Four Weddings and a Fiasco: The Wedding Caper (7 page)

“You okay?”

“She’s fine,” Myrna said. “She remembered something you should have — you haven’t told her about your law career. As I was saying, he started prosecuting in Chicago, then went to corporate law. And now he’s had the grand idea of setting up a practice where he knows no one in what he’s calling general practitioner law. As if gp were a thriving occupation these days for doctors, much less lawyers.”

“Won’t know until I try it.” Eric needed only a couple extra breaths to say it.

“Ken Yount would get you a position prosecuting at the drop of a hat,” Myrna said.

“California criminals scare me.”

“Right. Because they’re so much worse than the Chicago criminals you dealt with. You know, the criminals out here deserve to get convicted as much as Chicago criminals.”

“People in this neighborhood deserve help with their legal issues, too,” he said mildly.

“Wills, deeds, small-business stuff.” Myrna dismissed them all with a sniff.

“Exactly. That’s what I do now,” he said to K.D. “So that could be another bone of contention we raise with Marriage-Save.”

“Only as a last resort.” His eyebrows rose in apparent surprise. At least at some level, he’d expected her to be dismissive of the kind of law he practiced now. Because as a cop he expected her to favor prosecutors? Or because as the same gender as Hilary he expected her to be mercenary? “But we should go over your history in more detail after we’re both— After breakfast.”

“Yeah,” Myrna said. “You both better get upstairs, get showered, and get dressed.”

“The dictator has spoken,” Eric said to K.D. He gestured up the stairs. “After you.”

She hesitated. But that was silly. She was perfectly decent. Perfectly.

Still, she was very aware of him behind her on the stairs.

As she reached the second-floor hallway at last, she let out a breath of relief. Just before she closed her bedroom door, she thought she heard Myrna’s laugh reach her from the office.

D
amn Myrna.

As if he’d needed any prodding to think of K.D. standing naked under a shower.

She wasn’t Napoleon. She was the Marquis de Sade.

And K.D. was . . .

He didn’t know. He’d thought he had her figured out at the beginning of that meeting in Ken’s office. And each day, each hour had made him know her better and have her figured out less.

There were issues with her mother, and she hadn’t had the easiest time growing up. She had a wariness about her.

Some of that was the cop vigilance stuff he recognized from working with law enforcement.

Some of it wasn’t.

The question was if he was fooling himself that some of it was because she was drawn to him.

A
nne looked up at her with damp eyes, and K.D. braced herself.

“What’s wrong? Is there a problem with the dress?” She tried to twist around to see it.

“No, no you can’t see it.” Anne’s small hands pushed her back around so she wouldn’t catch more than the glimpse she’d had in the mirror. All that had shown was a tall woman in a white dress. “I love making the dresses a bride has dreamed about having, but this is so much fun to have a bride I can dress exactly the way
I
think she should be dressed. So you don’t get to see it. Not until it’s all done.”

“Well, if it’s not done or if it doesn’t fit, can’t we pin it or something for the pictures tomorrow?”

“Pin it? For the
wedding
?” Anne repeated, sounding as outraged as her sweetness probably allowed. “It fits perfectly. In fact, there is nothing wrong with it. After I finish the alterations tonight, it will be entirely perfect. It looks fabulous on you.”

“It does,” agreed Julie, who said she’d stopped by for to go over her final to-buy list for tomorrow’s fake reception.

“Oh, yes,” breathed Phoebe. “It’s like it was made for you.”

“Well, in a way, it was made for her, since Anne altered it so beautifully,” Rose said.

“That’s why . . . .” Anne sighed. “I know this is only a make believe wedding, but it’s such a shame your mother can’t see you looking like this.”

“Good heavens, no,” K.D. said before she could stop herself. Rose, Phoebe, Julie, and Anne looked at her. “My . . . uh, my mother wouldn’t understand any of this.” She tried to think of something more to say, to explain away her words in a way that would let them dismiss her reaction. “She wouldn’t understand.”

“And we wouldn’t want to have anyone else know about what you and Eric are doing,” said Rose, sending a warning look around the room.

