Blushing Pink (14 page)

"Pardon me," Michael intercepted, pulling his lighter out of his tweed blazer. "Does anyone mind if I smoke?"

"Yes,"
everyone said at once, both bothered by smoke and irritable in general. So Michael nodded with understanding, and excused himself to his study.

Lucky bastard.

Meanwhile, Joanna left the room to fetch the wreaths, and everyone released a sigh. "I'm gonna get some more food," Ben said, suddenly rising from the couch. "Anyone want anything?" he asked, while lovingly toying with Ally's braids.

"I'll come too," Drew said.

Ally said, "Wait, me, too. I need more wine."

As soon as she was gone, Lane whispered (well, first she looked from Angela to Reese in a cutesy "I've got a secret" motion; then she whispered): "Listen, I wanna throw Ally a surprise shower! I was thinking we could do it right after the main shower."

The main bridal shower was a pretentious high-tea thing that in no way reflected the Brocks' real lives, but projected the image Joanna wanted for the benefit of the Women's Club. Plus, Remmi Collindyne had recommended it as the only way to go—case closed.

"It's gonna be great!" Lane went on, clapping her manicured hands together. "I've got something special lined up—Oh, shh, shh!" Ally descended the three steps from the kitchen balancing a plate of crackers and Brie, and two glasses of merlot. She brought one over to Reese.

She took it, surprised, and Ally winked. "I thought you could use a fresh one, cutie." Reese smiled. "Thanks."

"Here they aaaare!" Joanna sang, and reentered the room, carrying a big plastic bag labeled in loopy, purple script;
Betty's Decorations on Main Street.
She plopped down in the armchair again and fished through the bag with a big smile on her face, as though they were really going to
love
this. Then she pulled out one of the floral wreaths.

Lugged
was more like it. In fact, her brow creased as she hurled it out and set it down on the coffee table with a
whap.

The room fell silent.

After a few beats, Joanna clapped her hands and said, "Well?"

Angela, Ally, and Reese all just stared at the monstrosity before their eyes—obviously Betty's twisted version of a subdued headpiece—and it was Lane who finally broke the silence. (Well, why the hell not?
She
didn't have to wear it.) "Ooh!" she squealed. "How
different"

Different was right. Huge holly leaves were strung together with heavy wire, and after every third leaf was a big, spurting bunch of bright red berries. Angela was shaking her head with slow comprehension, and muttering, "Oh... my... Lord."

"Mother," Ally said finally, "what
are
those?"

"What?" Joanna looked confused. "I love them, don't you? I think they're so unique! And it's perfect for the season. Holly. For Christmas, get it? Holly at Christmastime?"

Ally said, "Yeah, we get it, Mom. Now how do we get
rid
of it?"

"And look!" Joanna went on, picking up the wreath again. "It's not real holly; it's only a simulation! That way none of the leaves will die or fall off." Reese couldn't help wondering how that was a good thing. "Remmi says faux foliage is very 'in' this season," Joanna added enthusiastically.

"Oh... that's... good," Angela mustered.

"But they're gonna have fruit coming out of their heads," Ally said. "It's weird."

"Well, it's not real fruit, sweetheart," Joanna said, sounding frustrated. "The berries are just decoration. See?" She tugged on one of the unnaturally red, unnaturally shiny bunches—the entirety of which filled her palm.

"Oh,
plastic
gargantuan fruit. Much better," Ally said.

"Very comforting," Reese said.

"Yeah, we wouldn't want to walk around with real fruit on our heads; that might be gauche," Angela said.

Then Joanna put a stop to all complaints, which were futile anyway. "Now,
look.
These will just have to do. Betty wanted to surprise you with something different, and you can't very well insult her by not wearing them." She splayed her hand over her heart dramatically. "I'd feel bad. Besides, I'm sure we just need to see what it looks like on. Reese, c'mere."

"Wha—why me?"

"Well, somebody's gotta try it on."

"I repeat the question," Reese muttered, setting her wineglass aside and getting up to fulfill her duty as simulated-foliage model (yet another one of her things).

Joanna motioned for her to get lower, so Reese bent at the knees, crouching lower and lower, until she finally gave up and knelt on the floor. And then the torture
really
began. The wreath refused to stay on her head, no matter how much Joanna tried to set it in place. "Wait... hold
still,
sweetheart," she said with frustration.

"Mom, I
am
holding still; it's just too heavy." She knew her mother wasn't really listening, though. She was too busy digging her fingers into Reese's scalp, while struggling to manipulate the thick, immutable wire of the wreath.

"Ow!" Reese yelped at her mother's obliviously barbarous touch.

"Wait, Mom, turn her head toward me," Ally said. "Maybe it's not so bad."

"Okay, great," Joanna said airily, and forcibly twisted Reese's head.

"Ow,"
Reese repeated to no avail, grimacing in discomfort.

"Well, what do you think?" Joanna asked the room.

"Ooh, I think that's just so
different!"
Lane cheered with such high-pitched enthusiasm Reese almost lurched for her. Her aim would've been off, though, because some of the berries were drooping down into her line of vision.

Just then Ben and Drew came back into the family room, and they stopped immediately in their tracks.

"What the—" Ben started to say before Ally shot him a look. "Uh, where's Mr. Brock?" he asked, inching backward, toward the kitchen again.

"He went to go smoke in his office," Ally said.

"Oh, well, maybe I'll go join him—"

"Forget it," she ordered. So he crossed the carpet and sat down next to her.

Under its own power the wreath slipped a little lower, until it was falling in Reese's face. Joanna snatched it back up. "Here, let me just fix this," she said, absently yanking on Reese's hair and jerking her head backward in the process. "Hold
still,"
Joanna said.

