by Barbara Daly
Mallory supplied him with the baby's name, which she remembered from the interrogatories.
Carter's head swiveled toward her. "Desiree? Did she really name that baby Desiree?"
"Carter…" She hummed a warning.
He cleared his throat. "Little Desiree," he said calmly. "God bless her."
Phoebe was quiet again, reading. "I'll take this offer to my clients and see what they think of it." She granted them a slight smile, her gaze going back and forth between them. "Maybe you'll have more than one thing to celebrate before you go home for Christmas."
"Could we have our own private Christmas tonight?" Carter asked her during the walk back to the hotel.
They were both dragging along, tired but victorious, clinging to the good feeling that they'd done their best and everybody had won. "I'm not up to a huge celebration," Mallory said, proving her point with a huge yawn, "but a little champagne around the tree would be nice. It's our last night in the suite," she added with heartfelt regret. "Home to Chicago tomorrow. The first thing I'll have to do is go through the mail—"
"The first thing you have to do is spend the night in my apartment," Carter instructed her.
"Okay. That way I won't feel as if I've actually gotten any mail."
"And we won't mess up your apartment."
"Good point."
"Then it's my parents for Christmas Day," Carter said.
"After mine for Christmas Eve." She'd thought that of the two options, her mother's frozen oyster stew on Christmas Eve would be preferable to her frozen turkey on the day itself. "Try not to scatter anything around while you're there," she said. "And remember, no shoes in the house, and after you shower, you're supposed to wipe down the tile."
"I'll be on my best behavior," he promised. "Don't you think your mother will be flattered that I read her book?"
"Until you tell her what you thought about it," Mallory said.
"I would never! Would I ever?" he protested. "Will I get to meet the invisible Macon?"
They'd spent a lot of time the day before just getting to know each other, telling childhood stories, discussing their parents' eccentricities. Mallory laughed. "He finally answered my last e-mail this morning. He was doing a top secret job in Pennsylvania, where he met a woman who'd never laid fingertips on a computer—"
"No!" Carter said.
"But she has now." She glanced up at him. "There's a possibility, a strong possibility, that she might come to Chicago with him. Carter, I think the Trent kids have finally grown up."
Carter looked thoughtful for a minute, then turned his heart-stopping smile on her. "So has the Compton kid."
"And beautifully, I must say," Mallory said. They reached the suite. "I'm going to slip into something more comfortable," she told him.
"How about bed?"
"Champagne around the tree, remember?"
She came back wearing her pink gown and robe, carrying the box with Carter's shirt inside, and noticed that he was sitting on the sofa holding an identical gift box. She stopped short. "When did you buy me a present?"
"Saturday."
"You couldn't have Saturday. We came right home after—"
"I bought it before we met at Maybelle's," he said, standing up to take her in his arms.
She clasped her hands around his neck. "I bought yours that first day at Bloomingdale's," she said, one-upping him quite nicely, she thought.
He smiled at her. "Never said you weren't smarter than I am. Let's open them now."
"Just like a kid," she teased.
"Yeah, because I think I know what mine is." He ripped open the package and pulled out the striped shirt. "How can I afford you if you're going to buy me designer shirts?" he grumbled.
She could tell he was pleased, but her attention was focused on the champagne-colored dress she'd pulled out of its box. It was exquisite, slender and clingy, and if she were not badly mistaken, it matched her hair exactly. "Carter, it's beautiful," she breathed.
"So are you." He took her in his arms. "You were beautiful in those sweaters you used to wear in law school, the great big ones that hung down almost to your knees."
"Oh, no, I wasn't."
"I didn't say sexy." When she tried to pummel him in the stomach, he said, "But I—"
She stopped trying to pummel him and looked up into his eyes. "Liked me anyway?" she whispered.
"Loved you anyway," he said against her cheek.
His kiss left her breathless. "We can try on our new clothes in the morning."
"At the earliest."
Still she struggled a little in his arms. "We really should call Maybelle and tell her what happened today." She drew back to look at him pointedly. "I think we'd better do it now, if you intend to kiss me like that again."
"You dial. I'll pour champagne."
She dialed. The telephone rang three times, after which a recorded message came on. "You have reached the offices of Events by Ewing, razzle-dazzle parties in no time flat. Ms. Ewing can be reached during regular office hours, which are…"
Stunned, she put down the phone. "Event planner," she muttered.
"Aw, Mallory," Carter said plaintively, handing her a glass of pale bubbles, "do we have to have that kind of wedding? The kind you get an event planner for? I thought you were going to call Maybelle."
"We drove her out of business," Mallory said. "Strongest woman I've ever known and we ended her career."
"What are you talking about?"
When would she stop falling in love with him all over again every time she looked at him? Never, probably. All of a sudden she realized he'd said the magic words. He'd said love, and he'd said wedding. She put down her glass, threw her arms around him and said, "Don't bother your pretty head about it. I'll explain it to you in the morning, darling."
* * * * *
