Kiss the Bride (4 page)

“Yes.”
Far more than you can ever know.
Delaney raised her hands in supplication. “Please, sell me the veil.”

“I cannot sell it to you.”

An emotion she could not name, but that tasted a bit like grief, took hold of her. Why was possessing this particular wedding veil so important? There was no rational explanation for it, but an odd feeling clutched deep within her. The yearning was almost unbearable.

“Ten thousand.” She felt like an acolyte begging a Zen master for enlightenment.

Claire sucked in her breath and looked around the shabby little shop. “You really want it that badly?”

Delaney nodded, too emotionally twisted up inside to speak.

“All right.” Claire let out her breath in an audible whoosh. Her reluctance was palpable. “You may have it.”

She felt as if someone had lifted a chunk of granite off her heart.

Delaney’s breath came out on a squeak of pure joy. “Really?”

“Yes, but only under one condition,” Claire cautioned.

“Yes, yes.”

“You must swear that you will never, under any circumstances, wish upon the veil.”

“I’ll sign a waiver, a contract, whatever it takes. My friend Jillian is a lawyer; she can bear witness.”

“Delaney.” Jillian made a clucking noise. “Are you sure you want to do this? Ten thousand is a lot of money for a wedding veil.”

Defiantly she met Jillian’s eyes. “I want it, okay? Just back me up here.”

Something in her face must have telegraphed her seriousness. Delaney rarely took a stand on anything, hardly ever expressed an opinion or even a strong desire, but because of this, whenever she did take a stand, people usually listened.

Jillian held up her palms and took a step back. “Hey, if it’s what you want, I say go for it.”

“Thank you.” She turned back to Claire and reached inside her Prada handbag for her checkbook. “I promise never to wish on the veil. Now may I have it?”

Claire stuck out her hand to seal the deal. “Done.”

And that was the moment Delaney realized that although she’d managed to find the special magic she’d been aching to believe in, she had just made a solemn vow never to use it.

T
hat night, Delaney dreamed of her sister.

Skylar had been dead for seventeen years, but she popped up in Delaney’s dreams with surprising regularity. Although she couldn’t say why her sister still played such a prominent role in her sleeping life.

Maybe it was because Skylar’s passing had left her an only child. Afterward, her mother had tied the apron strings so tightly Delaney felt as if all the personality had been strangled out of her. Maybe dreaming of her outrageous sister was an avenue into her own subconscious. A way to express the feelings she’d learned to suppress.

Tonight, for some inexplicable reason, her sister wore roller skates, purple short-shorts, and a silver-sequined top hat. Other than the bizarre outfit, she looked exactly as she’d looked the last time Delaney had seen her—blond, beautiful, and sweet sixteen.

Skylar perched on the curvy footboard of Delaney’s sleigh bed, enthusiastically chewing a persimmon.

“Who eats persimmons?” Delaney asked.

“I do.”

“Of course you do.”

“Persimmons are like me. Unique. If you were a fruit, Laney, you’d be an apple. Dependable, granted, but boring as hell.”

“Watch what you’re doing. You’re dripping juice all over my new Ralph Lauren comforter.”

Skylar rolled her eyes. “See? What’d I tell you? Boring. Go ahead and bitch all you want; you can’t fool me. I know what you’ve been up to.”

“I haven’t been up to anything except protecting my expensive bedding from a persimmon-sucking ghost.”

“Low blow, baby sis. But I am glad to see you’re showing some spunk. Bravo,” Skylar said. “However, insults aren’t going to distract me from what you’re hiding under the bed.”

It was true. Delaney didn’t want her sister poking fun at the wedding veil.

“Come on, pull it out. I know it’s there. You might as well let me see it.”

She sighed, knowing Skylar would pester her until she either showed her the veil or she woke up. “It’s no big deal, just a wedding veil.”

“Hmm, the plot thickens,” Skylar mused. “What are you going to do about the veil that you’ve already got hanging in your closet? Remember that one? The veil Mother picked out for you.”

“You’re just trying to start trouble.”

“But of course. Everybody knows stirring up trouble is what I do best.” Skylar polished off the persimmon and chucked the remains in the trash can.

“I didn’t know ghosts could eat,” Delaney said, trying to deflect Skylar’s attention.

“Technically, I’m not a ghost. Rather, I’m a figment of your dream imagination. You could send me packing
if you really wanted to, but honestly your life would be pretty damn dull without me. So quit arguing and produce the veil.” Skylar made “gimme” motions with her fingers.

Delaney flipped her head over the side of the bed and grappled underneath the bed skirt until she found the sack. She slipped it out, sat up, and cautiously handed her the sack. “Be careful with it.”

Skylar peeked inside and whistled. “Holy shit, that’s an awesome veil.”

“I know.” Her sister’s approval meant a lot. Delaney felt eight years old again, full of wistful longing to be glamorous and grown-up. Hanging around Skylar’s vanity, watching her apply makeup and change outfits as she got ready for a date.

“And I see that you found the veil at a consignment shop.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Mom’s never going to let you wear it.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“You could fight her on this. Oops, oh, wait, I forgot. You’re so into being the perfect daughter, you could never buck the flawless Honey Montgomery Cartwright.”

“No need to get unpleasant.” Delaney snatched the wedding veil away from Skylar and folded it back into the sack.

“Ah, perfect little princess. Lucky for me I died when I did. I would never have heard the end of how perfect you are, and how perfect I am not.”

Skylar’s comment shot her full of anger. Delaney remembered the raw horror and agonizing grief she’d experienced over her sister’s death. Nostrils flaring, hands knotted into fists, she faced off with her. “No, it was not lucky! It was terrible the way you died.”

“Okay, sorry. Chill.”

