Page 19

A COUPLE OF days after Brandon’s injury, Emily opened her eyes to the soft golden-pink light of an early, summertime morning. Somebody was knocking insistently at Brandon’s front door. She reached out to shake his shoulder.

“Someone’s here.”

“They’ll go away,” he muttered. He pulled Emily closer. She let out a contented sigh, and snuggled against him.

More knocking ensued. The doorbell rang. Three times.

“If this is Damian’s idea of a practical joke, I’m going to kill him,” Brandon said as he shoved himself out of bed. “Stay here, sugar. This could get ugly.” He hobbled down the hallway in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.

Emily scrambled out of bed, grabbing Brandon’s terrycloth robe off the chair in the corner. She stuck both arms into it as she heard him tell whoever was on the other side of the door, “This better be good.”

“Oh, it’s good, Mister. Open the door,” a feminine voice assured him.

“Mama?” Emily heard him pull the door open. “What are you doing here?”

Oh, no. Emily padded into the hallway against her better judgment.

“How many times are you going to kiss Emily on live television before we even meet her? I’ve been asking for six months now.” Emily watched Suzanne McKenna dragged over the threshold by her half-naked son. “I also can’t believe you answered the door in your shorts! Brandon James McKenna, I bought you a robe last year. Why aren’t you wearing it?”

In that split second, it didn’t matter that Emily was an adult, with her own life, responsibilities, and moral decisions. Getting busted by one’s potential mother-in-law sporting bedhead and wearing her son’s bathrobe was enough to make any female cringe inside. Emily pulled the robe tightly around herself, and attempted to blend in with the furnishings.

The replica of Brandon’s dimple flashed in Suzanne’s left cheek as she noticed Emily standing just feet from her. “Oh. I see.” Suzanne let go of her son and held out her arms to Emily. “Come here, sweetie. It’s so good to finally meet you!”

Despite being almost a foot shorter than her son, Suzanne could crack a rib or two with her embrace. Her hair was perfect. Her clothes were perfect. She looked like she’d strolled over from across the street, instead of spending several hours sitting on a flight. The most secure woman in the world would wish for a full-length mirror, a mani-pedi, and a lipstick touch-up after spending only a few moments in Suzanne’s presence.

“I’m thrilled to meet you, too,” Emily managed to gasp.

“I realize we’re a little early. One of Jack’s buddies offered us a ride in his jet. He’s playing golf this weekend with Seattle’s pro basketball team’s owner, and those guys start before dawn. On the bright side, this gives us some extra time together.” Suzanne gave her one last squeeze. “We can do some wedding planning. Won’t that be fun?”

Emily nodded, and attempted to look delirious with excitement. She saw the same wicked twinkle in Suzanne’s eyes that her son employed to devastating effect on the female population. Suzanne, however, wasn’t angling for a date. She made it clear (in the nicest possible way, of course) that Emily was spending the day knee-deep in wedding details, and she was going to like it, too.

Suzanne turned her attentions toward her son.

“You’d better get in the shower, young man. Emily’s mama and I had such a nice chat on the phone yesterday, and she’ll be here shortly with Emily’s dad and Amy. We girls will be doing a little shopping. I’m sure you men will manage to find some kind of trouble to get yourselves into while we’re gone.” She gave him a gentle push toward his room.

Suzanne talked with Emily’s mom? Emily’s mom’s phone number wasn’t a state secret, but it would have been nice if she’d had some advance warning.

“Where’s Dad?” Brandon said. He looked dazed.

“He’ll be right in. He’s bringing the bags.” Brandon reached out for the doorknob. She put one hand out to stop him. “Oh, no, you don’t. You need to put some clothes on before you go out there.” Her lips curved into a smile as she glanced over at Emily.

“Excuse me.” Emily pivoted on one heel. “Nice to meet you,” she called out as she ran for the safety of Brandon’s room. She tossed the robe onto the end of Brandon’s bed and sealed herself in his bathroom. It might be good to make sure she was fully dressed before any additional encounters with Brandon’s parents. She flipped on the shower and waited for the water to warm.

“Hey, sugar, let me in there,” Brandon called out.

Seconds later, she heard him jimmying the bathroom door lock. Within seconds, the door swung open. Emily felt the rush of cool air on her skin as he shut it behind him. He stepped out of his boxer briefs.

