Нора Робертс - Happy Ever After

“Let’s see what you think when you see the full effect.There. The back’s gorgeous, by the way. Now deep breath, and turn around to the mirrors.”

“Okay, here we go.”

Emily turned, and Parker thought: bull’s-eye. She recognized the stunned, misty-eyed delight, the awareness, and the change of body language as Emily straightened, lifted her head.

“Oh, oh, look at me! Look at this.” She traced her fingertips down the sparkling midriff. “I love the halter style, the way it’s so delicate, not like straps.”

“You wouldn’t be able to wear a necklace,” one of the friends commented.

“But think of the earrings this dress would handle,” Parker said quickly.“Anything from subtle studs to long chandeliers.And with a headdress, a tiara to play off the gorgeous brooch-work on the bodice, you’ll sparkle for miles.”

From experience, Parker watched the mother’s reaction, smiled to herself. “What do you think, Mrs. Kessler?”

“I think . . . It’s just . . . Oh, Emmy.”

Parker handed out tissues.

The headdress, the underpinnings, took a fraction of the time already spent.At the bride’s request, Parker stayed to suggest gowns for the bridal party while the bride got her first fitting.

Parker adjusted her schedule, and pleased the two friends— one-third of the bridal attendants, with her choice of stylish, off-the-shoulder gowns in the bride’s choice of rose red.

She left her very happy client and carried what she hoped would be her friend’s wedding gown out of the shop.

“Parker Brown.”

She glanced over, faltered briefly. “Mrs. Kavanaugh. How are you?”

“Good enough.” Kay Kavanaugh’s wild orange hair blew in the light breeze as she tipped her green-framed glasses down her nose. “Buying a dress?”

“No, actually, taking one for approval for a friend. Laurel McBane. I think you’ve met Laurel.”

“She brought her car in for Mal to fiddle with. Seems like a sensible girl. She’s getting married to your brother, isn’t she?”

“Yes, next summer.”

“The other two you’re working with, they’re getting married, too.”

“Yes, Mac this December, and Emma next spring.”

“You’re dating my boy, aren’t you?”

The segue from weddings to Malcolm threw her off again. “We went out to dinner, but . . . Yes, I suppose I am.”

“I want coffee.You can meet me in there.” She pointed to one of the cafes along the main street.

“Oh, thank you, but I really need to—”

“You ought to be able to spare ten minutes for a cup of coffee when somebody asks you.”

She knew when she’d been neatly put in her place.“Of course. I’ll just put this in the car.”

“Need a hand?”

“No, no thank you. I have it.”

“Inside, then.”

Good God, Parker thought, what was this about? And it was ridiculous to be nervous about having a cup of coffee with a perfectly nice woman, just because that woman was the mother of a man she was . . .

Whatever she and Malcolm were.

She loaded the dress, locked the car, checked her watch. She had twenty minutes to spare.What could happen in twenty minutes over coffee?

Inside, she crossed to the booth where Mrs. Kavanaugh already consulted with the waitress.“They have good pie here. I’m having apple pie.”

“Just coffee for me,” Parker said as she slid in across from Malcolm’s mother. “Is it your day off ?”

“Afternoon off. I had some things to take care of.” Kay sat back. “My boy has an eye for pretty women, but he’s not stupid about it.”

“That’s . . . good to know.”

“I saw he had one for you the first time you came into the garage. It took him long enough to get around to it—that’s where he’s not stupid. It’s clear you’re not stupid either.”

Parker considered a moment. “I can’t think of anything to say to that except no, I’m not.”

“But you’re a different kettle than what we’re used to around our place.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“If you don’t, I’m going to think you are stupid. You’re a Brown, with the Brown name, the Brown status, and the Brown fortune. Don’t saddle up your high horse,” Kay warned as the waitress brought the pie and coffee.“I’m not finished.You act like a Brown, and by that I mean you act like the ones who raised you to be one. Your parents were good people, people who didn’t flaunt that name, status, and money. Didn’t shove it in anybody’s face. I worked some of the parties they threw back when you were a kid. To my mind you can tell what makes up a person by how they treat the hired help.”

Stumped, Parker added some cream to her coffee.

“I like your brother, too, even if he and the others won’t let me in on their poker nights because I don’t have the right plumbing.”

At Parker’s laugh, Kay smiled, and Parker saw Malcolm. “If you’re asking, both Del and I know and appreciate the privilege we were born into.”

“I can see that for myself. You don’t exactly sit around on your butts, do you? You know how to work and how to build something for yourself and who comes after. That’s a thumbs-up to your parents, and to you.”

