He was going to want a lot of caramel sauce.

He did his part, escorting people to seats in the shimmering lights of the Grand Hall. Candlelight and firelight added to the glow.

Laurel swung through for an on-scene check, sent him a wink. “How’s it going?”

“Is the cake as good as advertised?”

“Better.”

“Then it’s all worth it.”

“And there’s plenty of caramel sauce.”

He caught her smirk—they seemed to be going around—as she glided away.

Jesus, did those women tell each other everything?

Fine, he’d make sure they had plenty to talk about over breakfast. Maybe he’d just cop a bottle of the champagne to go with the—

“Well, well, moonlighting as an usher these days?”

His back went tight even before he turned to his uncle.

Not aging well, are you, Artie? Malcolm thought, and there was some satisfaction in that.The man still had all his hair—which had always been his pride and joy—but he’d put on weight, gone thick in the face, in the middle. His eyes, a deceptively mild blue, seemed shrunken in the wide plate of that face.

She’d fared better, he decided, glancing at his uncle’s wife. Kept her figure, maybe had a couple nips and tucks. But the look of distaste didn’t do anything attractive to her face.

“You can find your own seats.”

“Courteous as ever. I’d heard you were chasing after the Brown girl and her money.”

“You never knew your place.” Marge Frank sniffed. “Now it looks like Parker Brown’s forgotten hers. Her grandmother must be rolling over in her grave.”

“Sit down or leave.”

“It doesn’t look like her breeding’s rubbed off on you,” Artie commented.“It shouldn’t take long for Parker to see you for what you are. Just how do you know the bride and groom? Changed a few tires for them?”

Fuck it, he thought. Just fuck it. “That’s right.”

“You can scrub the grime from under your nails, Malcolm, but you’re still a grease monkey. And people like the Browns always end up with their own kind. Come on, Marge.”

He needed five minutes, Malcolm thought. Five minutes to get some air, to settle himself. But even as he backed out, started toward the foyer, Laurel came back.

“Less than a dozen guests left to seat.We’re going to want you and the rest of the boys to take positions in two minutes. Are you—Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“Okay. If you’d nudge the last stragglers into seats, then go around . . .Parker showed you how it works, right?”

“Yeah. I got it.”

“I’ll be there to cue you. Don’t worry. It’ll be painless.”

He didn’t feel pain. He felt a rage that wanted to claw out of his throat. He didn’t want to be there, wearing someone else’s tux, standing in front of a crowd of people in a room filled with flowers and candles watching people he didn’t even know get married.

And feeling—helpless not to feel—the utter contempt from his uncle, coiling its way across the room to clamp onto his throat and trap that rage.

Once he’d escaped it, had traveled three thousand miles to shed it. He’d come back a man, but there was still a piece inside him, he hated knowing it, that burned with that raw and bitter anger.

And struggled, even now struggled, with the echoes of humiliation.

He went along for photos after the ceremony, primarily as an escape route. He listened as Channing’s father rhapsodized about the T-Bird, and did his best to keep up his end.

Then he broke away to find a place in the side garden, to sit in the frosted night and breathe.

She found him there. She was out of breath, coatless, her usual composure shattered.

“Malcolm.”

“Look, they don’t need me for the dinner deal. I’m taking a goddamn break.”

“Malcolm.” She dropped down beside him, took his hand. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know the Franks were coming. I didn’t spot them until I did a walk-through at dinner. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You could be sorry if you’d invited them. Since you didn’t, it’s not your thing.”

“I got you into this. I wish I’d—”

“It’s no big deal.”

“I’ll fix it. I’ll make an excuse to Channing and Leah so you can—”

“And let them have the satisfaction of running me off, again? I don’t fucking think so. I’m just taking a goddamn break, Parker. Give me some space.”

She released his hand, rose.

“Not everybody wants you to handle the details, to fix every damn thing.”

“You’re right.”

“And don’t be so damn agreeable. I know when I’m out of line, and I’m out of line.”

“You’re upset. I understand—”

“I don’t want you to understand. You don’t understand. How could you? This doesn’t have anything to do with you. Did anyone every knock you around when you weren’t able to fight back?”

