“I know that.” She drew away and tried to find a way to explain. “I was just so…wounded and brokenhearted. I couldn’t even say the words. And I never told Gideon.”
Paris closed her eyes. “Oh, no. Until I brought over the bill and you had to explain.”
“It was my fault. He found it.”
“And he was angry,” Paris guessed.
Prue met her gaze with a roll of her eyes. “To put it mildly. But he was as mad at himself as he was at me. He thinks that I lost the baby because of what I saw at the Maine house when I opened the door. So he feels responsible.”
“Do you blame him?” Paris said sympathetically.
“Not at all. But we’re each having trouble forgiving ourselves for the whole thing, so it’s making it harder to come together with real enthusiasm.”
Paris smiled and hugged her again. “Maybe you just need to come to a wedding for inspiration.”
“I’m sure that’ll help.” Prue made herself think positively. “Can you guys stay for spaghetti?”
“Fine with me. I’m sure Randy will want to, but I don’t want to start accepting things for him until after the wedding. Let’s go ask.”
The evening turned into a party. Randy was happy to stay, and Prue called her mother and Jeffrey to join them. Georgette came out of the bedroom in a wild-colored caftan, discovered the collection of guests and walked right toward Camille with her arms open, as though it hadn’t been five years since the last time they’d met.
Justine returned from the lab with a contact sheet they all looked over after dinner. Prue thought it was hard to see a difference between the photos Bruno had taken and the ones Justine shot—unless it was to see more excitement in Justine’s.
She’d apparently been snapping the shutter while Gideon reached to the overhead branch in the woods and snapped the leaf off for Prue. She had several shots of them talking, smiling, looking into each other’s eyes with discovery.
“The two of you were made for the camera,” Justine said.
“And for each other, apparently,” Camille added.
Prue found a moment during the evening to take her mother aside and tell her about the miscarriage. She explained the reasons behind her silence, and how the whole issue had come up again to haunt her.
Camille hugged her fiercely, then held her away and gave her a little shake, her eyes brilliant with tears and annoyance.
“Sometimes, Prudence, you’re your own worst enemy. You cannot exist above the struggle. You have to get in there and get dirty. You have always been a princess, but it’s now time for you to be queen. The queen makes the hard choices, does the dirty work of keeping a family going, endures the hardships and rises above. And she never runs away. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“All right. I want you to love that man as he deserves. He came here to find you—I’m sure that was hard and humbling for him, and adequate proof to me that he’ll love you wholeheartedly in return. And I want you to make me a grandmother. Is that understood?”
There was no other reply. “Yes, ma’am,” she said smartly.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JUSTINE PHOTOGRAPHED the green pants outfit at the Breakfast Barn. Prue had called Mariah Trent, who called the upper echelon of Whitcomb’s Wonders, who all came in jeans and work shirts to lend blue-collar authenticity to the shoot. They crowded around a table over which Prue leaned with a map, obviously asking directions. Gideon stood back, looking on protectively, almost out of the photo.
When directed to ogle and stare, Gideon thought the Wonders did remarkably well. Paul Foster, single and rowdy, was a bit over the top. Justine reined him in.
“Mr. Foster,” she said in her stylish accented English. “You’re crowding my shot, and you might bear in mind that the model is married to that big man off to the side.”
The Wonders hooted. “He’s a martial arts pro,” Hank warned. “He’s preparing our security program.”
Foster seemed more amused than embarrassed. He grinned up at Gideon. “Sorry, man. Beautiful woman.”
Gideon nodded. “It’s all right. Just remember that I can kill you with my thumb.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” Foster waved at the camera. “Consider me chastised, Your Ladyship.”
There was more hooting and the suggestion that Justine should be helping to write the security program.
“Or implement it,” Foster added.
Kibitzing and laughter made for slow progress but much fun. Prue, Gideon, Georgette and Justine all stayed to have lunch with the Wonders, then moved on to a lounge on the other side of town. The band had been called in early to provide a backdrop while Gideon and Prue danced, she wearing the little black dress.