“Oh, I’m not saying we’d contact her or anything,” Anne said hurriedly. “Here, now raise your arm so I can check the seam. It’s such a shame, because I’m sure she’d love to see K.D. looking so beautiful in a wedding dress.”

“My mother would love to see me looking any way in a wedding dress,” K.D. said dryly. “She —”

Good heavens, there she went again, pouring out reactions. These women and their comfortable niceness were downright dangerous. Set hardened criminals in their circle for a few hours and they’d be pouring out their confessions.

Phoebe nodded. “Mother relationships can be so . . . .” She cleared her throat. “You’re not alone, K.D. But don’t give up on the idea that it can get better. Not perfect, but better.”

“Parents can want the best for you yet be totally wrong,” Julie added. “Someday I’ll introduce you to Andrew’s family.”

“Sometimes we don’t understand as much as we should, either,” Rose said quietly.

“Parents aren’t always perfect. They’re human, too,” Anne murmured around pins in her mouth.

K.D. caught a flurry of looks flying among the other women. She had the impression that their statements had significance to each of them that the others understand, and she didn’t.

Enough of this. She asked, “Where did this dress come from, Anne? You couldn’t just have had wedding dresses lying around so you could pick one you think suits me.”

“Oh, yes. I have an assortment of wedding dresses,” Anne said as she stepped back from K.D. and squinted at her. Then she darted close, pinching material at K.D.’s waist and inserting a pin.

“You have an assortment of wedding dresses lying around?”

“Sometimes a bride changes her mind, and decides she wants something different,” Rose explained. “We try very hard to meet her needs. Then we keep the other dress. Anne keeps them for emergencies.”

“Emergency weddings?” K.D. asked.

They chuckled, but Phoebe said, “Don’t laugh. They happen. This isn’t even our tightest turn-around.”

“So this—” She smoothed the fabric over her hips very carefully. Not only because the fabric was so luscious, but because of the pins stuck in it. “—is some bride’s castoff because she liked another style better?”

More looks zinged among the women.

“Not exactly.” Phoebe said. “That wedding was called off.”

K.D. chuckled. “So this bride didn’t just change her mind about the dress, but also about getting married? My kind of bride.”

“Oh, she got married.” Julie smiled. “To a different groom on a different day.”

This time the looks, accompanied by wide smiles, were all aimed toward Rose.

A sudden suspicion hit K.D. “This dress isn’t —”

“No, no,” Rose said. “Your guess that they were describing me is right, but I’m not the only one who came right up to the moment before I realized I’d planned to marry the wrong man. But that’s one dress Anne doesn’t still have.”

“It was a mess,” said Anne.

“You had to—?”

“Get rid of it? Not at all. Anne made it as good as new. It was always the right dress for me. I just had to trust my heart to tell me who was the right groom for me.”

Anne straightened. “Okay, I’m ready to take this off you, K.D.”

“Good, I have to feed her samples of the hors d’oeuvres,” said Julie.

“Anything you make,” K.D. said. “I’m still dreaming about those samples from yesterday.”

“Of course,” Anne said, as if she hadn’t heard that interchange, “there is another kind of bride, and just because we haven’t had any other brides have a pretend wedding, then come back for the real thing with the same groom, doesn’t mean it can’t happen.”

W
ith the fitting complete, Julie led them to the kitchen, where Andrew was keeping the men from sampling the appetizer they’d created.

“It’s our twist on pigs in a blanket,” Julie said, passing the platter around. She smiled at Andrew over her shoulder. “Just for fun.”

“Finally,” grumbled Tyce. “Food. I’m starving.”

“Wait. Not yet. I want you all to try it at the same time. It looks like what you’d expect on the outside, but that’s only a cover story for what’s really going on inside. Just like you two.” She smiled at K.D. and Eric. “Okay, now.”

There was silence, then soft moans of pleasure. Before those had faded, hands were reaching for seconds.

“But what do you think?” Julie asked.

Andrew put an arm around her shoulders. “Empty platter in ten seconds flat. And look at their faces. There’s your answer.”

“The pastry —”

“—melts right into that amazing sauce, against the crisp—“

“—of —
is
that a basil leaf you’ve wrapped around —

“—that incredible meat — that’s no hot dog.”

