“I don’t remember Betty having such a full beard,” Laura countered.
Cam laughed. “There. I guess we’ve successfully managed to break the ice.” He’d led her over to the side of the house, out of earshot of the children. “Should I be happy to see you, or would I just be setting myself up?”
“It depends on how you’re feeling about me these days.” Laura kicked at a small clump of dry brown grass, keeping her eyes fixed on the new spurt of green pushing its way up beside it.
“I don’t know how I dare feel. If I admit to myself that I still care, I could end up getting my heart broken again.” He stared off into the distance. “And it’s not even close to being mended from me last time around.”
“I’m sorry about that, Cam. I—”
“What happened before doesn’t matter, Laura.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her gently so that she faced him. “It’s what’s going to happen from here on in that counts.”
“What do you want to happen?”
“I want you back,” he said simply. “That hasn’t changed.”
“I want to come back.”
“You’re sure this time?”
“I’m sure.”
“No more running away?”
She shook her head. “I’m yours. That is, if you want me.”
“I want you,” said Cam, taking her in his arms.
Laura leaned forward, resting her head against his chest. I’m home, she thought. I’ve finally come home.
Chapter Twenty-five
“I can already see
the write-up in tomorrow’s paper,” Laura told Julie, her voice low. “ ‘The bride wore white, the same shade as her hair—and the effect was nothing short of blinding. Several guests complaining of severe eye pain were rushed to North Shore Hospital—”
“Oh, Laura,” Julie said breathlessly, “Claire looks lovely. Every bride is beautiful.”
Laura was about to mutter some comment along the lines of
bah, humbug
when she noticed that her friend’s eyes were shiny with tears. Instead, she fussed with the folds of her lavender satin skirt. The dress, cinched at the waist with a tight cummerbund, had a row of froufrou along the hem. Her dust ruffle, she’d nicknamed it. Fortunately, it covered the pair of black patent-leather Little Bo-Peep shoes that laced up her ankles.
The dress, the shoes, the lavender wide-brimmed hat, the parasol ... every element had been carefully chosen for the June extravaganza. Even the location fit right in with Claire’s image of a dream wedding. The Crystal Inn catered to sweet sixteens, fiftieth anniversaries—and the weddings of grown women anxious to combine Mardi Gras, Halloween, and the dress-up corner of the kindergarten classroom. Frowning, Laura glanced at her reflection in the line of floor-to-ceiling minors in a dressing room that seriously rivaled the palace of Versailles.
“I feel like Scarlett O’Hara’s body double,” she muttered. She lugged at the low-cut neckline that revealed considerably more than she felt comfortable showing to anyone who hadn’t at least bought her dinner.
“I think Claire’s choice of bridesmaids’ dresses is lovely,” Julie insisted, twirling before the minor.
Laura had to admit that Julie actually looked good in her mint green version of the outfit. She resembled the tiny doll on an old-fashioned music box, come to life. Her long red hair was twisted into dramatic frankfurter curls, tied to one side with a perky green ribbon. The other bridesmaids also looked the part: Claire’s seventeen-year-old cousin in tangerine, her nineteen-year-old cousin in lemon yellow, even her plump sister-in-law-to-be in baby pink.
Laura was wondering if she was being a trifle unfair to Claire, the institution of marriage, and parasol manufacturers when the bride clapped her hands for attention.
“Okay, everybody,” she announced crisply, hiking up her long skirt so she could pace around the room in her white satin four-inch heels. Her dress was the most elaborate of them all, lest anyone be unclear about whose day this was. Made entirely of lace, dotted with roses and ribbons and seed pearls, it swished and swirled with every movement Claire made. “We’ve got a job to do here. I want everyone to stand tall. Look alert. Chin up, shoulders back ... and walk, don’t shuffle.”
“ ‘The bride wore combat boots,’ ” Laura mumbled.
She was prepared to remain encased in her armor of cynicism during the ceremony, the reception, and even the rehashing of highlights on the telephone with Julie. So she was surprised to find that as the opening bars of Wagner’s classic wedding march filtered into the dressing room, her heart launched into a gymnastics routine. As for the tears welling up in her eyes ...
All right, so I’m not immune, she admitted, taking her place in the parade that began with a flower girl scattering rose petals and ended with the baby pink sister-in-law. There’s something about a wedding—any wedding—that brings out everybody’s romantic side.
The ceremony contained every cliché in the book. But the look on Claire’s face, and Gil’s as well, elicited a brand-new wave of mistiness in Laura.
“You look beautiful,” Cam told her later, at the reception. Coming up behind her with two glasses of champagne in hand, he leaned forward to plant a kiss on her cheek.
“What I look is
lavender,”
she insisted, accepting the glass. “Very, very lavender.”
“You could have done worse,” Cam insisted. “Have you seen Claire’s new sister-in-law?”
“All that pink should only be worn by someone who still travels in a stroller.”
He chuckled. “I don’t suppose there’s any other color you’d prefer to be wearing today.”
“Just about any color in the rainbow.”
“I was thinking about white.”
“A great color for picket fences.”
“You know what I mean. And I bet you’d look great in white.” When Laura remained silent, Cam said, “Well, Laura, I know you won’t give me a yes. How about a maybe?”
She glanced toward the doorway of the reception hall. Gil and Claire had just come in. They stood together for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, their hands clasped together so tightly they looked as if they had no intention of ever letting go.
The look on their faces was the same Laura had seen during the ceremony. There were stars in their eyes. Maybe, just maybe, those stars weren’t blinding them, but were actually helping them see even better.
Laura reached over and took hold of Cam’s hand.
“Cam?” she said softly.
“Hmmm?”
“Maybe.”
To Mike
Copyright © 1996 by Cynthia Blair
Originally published by Ballantine (0345386388)
Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.