“I won’t chill. The way Mother and Daddy were afterward was awful. Losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to this family. I had to be perfect because you got your silly self killed, sneaking off to a KISS concert, drinking with your friends, and then getting smashed up in a car crash. If you hadn’t been so damn rebellious, you’d still be alive and I wouldn’t have ended up spending my whole life making amends for something you did. I had to have chaperoned dates until I was nineteen. Mother wouldn’t even allow me to go to sleepaway camp, much less a rock concert. She refused to let me get my driver’s license until I was twenty-one. And it was your entire fault.”

“Ooh, where’s all this emotion coming from?” Skylar applauded. “I approve. Usually, you’re so pent-up.”

“I don’t want your approval.”

“Why not?” Skylar crossed her legs and the wheels of her skates left dirty marks on the sheets.

Delaney cringed. “Watch the linens, will you?”

“What? Scared you’ll become like me? Scared Mommy won’t love you anymore if you do?”

That’s exactly what she was scared of, but Delaney couldn’t tell her sister that. “I am going to wear this veil on my wedding day. Wait and see.”

“Sure you are,” Skylar scoffed.

“I am!”

“Nah.” Skylar pushed the top hat back off her forehead and assessed Delaney with a pensive stare. “You’ll cave and our mother will get her way yet again.”

“I won’t.”

“We’ll see.”

Delaney clutched the sack to her chest, knowing
her sister was right. If she responded true to form and accepted her mother’s edicts for what constituted the perfect wedding, she would not be wearing the consignment shop veil.

“I have an idea on how to handle Mother.” Skylar smirked. “If you’ve got the balls for it.”

“There’s no need to be crude.” Delaney pressed her lips together. “What’s your idea?”

“Why don’t you sew a designer label on the veil, put it in an expensive box, and tell Mom someone very high up on the blue-blood food chain sent it to you. Like one of our Philadelphia relatives we’ve never met.”

Delaney gasped. “But I can’t do that. It’s underhanded and sneaky.”

“I knew you didn’t have the balls for it. Night, Chicken Little.” Skylar swung her legs off the bed, the wheels of her skates making a clacking noise as she stood. “See ya in your dreams.”

“Wait, don’t go.”

Skylar paused. “Yeah?”

“Do you really think your plan would work?”

“Guaranteed.” She winked.

Delaney worried her bottom lip. She wasn’t a liar, but she wanted so badly to wear the veil at her wedding.

“I’ll tell you something else,” Skylar added.

“Oh?”

“I was hanging out tonight, eavesdropping on your dinner conversation with your friends, and I think they’re right.”

“About what?”

“Seducing Evan. Making him your sex hostage. Sounds totally hot. Go for it. Maybe it’ll be the jump start you two need.”

“Your glowing endorsement is all the more reason not to do it.” Delaney glowered.

“You sound just like her, you know.” Skylar wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue.

“Just like whom?”

“Who do you think?”

Skylar was right. She did sound just like their mother. Judgmental, inflexible, overly concerned with appearances. And that was the last thing Delaney wanted.

She dragged a hand through her hair. “This is horrible! How can I stop from becoming like her?”

“Do the most outrageous thing you can think to do. Kidnap Evan from his office, take him to the woods, and have your way with him. I triple dog dare you.”

“Fine,” Delaney said. “If that’s what it takes to prove to you I’m not like Mother, I’ll do it.”

Skylar snorted. “Seeing is believing, pipsqueak.”

Following that snarky comment, Delaney woke up.

Detective Dominic Vinetti watched Dr. Evan Van Zandt stride into the exam room, frowning at the chart in his hand and shaking his head. A bullet of dread ricocheted through the ventricles of Nick’s heart at the serious expression on the other man’s face.

“I’ve received the results of your follow-up tests,” Van Zandt said, “and I’m sorry, Nick, but the outcome isn’t as favorable as we had hoped.”

Sweat broke across Nick’s brow. He fisted his hands and swallowed hard. In this stupid paper gown he was nearly naked and felt too damn exposed. He scowled past his anxiety and mouthed toughly, “Whaddya mean?”

“It’s been eight weeks since the injury and while your leg is improved, you’re still healing at a much slower rate
than I anticipated. I’m afraid I can’t yet allow you to return to work.”

Fear swamped him. Anxiety soup. Followed on its heels by a thick, rolling wave of despair.
Son of a bitch.
He could not spend one more hour watching bad television. Could not play one more video game or surf the net one more time or he’d lose his frickin’ mind.

“I gotta go back to work, Doc. I’ll take a desk job. Sit on my butt, no chasing suspects. I promise.” He held up his palm as if he were taking an oath on the witness stand.

Van Zandt fidgeted with his tie, then flipped up the tail of his lab coat and took a seat on the rolling stool. He had the butter-soft face of a man who’d lived an easy life. “I can’t in good conscience sign the release form.”

Nick pressed his palms together, supplicating. “I’m going nuts, here. Please don’t make me beg.”

“Have you been doing your exercises?”

“Regular as a nun to mass.”

Van Zandt threw back his head and brayed loudly at Nick’s comment. “Well, at least you still have your sense of humor.”

Irritation dug into Nick’s gut. The guy laughed like a freaking barnyard donkey. “Yeah, lucky me. Ha, ha.”

“Have you been taking your antibiotics?” Van Zandt asked.

“Morning, noon, and night.”

“What about the pain pills?”

“Not so much.”

“When was the last time you took one?”

“I never got the prescription filled when I left the hospital,” he admitted.

“You’re kidding.”

Nick shook his head.

“There’s no need to be macho. If you’re hurting, take the Vicodin. Pain inhibits healing.”

“Pills make me feel dulled.”

“Take them anyway.”

“I’ve seen a lot of people get addicted to those things.”

“You’re too strong-minded to get addicted.”