Daughters Of The Bride (12 page)

He held in a grin. “Have a good time?”

She jumped and shrieked. Sarge came to his feet as if ready to take on danger, while Pearl simply appeared anxious.

Courtney put a hand on her chest. “You scared me. What are you doing, lurking like that?”

“I’m reading with my peeps.” He stroked Pearl. “Joyce is visiting a friend in San Francisco.”

Courtney dropped her arm to her side. “So you’re pet sitting? That’s nice.”

Her gaze was slightly unfocused and her cheeks flushed. She looked about seventeen—all bangs and long legs. She wasn’t wearing anything special. Just a plain yellow T-shirt and jeans. No makeup. But there was something appealing about her. Something that spoke to that dark, empty place inside him.

“I was at my mom’s,” she continued. “We get together every few months. Girls only. Girls and margaritas.” She paused. “Rachel drove me home. I wouldn’t drive like this.”

“Good to know.”

“I’m responsible.”

“I see that.” He studied her for a second. “Did you eat?”

“A taco. It was good, but then Sienna made some crack about me being a maid and it wasn’t as fun after that.” She put her hands on her hips. “There’s nothing wrong with being a maid. Someone has to do it. It’s a necessary service. I take pride in my work and so does everyone else who works here. Maids are good people, but sometimes the way she says it...” Courtney shook her head. “We should respect honest work and the people who do it.”

“You are drunk.”

She stomped her foot. “I mean it, Quinn.”

“I know you do. And you’re right. Honest work should be respected. Let’s go in the kitchen and get you a big glass of water and some aspirin. Maybe a snack. Otherwise, you’re going to have a really bad morning.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I probably should have stopped at three margaritas.”

He rose. Pearl jumped off the sofa and joined him. He went over to Courtney’s side and put a hand on the small of her back. “Three is a good limit.”

“Too late now.” She giggled.

He gave her a little push in the direction of the kitchen. The dogs came along with them, Sarge carrying his sock. As Pearl and Sarge settled in the giant dog bed set up for them in a corner of the kitchen, Quinn had a brief thought about health inspectors, then told himself Joyce had it all under control.

He got a glass from the cupboard and ice from the ice machine, then filled the glass with water. Courtney perched on one of the bar stools by the massive island.

“I think you’re right,” she told him. “About me punishing my family. By not telling them the truth, I mean. They don’t know any of it. Not that I have my GED or my AA or that I’m getting my bachelor’s.”

“Drink,” he told her, pointing at the glass.

She took several gulps. “My marketing professor has asked me to be in a special class he teaches. You have to be
invited
. It’s very exciting.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. We’re supposed to say a good thing and a bad thing and I didn’t tell.”

Quinn leaned against the counter. “For those of us who haven’t had margaritas, what does that mean?”

She laughed. “At dinner. We have to say one good thing and one bad thing.” Her eyes widened. “Sienna’s good thing wasn’t her engagement.”

“Are you surprised?”

“No. She wasn’t happy at all. But jeez, if you’re going to fake it, go all the way.” Her smile faded. “Did that sound dirty? I didn’t mean it to.”

“It didn’t.”

“Good. Hey, you took me off your room.”

He repeated the words in his head, searching for either context or meaning, and found neither.

“Your room,” she repeated. “I’m not your maid.”

“My honest, hardworking maid. Yes, I know. I did ask for someone different.”

She glared at him. “I do a good job.”

“I’m sure you do. My request wasn’t about your work, it was about the fact that I know you. It was too strange—you picking up after me.”

“Then pick up after yourself.” She giggled. “Okay, I get what you’re saying, but it’s not like I was going to snoop in your underwear drawer.”

“What makes you think I wear underwear?”

Her eyes widened.

He chuckled. “Drink your water.”

She took a few more swallows, then asked, “Am I a project?”

“Do you want to be?”

“I’m not sure. I think it would be interesting. You know stuff I can’t even imagine. You’ve been successful in business. That would be interesting to talk about. But the whole project thing—that makes me feel like you’ll never take me seriously.”

“Do you need me to?”

“Sure. I’m not a little girl. I’m a woman.”

