He knew he hadn’t actually proposed to her. He’d suggested. It wasn’t the same thing. He hadn’t gotten down on one knee in front of her, either. She deserved it. She was the only woman he could imagine marrying. His feelings for her weren’t just infatuation or lust. Lust was always good, but it wasn’t the real thing.
He shook his curls dry, brushed his teeth, and stepped into a pair of shoes. They’d make some plans, and he’d propose . . . for real. He’d have to think of something amazing, though. He was sure this was the only time in his life he’d ask.
A FULLY DRESSED Emily walked into the controlled chaos that was Brandon’s kitchen. Suzanne and Emily’s mom were performing the complicated dance of assembling breakfast for seven people. Her dad and an older version of Brandon with graying, closely cropped curls sat at the small kitchen table, drinking coffee. Amy whizzed by with a load of plates, silverware and napkins destined for the dining room table.
“Nice to see you could join us,” her sister said, but she grinned. Emily kissed her mom’s cheek as Meg hurried past.
Brandon’s dad unfolded himself from the chair and held out his arms. “I’m Jack,” he said, beaming, “and you must be Emily.”
Emily heard Brandon’s voice from the other room. “Dad. She’s mine.”
“He gets all the pretty girls,” Jack confided as he wrapped his arms around her. “You’ll sit with me at dinner later, won’t you?”
“Don’t you want to sit with Mrs. McKenna?” Emily teased.
“I’ve been sitting with her for a few years now, and I’ll be sitting with her for as long as she’ll have me,” Jack said. He had the same roguish manner as his son. Emily lost her heart on the spot. “She won’t mind. She’ll be too busy with our boy.”
“I heard that,” Suzanne said with a smile. “We’re taking Emily with us before you scare her half to death, Casanova.”
Jack released Emily and extended his hand to Mark. “You’re a lucky man, Hamilton. Two lovely daughters and a beautiful wife. Life doesn’t get any better, does it?”
Emily’s mom smiled and blushed as Mark said, “No, it doesn’t.” She couldn’t help but notice that neither parent corrected Jack’s belief that they were still married.
EMILY TOOK ONE last swallow of coffee as her mother said, “Ladies, we’d better get moving, or we’re going to be late. Our appointment is at ten.”
“What appointment?” Emily said.
“You need a wedding gown, silly. Suzanne and I thought this would be a great day to shop. We’re all together.”
“Oh, yes.” Suzanne got up from the table, too. “Let’s get Emily in the car. Her gown should have been ordered three months ago, and it’s already nine-thirty.”
“I’ll drive,” Amy said.
“We still have six months,” Emily said. “We’ll be fine. There are women on those bridal shows that buy a dress two weeks beforehand, and—”
Emily heard Brandon chuckling under his breath as she was pulled from her chair by her mother and her future mother-in-law.
“Come on, sweetie. You won’t want to wear something you bought two weeks before. Plus, your mama has been looking forward to this your entire life,” Suzanne said. She snagged both her and Emily’s handbags off the hall tree as she went.
A few minutes later, Emily found herself standing on the sidewalk next to Amy’s mini-van. The moms were already ensconced in the back seat. Brandon followed them out to the car.
“You must have called shotgun,” Brandon teased Emily. “Have a great time.”
“I know nothing about wedding stuff,” she whispered to him. “What do I do now?”
“Let them handle it,” he reassured her. “I’ll see you later.” He kissed her, made sure she was belted into the passenger seat, and waved goodbye as Amy burned rubber down the quiet residential street.
Meg and Suzanne didn’t seem to care that Amy was exceeding every posted speed limit in the state as she took the freeway entrance to Seattle.
“Hey, weirdo, slow down, will you?” Emily said.
“You have to be there on time. This bridal salon takes appointments six months in advance. If you’re even ten minutes late, they’ll turn you away, and you’ll end up buying a gown at the thrift shop.”
