by Nora Roberts
“Okay,” Parker said before Emma could protest. “If you need company or anything else, you just have to knock on my door.”
“I know. I’ll be all right, and I’ll be better in the morning.”
“If you’re not, and you want to go home, we’ll go.” Parker pulled her in for a hug.
“Or we’ll kick the men out and stay,” Mac told her.
“Best friends ever. I’ll be fine.”
She stayed where she was when they left her, but knowing one of them would come back to check on her in an hour, she made herself get up, get ready for bed.
She’d had her summer, she reminded herself. No one could ever take that away from her. She’d had the love of her life for a season. Not everyone could say the same.
She’d survive. And because, even if they couldn’t be lovers, they would always be family, she and Del would find a way to heal the rift.
She lay in the dark and ached. Ached and ached. And she tried to comfort herself that it would get better with time. Then she turned her face into the pillow and wept a little, because she didn’t believe it.
The sea breeze whispered over her cheek like a kiss. Sweet and soft. She sighed with it, wanting to cling to sleep, to cling to the numbness that came with it.
“You need to wake up.”
She opened her eyes and stared into Del’s. “What?”
“Wake up, get up. Come with me.”
“What?” She pushed at him, struggled to think. The light was the quiet dull silver of predawn. “What are you doing? Where did you go? What are you doing back?”
“Up.”
She tried to snag the sheet when he pulled it off, but missed. “You walked out on your friends.You left when—”
“Oh, just shut up. I listened to you, now you’ll listen to me. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Down to the beach to finish this.”
“I’m not going down to the beach with you.We had our scene, now it’s done.”
“You are a contrary woman, Laurel. You can walk or I can drag you, but we’re going to the damn beach. If you ask me why, I swear, the dragging begins.”
“I need to get dressed.”
He studied her tank and boxers. “You’re covered. Don’t test me, McBane. I haven’t had any sleep, and I’ve had a long drive. I’m not in the mood.”
“You’re not in the mood. Isn’t that something?” She swung her legs off the bed, planted her feet on the floor. “All right, we’ll do this at the beach since that’s so important to you.”
She slapped his hand away when he reached for hers. “I didn’t have the best night either, and I haven’t had coffee. Don’t you test me.”
She stalked out onto the deck, down the stairs.
“You might as well settle down,” he advised. “There’s no point being pissed.”
“I see points.”
“You usually do. Lucky, I’m more even-tempered.”
“My ass.Who threatened to drag who out of bed in the middle of the night?”
“Nearly sunrise. That’s pretty good timing, actually. I like it. New day dawning and all that.” He kicked off his shoes at the base of the beach steps. “We didn’t get much farther than this last night. Geographically. I think we can do better in other areas. Here’s a start.”
He spun her around, yanked her into a hot and possessive kiss. She shoved against him, met a solid and immovable wall. He let her go when she went stiff.
“Don’t,” she said, quietly now.
“You need to look at me, and listen to me, and Laurel, you need to hear me.” He took her by the shoulders, but gently. “Maybe you’re right, and I don’t see, but goddamn it, you don’t hear. So, I’m looking, and I’m seeing. You listen, and you hear.”
“All right. All right. There’s no point in us being angry over this. It’s just—”
“You can’t hear if you don’t shut up.”
“Tell me to shut up again,” she invited, with a dare in her eyes.
He simply laid his hand over her mouth. “I’m going to fix this. Fixing things is what I do, who I am. If you love me, you’re going to have to accept that.”
He dropped his hand. “I can fight with you. I’ve got no problem with that.”
“Lucky for you.”
“But I hate that I hurt you by being careless on one hand and too careful on the other. It’s a Brown trait, I guess, trying to keep the balance.”
“I’m responsible—”
“For your own feelings, yeah, yeah, yeah. I don’t know if you were always the one. I got used to looking at you and thinking about you another way. So I just don’t know.”
“I understand that, Del. I do. I—”
“Be quiet, and listen. You changed what was between us. You took the step, and I didn’t see it coming. I can’t be sorry for that when I’m so damn grateful for it. I don’t know if you were always the one,” he said again. “But I know you’re the one now, and I know you’re going to be the one tomorrow, and next month, next year. And you’re going to be the one for the rest of my life.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Need it simpler? It’s you.”
She looked at him, the face she knew so well. And saw. And in that moment, her heart simply flew.
“I’ve loved you all your life, and that was easy. I don’t know, not for certain, how long I’ve been in love with you, but I know it’s not so easy. But it’s right and it’s real, and I don’t want easy. I want you.”
“I think . . .” She laughed a little. “I can’t think.”
“Good. Don’t think. Just listen, listen and stop, for once, trying to project what I think and feel. I thought the logical thing was to take it slow, to give us both time to adjust to what happened between us. To what happened in me.”
He took her hand, pressed it to his heart.
“I thought you needed to catch up, so you were right about that. I didn’t see. I should have. But you didn’t see either. You didn’t see how much I love you, how much I want you, how much I need you. I’ll buy those two dogs if I want pets, and I already have a sister. That’s not how I think of you, and it’s sure as hell not how I want you to think of me. That makes us even. Even ground, Laurel, that’s where we’re standing.”
