by Nora Roberts
“Let’s go ahead and set it up in the main parlor. If they want the tour straight off, maybe we’ll move it outside. It’s beautiful out.”
Parker moved in to help, but Mrs. Grady waved her off. “I’ve got it. I just put it together that I know the bride’s first stepmother.”
“Really?”
“Didn’t last long, did she?” Movements brisk, Mrs. Grady transferred the trays to a tea cart. “Never made the second wedding anniversary, if I remember right. Pretty woman, and sweet enough. Dim as a five-watt bulb, but good-hearted.” Mrs. Grady flicked her fingertips over the skirt of her bib apron. “She married again—some Spaniard—and moved to Barcelona.”
“I don’t know why I spend any time on the Internet when I can just plug into you.”
“If you had, I’d’ve told you Mac’s mother had a flirt with the bride’s daddy between wives two and three.”
“Linda? Not a surprise.”
“Well, we can all be grateful it didn’t take. I like the girl’s pictures,” she added as they rolled the cart toward the parlor.
“You’ve seen them?”
Mrs. Grady winked. “You’re not the only one who knows how to use the Internet. There’s the bell. Go on. Snag us another client.”
“That’s the plan.”
Parker’s first thought was the bride looked like the Hollywood version of a fantasy artist, with her waist-length tumble of gilded red hair and almond-shaped green eyes. Her second thought was what a beautiful bride Deeanne would make, and on the heels of it, just how much she wanted a part of that.
“Good morning.Welcome to Vows. I’m Parker.”
“Brown, right?” Wyatt shot out a hand. “I just want to say, I don’t know who designed your landscape, but they’re a genius. And I wish it had been me.”
“Thank you so much. Please, come in.”
“My mother, Patricia Ferrell. Deeanne’s mom, Karen Bliss.”
“It’s lovely to meet all of you.” Parker took stock quickly. Wyatt took charge, but genially—and all three women let him. “Why don’t we have a seat in the parlor for a few minutes and get acquainted.”
But Deeanne was already wandering the spacious foyer, scanning the elegant staircase. “I thought it would be stuffy. I thought it would feel stuffy.” She turned back, her pretty summer skirt swaying. “I studied your website. Everything looked perfect, looked beautiful. But I thought, no, too perfect. I’m still not convinced it’s not too perfect, but it’s not stuffy. Not in the least.”
“What my daughter might’ve said, in many fewer words, Ms. Brown, is you have a lovely home.”
“Parker,” she said. “And thank you, Mrs. Bliss. Coffee?” she invited. “Or iced sun tea?”
“Could we just look around first?” Deeanna asked her. “Especially outside, as Wyatt and I want an outdoor wedding.”
“Why don’t we start outside, then circle back through? You’re looking at next September,” Parker continued as she moved to the door leading to the side terrace.
“A year from now. That’s why we’re looking at this time, so we can see how the landscape, the gardens, the light all work.”
“We have several areas that can be utilized for outdoor weddings. The most popular, especially for larger events, is the west terrace and pergola. But . . .”
“But?”Wyatt echoed as they strolled around the house.
“When I see the two of you, I picture something a little different. Something we do now and then. The pond,” she said as they rounded to the back. “The willows, the roll of the lawns. I see a flower-strewn arbor and white runners flowing like a river between the rows of chairs—white again, strung with flowers. All of that reflected in the water of the pond. Banquets of flowers everywhere—but not formal, more natural arrangements. Cottage garden flowers, but in mad abundance. My partner and our floral designer, Emmaline, is an artist.”
Deeanne’s eyes took on a gleam. “I loved what I saw of her work on the website.”
“You can speak with her directly if you decide to have your wedding with us, or even if you’re just considering it. I also see fairy lights, glittering, candles flickering. Everything natural, organic—but sumptuous, sparkling. Titania’s bower. You’ll wear something flowing,” she said to Deeanne. “Something fairylike, with your hair down. No veil, but flowers in your hair.”
“Yes.You’re very good, aren’t you?”
“It’s what we do here. Tailor the day to reflect what you want most, what you are, individually and to each other. You don’t want formal, but soft and dreamy. Neither contemporary nor old-fashioned. You want you, and a bluegrass trio playing you down the aisle.”
“‘Never-ending Love,’” Wyatt supplied with a grin. “We’ve already picked it. Will your artist of a florist work with us, not only on the wedding landscape, but the bouquets and all that?”
“Every step of the way. It’s entirely about you, and creating the perfect—even too-perfect,” she said with a smile for Deeanne, “day for you.”
“I love the pond,” Deeanne murmured as they stood on the terrace looking out. “I love the image you’ve just painted in my head.”
“Because the image is you, baby.” Karen Bliss took her daughter’s hand. “It’s absolutely you.”
“Dancing on the lawn?” Wyatt’s mother glanced over. “I checked out the website, too, and I know you have a gorgeous ballroom. But maybe they could have dancing out here.”
“Absolutely. Either, both, however you want it done. If you’re interested, we can set up a full consult, with my partners, discuss those areas, and more details.”
“What do you say we take a look at the rest.” Wyatt leaned down to kiss Deeanne’s temple.
AT FOUR-THIRTY, PARKER WAS BACK AT HER DESK REFINING SPREADSHEETS, charts, schedules. In concession to the end of the day’s appointments, her suit jacket hung on the back of her chair, and her shoes sat under the desk.
