Daughters of the Bride Read online

  “Awhile now. I get to be the bride. Perhaps even a bridezilla. This time around, I’m going to have exactly what I want. Neil and I are determined to have the wedding of our dreams.”

  Sienna made another taco. “Mom, what did Neil do? I know he’s retired now, but before? He never talks about it.”

  “Oh, he owned a few of those gaming places.”

  Gaming? “Like a casino?” Courtney asked.

  “No, those places where you play video games and eat pizza. There was a chain.”

  “Like a franchise?” Rachel asked.

  Maggie busied herself pouring more drinks. “Yes. Like that. So back to the wedding. I can’t decide on the dresses for you three. We can do the same style in different colors or different styles in the same color. What would you prefer?”

  “Different styles.”

  “Different colors.”

  Rachel and Sienna spoke at the same time. They looked at Courtney. She held up both hands. “I am so not breaking that tie. Mom?”

  Maggie picked up her glass. “I say we all get a little drunk, then decide.”

  * * *

  Quinn sat in the lobby of the hotel, reading. It was late—close to eleven. The French doors were open and despite it being nearly the first of June, there was a cool breeze blowing in off the ocean.

  Sarge lay on the carpet, chewing on a stolen sock. Every couple of months someone on the staff went through the lost and found, rescuing any socks. They were then left in strategic spots around the hotel for Sarge to find and destroy.

  Pearl lay next to him. As Quinn watched, she stood and stretched. After shaking, she gracefully jumped onto the sofa and pushed her head under his arm in a not-very-subtle bid for attention.

  “Missing your mom?” Quinn asked as he rubbed the side of Pearl’s face. “Joyce will be back in tomorrow.”

  His grandmother had driven to San Francisco to have dinner with a friend. Rather than make the return trip late at night, she would stay over and drive back in the morning.

  He continued to stroke the dog. Eventually, she stretched out next to him, her head on his lap. He could see the white spot on her chest—the one that gave the beautiful blonde poodle her name.

  They were an odd pair, he thought with a smile. Sarge—fourteen pounds of bichon-mix terror—and Pearl, a lean, elegant poodle princess. But their relationship wasn’t about appearances. It was about being a family. They were a bonded pair. Years ago he’d promised Joyce that if something ever happened to her, he would take her beloved dogs and make sure they were always together.

  “Not to worry,” he told the two. “Joyce will outlive us all.”

  Sarge growled in agreement as he continued to show the sock who was in charge. Quinn turned his attention back to his book. Sometime later, close to midnight, when he was thinking he would take the dogs for a last quick walk before turning in, the main lobby door opened and Courtney walked inside.

  He hadn’t seen much of her since her mother’s engagement party. He’d been busy looking for a place for his business and she’d been doing her thing here at the hotel.

  He watched her careful and controlled stride as she walked across the hardwood floor and realized she was completely drunk.

  He held in a grin. “Have a good time?”

  She jumped and shrieked. Sarge came to his feet as if ready to take on danger, while Pearl simply appeared anxious.

  Courtney put a hand on her chest. “You scared me. What are you doing, lurking like that?”

  “I’m reading with my peeps.” He stroked Pearl. “Joyce is visiting a friend in San Francisco.”

  Courtney dropped her arm to her side. “So you’re pet sitting? That’s nice.”

  Her gaze was slightly unfocused and her cheeks flushed. She looked about seventeen—all bangs and long legs. She wasn’t wearing anything special. Just a plain yellow T-shirt and jeans. No makeup. But there was something appealing about her. Something that spoke to that dark, empty place inside him.

  “I was at my mom’s,” she continued. “We get together every few months. Girls only. Girls and margaritas.” She paused. “Rachel drove me home. I wouldn’t drive like this.”

  “Good to know.”

  “I’m responsible.”

  “I see that.” He studied her for a second. “Did you eat?”

  “A taco. It was good, but then Sienna made some crack about me being a maid and it wasn’t as fun after that.” She put her hands on her hips. “There’s nothing wrong with being a maid. Someone has to do it. It’s a necessary service. I take pride in my work and so does everyone else who works here. Maids are good people, but sometimes the way she says it...” Courtney shook her head. “We should respect honest work and the people who do it.”

  “You are drunk.”

  She stomped her foot. “I mean it, Quinn.”

  “I know you do. And you’re right. Honest work should be respected. Let’s go in the kitchen and get you a big glass of water and some aspirin. Maybe a snack. Otherwise, you’re going to have a really bad morning.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I probably should have stopped at three margaritas.”

  He rose. Pearl jumped off the sofa and joined him. He went over to Courtney’s side and put a hand on the small of her back. “Three is a good limit.”

  “Too late now.” She giggled.

  He gave her a little push in the direction of the kitchen. The dogs came along with them, Sarge carrying his sock. As Pearl and Sarge settled in the giant dog bed set up for them in a corner of the kitchen, Quinn had a brief thought about health inspectors, then told himself Joyce had it all under control.