Amy reached out to pat her sister’s hand. Emily’s other hand was clutching the armrest. Suzanne and Meg were chatting away like they’d known each other since childhood. They’d been discussing the plans for Brandon and Emily’s wedding for the past twenty minutes, with no signs of letting up anytime soon.
“Suzanne, wait till you see the church. It’s about a mile and a half away from Brandon’s house. The view of Lake Washington from the sanctuary is stunning. They also have a choir loft, which would be great for a string quartet.”
“Oh, I agree. I booked the reception space two weeks ago, so that’s all set. They’re doing a tasting later this afternoon for us. They don’t bake cakes on premises, but they have a list of bakeries they recommend. I was surprised there don’t seem to be a lot of groom’s cakes served here. They’re a must-have in New Orleans . . .”
Amy glanced over at Emily while swerving around a Jaguar driven by someone who had the temerity to obey the posted speed limit on the 520 bridge to Seattle. “If there’s something you especially want at your own wedding, you might speak up now.”
AMY PULLED UP in front of Emerald City Bridal eleven minutes later with a Washington State Trooper on her tail.
“Mom, Suzanne, go ahead and go inside so Emily doesn’t lose her appointment,” she said.
A tall police officer in reflective aviator sunglasses was making his way to Amy’s window. “Are you nuts?” Emily said. “Stay in the car, or he’ll shoot us! Amy, I can’t believe you—”
“Amy Margaret Hamilton, how many times have you been pulled over this year?” Meg said.
“He’ll just give me a ticket. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“License and registration, please,” the officer said.
“Will you please let my sister go inside the salon while I talk with you? She’s about to lose her appointment.”
The officer pulled off his sunglasses and regarded Amy with disbelief. “How fast were you going when you took the exit, Miss Hamilton?”
“It’s not good when they already know your name,” Suzanne said in a low voice.
“I’m not sure. I just know we’re about to be late. I’m really sorry, officer. If I promise not to do it again and sign the ticket, will you let them go inside?”
He took the license and registration out of Amy’s hand. “I ran your plate. You’ve been pulled over four times already this year. You managed to charm your way out of a ticket all four times.”
“Well—uh—”
“Do you know how dangerous speeding is? What about your passengers? How is your sister going to keep her appointment when she’s dead?” The officer propped both hands on his hips. “Fine. You ladies can go inside. Miss Hamilton, you and I need to have a talk about your behavior behind the wheel, and this time, you’re getting a ticket. Plus traffic school.”
Meg and Suzanne hopped out of the van. Emily turned to her sister, who was receiving a blistering lecture on how many accident scenes Officer Hottie had witnessed in his fifteen-year career as a trooper.
“Do you need me to stay?”
“No. I’ll be in in a few minutes,” Amy said. “Go.”
Emily grabbed her handbag, hurried into the store, and almost bumped into Meg and Suzanne. They were still staring at the opulence. All four walls were covered with racks of plastic-covered bridal gowns. A raised dais in the middle of the store was surrounded by 180 degrees of mirrors. A sumptuously upholstered couch sat a few feet from the dais for observation. The lighting was indirect, the classical music was soft, and all sounds were muffled by pale carpeting with the thickest pad known to mankind.
Emily spotted an ice bucket with an unopened bottle of champagne and four glasses on the low glass table in front of th
e couch. She could use a glass right now.
“So many beautiful dresses,” Meg said.
“I’m enjoying this already,” Suzanne responded.
A young woman in head-to-toe black and pearls approached them. “Ladies. It’s wonderful to have you here. I’m Nicole. Who’s our beautiful bride?”
Emily extended her hand to shake Nicole’s. “That’s me.”
“Why don’t we have a seat, and we can discuss what kind of dress you’re looking for. Also, do you have a budget in mind?”
Emily had no idea what kind of dress she was looking for besides a) white, and b) not too expensive. She knew her parents would offer to pay, but she’d like to buy the dress herself.