“No.”

“Tell you, over and over until you started to believe it, that you’re useless, you’re stupid, worthless. That if you didn’t fall in line, you’d be out on the street?”

“No.” But that didn’t mean her heart couldn’t break, her blood couldn’t boil for the child who’d lived through it.

“So you don’t understand. Hell, I don’t understand why my way of coping with it was to do my level best to make it worse, to look for trouble, and to blame my mother, who didn’t know what was going on because I was too afraid or proud or both to tell her.”

She said nothing. She understood now, or hoped she did, that to push meant he’d simply close up. So she said nothing. She just listened.

“I made it as hard on her as I could for as long as I could. And if I wasn’t giving her grief, he was, or his bitch of a wife was. She took it because she was trying to keep a roof over my head, give me a family, because she was trying to get through the grief of losing my father. And I blamed her for that, too. Let’s just pile it on her.Why should she have a life? Artie’s working her like a dog because he could. Her own goddamn brother. And we were supposed to be grateful.

“More than two years of that, every day a misery. I’m just waiting, just waiting until I’m old enough, strong enough, to kick his ass and get the hell out.Then she does it for me. After all that, she does it for me. She comes home early from work one night. Sick. He’d had her pulling doubles and just wore her out. And he’s got me up against the wall, his hand around my throat, slapping me. He liked to slap because it’s more humiliating than a fist and doesn’t leave a mark.”

Someone had stepped out on one of the terraces, and a trill of female laughter floated out on the frosted air.

Malcolm stared toward the house, the lights, the laughter, but she doubted he saw the glow or heard the joy.

“I saw her come in. She was white as a sheet. Until she saw us, and then everything about her went on fire. I’d never seen her move that fast. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anybody move that fast. She yanked him off me. She was bone-thin. He had to have sixty pounds on her, but she yanked him right off his fucking feet, and he landed halfway across the room. She dared him to get up, dared him to try to lay hands on me again, and to see how fast she snapped them off and fed them to him.”

He stopped, shook his head. “There, that’s what I come from, and don’t tell me you understand.”

“I’m not going to argue with you now, but I will say if you think I’d blame a boy and his grieving mother in any way for the situation you were caught in, you must think very little of me.”

His tone went as frosty as the air. “I told you, Parker, it’s not about you.”

“Of course it’s about me, you idiot.You idiot, I love you.”

She caught a glimpse of the utter stupefaction on his face before she stormed away.

She caught another glimpse of him during the reception, talking to the newlyweds, and again a bit later, seated at the bar with the FOG in some intense conversation.

She kept her eye on the Franks, prepared to move in if they headed in Malcolm’s direction. Maybe he thought it was none of her business, maybe he thought she didn’t understand, maybe he was just stupid. But she wouldn’t allow anything or anyone to cause trouble at one of her weddings.

She was almost disappointed when it didn’t happen.

“Did you and Mal have a fight?” Mac eased up beside her when the crowd began to thin.

“Why?”

Mac tapped her camera. “I know faces. I know you.”

“I wouldn’t say we had a fight. I’d say we appear to define relationship differently, except he doesn’t acknowledge we’re in a relationship.We’re in a situation.”

“Men can be dumbasses.”

“They really can.”

“Women should all move to Amazonia, or at least vacation there four times a year.”

“Amazonia?”

“It’s the girl world in my head, where I go when I’m annoyed with Carter, or just men in general.There are five shoe stores per capita, nothing has any calories, and all the books and movies end happy ever after.”

“I like Amazonia.When do we leave?”

Mac draped an arm around Parker’s shoulders. “Amazonia, my friend, is always there, inside every woman’s head. Just close your eyes, think: Manolo Blahnik. And you’re there. I’ve got to go get some more shots, then I’ll be right behind you.”

Amused, Parker let herself imagine a calm, soothing, shoeladened female world, but had to admit, she wouldn’t want to live there. An occasional short vacation? It sounded very good.

She watched as the bride and groom took the floor again for the last dance of the evening.

So in love, she thought. So in tune. So ready to start their life together, as partners, as lovers, as companions and mates.