“You mean it.”
“How long have you known me?”
Her eyes blurred, but she blinked them clear. “A really long time.”
“Then you know I mean it.”
“I love you so much. I told myself I’d get over you, and it was such a lie. I never would.”
“I’m not finished.” He reached in his pocket, watched her eyes go huge when he pulled out the box, opened it. “It was my mother’s.”
“I know. I ... Oh God. Del.”
“I took it out of the vault a couple weeks ago.”
“Weeks ago,” she managed.
“It was after the night at the pond. Everything had already changed direction, but after that night—really after that day when you came to my office, I knew where we were—or where I wanted us to go. I had it resized for you. That was probably a little arrogant, but you’ll have to live with it.”
“Del.” She couldn’t get her breath. “You can’t—Your mother’s ring. Parker.”
“I woke her before I woke you. She’s good with it. She said to tell you don’t be stupid. Our parents loved you.”
“Oh, damn it.”The tears simply flooded her face. “I don’t want to cry. I can’t help it.”
“You’re the only one I’ve ever thought about asking to wear this. The only one I want to wear it. I’ve just driven all the way to Greenwich and back to get it for you. To give it to you because you’re the only one. Marry me, Laurel.”
“I won’t be stupid. Kiss me again first, when I’m not wishing I didn’t love you.”
She felt the sea breeze on her skin, in her hair as their lips met, and the strong, steady beat of his heart against hers. And heard the whistles and ch
eers.
Turning her head so her cheek rested on his, she saw the group gathered on the deck of the house above. “Parker woke everyone up.
“Well, ours has always been a family affair.” He drew back. “Ready?”
“Yes. I’m absolutely and completely ready.”
The ring he slid on her finger sparkled in the first beams of the sun while the eastern sky blossomed like a rose. A moment, she thought, to savor, then sealed their moment with another kiss.
“This is the right time,” she told him. “This is a good place. Tell me one more time I’m the one.”
“You’re the one.” He cupped her face again. “The only one.”
The one, she thought, on this fresh new day. And the one through all the days after.
Hand in hand, they started back up the steps to share the next moments with family.
KEEP READING FOR A SPECIAL PREVIEW OF
THE NEXT BOOK
IN THE BRIDE QUARTET
BY NORA ROBERTS
HAPPY EVER AFTER
COMING IN NOVEMBER 2010
FROM BERKLEY BOOKS
THE CRAZY BRIDE CALLED AT FIVE-TWENTY-EIGHT A.M.
“I had a dream,” she announced while Parker lay in the dark with her BlackBerry.
“A dream?”
“An amazing dream. So real, so urgent, so full of color and life! I’m sure it means something. I’m going to call my psychic but I wanted to talk it over with you first.”
“Okay.” With the grace of experience, Parker reached over, turned her bedside lamp on low. “What was the dream about, Sabina?” she asked as she picked up the pad and pen beside the lamp.
“Alice in Wonderland.”
“You dreamed about Alice in Wonderland?”
“Specifically the Mad Hatter’s tea party.”
“Disney or Tim Burton?”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Parker shook back her hair, noted down key words. “Go on.”
“Well, there was music and a banquet of food. I was Alice, but I wore my wedding dress, and Chase looked absolutely amazing in a morning coat. The flowers, oh, they were spectacular, and all of them singing and dancing. Everyone was so happy, toasting us, clapping. Angelica was dressed as the Red Queen and playing a flute.”
Parker noted down MOH for Angelica, the maid of honor, then continued to record other members of the wedding party. The best man as the White Rabbit, the mother of the groom as the Cheshire cat; father of the bride, the March Hare.
She wondered what Sabina had eaten, drunk, or smoked before going to bed.
“Isn’t it fascinating, Parker?”
“Absolutely.” As had been the pattern of tea leaves that had determined Sabine’s bridal colors, the tarot reading that had forecast her honeymoon destination, the numerology that had pointed to the only possible date for her wedding.
“I think maybe my subconscious and the fates are telling me I need to have an Alice theme for the wedding. With costumes.”
Parker closed her eyes. While she would have said that the Mad Hatter’s tea party suited Sabina to the ground, the event was less than two weeks away, and the decor, the flowers, the cake and desserts, the menu, the works—already chosen.
“Hmmm,” Parker said to give herself a moment to think. “That’s an interesting idea.”
“The dream—”
“Says to me,” Parker interjected, “the celebrational, magical, fairy-tale atmosphere you’ve already chosen . . . It tells me you were absolutely right.”
“Really?”
“Completely. It tells me you’re excited and happy, and can’t wait for your day. Remember, the Mad Hatter held his tea party every day. It’s telling you your life with Chase will be a daily celebration.”
“Oh! Of course!”
“And, Sabina, when you stand in front of the looking glass in the Bride’s Suite on your wedding day, you’ll be looking at yourself, with Alice’s young, adventurous, happy heart.”
Damn, I’m good, Parker thought as the crazy bride sighed. “You’re right, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. I’m so glad I called you. I knew you’d know.”
“That’s what we’re here for. It’s going to be a beautiful wedding, Sabina.Your perfect day.”