He liked having her in his arms. He was still feeling horrible about the miscarriage, but everyone’s insistence that he wasn’t responsible was slowly sinking in. For the first time since they’d begun this drama, he held her without overwhelming guilt or a sense of frustration.
She leaned into him trustingly and flirted very deliberately, telling him she was doing it for the sake of the photo. She was made up for evening and her hair was tied in a glittery clip, a curly ponytail bouncing as she moved.
When Justine had suggested the ponytail for this particular shot, Georgette had looked doubtful. “It’s a deeply romantic evening. What’s sexy about a ponytail?”
Justine had shrugged. “The innocence of it.”
Gideon decided the young woman was going places.
Prue’s waist felt small under his hand, her breasts firm and round against his chest. He could feel the whoosh of her skirt between his knees as he moved with her, felt the difference the sparkly dress made in how she perceived herself.
She was the princess now, all the harsh realities she’d had to face the past year gone in the fantasy of the moment.
He wondered how she would take the news that he’d manufactured the reason for their cohabitation.
It didn’t take much thought to come to the conclusion that she wouldn’t like it. Each of them had learned hard lessons about being honest, and she was the one who’d suggested they start over, straight with each other.
No. He’d keep the whole thing to himself rather than risk upsetting her. His plan had worked well so far. He had no reason to believe it wouldn’t continue until Georgette went home.
He put himself into the role of eager lover for the sake of the shot.
“Maybe we should make dance lessons a part of our future,” she said as Justine knelt on the piano, clicking away.
“You think we need lessons?” he asked.
“Can you samba?”
“No.”
“Rumba?”
“No.”
“Tango?”
“No.”
“Me, neither. Lessons would lend us a South American influence that couldn’t help but loosen us up.”
“The rumba is Cuban,” he corrected.
She nipped his earlobe. “You’re missing the point. I’m thinking in terms of moving with abandon instead of in a box step.”
“Ah. Abandon.”
Prue screamed when Gideon dipped her backward without warning. Her entire body weight was suspended on the flat of his hand, except for her hand clutching the sleeve of his jacket. She felt like some one dangling from the top of a building or over a shark tank. Until she saw his smile and put her own surprise aside to realize that she felt completely secure. He wouldn’t drop her.
“I do know one element of the tango,” he said.
She still lay suspended over the hand splayed at her waist. The band was grinning. Georgette scolded with a halfhearted, “Gideon!” Justine cried, “That’s great! Hold it!”
“It reminds me of a medieval torture to get the truth out of a prisoner,” she joked. “Only it involved crocodiles and a moat.”
He brought her up and tightly against him so quickly that she saw stars. “So,” he said, his eyes darkly grave. “The truth, then. Do you lov
e me?”
Her heart thudded. “I do.”
“Do you forgive me for all the ways I’ve hurt you?”
“I do. And…I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you.”
Pain shot through his eyes. “How can I make it up to you for the baby?”
“You can give me another one,” she whispered.
JUSTINE PHOTOGRAPHED Paris in the wedding dress the following day. Rosie DeMarco arrived early with the headpiece. It fit like a skullcap and was covered with pearls, a modesty veil attached to the front and a long veil at the back. Paris had also come early and Georgette was doing her makeup.
Prue noted Gideon’s second look in Rosie’s direction. She was tall and elegant with bright blue eyes and thick, long, dark brown hair. She wore pencil-slim jeans and a bulky blue sweater that made her eyes even brighter.
“She is beautiful,” she whispered to him as Rosie, Paris, Georgette and Justine chatted together. “But don’t get any ideas. She’s off men.”
He gave her another glance as he put their breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. “Somebody done her wrong?”