"I am."

"Honey, do you have hair spray on?" she said suddenly, as if she'd just identified the root of the problem.

And Reese did the only thing she could: She scoffed and lied like crazy. "No, of
course
I don't. Why would I put hair spray in my hair?" Heat crept into her cheeks. Damn her futile attempts to be a seductress!

"Well, there's something in here," Joanna persisted loudly, fingering roughly through Reese's mass of waves.

"No, there isn't," Reese said forcefully. "I didn't put anything in my hair—not a thing."
All right, shut up before you just look crusty.

Just then Michael reappeared in the archway between the kitchen and the family room. Reese dreaded whatever
Poor Richard's
truism was coming next. Whatever he was going to say, she was
not
in the mood. But her father must have sensed as much because all he said was, "Hmm, that's an unusual headpiece. Is that for the wedding? It's actually quite festive."

"Yes!" Joanna piped up, smiling at him, grateful for his endorsement. "That's what I've been trying to tell them!"

He said, "Yes, that looks good. I like it a lot." Okay, nobody saw that coming. In fact, Reese wondered if he really liked it, or if he was just helping Joanna out. It didn't really matter either way. She and Angela were wearing that wreath, and they both knew it.

Reese looked around for her wineglass, and then decided to opt instead for food. Might as well salvage something of this night. Not that she was really
sad—
just unfulfilled, disappointed, and bored. She could deal with that, but she'd like the aid of something fattening, as well.

So she shook the cumbersome wreath off her head and escaped into the kitchen.

She was definitely in the mood for something sweet. Opening the fridge, she thought,
Do I know my mother, or what?
Three trays of pastries were already chilling.

Just then the doorbell rang. Lane called out, "Ooh, that must be Deb; I'll get it!" She darted out of the family room through the kitchen and down the hall to answer the door.

Meanwhile, Reese resumed her position, hunched over, with her head halfway in the refrigerator, searching for the richest, creamiest, most chocolaty thing she could find. Finally she zeroed in on a particularly luscious-looking napoleon. She reached in and took it, careful not to get any frosting on her sleeve, and shut the refrigerator with her hip.

But as she opened her mouth wide, hoping to slide the pastry right in, she heard Lane's voice from the front door, "Ooh,
hi.
I remember you!"

"Hi, how are you?"

Reese froze.

"Am I too late for the meeting?" she heard Brian say, as the napoleon hit the floor.

Chapter 10

She had about ten seconds to snap to attention and straighten herself out. Thank God she'd stopped just short of stuffing her face with a napoleon. Somehow she doubted that chocolate running around her lips and pastry flakes lodged in between her teeth would do much for her sex appeal.

She ducked down quickly to check her reflection in the oven. Okay, her hair was a wavy mass that haphazardly descended several inches past her shoulders. Good. That was how it normally looked, so the wreath's damage had been minimal. Then she jumped up, tugged on her tight pant legs, and hurriedly crossed the kitchen to pose herself ultra casually against the sink. Well, hell, it was the best she could do in a matter of seconds.

I can't believe he's here.
Her heart fluttered wildly, and her stomach tightened with fear and exhilaration and something even better.

"Follow me..." Lane said, entering the kitchen with Brian following behind. The instant Reese saw him, her throat convulsed into a hard gulp. He seemed to get better every time she saw him. More handsome, more magnetically sexy...

Tonight he was wearing a trench coat, under which she could make out a dark red tie and a white shirt. Had he come straight from work? For
this
? Suddenly he seemed even more appealing. And so unbelievably sexy... had she already mentioned that?

He froze as their eyes met, but his face remained blank. "Hi, Reese, how are you?" His tone was amicable enough not to attract any suspicion, but flat enough to make Reese antsy for a chance to apologize so he would no longer hate her.

"Um, hi." That was all she could manage; no other words would come. How ironic. Here she had expected that she'd turn into a blithering idiot, trying to explain herself, but instead she was too shell-shocked and nervous to speak. So basically, she now aspired to be a blithering idiot.

Snap out of it,
she willed herself, but it was too late. Brian had already left the kitchen and followed Lane into the family room.

Breathe, breathe. Get it together.
She could hear rounds of introductions in the next room, along with Brian's apology for being late. Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Reese couldn't make her feet move. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this nervous. Probably freshman year at BC, she thought, when she'd attended her first Comm. Ave. party. Like then, she would just have to will herself to act normal.

As she descended the three steps into the family room, her nonchalant expression faltered the moment her right heel caught on the carpet, then slipped sideways, pulling her ankle down and nearly spraining it as she all but stumbled over. Her cheeks flamed as she busied herself by checking the rug to see what had made her heel catch—a lame and trite diversion, but it was better than bursting into tears.

Then she plopped onto the couch and tried to disappear. For once, she got her wish. She stole glances at Brian, and was consistently disheartened by the fact that he wasn't glancing back. Not at all. He didn't even know she was alive. Dressing up was a complete bust.

And speaking of busts... she couldn't help but peek down at hers, wondering why it obviously didn't look as fetching as she'd hoped when she'd put on her formfitting sweater.

Damn it all!

She quickly crossed her arms to cover her chest, and swallowed a humiliated sigh. Exactly how long had she cluelessly been sporting tacky erect nipples? Just long enough for her
entire family
to see? Oh, that was just great. Meanwhile, if Brian had seen it, he probably thought she was a complete fool. She tightened her arms now, pretty much hugging herself for comfort.

"Reese?"

She jerked up slightly. "What?"

"I asked if you'd fix Brian a plate," Joanna said.

"Oh..." She looked over at Brian, who was sitting with his leg crossed perpendicularly over his other, his expression blank again.