“No it’s my special sausage, with a little twist I wanted to try. What do you think? Shall I add it to the menu?”

“As far as I’m concerned, this should be the entire menu,” said Eric. “Piles and piles of these little guys.”

“Amen,” said Tyce. “Do you have another platter stashed away somewhere?”

Julie chuckled. “Sorry, no. But I’ll get on it this afternoon so we have them for tomorrow. But you are going to have to eat other things.”

“Twist my arm,” Tyce said.

“So,” Rose said, and by the way everyone else turned to her, K.D. knew this was her down-to-business voice, “the menu is set, the dress is on track, the flowers —?”

“All set,” Phoebe said.

“Good. Music?”

“Check,” Tyce said. “Once I axed Eric’s Most-Depressing-Wedding-Ever suggestions.”

“I still like Your Cheating Heart and Love Stinks,” Eric protested, drawing chuckles.

“And Ella told me she’s all set. I think we have everything covered— No. No, we don’t.” Rose’s right hand touched her left. “Rings.”

“
Rings
,” echoed several more voices.

Eric cut her a look. “More shopping.” His words recalled their differences, but also their camaraderie yesterday.

“But not around here,” she said. “We don’t want anyone seeing us buying rings.”

“Good point. We’ll go across the bridge.”

Rose consulted her watch. “You better go now. If you don’t find something this afternoon, you won’t have much time tomorrow. K.D. has her final fitting in the morning and we need everyone ready to go at 4 p.m., right after our last client appointment.”

I
t was a beautiful afternoon for a drive out of San Francisco. Except for all the other drivers who’d decided the same thing.

Eric drove safely, yet at ease. She’d seen too many drivers — male and female — who seemed to consider heavy traffic a personal affront.

At last, he pulled into a neat parking area and led her through a passageway between stores into a shopping mall’s version of a town square. The first store on their right had jewelry on display.

“Here? No—"

"We need rings. They have rings. And we’re already here.”

She let herself be pedaled deep enough into the shop to catch a glimpse of the prices. Then she was out before he could catch her arm.

"No way I'm wearing any of that. It’s a year's salary —”

“I’ll —”

“No, you won’t. And the City of San Francisco in the person of Ken Yount won’t either.”

“He could return them after for a refund.”

“Can rings be returned? No —” Her word and a raised hand stopped his response. “There’s one way to spend less and get something back: We’ll go to a pawnshop.”

“A pawnshop?”

“Sure. Much more economical. And we know we can sell them back afterward.”

T
hey drove past three pawnshops she’d found using her phone before she spotted one that looked worth entering.

“I don’t know, K.D.”

“I do,” she said, head held high. “I pawned stuff when I was a kid often enough to spot the decent ones.”

“You—?”

“Yes. My mother was no good at negotiating. Or standing her ground. Still isn’t. That’s why her hus- Never mind. Take my word for it, this is a good one.”

He eyed her for another moment, then said, “Okay.”

He left it to her, not questioning anything, even when she had the man behind the counter pull out sets at much lower prices — and quality — than a pair of rings that looked decent and fit both of them.

She negotiated the price down on the decent set, but clearly wasn’t satisfied.

The man behind the counter gave him a look, then said to her, “I’ve got a call to make. You two talk it over.”

The man from the pawnshop probably thought Eric was the softer touch, and he was right. And that he’d be able to persuade K.D. to take the rings at the current price. That was doubtful.

Eric tipped the man’s ring to bring more light to its interior surface so he could read an inscription. “Heather and Bob,” he said, clearly reading an inscription. “Our hopes. Our dreams.”

Somebody's dreams. Somebody's hopes
.

E
ric put the man’s ring down with a clunk, and straightened. "I'm not wearing this."

She looked up, ready to do battle, then stopped.

She didn’t want to be a wife, but he had wanted to be a husband. And it had gone wrong. Terribly wrong.

His hopes, his dreams had not come true.

"Okay." The man behind the counter had been right. Eric was the softer touch. But instead of talking her into the purchase, with very few words he’d talked her out of buying these rings at any price. "Maybe a smaller jewelry store will be more reasonable. We have another hour before closing time.”