Нора Робертс - The Last Boyfriend

“Do you think she knows—Eliza, I mean?”

“I don’t know. It seems if she did, she’d have made more effort to connect with Hope. When you think about it, it’s been more with us—Beckett, me, Ry—though Ry doesn’t talk about it much. My mother. Even you.”

“And Murphy. He’s the first one who saw her, that we know of.”

“Kids.” Owen shrugged. “They haven’t learned not to believe the impossible. This is . . .”

“Is what?”

He looked at her, lit up with a grin. “So fucking cool. And . . . wait a minute. I was distracted, caught up. I just noticed.”

“Noticed what.”

“Your hair. It’s back.” He crossed to her, ran his fingers through the bright golden red. “It’s Avery’s hair again.”

“I decided to try being me for a while, see how it goes.”

“The way I like you best,” he told her.

“Really?” Intrigued, she studied him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s your hair, but this is your hair.” Bending down, he sniffed at it. “Smells like it, feels like it, and now it looks like it. I’m crazy about your hair.”

“Come on.”

“Always have been. I’ve never made love with you and your real hair.”

She laughed, then laughed again when he boosted her up. Obliging, she hooked her legs around his waist.

“I think I should,” he continued, “just to see. Get a comparison study.”

“You do like your research.”

“And some more than others,” he agreed as he carted her into the bedroom.

Decked with flowers and sparkling lights, the inn shimmered like a wish. Of all it had seen, all it had held in its long life, this celebration of love, faith, and endurance shone bright.

The air bloomed with the scent of roses, hints of honeysuckle, a sweet drift of lilies. Overhead, the sky cupped blue and clear.

Inside the fairy bower of Titania and Oberon, Clare stepped into her wedding dress. She took a breath, smiled at her mother as Hope fussed the dress into place. “No crying, Mom.”

“My girl’s so beautiful.” Rosie blinked at the tears, stepped forward to take Clare’s hand. “And so happy.”

“Perfect.” Hope stepped back to stand with Avery.

“That’s how everything feels, right this moment.” Clare took another breath as she turned to the mirror. “Perfect.”

“And right on schedule, too. Out on the porch for some photos,” Hope ordered, “so we stay that way.”

“Are you sure Beckett’s not around? I don’t want him to see me before the ceremony. I know it’s silly, but—”

“It’s not,” Avery corrected. “I’ll go back to J&R and make sure the men stay on that side.”

“We need you for pictures,” Hope reminded her.

“I’ll be back. Just let me round up the boys and Justine. And report on progress from the groom’s world. Get started, and give me five,” she said and dashed out.

She noted the door to Elizabeth and Darcy stood open. “Can’t visit right now. Timetable. But I’ll be back.”

Clicking along in her wedding shoes, enjoying the way her dress—the color of frothy champagne—flowed around her legs, she hurried toward the back, through the door, across the porch.

She heard the voices before she knocked—the boys’ excited tones, a low, rumbling laugh. “Everybody decent?” she called out as she eased the door open.

“Define decent,” Ryder said.

Amused, she stepped through the door.

Justine, hair tumbling down her back, stood cheek-to-cheek with Beckett. Another one of those perfect moments, Avery thought, while Ryder and the boys—all in their dark suits—sat on the bed with cards spread out in what appeared to be a marathon game of War.

“It’s time!” Liam started to scramble off the bed, causing a stampede.

“Not yet. We’re taking some pictures first, then the photographer will come down here, take some of you guys. Where’s Owen?”

“Liquid refreshment detail,” Ryder told her.

“You look great. God, everybody looks great. I need to steal Justine and the boys for the pictures, then I’ll ship them back. The rest of the groom’s team stays rear of the inn. No sneaking around the front.”

“How about a pizza delivery?” Ryder asked, and as with the stampede, incited a small riot among the younger set.

“After.” Justine turned, gave the boys the eye Avery imagined had quelled riots for decades. “Let’s go, troops. See you soon,” she murmured, kissing Beckett’s cheek.

“But I’m pretty thirsty.” Murphy sent Justine an imploring look laced with a hopeful smile.

“I’ll take care of that. I’ll be right behind you,” Avery promised Justine.

“I win by default.”

Harry spun around on Ryder’s smug grin. “Nuh-uh!”

“Uh-huh. The war’s over for you, loser.”

“Moratorium,” Justine declared. “A pause in the battle,” Justine explained to Harry as she herded them out. And she sent Ryder that same quelling eye before she shut the door.