“Let’s conserve water,” he coaxed.

Despite the fact she’d welcome his company in the shower any other time, she flung out an arm and pointed in the general direction of Brandon’s hallway. “Your mom is here. With your dad ! I’ll be out in a minute.”

He grinned like she’d said the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard. Before she had a chance to duck under his arm, he reached out to pull her against him. He kissed her, sweet and slow. She wound her arms around his neck. He didn’t seem to need the encouragement. He was already hard against her.

“Stop it,” she said, but there was no heat behind her words.

“What’s the problem? We’re adults.”

“I don’t want your parents to think I’m some kind of ho.”

It was a bit late to be fretting about what Jack and Suzanne McKenna thought of her. She was torn between embarrassment over the fact that an awful lot of people knew they’d been caught in the act in public, and the fact that there weren’t many women who wouldn’t have done the same damn thing.

“You worry too much.” He pulled her hips against his. “Let’s see how quiet we can be.”

“We’re never quiet. You know this.”

“I’m willing to give it a try, sugar, if you are.” He zeroed in on the spot behind her earlobe that always left her a quivering wreck. “C’mon.”

She summoned whatever resistance she could, reached out, and shut off the shower with one hand.

“Playtime’s over,” he said. He shook his head. “I’m in trouble now.”

She took a few deep breaths and willed her racing heart (and hormones) to slow down.

“Speaking of worrying, Bruiser, we need to have a little chit-chat before we make an appearance at the breakfast table.” She took his face in her hands. “Our mothers are expecting us to take some role in planning our wedding, but there’s just one problem.”

He raised one eyebrow. His arms tightened around her. He rocked against her, barely moving. “What might that be?”

“You never actually proposed to me.”

She wanted answers, but she was starting to wonder why this conversation was quite so important at the moment. He was moving against other parts of her body that left her more flustered than kisses on the spot behind her ear. Her breathing quickened.

His face was a mask of outraged innocence. “I most certainly did. I seem to remember a conversation about getting married in the First Church of Elvis, and I also seem to remember we’re getting married February fifteenth. You’re wearing my five-carat diamond ring. Pretty damn official, sugar.” He was backing her up against the shower door, still rocking, slowly, so slowly. “I don’t see a problem at all.”

“But you never—”

His drawl passed warm honey and went straight to sultry nights and tangled sheets. “I told you. Let me know where and when, and I’ll be there. You’ll know me. I’ll be the one in the tux.”

“But—but—but—”

“Let our mamas plan whatever they want. It’s less of a headache for both of us. There’s going to be a wedding, sugar.” He twirled her away from the shower door, reached in, flipped the water back on, and patted her on the butt. His voice dropped. “Imagine how lonely you’ll be in the shower without me.”

He grabbed a bath sheet and strode out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. She resisted the impulse to run after him.

B RANDON SHOWERED AND dressed in the downstairs bathroom. He loved his parents, but right now, he’d really enjoy some privacy to spend more time in bed with his little diva. Instead he was doomed to a day in the company of two determined females. His mama was planning a wedding, come hell or high water, and his fiancée was trying to get him to say those three little words before she did.

He knew he hadn’t actually proposed to her. He’d suggested. It wasn’t the same thing. He hadn’t gotten down on one knee in front of her, either. She deserved it. She was the only woman he could imagine marrying. His feelings for her weren’t just infatuation or lust. Lust was always good, but it wasn’t the real thing.

He shook his curls dry, brushed his teeth, and stepped into a pair of shoes. They’d make some plans, and he’d propose ... for real. He’d have to think of something amazing, though. He was sure this was the only time in his life he’d ask.

A FULLY DRESSED Emily walked into the controlled chaos that was Brandon’s kitchen. Suzanne and Emily’s mom were performing the complicated dance of assembling breakfast for seven people. Her dad and an older version of Brandon with graying, closely cropped curls sat at the small kitchen table, drinking coffee. Amy whizzed by with a load of plates, silverware and napkins destined for the dining room table.

“Nice to see you could join us,” her sister said, but she grinned. Emily kissed her mom’s cheek as Meg hurried past.

Brandon’s dad unfolded himself from the chair and held out his arms. “I’m Jack,” he said, beaming, “and you must be Emily.”