Amy was the one who played “wedding” over and over when they were little girls. Emily’s dreams consisted of her standing alone on the great opera stages of the world, a bouquet of red roses in her arms, listening to an enraptured audience applauding her and shouting, “Brava!” as she took yet another curtain call. Lately, though, she found herself daydreaming about seeing Brandon at the end of a church aisle.
Amy would know what to try on. If she could escape the clutches of an enraged police officer, she could advise Emily. A few seconds later, however, Emily realized she had the best advisor of all: Suzanne, former beauty queen and bridal show junkie. Meg and Suzanne whispered back and forth for a minute or so.
“Nicole, why don’t you bring a ball gown to try first? Emily wears elaborate costumes as part of her job, so we’ll need to come up with something more fabulous than anything she’s worn on stage before,” Suzanne said. Meg was nodding. “Let’s skip the mermaid. They’re getting married in a church, so a corset style needs to be somewhat modest. She might like a fit and flare, or maybe an A-line. We can add bling later with accessories if she likes it. The ball gown, though, should be first.”
Amy skidded into the salon and sat down next to Emily on the couch. “We made it. Phew.”
“How much was the ticket?” Emily asked.
“I have to go to traffic school. No ticket.”
“How do you do this?”
“I might have cried. Let’s find you a dress,” Amy said.
Five minutes later, the champagne had been opened, full glasses handed around, and Emily was sitting in a dressing room bigger than her bedroom at home. Nicole would be “right back” with a selection of dresses, but first up would be the ball gown Suzanne had recommended. Emily knew she should feel some sense of outrage that her mother (and potential mother-in-law) weren’t asking what she wanted. Meg and Suzanne had evidently made up their minds she and Brandon were getting married, no matter what. Obviously, they’d managed to overcome their initial misgivings about Brandon and Emily’s engagement. This probably had something to do with the fact they both had their eyes on the prize: potential grandchildren. She wondered what the term would be to describe a wedding their moms planned without consulting either of them first. Arranged marriages weren’t typical in the Hamilton family, to her knowledge. She wondered if Brandon would be required to give her dad a few goats (or tech stocks) in exchange for her hand.
Truthfully she was more worried about Brandon not really answering her question earlier in his bathroom.
He never actually used the words “Will you marry me?” when they talked about getting married. His insistence that it already happened was a bit odd. She was still wearing a big-ass engagement ring. Everyone else seemed to think this was a done deal. Plus, she had to admit in her heart of hearts that she could think of a lot worse things in life than being Emily Hamilton McKenna for the rest of her life. When she wasn’t musing on Brandon’s behavior (or lack of it), she also wondered if it made her a Bridezilla to want him to get down on one knee and actually pop the question. Other guys did it. Maybe she worried too much, as he said. She twirled the engagement ring on the third finger of her left hand. Was it really so unreasonable for her to want something other women would expect as well?
Her mind was whirling. Nicole seemed to be taking her sweet time, too.
Emily got up from the sumptuously upholstered chair she sat in and wandered out into the store in her dressing gown. Nicole was a few feet from her, rifling through dresses at a high rate of speed.
“Hi,” Emily said.
“Oh! You’re here. I didn’t mean to take so long. I’m still thinking about a couple of these.”
Emily walked over to the rack. Finding a wedding gown couldn’t be that much different than shoe shopping, and she should have some type of professional certification for that. She flipped as rapidly as possible through the dresses.
“No. No. No. No. God, no.”
To Emily’s surprise, she realized she had more ideas than she thought about how she’d like to look on her wedding day. She didn’t want strapless, she didn’t want crystals, and she didn’t want something that made her look like she’d gone after the skirt with the kitchen shears. She wanted lace. She wanted something that would make Brandon gasp when he saw her in it.
“This one.” She reached up to pull the gown off the rack.
Nicole looked amused. “How about looking through some of the other dresses?”
“Not right now. Let’s try this one on.”
BACK IN THE dressing room, Nicole unzipped the protective plastic slowly.
“We just got this gown in from New York. It’s formal without being stuffy. This is a diva’s dress. I hope you’ll love it.” She demonstrated how Emily should hold her arms in front of her face so she wouldn’t get makeup on the delicate fabric and slid the gown over Emily’s head.