“That’s a lovely thing to say.”

“Lovely or not, it’s how I see it. If Mal’s got his eye on you, it’s dead on you. It’s not on what comes with you—that name, status, or money.” Kay cocked a brow at the flash in Parker’s eyes. “And you just answered the only question I had about this.You already know what he’s looking at, so I could’ve saved my breath. Now I can enjoy my pie.”

“Mrs. Kavanaugh—”

“I think you can call me Kay after this. Or Ma Kavanaugh, if that suits you better.”

“If I thought Malcolm had ‘his eye’ on the Brown assets, I’d—”

“Have already given him the heave-ho. I’m not stupid either.”

“Do the two of you always interrupt people in midsentence?”

“Terrible habit.” Kay smiled again.“Want some of this pie? It’s damn good.”

Parker started to refuse, then picked up the second fork the waitress had laid, took a small sample. “You’re right. It’s damn good.”

“I hate to be wrong. Mal had a rough time as a boy,” she continued. “Some of that’s on me, and maybe why I hate to be wrong. Some of it’s just the way the cards got dealt. But it didn’t ruin him. I think he used it to make something of himself, to prove something. He’s got flaws, and I’m the first to point them out, but he’s a good boy. I figure you could do worse, and I figure you couldn’t do much better.”

Parker couldn’t stop the smile.“He loves you, too. In a way that shows. It’s one of the things about him I find appealing.”

“He’s never let me down, I’ll say that. Not once, not ever. We try to have a Sunday dinner at my house once a month.You come next time. I’ll tell Mal to work it out with you.”

“I . . . I’d like that.”

“I’m no Maureen Grady in the kitchen, but I won’t poison you. Have some more pie.”

Parker picked up the fork again, and had some more pie.

AFTER THE EVENING CONSULT, LAUREL TUCKED HER FEET UP, stretched her arms. “I think this one’s in the running for Ditzy Bride status. Not only does she want her MOH to walk her two Siamese cats down the aisle rather than carry a bouquet, but wants to include them on the guest list.”

“Which means us providing, and her paying for, a meal—they’ll have the salmon—for each.” Mac rolled her eyes.

“Plus collar boutonnieres.” Emma only laughed. “And a cat sitter through the reception.Where are you going to get a cat sitter?” she asked Parker.

“I’ll talk to her vet. At least she didn’t insist on having them at the head table during dinner.”

“But it was close.Well, that’s a problem for another day,” Laurel decided. “What I want now is a nice glass of wine before I see what I can mooch from Mrs. G for dinner since Del called and has a late meeting.”

“Change of plans there,” Parker announced. “We have something to do upstairs.”

“Parker, I can’t possibly do a summit. My brain’s tired.”

“It’s not that kind of a summit.” Parker got to her feet. “And I think your brain will wake up for it.”

“I don’t see . . .” Realization dawned, clearly, in Laurel’s eyes. “You found a dress for me.”

“Let’s go see.”

Grinning at her friends, Laurel bounced in her seat. “It’s my turn! Is there champagne?”

“What do you think?” Mac demanded and hauled her up.

“Same rules as before,” Parker said as they all started up together. “If it’s not the one, it’s not the one. No hurt feelings.”

“I haven’t even decided on the style I want yet. I keep circling around. But I’m pretty sure I don’t want a veil, it’s so medieval. Apologies,” she said to Emma. “But maybe I’d just go for some sort of hair ornament or flowers, so I don’t think the dress should be too traditional. I don’t want to go ultracontemp either, so . . .”

“And so it begins.” Mac wrapped an arm around Laurel’s waist, hugged. “It’s Bride Fever, honey. Been there, done that.”

“I didn’t think I’d be here doing that, but I surrender. This is why Del said he’d be home late?”

“I called him when I found the dress.” Parker paused at the closed door of the Bride’s Suite. “He’s hanging out with Jack and Carter. Ready?”

Laurel pushed her swing of hair behind her ears, gave herself a quick shake. Laughed. “Absolutely ready.”

As had been done for Mac, then Emma, Laurel’s dress hung in full view. A bottle of champagne chilled in a silver bucket with a pretty tray of fruit and cheese beside it.

Mrs. Grady stood, pincushion and camera at the ready.

“It’s beautiful, Parker.” Eyes intent, Laurel stepped closer. “I haven’t been sure about strapless, but I love the way the neckline curves a little—softer—and the ruching and beadwork on the bodice adds that texture and sparkle.” Reaching out, she brushed the skirt—just fingertips. “I haven’t been sure about sparkle.”