I love it.”
Paul beams at me. “It's sort of the theme in the house. It's in the kitchen as a wall accent, the family room in the ceiling again, and on various accent walls throughout the home.”
I shake my head. “I have toilets at my place, and they flush.” I don't point out that my house doesn't even belong to me.
Paul laughs. “Come on. Easter egg hunt won't start for twenty minutes. I can give you a tour if you want.”
Troy claps. “I want one.”
Oh good grief. We follow him through all seven bedrooms and all eleven bathrooms. “My favorite room is the library,” I tell him once we've returned to the entry. “All those books, and all that dark wood.”
“You like to read?” he asks.
“It was the best thing about being a stay at home mom,” I say. “I used to read as many books as I could carry home from the library. I haven't read a page since going back to school, though. Which is a bummer.”
“I never have time lately either. I hope that will change soon.”
“Can we go look for eggs yet?”
Chase runs through the doorway and I notice that one of his sneakers is untied, and his hair’s poking up in the back in several directions.
“Troy!” he yells.
Everything is yelled when you're less than eight years old, so Troy replies in kind, “Chase!”
Troy follows Chase out the back without another word spoken.
“I'm guessing that Chase knows his way around and can help Troy navigate?”
Paul nods. “He's spent a lot of time here, yes.”
“Even so, I better make sure Troy isn't getting into anything he shouldn't.”
“There's nothing they can hurt.”
I glance around the room pointedly. “I don't see much they couldn't damage.”
“Let me rephrase. There's nothing I'd be upset about if they destroyed.”
“Even so.” I start for the back door Troy just shot out.
Paul grabs my arm, and then lets go like I burned him. “Trudy, wait, please.”
“What?”
Paul steps toward me hesitantly. “You didn't text me back, so I'm guessing you're still mad. Which is totally fine, but I really wanted to apologize in person. I am so sorry that I hurt you with my deception. I thought I needed to do something alone, without my brother. I thought I needed to prove something.”
“And? Did you do it? Do you feel better?”
“I did what I meant to do,” he says, “but it didn't prove anything. Or, at least, I realized I was worrying about something that didn't matter.”
“That's between you and Luke.”
He steps closer, his body heat radiating towa
rd me, closing the inches between us. I sway toward him involuntarily. “Does that mean you aren't mad anymore?”
I look away so I can think. “No, I'm not mad.”
Paul shifts so he can see my face. “So we're okay?”
“There's no 'we', Paul. We hung out once, that's it.”
“Twice at least, and what if I want there to be a we?”
My heart lurches and my hands shake. “Do you?”
“Of course I do. I thought I'd been pretty clear. My feelings haven't changed. In fact, knowing Mary's your sister just confirms that you are the good person I thought you were.”
I look around his house. Two acres on the Chattahoochee River? Ten thousand square feet? A five-car garage? This is a two million dollar home, easy. Probably way more. Harvard grad, business owner and inventor. Paul's more than I deserve. More than most anyone deserves.
I couldn't even keep Chris' interest. I lost myself when we were married. I disappeared into what I thought Chris wanted. I like Paul. I'd be an idiot not to. I'm just not sure that the Trudy who's emerging, someone I like, will be able to survive Hurricane Paul.
“Trudy?”
I open my mouth, but I have no idea what to say. I breathe a sigh of relief when Mary opens the door to the front yard and interrupts us. “Easter egg hunt time!”
Troy runs inside with a smile on his face. Then his eyes widen in alarm. “Mom, my basket!”
I look around helplessly. I don't see it. “Where did you put it?”
“Mom, it's starting! I'm going to miss it!”
Which wouldn't be that bad, honestly. Because Troy needs a huge basket of candy like I need to give Chris a second chance. “Well, sweetheart, you should have left it with me.”
Paul snaps his fingers. “I think you left it in the bathtub upstairs. In that white and black bathroom.” He sprints up his spiral staircase, and returns a moment later with a Spiderman basket in his hands. Bless him.
Troy darts out the door a split second later.
“Thanks,” I say.
Paul walks alongside me and reaches for my hand, but I can't. I pull away and walk faster until we're standing at the edge of the hunt, brightly colored eggs covering the front lawn. Three dozen kids have lined up along the driveway.
“Uncle Paul gets to tell us when to go,” Amy says. “Cuz it's his house and that means he's the boss.”
“Okay,” Paul says, “I'll count down from five.”
The kids dart out the second he reaches one, scooping up eggs as fast as they can. Except Troy's one of the younger kids and he's not getting many. His crestfallen look slays me. Paul notices it, too. He jogs over and guides Troy toward the edge of the lawn, where dozens of eggs are hidden in the bushes.
I sprint after him. “Not so many,” I whisper. “He's diabetic, remember?”
Paul nods. “It's fine. I know he is, so I changed out the candy for cash.”
Seconds later, a kid near the edge of the yard squeals. “There's five dollars in mine.”
Kids start cracking their eggs immediately, all of them screeching. “I got a twenty!”
I meet Paul's eye. “Seriously?”
He shrugs. “I had to use what I had on hand and what I could get from the ATM and the corner store at ten p.m.”
An image of Paul replacing hundreds of eggs last night once it hit him my son would be hunting here today flashes through my mind. Then I consider the cost. I close my eyes. He puts an arm around me. “I'm sorry. Was that the wrong thing to do?”
It was so right. Too right. More than he should have done.
“No,” I say. “Not at all. It was very thoughtful. I'm just sorry you went to so much trouble for us.”