“I’m very clear on your status in the girl versus woman arena. For what it’s worth, you’re not a project. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Why not?”

“My last project died.” Quinn swore silently. Where had that come from? He hadn’t meant to tell her the truth.

Her mouth dropped open. “For real?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“You can’t know that,” he told her.

“Not for sure, but I can guess. You want the world to think you’re really cynical and disconnected, but you’re not.”

“How do you know that?”

She smiled. “You love your grandmother.”

“Even serial killers love their grandmothers.”

“I don’t think so. From my very limited understanding on the subject, family members are often the first to go.” She slid off the stool. “I should probably eat something.”

“Good idea.”

“I know where the secret stash is.”

He was a little afraid to ask “of what?” Knowing Courtney as he did, it could be anything.

She crossed to one of the cupboards and reached up to a high shelf. As she stretched, her T-shirt rose, and he saw the small of her back and the tattoo there.

“Well, hell,” he muttered.

She pulled down a bag of Oreo cookies, then faced him. “What?”

“Your tattoo.”

“Ha-ha. Not what you expected at all. Admit it. I surprised you.”

“Very much so.”

She opened the package and pulled out a cookie. “Do you know the song?”

He nodded.

“I’m not sure I believe you. What’s the whole line?”

“‘You can walk me to the river,’” he quoted, “‘but you can’t make me drown.’” She’d tattooed lyrics onto her skin.

“That’s right. Hey, the artist—Zinnia. She died a few years ago.” Her mouth parted. “Is she the one? The project? Did you have something to do with that song?”

“Yes.”

She put down the package of cookies and rubbed her temple. “Was that yes to all the questions?”

“Yes, I worked with her, and yes, we were involved. She killed herself a few months after we broke up.” He held up one hand. “The events were not related.” As far as he knew.

“And the song?”

“I wrote it.”

Her expression of surprise was almost comical. “But you’re a music producer. I thought you sat in a booth and pushed buttons or moved levers or something.”

“How flattering.”

She rolled her eyes. “And discovered talent and all that, but you write songs?”

“I do nearly everything that needs to be done.”

Courtney collected her bag of cookies and returned to the counter. He refilled her glass while she ate a couple of Oreos.

“What was she like?” Courtney asked when he set the glass in front of her. “Zinnia?”

He thought of her slight build, her long red hair, her energy. “She was fire.”

“That sounds so great, but in real life, it has to be a pain. The drama.” She clamped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. You’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead and I just did. Plus, I don’t know her. I really hate it when people are critical of someone they don’t know. Like we all have this great insight. I apologize. I’m weak and spineless. Do you want a cookie?”

She pushed the bag toward him.

He honest to God had no idea what to do with her. Zinnia had been pure flame and Courtney was right—sometimes it had been a pain in the ass. But art came at a price. Courtney was different—quicksilver, maybe. Light and bright and impossible to hold. He decided he liked that about her best.

“You should finish your water,” he told her. “Then take a couple of aspirin and go to bed.”

“Want to join me?” She grinned. “You’ve seen my tattoo, so I can’t offer you that unveiling, but still.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Well, duh. I just asked you to have sex with me. You don’t think I’d be brave enough to do that sober, do you?”

He stepped toward her. After taking her face in both his hands, he lightly kissed her lips, then her forehead.

She exhaled. “Well, crap. There’s never sex after a man kisses your forehead.”

He stepped back. “You’re so worldly.”

“Don’t mock me. I’m humiliated and in pain.”

She was smiling as she spoke and still eating cookies. So not either of the things she claimed.

“I suspect you’ll recover. Can you get back to your room on your own?”

“Of course. I made it here.”

“Your sister drove you.”

She brightened. “That’s right. I was at my mom’s tonight. Did I tell you that?”

“You did. You are going to have one nasty hangover.”

“I’ll be fine. You sure you don’t want a cookie?”

“Yes, but thanks for asking.”

“Anytime. Were you at least a little tempted?”

He’d learned enough about how her mind worked to figure out what she was asking.

“More than a little. But drunk is not my style.”

She beamed. “It’s so nice that you have standards.”

He was sure there was a compliment buried in there somewhere. “Thanks. Good night, Courtney.”

