'You're getting married in Ms. Thorton's garden,' Billings corrected. 'And it's quite a lovely day for it.'
The practical tone caused Brooke to scowl. 'And I should never have let her talk me into that, either.'
'Hah!' The exclamation had Brooke's brows lifting. Billings gestured threateningly with the hairbrush. 'Hah!' she said again, effectively closing Brooke's mouth. 'No one talks you into anything. You're a hard-headed, stubborn, single-minded young woman, and you're shaking in your shoes because there's a hard-headed, stubborn, single- minded young man downstairs who's going to give you a run for your money.'
'I certainly am not shaking in my shoes,' Brooke corrected, insulted. Billings saw the faint pink flush rise to the pale cheeks.
'Scared to death.'
Brooke stuck both fists on her hips. 'I am most certainly not afraid of Parks Jones.'
'Hah!' Billings repeated as she pulled over a footstool. Climbing on it, she began to draw the brush through Brooke's hair. 'You'll probably stammer and quake when you take your vows, just like some silly girl who doesn't know her own mind.'
'I've never stammered in my life.' Enunciating each word precisely, Brooke glared at their twin reflections in the mirror. 'And nothing makes me quake.'
'We'll just see about that, won't we?' Rather pleased with herself, Billings arranged Brooke's mane of hair into a cunningly tumbled mass. In this, she secured a delicate clip of pale-pink-and-white hibiscus. She had fussed that lily of the valley or rosebuds would have been more suitable, but secretly thought the exotic flowers were stunning.
'Now, where are those lovely pearl drops Ms. Thorton gave you?'
'Over there.' Still fuming, Brooke pointed to the tiny jeweler's box that held Claire's gift.
They should have eloped as Parks had suggested, Brooke thought. What had made her think she wanted all this fuss and bother? What had made her think she wanted to get married in the first place? As her nerves started jumping again, she caught Billings 's ironic stare. Brooke lifted her chin.
'Well, put them on,' the housekeeper ordered, holding the pink-blushed pearls in her palm. 'It was very clever of Mr. Jones to send you flowers to match them.'
'If you like him so much, why don’t you marry him?' Brooke muttered, fastening the earrings with fingers that refused to stop trembling.
'I suppose you'll do,' Billings said briskly, swallowing a lump in her throat. 'Even without a proper veil and train.' She wanted badly to press a kiss to Brooke's cheek, but knew it would weaken both of them. 'Come along, then,' she said instead. 'It's time.'
I could still call it off, Brooke thought as she let Billings draw her down the hall. There's still time. No one can make me go through with this. The little skips of nerves in her stomach had increased to thumps. There's absolutely nothing that can make me walk out into that garden. What was the phrase? she wondered. Marry in haste, repent at leisure? This was certainly haste.
It had only been four days since Parks had asked her. Four days. Maybe the big mistake had been in telling Claire. Good God, she'd never seen anyone move so fast once they'd gotten the bit between their teeth. Brooke decided she must have been in a state of shock to have let Claire sweep her along with plans and arrangements. An intimate ceremony in her terraced garden, a champagne reception. Elope? Claire had brushed that aside with a wave of her hand. Elopements were for silly teenagers. And wouldn't a three-piece ensemble be lovely? Brooke had found herself caught up. And now she was just caught.
But no, Brooke corrected as she and Billings reached the foot of the stairs. All she had to do was turn around and head for the door. She could get into her car and just drive away. That was the coward's way. Straightening her shoulders, Brooke rejected it. She wouldn't ran, she would simply walk outside and explain very calmly she had changed her mind. Yes, that's all it would take. I'm very sorry, she practiced mentally, but I've decided not to get married after all. She'd be very calm and very firm.
'Oh, Brooke, you look lovely.' And there was Claire, dressed in powder-blue silk with the sheen of tears in her eyes.
'Claire, I-'
'Absolutely lovely. I wish you'd let me have them play the wedding march.'
'No, I-'
'It doesn't matter, as long as you're happy.' Claire pressed her cheek to Brooke's. 'Isn't it silly, I feel just like a mother. Imagine having your first pangs of motherhood at my age.'
'Oh, Claire.'
'No, no, I'm not going to get sloppy and sentimental and ruin my face.' Sniffling, she drew away.
'It's not every day I'm maid of honor.'
'Claire, I want to-'
'They're waiting, Ms. Thorton.'
'Yes, yes, of course.' Giving Brooke's hand a quick squeeze, she went out on the terrace.
'Now you, Ms. Gordon.' Brooke stood where she was, wondering if the coward's way wasn't basically sound. Billings put a firm hand on her back and pushed. Brooke found herself out on the terrace facing Parks.
He took her hand. He was firm as he brought hers to his lips. She noticed his eyes, smiling, sure. He was in a pearl-gray suit, more formal than anything she had seen him wear. But his eyes held that complete intensity she knew they had when he waited for a pitch. She found herself walking with him to the center of the terrace that was surrounded by flowers and the ornamental trees Claire loved.
Still time, Brooke thought as the minister began to speak in a calm, clear voice. But she couldn't open her mouth to stop what was already happening.
She'd remember the scent always. Jasmine and vanilla, and the sweet drift of baby roses. But she didn't see the flowers because her eyes were locked on Parks's. He was repeating the words the minister spoke, the traditional words spoken countless times by countless couples. But she heard them as if they were uttered for the first time.
Love, honor, cherish.
She felt the ring slip onto her finger. Felt, but again didn't see because she couldn't take her eyes from his. From the branches of a weeping cherry, a bird began to trill.
She heard her own voice, strong and assured, repeat the same promises. And her hand, with no trembling, placed the symbol of the promise on Parks's finger. A pledge, a promise, a gift. Then their lips moved together, sealing it.
I was going to run, she remembered.
'I'd have caught you,' Parks murmured against her mouth.
Astonished and annoyed, Brooke drew back. He was grinning at: her, his hands still caught in her hair. To the confusion of the others in the quiet, fragrant garden, Brooke cursed then threw her arms around his neck and laughed.
'Hey.' Snyder gave Parks a firm shove. 'Give somebody else a chance.'
Claire's idea of a small gathering was the epitome of a producer's understatement. Though Brooke didn't bother to count heads, she knew there were well over a hundred 'absolutely essential guests.' She found she didn't mind-the glitter was her gift to Claire.
There was a bubbly fountain of champagne, a five tiered pink-and-white cake and silver platters of food that for once Brooke had no interest in. Which turned out for the best, as she was swept from one person's arms to another, kissed, hugged and congratulated until it all became a blur of color and sound.
She met Parks's mother, a tiny, exquisite woman who kissed her cheek then burst into tears. His father crushed Brooke in a hug and murmured that now that Parks was married, he would stop the nonsense and come into the company. She found herself inheriting a family in a lump-a large, confusing family that didn't quite fit any of the imaginings of her youth.
And through it all, she had barely more than glimpses of Parks as she was passed from cousin to cousin to be weighed, measured and discussed like a fascinating new acquisition.
'Leave the girl be a minute.' A sturdy, pewter haired woman swept the others aside with an imperious wave of her hand. 'These Joneses are a silly bunch.' She sighed, then summed Brooke up with one long look. 'I'm your Aunt Lorraine,' she said and extended her hand.
Brooke accepted the handshake, knowing instinctively the gesture was somehow more sincere and more