“You really do look great,” Avery said with her hand on the knob. “But wait until you see Clare.”

“Just tell me I don’t have to wait much longer.”

“Nearly there,” she promised Beckett, and scurried out.

Avery glanced down at The Courtyard as she started down. The tents, wedding-gown-white under the softening blue sky, more flowers, more lights.

Hope would say perfect, she thought. And she’d be right.

Owen stepped out, a tray of drinks in his hands. Their eyes met, she on the steps, he below. The moment held—romantic, fanciful—and her heart gave that quick flutter.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “You look amazing.”

“Wait till you see the bride.”

Owen only shook his head, watching the sun play on her highland queen hair. “Amazing.”

“It’s all so beautiful.” She continued down. “Think of this a year ago. It’s hard to believe the changes, what can happen, what can, well, become I guess.”

His eyes stayed steady on hers. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Justine took the boys to the bride’s side for pictures. I’ll deliver their liquid refreshment.”

He glanced at the tray he carried. Odd, for a minute he’d forgotten it, forgotten the wedding, forgotten the world. “Yeah. Sprite, which Liam claims is the same deal as champagne. The real deal for Mom.”

“And beer for you and your brothers. We’ll be about fifteen minutes more—according to Hope’s scary timetable. Then the photographer will be over to deal with you guys.”

“We’ll be ready. I’ve got the schedule.”

“Of course you do.”

He carried the tray up to the porch, made the beverage transfer. “Seriously amazing,” he added, making her laugh as she hurried away.

He opened the door, stepped inside.

“You know how if Avery had been pregnant I said I’d want to marry her?”

“Jesus, Avery’s pregnant?” Quickly, Ryder grabbed a beer from the tray.

“No.” But now he understood what that odd feeling had been when he’d learned the test kit had been Clare’s. Just a touch of disappointment.

“The thing is, I realized a minute ago—I didn’t realize, and now I do.”

“Spit it out,” Ryder advised, “or you’ll screw your own timetable.”

“I just want to marry her.” A little stunned, he looked from Ryder to Beckett and back again. “I want to marry Avery MacTavish.”

“Well. Let’s drink to that.” Beckett took his own beer, then Owen’s, set the tray aside. “Here you go.”

Owen frowned at the beer. “Aren’t you even a little surprised?”

“No. Not even a little.”

“Wait. Wait.” Ryder edged back, eyes narrowed. “You said marry—as in marry? First Beck, now you?” He gave his beer a suspicious stare. “Is there something in the beer? Some sort of get-married drug? That’s going to piss me off.”

“It’s not in the beer, you dick.” Beckett grinned at Owen. “You should ask her tonight. Asking her at a wedding feels like good luck.”

“I’ve got to work on it.” Owen blew out a breath. “I’ve got to work on the how and when and all that.”

“He’s going to work on it.” Ryder took a pull of his beer. “This’ll be fun.”

Once their part of prewedding photos was done, Rosie gave Clare another embrace. “I’m going to help with the boys, then I’ll bring your father up.”

“About twenty minutes.” Hope held up her phone. “Owen and I are texting, so I’ll know when the photos are finished. Then we’ll know when Beckett and his party go out to The Courtyard.”

“I’ll check with Owen, don’t worry.”

“You’re texting?” Avery said when Rosie went out. “Remember how this was going to be informal?”

“Informal doesn’t mean sloppy. Guests are already arriving, by the way.”

“Countdown.” Avery picked up the champagne. “Anybody else?”

“Not for me,” Clare began, then frowned. “No, a swallow. I think I should have a swallow for luck.”

“A swallow for the bride, and a full glass for the attendants.”

Hope picked up her glass. “To the bride.”

Clare shook her head. “No, to marriage. To the promises, the compromises, the endurance. That’s what I’d like to drink to.”

“To marriage then,” Hope agreed as they touched glasses.

“And to family,” Clare added after a minute sip. “It’s not just marriage, children when you have them, the parents you came from. It’s this, too. It’s the people who make your life whole and rich and steady. You both do that for me.”

“You’re determined to make us cry,” Avery managed.

“I thought I would.” Clare took another tiny sip, then set her glass down. “But I’m feeling very clear-eyed. I thought about Clint last night. A lot about Clint. And I know, absolutely, he’d be glad I found Beckett. That I have Beckett, and the boys have him. Knowing that makes me happy. And all I want to do now is walk out to The Courtyard, walk to Beckett and the boys, carrying this one,” she said, pressing a hand to her belly. “And make those promises.