Emily heard Brandon’s voice from the other room. “Dad. She’s mine.”

“He gets all the pretty girls,” Jack confided as he wrapped his arms around her. “You’ll sit with me at dinner later, won’t you?”

“Don’t you want to sit with Mrs. McKenna?” Emily teased.

“I’ve been sitting with her for a few years now, and I’ll be sitting with her for as long as she’ll have me,” Jack said. He had the same roguish manner as his son. Emily lost her heart on the spot. “She won’t mind. She’ll be too busy with our boy.”

“I heard that,” Suzanne said with a smile. “We’re taking Emily with us before you scare her half to death, Casanova.”

Jack released Emily and extended his hand to Mark. “You’re a lucky man, Hamilton. Two lovely daughters and a beautiful wife. Life doesn’t get any better, does it?”

Emily’s mom smiled and blushed as Mark said, “No, it doesn’t.” She couldn’t help but notice that neither parent corrected Jack’s belief that they were still married.

E MILY TOOK ONE last swallow of coffee as her mother said, “Ladies, we’d better get moving, or we’re going to be late. Our appointment is at ten.”

“What appointment?” Emily said.

“You need a wedding gown, silly. Suzanne and I thought this would be a great day to shop. We’re all together.”

“Oh, yes.” Suzanne got up from the table, too. “Let’s get Emily in the car. Her gown should have been ordered three months ago, and it’s already nine-thirty.”

“I’ll drive,” Amy said.

“We still have six months,” Emily said. “We’ll be fine. There are women on those bridal shows that buy a dress two weeks beforehand, and—”

Emily heard Brandon chuckling under his breath as she was pulled from her chair by her mother and her future mother-in-law.

“Come on, sweetie. You won’t want to wear something you bought two weeks before. Plus, your mama has been looking forward to this your entire life,” Suzanne said. She snagged both her and Emily’s handbags off the hall tree as she went.

A few minutes later, Emily found herself standing on the sidewalk next to Amy’s mini-van. The moms were already ensconced in the back seat. Brandon followed them out to the car.

“You must have called shotgun,” Brandon teased Emily. “Have a great time.”

“I know nothing about wedding stuff,” she whispered to him. “What do I do now?”

“Let them handle it,” he reassured her. “I’ll see you later.” He kissed her, made sure she was belted into the passenger seat, and waved goodbye as Amy burned rubber down the quiet residential street.

Meg and Suzanne didn’t seem to care that Amy was exceeding every posted speed limit in the state as she took the freeway entrance to Seattle.

“Hey, weirdo, slow down, will you?” Emily said.

“You have to be there on time. This bridal salon takes appointments six months in advance. If you’re even ten minutes late, they’ll turn you away, and you’ll end up buying a gown at the thrift shop.”

Amy reached out to pat her sister’s hand. Emily’s other hand was clutching the armrest. Suzanne and Meg were chatting away like they’d known each other since childhood. They’d been discussing the plans for Brandon and Emily’s wedding for the past twenty minutes, with no signs of letting up anytime soon.

“Suzanne, wait till you see the church. It’s about a mile and a half away from Brandon’s house. The view of Lake Washington from the sanctuary is stunning. They also have a choir loft, which would be great for a string quartet.”

“Oh, I agree. I booked the reception space two weeks ago, so that’s all set. They’re doing a tasting later this afternoon for us. They don’t bake cakes on premises, but they have a list of bakeries they recommend. I was surprised there don’t seem to be a lot of groom’s cakes served here. They’re a must-have in New Orleans ...”

Amy glanced over at Emily while swerving around a Jaguar driven by someone who had the temerity to obey the posted speed limit on the 520 bridge to Seattle. “If there’s something you especially want at your own wedding, you might speak up now.”

A MY PULLED UP in front of Emerald City Bridal eleven minutes later with a Washington State Trooper on her tail.

“Mom, Suzanne, go ahead and go inside so Emily doesn’t lose her appointment,” she said.

A tall police officer in reflective aviator sunglasses was making his way to Amy’s window. “Are you nuts?” Emily said. “Stay in the car, or he’ll shoot us! Amy, I can’t believe you—”

“Amy Margaret Hamilton, how many times have you been pulled over this year?” Meg said.

“He’ll just give me a ticket. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“License and registration, please,” the officer said.