“’Night.”

12

SIENNA STARED AT
the ring David held out. “You got it sized so quickly,” she said, hoping he couldn’t hear the disappointment in her voice. “I’m surprised.”

“I paid extra for a rush job. Put it on. I want to take a picture to text my folks.”

Sienna took the small ring with the ugly setting and slid it on her finger. It fit perfectly and looked even worse on than off.

She’d never thought of her hands as oversize, but the petite setting seemed lost on her finger. The diamond was nonexistent. David, who sat next to her on her sofa, beamed.

“It’s perfect.”

She glanced down. “It’s unique.” And oddly heavy, for something so tiny. Or maybe it was just guilt and unhappiness that made it feel as if it weighed fifty pounds.

He took several pictures of her holding out her hand, then put away his phone and faced her.

“We have a lot to talk about,” he said.

“We do.”

He took her hands in his and stared into her eyes. “I know you were surprised by the proposal.”

She squirmed. “We hadn’t discussed marriage at all.”

He nodded. “I should have said something. It’s just you’re the one, Sienna. You’re beautiful and caring, and every time I’m with you, I know in my gut that we’re meant to be together.”

He moved his thumbs against the backs of her hands. “I know you’re scared. Of us, of the future. I know you’ve been engaged before. I get that you’re having second thoughts.”

She hoped she didn’t look as shocked as she felt. “You do?”

“Of course. You lost your dad when you were what, six? Then your mom had a tough time. You’re scarred by that. You’re afraid to believe in a happy future. This has to terrify you.”

She managed a slight smile. “Maybe a little.”

“I’m here for you. I believe in you and I believe in us. I want to make you happy. I want you to realize you can trust me with every part of you. The good and the bad. I’m all in. Can you give us a chance? Can you take a leap of faith?”

He really did understand, she thought, both shocked by his insight and shamed by her own doubts. He got her. Okay, sure, there wasn’t a lot of the superhot chemistry between them, but weren’t steadiness and acceptance more important than a few fleeting chemicals?

David believed in her, believed in them. He was a really good guy with roots and a desire for them to have a future together. He was right—she’d had a tough childhood, and that had influenced her all her life.

“I think I’m really lucky to have you in my life,” she told him, then leaned in to kiss him.

He released her hands. “I’m glad. Because like I said before, we have a lot to talk about.”

She leaned against him and studied the ring. Maybe it wasn’t so very awful. “Like what?”

“My mom’s been calling every day. She’s going to want to talk to you as soon as possible.”

She straightened. “About what?”

“The wedding. She wants it to be in St. Louis, but I told her I thought you’d prefer to have it here. Do you agree?”

She’d barely accepted the fact that they were engaged and he wanted to talk weddings?

“Um, I don’t know.”

“If you don’t have a preference, then St. Louis would be better for me.” His voice was eager. “Although I have to warn you, between friends and family, my half of the guest list will be about four hundred.”

“People?” she asked faintly. “That’s huge.”

“I know, but it’s a big deal for me and my family.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Now, Mom had a crazy idea this morning. I told her it wasn’t possible, but I have to admit, part of me is thinking maybe it would actually work out.”

“W-what?” she asked, genuinely afraid to hear the answer.

“A Christmas wedding.”

She sat up and stared at him. “Christmas
this
year?”

He nodded.

“That’s only seven months away. I couldn’t possibly pull a wedding together in that short a period of time.”

“Your mom’s doing it in three months and my mom would help.” He leaned toward her. “Or we could skip the big event and have a destination wedding. The Caribbean or Hawaii. Then have a giant celebration party in the spring. That way we could invite everybody.”

Because the four hundred he’d mentioned before wasn’t everybody?

“My head is spinning,” she admitted. “I need to think about this.”

“Take all the time you need,” he told her as he kissed her. “Or at least a week. This is going to be great. You’ll see. The third time’s the charm, Sienna. I just know it.”

* * *

“I’ve ordered the shoes already,” Maggie said. “So the dress is going to have to work with them.”

Betty Grable—no relation to the 1940s movie star—stared at Maggie. “You bought your shoes before your wedding gown?”