She calculated another hour’s paperwork, and considered the day a blissfully light one. The rest of the week promised to be insanely jammed but, with any luck, by six she’d be able to change into casual clothes and treat herself to a glass of wine and actually sit down to a meal.
She went Hmmm? at the rap on her door jamb.
“Got a minute?” Mac asked.
“I happen to have several on me. You can have one.” Parker swiveled in her chair as Mac hauled in two shopping bags. “I missed you in the gym this morning, but I see you’ve continued your weight lifting.”
Grinning Mac flexed. “Pretty good, huh?”
“You’re ripped, Elliot.You’ll have showstopping arms on Wedding Day.”
Mac dropped into a chair. “I have to do justice to the dress you found me. Listen, I’ve sworn not to become Mad Bride or Weepy Bride or other various aspects of Annoying Bride, but it’s getting close and I just need assurances from the goddess of all wedding planners.”
“It’s going to be perfect, and exactly right.”
“I changed my mind on the first dance again.”
“It doesn’t matter. You can change it up until the countdown.”
“But it’s symptomatic, Parks. I can’t seem to stick to a basic item like a damn song.”
“It’s an important song.”
“Is Carter taking dance lessons?”
Parker widened her eyes. “Why would you ask me?”
“I knew it! God, that’s so sweet. You got Carter to take dance lessons so he won’t step on my feet during our first dance.”
“Carter asked me to arrange it—as a surprise. So don’t spoil it.”
“It makes me gooey.” Her shoulders lifted and fell with her happy sigh.“Maybe I can’t stick because I keep going gooey. Anyway, I had that off-site engagement shoot this afternoon.”
“How’d it go?”
“Aces. They’re so damn cute I wanted to marry both of them. Then I did something stupid on the way home. I stopped by the shoe department at Nordstrom.”
“Which
I have already cleverly deduced by the shopping bags.”
“I bought ten pair. I’m taking most of them back, but—”
“Why?”
Mac narrowed her green eyes. “Don’t encourage the lunatic. I couldn’t stick, again. I already bought my wedding shoes, right? Didn’t we all agree they’re perfect?”
“Stunning and perfect.”
“Exactly, so why did I buy four alternate pairs?”
“I thought you said ten.”
“The other six are for the honeymoon—well, four of them, then I really needed a new pair of work shoes, and they were so cute I got one pair in copper and another in this wild green. But that’s not important.”
“Let me see them.”
“The wedding shoes first, and don’t say anything until I line them all up.” Mac held up both hands. “Total poker face. No expression, no sound.”
“I’ll turn around, work on this spreadsheet.”
“Better you than me,” Mac muttered, then got to work.
Parker ignored the rustling, the sighs, until Mac gave her the go-ahead.
Turning, Parker scanned the shoes lined up on a work counter. Rose, crossed over, scanned again. She kept her face blank, said nothing as she picked up a shoe, examined it, set it back, moved to the next.
“You’re killing me,” Mac told her.
“Quiet.” She walked away to take out a folder, slipping out the photo taken of Mac in her wedding dress. She took it back to the selection of shoes, nodded.
“Yes. Definitely.” She picked up a pair. “You’d be a lunatic not to wear these.”
“Really!” Mac slapped her hands together. “Really? Because those were the ones.The. Ones. But I kept waffling back and forth and sideways. Oooh, look at them. The heels, they’re all sparkly, and the ankle strap’s so sexy—but not too sexy. Right?”
“The perfect blend of sparkly, sexy, and sophisticated. I’ll take the others back.”
“But—”
“I’ll return them because you’ve found the ultimate wedding shoe and need to stick. You have to remove the others from your sight and stay out of the shoe department until after the wedding.”
“You’re so wise.”
Parker inclined her head. “I am indeed wise. And as such, I do believe this pair may very well be Emma’s wedding shoe. I’ll exchange it for her size, and we’ll see.”
“Oh, oh, again, wise points.” Mac picked up the pair Parker indicated. “More romantic, more princessy. This is great. I’m exhausted.”
“Leave the wedding shoes—all of them—with me. Take the others. Oh, and check your calendar when you get home. I added in consults.”
“How many?”
“Out of the five tours I did today, we have three full consults, one need to talk it over with Daddy—who’s footing the bill—and one who’s still shopping around.”
“Three out of five?” Mac did a double fist pump. “Woo-hoo.”
“I’m betting four out of five, because Daddy’s girl wants us, and wants us bad. The fifth? The bride just isn’t ready to decide. Her mother wants us, which my instincts tell me is a strike against us in this case. We’ll see.”
“Well, I’m psyched. Three fulls, and I’ve bagged the perfect wedding shoes. I’m going to go home and give my guy a big, wet kiss, and he won’t know it’s because he’s taking dance lessons. Thanks, Parks. See you later.”
Parker sat, studied the shoes on the counter. She thought of Mac rushing home to Carter. Thought of Laurel greeting Del when he came home after a two-day business conference in Chicago. And Emma maybe sitting out on her little patio having wine with Jack and dreaming of her own wedding flowers.
She swiveled around to stare at the spreadsheet on screen. She had her work, she reminded herself. Work she loved. And that’s what mattered right now.
Her BlackBerry signaled, and a glance at the read-out told her another bride needed to talk.
“I’ve always got you,” she murmured, then answered. “Hi, Brenna.What can I do for you?”