“Will you please let my sister go inside the salon while I talk with you? She’s about to lose her appointment.”

The officer pulled off his sunglasses and regarded Amy with disbelief. “How fast were you going when you took the exit, Miss Hamilton?”

“It’s not good when they already know your name,” Suzanne said in a low voice.

“I’m not sure. I just know we’re about to be late. I’m really sorry, officer. If I promise not to do it again and sign the ticket, will you let them go inside?”

He took the license and registration out of Amy’s hand. “I ran your plate. You’ve been pulled over four times already this year. You managed to charm your way out of a ticket all four times.”

“Well—uh—”

“Do you know how dangerous speeding is? What about your passengers? How is your sister going to keep her appointment when she’s dead?” The officer propped both hands on his hips. “Fine. You ladies can go inside. Miss Hamilton, you and I need to have a talk about your behavior behind the wheel, and this time, you’re getting a ticket. Plus traffic school.”

Meg and Suzanne hopped out of the van. Emily turned to her sister, who was receiving a blistering lecture on how many accident scenes Officer Hottie had witnessed in his fifteen-year career as a trooper.

“Do you need me to stay?”

“No. I’ll be in in a few minutes,” Amy said. “Go.”

Emily grabbed her handbag, hurried into the store, and almost bumped into Meg and Suzanne. They were still staring at the opulence. All four walls were covered with racks of plastic-covered bridal gowns. A raised dais in the middle of the store was surrounded by 180 degrees of mirrors. A sumptuously upholstered couch sat a few feet from the dais for observation. The lighting was indirect, the classical music was soft, and all sounds were muffled by pale carpeting with the thickest pad known to mankind.

Emily spotted an ice bucket with an unopened bottle of champagne and four glasses on the low glass table in front of the couch. She could use a glass right now.

“So many beautiful dresses,” Meg said.

“I’m enjoying this already,” Suzanne responded.

A young woman in head-to-toe black and pearls approached them. “Ladies. It’s wonderful to have you here. I’m Nicole. Who’s our beautiful bride?”

Emily extended her hand to shake Nicole’s. “That’s me.”

“Why don’t we have a seat, and we can discuss what kind of dress you’re looking for. Also, do you have a budget in mind?”

Emily had no idea what kind of dress she was looking for besides a) white, and b) not too expensive. She knew her parents would offer to pay, but she’d like to buy the dress herself.

Amy was the one who played “wedding” over and over when they were little girls. Emily’s dreams consisted of her standing alone on the great opera stages of the world, a bouquet of red roses in her arms, listening to an enraptured audience applauding her and shouting, “ Brava! ” as she took yet another curtain call. Lately, though, she found herself daydreaming about seeing Brandon at the end of a church aisle.

Amy would know what to try on. If she could escape the clutches of an enraged police officer, she could advise Emily. A few seconds later, however, Emily realized she had the best advisor of all: Suzanne, former beauty queen and bridal show junkie. Meg and Suzanne whispered back and forth for a minute or so.

“Nicole, why don’t you bring a ball gown to try first? Emily wears elaborate costumes as part of her job, so we’ll need to come up with something more fabulous than anything she’s worn on stage before,” Suzanne said. Meg was nodding. “Let’s skip the mermaid. They’re getting married in a church, so a corset style needs to be somewhat modest. She might like a fit and flare, or maybe an A-line. We can add bling later with accessories if she likes it. The ball gown, though, should be first.”

Amy skidded into the salon and sat down next to Emily on the couch. “We made it. Phew.”

“How much was the ticket?” Emily asked.

“I have to go to traffic school. No ticket.”

“How do you do this?”

“I might have cried. Let’s find you a dress,” Amy said.

Five minutes later, the champagne had been opened, full glasses handed around, and Emily was sitting in a dressing room bigger than her bedroom at home. Nicole would be “right back” with a selection of dresses, but first up would be the ball gown Suzanne had recommended. Emily knew she should feel some sense of outrage that her mother (and potential mother-in-law) weren’t asking what she wanted. Meg and Suzanne had evidently made up their minds she and Brandon were getting married, no matter what. Obviously, they’d managed to overcome their initial misgivings about Brandon and Emily’s engagement. This probably had something to do with the fact they both had their eyes on the prize: potential grandchildren. She wondered what the term would be to describe a wedding their moms planned without consulting either of them first. Arranged marriages weren’t typical in the Hamilton family, to her knowledge. She wondered if Brandon would be required to give her dad a few goats (or tech stocks) in exchange for her hand.