  He got a glass from the cupboard and ice from the ice machine, then filled the glass with water. Courtney perched on one of the bar stools by the massive island.

  “I think you’re right,” she told him. “About me punishing my family. By not telling them the truth, I mean. They don’t know any of it. Not that I have my GED or my AA or that I’m getting my bachelor’s.”

  “Drink,” he told her, pointing at the glass.

  She took several gulps. “My marketing professor has asked me to be in a special class he teaches. You have to be invited. It’s very exciting.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. We’re supposed to say a good thing and a bad thing and I didn’t tell.”

  Quinn leaned against the counter. “For those of us who haven’t had margaritas, what does that mean?”

  She laughed. “At dinner. We have to say one good thing and one bad thing.” Her eyes widened. “Sienna’s good thing wasn’t her engagement.”

  “Are you surprised?”

  “No. She wasn’t happy at all. But jeez, if you’re going to fake it, go all the way.” Her smile faded. “Did that sound dirty? I didn’t mean it to.”

  “It didn’t.”

  “Good. Hey, you took me off your room.”

  He repeated the words in his head, searching for either context or meaning, and found neither.

  “Your room,” she repeated. “I’m not your maid.”

  “My honest, hardworking maid. Yes, I know. I did ask for someone different.”

  She glared at him. “I do a good job.”

  “I’m sure you do. My request wasn’t about your work, it was about the fact that I know you. It was too strange—you picking up after me.”

  “Then pick up after yourself.” She giggled. “Okay, I get what you’re saying, but it’s not like I was going to snoop in your underwear drawer.”

  “What makes you think I wear underwear?”

  Her eyes widened.

  He chuckled. “Drink your water.”

  She took a few more swallows, then asked, “Am I a project?”

  “Do you want to be?”<
br />
  “I’m not sure. I think it would be interesting. You know stuff I can’t even imagine. You’ve been successful in business. That would be interesting to talk about. But the whole project thing—that makes me feel like you’ll never take me seriously.”

  “Do you need me to?”

  “Sure. I’m not a little girl. I’m a woman.”

  “I’m very clear on your status in the girl versus woman arena. For what it’s worth, you’re not a project. I don’t do that anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “My last project died.” Quinn swore silently. Where had that come from? He hadn’t meant to tell her the truth.

  Her mouth dropped open. “For real?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “You can’t know that,” he told her.

  “Not for sure, but I can guess. You want the world to think you’re really cynical and disconnected, but you’re not.”

  “How do you know that?”

  She smiled. “You love your grandmother.”

  “Even serial killers love their grandmothers.”

  “I don’t think so. From my very limited understanding on the subject, family members are often the first to go.” She slid off the stool. “I should probably eat something.”

  “Good idea.”

  “I know where the secret stash is.”

  He was a little afraid to ask “of what?” Knowing Courtney as he did, it could be anything.

  She crossed to one of the cupboards and reached up to a high shelf. As she stretched, her T-shirt rose, and he saw the small of her back and the tattoo there.

  “Well, hell,” he muttered.

  She pulled down a bag of Oreo cookies, then faced him. “What?”

  “Your tattoo.”

  “Ha-ha. Not what you expected at all. Admit it. I surprised you.”

  “Very much so.”

  She opened the package and pulled out a cookie. “Do you know the song?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m not sure I believe you. What’s the whole line?”

  “‘You can walk me to the river,’” he quoted, “‘but you can’t make me drown.’” She’d tattooed lyrics onto her skin.

  “That’s right. Hey, the artist—Zinnia. She died a few years ago.” Her mouth parted. “Is she the one? The project? Did you have something to do with that song?”

  “Yes.”

  She put down the package of cookies and rubbed her temple. “Was that yes to all the questions?”

  “Yes, I worked with her, and yes, we were involved. She killed herself a few months after we broke up.” He held up one hand. “The events were not related.” As far as he knew.

  “And the song?”

  “I wrote it.”

  Her expression of surprise was almost comical. “But you’re a music producer. I thought you sat in a booth and pushed buttons or moved levers or something.”

  “How flattering.”

  She rolled her eyes. “And discovered talent and all that, but you write songs?”

  “I do nearly everything that needs to be done.”

  Courtney collected her bag of cookies and returned to the counter. He refilled her glass while she ate a couple of Oreos.

  “What was she like?” Courtney asked when he set the glass in front of her. “Zinnia?”

  He thought of her slight build, her long red hair, her energy. “She was fire.”

  “That sounds so great, but in real life, it has to be a pain. The drama.” She clamped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. You’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead and I just did. Plus, I don’t know her. I really hate it when people are critical of someone they don’t know. Like we all have this great insight. I apologize. I’m weak and spineless. Do you want a cookie?”

  She pushed the bag toward him.