After she hung up, Parker lay back a moment, but when she closed her eyes, the Mad Hatter’s tea party—Disney version—ran manically in her head.
Resigned, she rose, crossed over to the French doors to the terrace of the room that had once been her parents’. She opened them to the morning air, drew in a deep breath of dawn as the sun took its first peek over the horizon.
The last stars winked out in a world perfectly, wonderfully still—like a breath held.
The upside of crazy brides and those of that ilk was wakefulness just before dawn when it seemed nothing and no one but her stirred, nothing and no one but her had this moment when night passed its torch to day, and the silvery light sheened to pearl that would shimmer—when that breath released—to pale, lustrous gold.
She left the doors open when she walked back into the bedroom. Taking a band from the hammered silver box on her dresser, she pulled her hair back into a tail. She shed her nightshirt for cropped yoga pants and a support tank, chose a pair of running shoes off the shelf in the casual section of her ruthlessly organized closet.
She hooked her BlackBerry to her waistband, plugged in her headphones, then headed out of her room toward her home gym.
She hit the lights, flipped on the news on the flat screen, listening with half an ear as she took a few moments to stretch.
She set the elliptical for her usual three-mile program.
Halfway through the first mile, she smiled.
God, she loved her work. Loved the crazy brides, the sentimental brides, the persnickety brides, even the monster brides.
She loved the details and demands, the hopes and dreams, the constant affirmation of love and commitment she helped to personalize for every couple.
Nobody, she determined, did it better than Vows.
What she, Mac, Emma, and Laurel had taken hands on one late summer evening was now everything they’d imagined—and more.
And now, she thought as her smile widened, they were planning weddings for Mac in December, Emma in April, Laurel in June.
Her friends were the brides now, and she couldn’t wait to dig deeper into those fine details.
Mac and Carter—traditional with artistic twists. Emma and Jack—romance, romance, romance. Laurel and Del (God, her brother was marrying her best friend!)—elegant yet streamlined.
Oh, she had ideas.
She’d hit mile two when Laurel came in.
“Fairy lights. Acres and miles and rivers of tiny white fairy lights, all through the gardens, in the willows, on the arbors, the pergola.”
Laurel blinked, yawned. “Huh?”
“Your wedding. Romantic, elegant, abundance without fuss.”
“Huh.” Laurel, her swing of blond hair clipped up, stepped on the machine next to Parker’s. “I’m just getting used to being engaged.”
“I know what you like. I’ve worked up a basic overview.”
“Of course you have.” But Laurel smiled. “Where are you?” She craned her head, scanned the read-out on Parker’s machine. “Shit! Who called and when?”
“Crazy Bride. Just shy of five-thirty She had a dream.”
“If you tell me she dreamed a new design for the cake, I’m going to—”
“Not to worry. I fixed it.”
“How could I have doubted you?” Laurel eased through her warm-up, then kicked in. “Del’s going to put his house on the market.”
“What? When?”
“Well, after he talks to you about it, but I’m here, you’re here, so I’m talking to you first. We talked about it last night. He’ll be back from Chicago tonight, by the way. So ... he’d move back in here, if that’s okay with you.”
“First, it’s his house as much as mine. Second, you’re
staying.” Her eyes stung, shined. “You’re staying,” Parker repeated. “I didn’t want to push, and I know Del’s got a great house, but—Oh God, Laurel, I didn’t want you to move out. Now you won’t.”
“I love him so much I may be the next crazy bride, but I didn’t want to move out either. My wing’s more than big enough, it practically is a house. And he loves this place as much as you, as much as all of us.”
“Del’s coming home,” Parker murmured.
Her family, she thought, everyone she loved and cherished would soon be together. And that, she realized, was what made a home.
BY EIGHT-FIFTY-NINE, PARKER WAS DRESSED IN A SHARPLY TAILORED suit the color of ripe eggplants with a hint of frill on her crisp white shirt. She spent precisely fifty-five minutes answering e-mails, texts, and phone calls, refreshing notes in various client files, confirming deliveries, and checking with subcontractors on upcoming events.
At the stroke of ten she walked down from her third-floor office for her first on-site appointment of the day.
She’d already researched the potential client. Bride, Deeanne Hagar, local artist whose dreamy fantasy work had been reproduced in posters and greeting cards. Groom, Wyatt Culpepper, landscape designer. Both came from old money—banking and real estate respectively—and both were the youngest child of twice-divorced parents.
Minimal digging had netted her the data that the newly engaged couple had met at a greenfest, shared a fondness for bluegrass music, and loved to travel.
She had other nuggets mined from websites, Facebook, magazine and newspaper interviews, and friends of friends of friends, and had already decided on the overall approach for the initial tour, which would include mothers of both.
She scanned areas as she did a quick pass-through on the main level, pleased with Emma’s romantic flower displays.
She popped into the family kitchen, where, as expected, Mrs. Grady put the finishing touches on the coffee tray, the iced sun tea Parker had requested, and a platter of fresh fruit highlighted with Laurel’s tissue-thin butter cookies.
“Looks perfect, Mrs. G.”
“It’s ready when you are.”