“I’m not sure. Something bad happened to her family. I was in Albany with you at the time, and Paris was at school. Mom knows them a bit. I guess their family’s been around forever, like Jackie’s, and Rosie’s father was a powerful man. He committed suicide, Rosie’s brother died, Rosie’s husband left. It was like a general exodus of all the men in her life. Except for her little nephew. Her mother got custody of him when her son died.”
“Sad,” he said.
She agreed. “And Rosie’s just the nicest, smartest woman you’d ever want to know.” She grinned at him. “Well, not you particularly, but some nice man. I think Addy’s trying to fix her up.”
“Matchmaking usually leads to trouble,” he said, closing the dishwasher door.
“Actually, Addy’s got a fairly good record. Randy and Paris are one of hers, in fact.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. They fought it hard, but finally got together on their own and realized she was right. If you hadn’t come back when you did, I was probably next on her list.”
He caught her to him and kissed her soundly. “Lucky me.”
Storm clouds gathered and the wind blew, but the sun came out brightly for the shot of Paris on the church steps. It was classic, Paris in the middle of the stairs with a duplicate of the bouquet of orchids she would carry the next day at her wedding. She looked breathtaking, and Camille, who’d come to the church to watch the shoot, put a hankie to her nose.
Prue placed a comforting arm around her.
“I can’t believe she’s getting married!” Camille said. “And modeling! All my dreams come true.”
“Are you going to retire now that Jeffrey’s in your life?” Prue asked as everyone moved inside the church.
“He says I don’t have to. I’m still thinking about it. And he’s trying to decide whether or not to stay in Florida where he has established gigs, or let his boys take over there and establish himself here. We’ve even thought about doing dinner theater together. We once worked very well as a team.”
“Mom, that sounds like so much fun.”
Georgette came to stand with Prue and Camille, indicating Paris with a jut of her chin. “Isn’t she the perfect bride? You did good work with your girls, Camille.”
Camille smiled smugly. “Yes. I like to think so.”
RAIN FELL in buckets the following day, but nothing could dim the excitement over Paris and Randy’s wedding. Prue pinned up the skirt of the wedding dress to save it from puddles and bundled Paris into a raincoat. Rosie, a self-appointed wedding coordinator, carried the veil and the shoes as Paris ran from the car to the church in tennies.
Gideon and several of the Wonders stood outside the church with umbrellas, escorting people from their cars and up the steps.
In the tiny dressing room off the vestibule of the church, Rosie helped Paris into her shoes while Prue unpinned the hem of the dress and fluffed it out. Then Rosie put the headpiece on Paris and drew the modesty veil over her face.
With a straight face, Rosie gave Paris a hand-lettered sign that read, “Veil and Shoes Courtesy of Happily Ever After. Open 9–5 Mon thru Sat.”
“Just carry that instead of your flowers,” she said seriously, “and be sure that each side of the aisle sees it.”
Prue laughed as Paris hit Rosie with the cardboard sign. “Very funny. It isn’t bad enough that Prue wants me to tell everyone it’s a Prudent Designs dress instead of saying, ‘I do.’”
They all laughed again, then Paris sobered and hugged her sister, then Rosie. “Thanks for helping me. I couldn’t have done this so quickly without you two.”
Prue shrugged off the praise. “I didn’t do anything. I’ve been so busy with Georgette’s ad campaign.”
Paris held out the skirt of the dress. “Are you serious? The dress? Do you have any idea how hard it would have been to find one half this beautiful?”
“Well, I for one expended a lot of time and energy,” Rosie continued to tease. “And I’m expecting a bonus, or at least a large tip.”
Paris pinched her cheek. “How about my undying gratitude?”
“I guess that’ll do. Well, I’d better get out there and look after the guest book.” Rosie smiled at Prue. “You look lovely, too, by the way. I’d love to have that dress. When we finally get down to filling your orders, I’d like one.”
She was as tall as Paris, and Prue thought she remembered she’d been a little fuller-figured. Now she was so slender, she probably could have stood in for a model on the runway. Prue imagined it had to do with all the sadness in her family.