  He honest to God had no idea what to do with her. Zinnia had been pure flame and Courtney was right—sometimes it had been a pain in the ass. But art came at a price. Courtney was different—quicksilver, maybe. Light and bright and impossible to hold. He decided he liked that about her best.

  “You should finish your water,” he told her. “Then take a couple of aspirin and go to bed.”

  “Want to join me?” She grinned. “You’ve seen my tattoo, so I can’t offer you that unveiling, but still.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Well, duh. I just asked you to have sex with me. You don’t think I’d be brave enough to do that sober, do you?”

  He stepped toward her. After taking her face in both his hands, he lightly kissed her lips, then her forehead.

  She exhaled. “Well, crap. There’s never sex after a man kisses your forehead.”

  He stepped back. “You’re so worldly.”

  “Don’t mock me. I’m humiliated and in pain.”

  She was smiling as she spoke and still eating cookies. So not either of the things she claimed.

  “I suspect you’ll recover. Can you get back to your room on your own?”

  “Of course. I made it here.”

  “Your sister drove you.”

  She brightened. “That’s right. I was at my mom’s tonight. Did I tell you that?”

  “You did. You are going to have one nasty hangover.”

  “I’ll be fine. You sure you don’t want a cookie?”

  “Yes, but thanks for asking.”

  “Anytime. Were you at least a little tempted?”

  He’d learned enough about how her mind worked to figure out what she was asking.

  “More than a little. But drunk is not my style.”

  She beamed. “It’s so nice that you have standards.”

  He was sure there was a compliment buried in there somewhere. “Thanks. Good night, Courtney.”

  “’Night.”

  12

  SIENNA STARED AT the ring David held out. “You got it sized so quickly,” she said, hoping he couldn’t hear the disappointment in her voice. “I’m surprised.”

  “I paid extra for a rush job. Put it on. I want to take a picture to text my folks.”

  Sienna took the small ring with the ugly setting and slid it on her finger. It fit perfectly and looked even worse on than off.

  She’d never thought of her hands as oversize, but the petite setting seemed lost on her finger. The diamond was nonexistent. David, who sat next to her on her sofa, beamed.

  “It’s perfect.”

  She glanced down. “It’s unique.” And oddly heavy, for something so tiny. Or maybe it was just guilt and unhappiness that made it feel as if it weighed fifty pounds.

  He took several pictures of her holding out her hand, then put away his phone and faced her.

  “We have a lot to talk about,” he said.

  “We do.”

  He took her hands in his and stared into her eyes. “I know you were surprised by the proposal.”

  She squirmed. “We hadn’t discussed marriage at all.”

  He nodded. “I should have said something. It’s just you’re the one, Sienna. You’re beautiful and caring, and every time I’m with you, I know in my gut that we’re meant to be together.”

  He moved his thumbs against the backs of her hands. “I know you’re scared. Of us, of the future. I know you’ve been engaged before. I get that you’re having second thoughts.”

  She hoped she didn’t look as shocked as she felt. “You do?”

  “Of course. You lost your dad when you were what, six? Then your mom had a tough time. You’re scarred by that. You’re afraid to believe in a happy future. This has to terrify you.”

  She m
anaged a slight smile. “Maybe a little.”

  “I’m here for you. I believe in you and I believe in us. I want to make you happy. I want you to realize you can trust me with every part of you. The good and the bad. I’m all in. Can you give us a chance? Can you take a leap of faith?”

  He really did understand, she thought, both shocked by his insight and shamed by her own doubts. He got her. Okay, sure, there wasn’t a lot of the superhot chemistry between them, but weren’t steadiness and acceptance more important than a few fleeting chemicals?

  David believed in her, believed in them. He was a really good guy with roots and a desire for them to have a future together. He was right—she’d had a tough childhood, and that had influenced her all her life.

  “I think I’m really lucky to have you in my life,” she told him, then leaned in to kiss him.

  He released her hands. “I’m glad. Because like I said before, we have a lot to talk about.”

  She leaned against him and studied the ring. Maybe it wasn’t so very awful. “Like what?”

  “My mom’s been calling every day. She’s going to want to talk to you as soon as possible.”

  She straightened. “About what?”

  “The wedding. She wants it to be in St. Louis, but I told her I thought you’d prefer to have it here. Do you agree?”

  She’d barely accepted the fact that they were engaged and he wanted to talk weddings?

  “Um, I don’t know.”

  “If you don’t have a preference, then St. Louis would be better for me.” His voice was eager. “Although I have to warn you, between friends and family, my half of the guest list will be about four hundred.”

  “People?” she asked faintly. “That’s huge.”

  “I know, but it’s a big deal for me and my family.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Now, Mom had a crazy idea this morning. I told her it wasn’t possible, but I have to admit, part of me is thinking maybe it would actually work out.”

  “W-what?” she asked, genuinely afraid to hear the answer.

  “A Christmas wedding.”

  She sat up and stared at him. “Christmas this year?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s only seven months away. I couldn’t possibly pull a wedding together in that short a period of time.”