Truthfully she was more worried about Brandon not really answering her question earlier in his bathroom.

He never actually used the words “Will you marry me?” when they talked about getting married. His insistence that it already happened was a bit odd. She was still wearing a big-ass engagement ring. Everyone else seemed to think this was a done deal. Plus, she had to admit in her heart of hearts that she could think of a lot worse things in life than being Emily Hamilton McKenna for the rest of her life. When she wasn’t musing on Brandon’s behavior (or lack of it), she also wondered if it made her a Bridezilla to want him to get down on one knee and actually pop the question. Other guys did it. Maybe she worried too much, as he said. She twirled the engagement ring on the third finger of her left hand. Was it really so unreasonable for her to want something other women would expect as well?

Her mind was whirling. Nicole seemed to be taking her sweet time, too.

Emily got up from the sumptuously upholstered chair she sat in and wandered out into the store in her dressing gown. Nicole was a few feet from her, rifling through dresses at a high rate of speed.

“Hi,” Emily said.

“Oh! You’re here. I didn’t mean to take so long. I’m still thinking about a couple of these.”

Emily walked over to the rack. Finding a wedding gown couldn’t be that much different than shoe shopping, and she should have some type of professional certification for that . She flipped as rapidly as possible through the dresses.

“No. No. No. No. God, no.”

To Emily’s surprise, she realized she had more ideas than she thought about how she’d like to look on her wedding day. She didn’t want strapless, she didn’t want crystals, and she didn’t want something that made her look like she’d gone after the skirt with the kitchen shears. She wanted lace. She wanted something that would make Brandon gasp when he saw her in it.

“This one.” She reached up to pull the gown off the rack.

Nicole looked amused. “How about looking through some of the other dresses?”

“Not right now. Let’s try this one on.”

B ACK IN THE dressing room, Nicole unzipped the protective plastic slowly.

“We just got this gown in from New York. It’s formal without being stuffy. This is a diva’s dress. I hope you’ll love it.” She demonstrated how Emily should hold her arms in front of her face so she wouldn’t get makeup on the delicate fabric and slid the gown over Emily’s head.

Emily heard the rustle of a silk taffeta ballroom skirt. The bodice was a corset, covered with soft lace, embroidered with pearls. It had cap sleeves and a high neck, a slightly dropped waist, and buttoned up the back. It reminded Emily of the photos she’d seen as a teenager of Princess Grace’s wedding gown, with a modern twist. The skirt had a pickup of fabric on one side. A small train swept the floor behind her. It was dramatic without being over the top, young without being childish.

In the past Emily had heard her various co-workers talking about putting on a wedding gown for the first time. Their descriptions paled in comparison with the reality. She trembled as she regarded the curvy redhead reflected in the mirror. She felt overwhelmed, surprised, a little disbelieving. Her fingertips trailed over the soft lace and the silk taffeta. She couldn’t stop touching it. Even if the sample wasn’t an exact fit, she loved it.

The realization smacked her in the face so hard tears rose in her eyes. She was going to marry Brandon, and she was going to wear this dress when she did.

“We can get your size when we order it,” Nicole reassured. She pulled a small golden headpiece off the table behind her, formed of flat leaves, and extracted a long piece of tulle from another zippered plastic bag. Nicole pinned Emily’s ponytail into a bun, and fastened the headpiece and tulle in her hair.

Emily couldn’t resist twirling around in front of Nicole. “How do I look?”

A broad smile spread over Nicole’s face. “I’m so glad I didn’t bring you a room full of bling and ruffles. This dress was made for you.” She adjusted the headpiece once more and said, “Let’s go show you off.”

Emily stepped into her own high heels so the dress wouldn’t drag on the floor and rounded the corner to show them.

“What do you think? Mom, Suzanne, Amy?”

Emily’s mother let out a gasp, and grabbed for Suzanne’s hand. Her cool, collected, elegant potential mother-in-law burst into tears.

“That’s the dress,” Amy said, with tears in her eyes, too. “Buy that one.”