Courtney wanted to tell the transplanted thirtysomething that there was no point in trying to understand Maggie-logic. Easier to simply go with it.

“Wedding dresses always need alterations,” she said, stepping between her mother and the brunette salesperson. “At least that’s what I’ve picked up from my
Say Yes to the Dress
marathons.” She smiled at Betty. “You’d know a lot more about that than we would. Wouldn’t any pair of shoes work as long as the dress isn’t too short to begin with? If it’s going to have to be hemmed anyway, what’s the problem?”

“I suppose that’s true,” Betty admitted, still sounding doubtful.

“Mom, didn’t you bring a pair of shoes that are the same height?” Courtney asked. “Be sure you wear those when you’re trying on the dresses so we can all have an idea of the end look.”

Rachel leaned close. “Nicely done. You defused that potential powder keg beautifully.”

“Thanks. I’ve worked with a lot of fussy people at the hotel.”

They were at For the Bride, the only wedding gown shop for a hundred miles. Despite being in the middle of a small town, the store had a very upscale clientele. Betty was known for getting in beautiful samples and having tons of contacts in New York and San Francisco. Whether your budget was three hundred or thirty thousand, Betty provided a one-stop go-to bridal gown experience.

Maggie had made her appointment right after Neil had popped the question and several weeks before the engagement party. She’d informed her three daughters they were expected to be there for the full five hours. Yes, an initial consultation really could take that long, she shared. At least Betty would provide lunch, Courtney thought. And the hangover from the previous weekend’s margarita-fest was long over.

While the morning after—one spent with a massive headache and roiling stomach—was firmly etched in her brain, the evening that had caused it was a little fuzzier. She remembered the dinner at her mom’s, how Sienna had annoyed her and the unfortunate consumption of too many margaritas. It was the part after that had her confused.

She knew Rachel had driven her back to the hotel and that she’d met up with Quinn. The bits that followed were more of a blur. There had been water and Oreo cookies, and she was pretty sure Quinn had told her he’d written the lyrics she’d had tattooed on her back. But the rest of it... Not so much with the details.

She was hoping that her asking Quinn for sex had happened in her head rather than in life. Either way, she’d ended up in her bed. Alone. Which meant either she hadn’t asked the question or he’d been a gentleman. While she believed that he was a nice guy who didn’t take advantage of drunk women, she was really hoping that the topic had never actually come up. Only, she was kind of afraid it had.

“Based on our phone conversation and the Pinterest pictures you sent me, I’ve pulled several samples for you to try on,” Betty told Maggie. “You’re not expected to find your dress today. In fact, if you fall in love with one, I’m not going to let you buy it. This is the most important decision you’re going to make about your wedding. You have to be sure. You have to love it.”

“Now look who’s defusing the situation,” Courtney said in a low voice.

Rachel grinned. “Maybe this will be fun.”

“Don’t tempt fate with that kind of talk.”

They laughed.

“Let’s get started,” Betty said. “Maggie, you’re in this dressing room here.”

She led their mother through wide double doors. The three sisters settled into comfortable chairs in the waiting area. Sienna pulled out her tablet, opened the cover and then frowned. “There’s no Wi-Fi.”

Rachel pointed to a small sign on the wall.

There is no Wi-Fi available. Today is about the bride.

“I’m not sure if that makes me like Betty more or less,” Courtney admitted. “Either way, you have to respect her style.”

“I just wanted to check work emails,” Sienna grumbled. “Seth is contacting donors about the new property we want to buy. I have to be able to give him input.”

“You could call him,” Rachel offered.

“She probably has cell service blocked,” Sienna grumbled.

Rachel grinned. “I would have to agree with you.”

Sienna looked at Courtney. “Do you know Joyce’s grandson? The rich music guy?”

“Quinn?” Courtney hoped she asked the question with the right amount of polite disinterest. “He’s staying at the hotel, so I’ve seen him around.”

Not a lie, she told herself. She had seen him around. She might have asked him to have sex with her, but no one needed to know that.