“We’ll do yours first,” Prue promised as Rosie hurried out into the vestibule.
Prue turned her attention to Paris, looking her over from head to toe to make sure everything was perfect.
“Is this really happening to us?” Paris asked, catching her hands. “You and Gideon together again and me getting married to the nicest man in the universe?”
“It is,” Prue assured her, confidence in her own love for Gideon and his for her giving her faith in everything. “We’re going to pile over to Mom’s with our children for Sunday dinners and have noisy birthday parties and Thanksgivings and Christmases that last for days. It’s happening for us, Paris. The O’Hara sisters came out winners.”
Paris hugged her tightly. “We were always winners. We just weren’t very good at contests.”
THE CHURCH WAS PACKED WITH friends despite the last-minute telephoned invitations. All of Paris’s regular fares came, and most of the Maple Hill Fire Department, though half of them had to leave when someone’s beeper went off.
The remaining firemen then cohosted the reception with the women of the Congregational church’s Events Committee in the basement of the church. Buffet tables of sandwich makings and salads lined one wall, a three-tiered cake taking up an entire table in the corner.
Children dressed in their Sunday best chased each other through the adults gathered in conversation groups, some dancing to the Old-timer’s Band in another corner of the room. Justine was taking wedding pictures, a thank-you, she said, for the kindness Prue and Gideon had shown her.
Prue stood alone near the cake, watching the room, and experiencing the most curious sensation of having turned the corner from girl to woman. She was sure it should have happened years ago, but it was just at this moment that she felt her heart open to truly appreciate all she had, to accept and mourn her losses and look forward to the challenges to come.
She veritably tingled with life.
Rosie appeared and put an arm around her shoulders. “You look very smug,” she said. “What are you thinking?”
Prue laughed. “That it’s taken me a long time to grow up, but I think I’ve finally done it. I feel generous and hopeful and forgiving.”
Rosie frowned teasingly at her. “Hey. Don’t go setting standards the rest of us will find it hard to live up
to. Hopeful and forgiving. That’s asking a lot. But since you are in a mellow mood, Forsythe Fabrics just called me because they couldn’t reach you. Your fabric’s in. They wanted to know if you want it shipped or, since there’s so much and some pretty expensive stuff in it, if you’d rather pick it up.”
“Gideon and I can go pick it up—if I’m not completely messing up Georgette’s shooting schedule.”
“I could pick up the fabric for you if I can get my sister to watch the shop.” As Prue remembered, Rosie’s younger sister, Francie, was smart but had taken a wild turn when tragedy struck the Ericksons.
“I thought she was away at school,” Prue questioned.
“She met someone over the summer and decided not to go back. She’s getting married instead.” Rosie shrugged, an indication, Prue guessed, that she wasn’t sure if the decision was good or bad. “So, she’s been helping me in the shop. Although you should probably go to make sure the order’s complete.”
“Go where?” Gideon asked, coming up beside them with two glasses of champagne, one for each of them.
“Thank you, Gideon,” Rosie said, toasting him with her glass.
“To Boston,” Prue replied, extending her thanks with a kiss on the cheek. “My fabric’s in. We should go pick it up tomorrow if it doesn’t mess up Georgette’s schedule too much.”
“Boston?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just promised Hank I’d talk to some guys he’s collected for the security program. He got them all together for tomorrow, and Jackie’s reserved the conference room for them.” He smiled at Rosie. “Could you go with her?”
Rosie smiled. “I was just offering to go for her.”
“Why don’t you go together? I’d feel better if she wasn’t alone in Boston traffic.” He grinned. “Particularly the way she drives.”
Prue backhanded his upper arm. “Hey! You were doing so well as the loving, adoring husband.”
He caught her neck in the crook of his arm and brought her in for a kiss. “I still am. I’m just trying to protect you from your weaknesses.”
The Man She Married Page 19