“It wasn't a big deal,” he says. “Honestly.”
I lean my head against his shoulder and watch as Troy cracks his eggs and exclaims over quarters, dollars, twenties and a hundred-dollar bill. I turn sharply toward Paul when I see that.
“I only put in one of those. I knew it was in the bushes when I rushed him over,” he admits sheepishly.
I can't even guess what he just spent. I suppose it's not as big of a deal to him, but money is still money.
“You know, there is one really sad thing about you throwing all that money away,” I say.
“What?” he asks.
“How will you ever afford to buy four train tables for your entry hall now?”
He laughs. “I may have to settle for just one.”
“A real tragedy. Well, at least you have room to put in right in center of the entry.”
“You think it should go smack in the middle, huh?” he asks.
“I mean, I think you need it there so everyone who comes over can marvel at its magnificence.”
“Great idea,” Paul says. “Vision, like I said earlier.”
“Brunch is ready in the back pavilion,” Geo announces. “And once you’ve all had something to eat, I'm going to send Mary to get changed for the wedding.”
“Speaking of,” I say to Paul. “Any idea where my dress went?”
“I hung it up in the blue guest room for you. You can change in there whenever you want.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I appreciate it.”
Paul walks me and Troy out back and pulls out a few measuring cups to fix Troy a plate.
I put a hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“I figured since it's my house, we can use my stuff. That way you don't need to take dirty things home. Is that okay?”
I nod. “Sure, that's thoughtful.”
He scoops up a half cup of scrambled eggs and dumps them on the plate, grabs a slice of bacon, and even measures the jam with a tablespoon before smearing it on the whole wheat toast.
“Grape is my favorite,” Troy tells him. “Because it's purple and I really like purple.”
“It's a solid color,” Paul says. “Plus, grape jelly is smooth. I don't love seeds in things.”
Paul helps me calculate the sugar levels for the insulin.
“You are one brave kid,” Paul tells him while I inject it. “I would have cried so much at your age. I did, every time I needed a shot. I may have to call you the Troyminator.”
“What does that mean?” Troy asks.
“It means you're invincible, and you're strong, stronger than any other four-year-old I know.”
Troy flexes his arms, which look exactly the same as when he's not flexing, but some tendons stand out in his neck.
“Very impressive. If I need to lift something today, do you mind if I call out to you so you can come help me?”
Troy nods very seriously. “I can do it.”
“I bet you can,” Paul says. “And I'll be counting on you. But if you're going to be strong enough to help me out, you probably should eat all your food.”
I've never seen Troy gobble his eggs down so fast. Ever.
“I'll stay with him,” Paul says. “Why don't you go grab some food?”
I do, and it's nice to do it alone, without worrying about Troy finishing.
Paisley shows up as I'm taking my last bite. She's already wearing her fluffy skirted green dress. It looks good on her, like everything does on someone who's thin as a toothpick.
“Morning Paul, Trudy. I'll take over with Troy,” she says. “You two need to go get your sister and brother ready for this thing.”
I realize Mary and Luke are both gone, probably getting dressed. I jump up. “Are you sure?”
Paisley nods. “That’s why I came dressed already. Mary loves me, but she needs her sister in there right now.”
I hug Pais and run into the house to grab my dress.
Paul's right behind me. “I put everything for Mary in the guest house. It's right by the pool.”
A guest house. Of course he has a guest house. “Oh, right. I'll grab my dress and head over there.”
“I should have thought about putting your dress in there. Sorry.”
Poor Paul. He didn't invent a new name to trick me. He has his
own baggage, but he's not a bad guy. I owe him some kind of acknowledgement. “Paul.”
He turns toward me, his face painfully hopeful.
“I overreacted yesterday.”
He beams.
“I'm not mad at you, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You've been amazing today. You're a really good person. And I like you a lot.”
He takes my hands in his and pulls me toward him. His head lowers toward mine, and I don't have the resolve to stop him from kissing me. His lips meet mine and I want to fall into him forever. When he finally breaks off our kiss and stands up straight, my knees are weak and my head feels stuffed with wool.
“Can we pause that, but not stop?” he asks. “Because after this wedding, I think we could use a little more practice.”
I nod and he releases me. I can still remember exactly how his lips feel against mine when I reach the door to the guest house.
“Trudy!” Mary says. “I'm so glad you're here. Can you help?”
I help her zip up the back of her dress and walk around to look at her. She chose a full skirted, drop waisted, sleeveless gown. The skirt has a thousand layers of fluffy tulle that spring outward like a cupcake, but the bodice. . .
Hundreds of delicate crystals float across the bodice, heavy along the bust, and spreading out toward where the top joins the skirt. They must have just finished doing her hair, her shining blonde hair. It's pinned in a loose bun near the top of her head with tiny crystal stick pens interspersed all over, all glinting in the lights. I grab her veil and tuck it under the bun.
“You look. . .” I sigh. “I don't even have words. Like a princess, like a model, like an angel.”
When she smiles at me, she looks even more radiant.
My eyes fill with tears. “You made my wedding as perfect as it could have been, and I will always love you for that. But Mary, you're marrying a real prince today and you deserve it. He loves his kids, and now he loves you just as much. They all do.”
“I'm scared,” Mary says.
I shake my head. “Why? What could you be afraid of? You're already such a great mom.”
“Because Amy and Chase really are little angels. They're so easy right now, but what about when they aren't? I won't have any idea what to do.”
Finding Spring (Almost a Billionaire Book 3) Page 19