“I wonder if he’d be open to hearing a presentation about what we’re doing,” Sienna said. “Getting another duplex would be huge for us. That’s at least two more families who’ll be safe. Or if we use one of the properties for women without kids, then three victims could stay there at a time.”

Courtney felt the familiar tendrils of guilt coil through her. While she wasn’t sure how to define her relationship with Quinn, she supposed she did know him well enough to introduce him to her sister. And it was for a good cause.

“Talk to Joyce,” Rachel interjected. “Get her on board, then let her go after Quinn. He adores his grandmother and I suspect he would do anything for her.”

“What makes you say that?” Sienna asked.

“The way she talks about him when I see her. They’re close.”

“She’s right,” Courtney said quickly, mentally apologizing for throwing her boss under the bus. “She could really go to work on him.”

The double doors to the dressing room opened and Betty came out.

“Your mother requested dresses that weren’t white. So cream, ecru and ivory are our main choices. We can do a special order in blush, if that’s what she prefers. Time is tight, but there are a couple of designers who can be pushed a little. For a fee, of course.”

Betty stepped aside and Maggie walked into the main part of the salon.

Courtney hadn’t known what to expect. She’d seen pictures of her mother’s first marriage to Courtney’s dad. Maggie had worn a long-sleeved gown with a full A-line skirt. There’d been a bit of lace, but for the most part the dress had been plain. This dress was anything but.

The strapless champagne-colored dress clung from bust to knees. It was completely covered with a beautiful lace that had a slight sparkle. From the knees to the floor was a huge pouf of rippling champagne-colored fabric. Courtney didn’t know enough about wedding dresses to know if it was satin or something else that was shiny. The pouf formed a bit of a train.

The sisters stared as Maggie walked to the dais and stepped up in front of the huge mirror. As Maggie studied herself, Courtney saw that the dress dipped low in back.

“That’s got to be one amazing bra,” Rachel murmured.

“It’s doing the job,” Maggie said, turning to the left, then the right. “But it’s not comfortable. I don’t know. What do you three think?”

“You’re stunning,” Courtney said, telling herself that she came from a really good gene pool. She might be freakishly tall, but at least she would most likely age well.

Sienna walked closer. “It’s pretty, Mom, but the color is wrong. Champagne isn’t in your palette. I doubt this dress can be special ordered in time. There’s a lot of custom work in it.”

“She’s right,” Betty informed them. “You would have to take it in this color. You could, of course, adjust your wedding palette.”

“No,” Maggie said firmly. “I won’t do that. I like this, but I worry it’s too young for me.”

“You have the body,” Rachel told her. “I’m seriously bitter. You’re in great shape, Mom.”

Courtney took in the amount of bare skin and had to admit her mother was right. While she could physically carry it off, it didn’t seem...appropriate somehow. Not that she was going to walk through that minefield. Still, it was her mother’s wedding and she should be happy.

“Let me try on something else,” Maggie said and stepped down.

Two hours and several more gowns later, Maggie came out in a simple lace gown that had thin shoulder straps and a U-shaped neckline. The heavily beaded fabric followed the lines of her body until the hips, where it fell to the floor in a gentle flare. Beadwork and lace covered every inch, and the beads had a distinct pink cast.

The bodice wasn’t particularly low, and in the back it more than covered a regular bra strap.

“That works,” Sienna said. “It’s really nice, Mom.”

Courtney nodded in agreement. “I like the way the skirt forms a train. It’s not too long, but it makes a statement.”

“The color’s right, too,” Rachel added. “Well within the palette.”

“One to consider.” Maggie turned in a slow circle, then stopped and pointed out the window. “Oh, my.”

They all looked. Courtney moved to get a better view, then felt her mouth drop open when she saw a familiar blue Bentley pull up at a red light by the store.

She wasn’t sure what was more eye-catching—the convertible with the top down, the handsome man driving it or the blonde poodle sitting next to him in the passenger seat.

As if sensing their attention, Quinn glanced in their direction, then waved. Pearl turned as well, showing off her pink, sparkly Doggles.

“You know,” Maggie said slowly, “it takes a very secure man to pull that off, but damn if he doesn’t do it.”

Courtney had to agree. Only Quinn, she thought with a smile as the light turned green and he drove away.