Emily heard the rustle of a silk taffeta ballroom skirt. The bodice was a corset, covered with soft lace, embroidered with pearls. It had cap sleeves and a high neck, a slightly dropped waist, and buttoned up the back. It reminded Emily of the photos she’d seen as a teenager of Princess Grace’s wedding gown, with a modern twist. The skirt had a pickup of fabric on one side. A small train swept the floor behind her. It was dramatic without being over the top, young without being childish.
In the past Emily had heard her various co-workers talking about putting on a wedding gown for the first time. Their descriptions paled in comparison with the reality. She trembled as she regarded the curvy redhead reflected in the mirror. She felt overwhelmed, surprised, a little disbelieving. Her fingertips trailed over the soft lace and the silk taffeta. She couldn’t stop touching it. Even if the sample wasn’t an exact fit, she loved it.
The realization smacked her in the face so hard tears rose in her eyes. She was going to marry Brandon, and she was going to wear this dress when she did.
“We can get your size when we order it,” Nicole reassured. She pulled a small golden headpiece off the table behind her, formed of flat leaves, and extracted a long piece of tulle from another zippered plastic bag. Nicole pinned Emily’s ponytail into a bun, and fastened the headpiece and tulle in her hair.
Emily couldn’t resist twirling around in front of Nicole. “How do I look?”
A broad smile spread over Nicole’s face. “I’m so glad I didn’t bring you a room full of bling and ruffles. This dress was made for you.” She adjusted the headpiece once more and said, “Let’s go show you off.”
Emily stepped into her own high heels so the dress wouldn’t drag on the floor and rounded the corner to show them.
“What do you think? Mom, Suzanne, Amy?”
Emily’s mother let out a gasp, and grabbed for Suzanne’s hand. Her cool, collected, elegant potential mother-in-law burst into tears.
“That’s the dress,” Amy said, with tears in her eyes, too. “Buy that one.”
Chapter Twenty
* * *
BRANDON GLANCED AROUND the Sharks’ workout facility a few weeks after his parents’ unexpected visit, mopping the sweat off his face with a well-used hand towel. He had the place to himself. Early morning sunshine through floor-to-ceiling windows bounced off a fortune in exercise machines, free weights, and other paraphernalia. He glanc
ed up at the ceiling-sized panoramic photo of Sharks fans that the team photographer took during a game last year. Every crunch, every butterfly, every rotation of the elliptical meant he improved his game for those fans and for himself.
The other guys didn’t usually show up here till later in the morning. He stuck the iPod earbuds in, turned the beats up as loud as they would go, and draped the towel over his head. It was time to work his neck.
Forty-five minutes later, the smart phone in his shorts pocket was on perma-vibrate. Five calls from his agent in an hour. The Sharks must have agreed to their latest contract extension offer. He clicked over to an incoming text: CALL MY OFFICE. ASAP.
The team’s front office probably wanted him to sign before the first home game. They’d make a big production out of it, too. He grinned, imagining how long it would take his little diva to choose an outfit before the press conference. Maybe he should buy her a new dress for the occasion. He’d make sure it was scheduled on a day she could attend.
His phone vibrated again. A text from Emily: PLEASE CALL YOUR AGENT. HE’S LOOKING FOR YOU.
“What the hell’s the fire drill?” he muttered to himself. He got up from the weight bench, loped into the locker room, stripped, and stepped into the shower.
BRANDON THREW HIMSELF into his Land Rover twenty-five minutes later, and hit “Josh” on his contacts list. Most guys saw their agent as a necessary evil—someone who handled the business end of football. They didn’t want to think about contracts and endorsements. The year he was drafted Brandon came home from the Senior Bowl with a fistful of business cards from potential agents. He hired Josh when Josh answered his own telephone and didn’t hide behind bullshit when Brandon asked him tough questions. Their relationship over the years was businesslike but cordial.
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