Нора Робертс - Happy Ever After

Since it took twice that, she had to sprint up the stairs to check on the suites, and stay on schedule.

AS EXPECTED, THE EVENING EVENT ENTAILED PROBLEMS, MINI crises, and personal conflicts Parker outmaneuvered, solved, or tamped down.

She solved the potential combat between the feuding MOB and GMOB by taking each on separate tours of the facilities while the other got her face time with the bride.

And firmly played Switzerland when each woman listed the faults and failings of the other.

She managed to keep the groom’s good friend occupied, and segregated from any areas his ex-wife, the bride’s sister, might pass through.

While personalities and defusing human time bombs ate up most of her time and energies, she passed what she thought of as guard duty on to Mac or Laurel long enough to run personal checks on the setup.

Step-by-step, she glimpsed Emma transforming forest and meadow into an elegant and elaborate feast for the eyes while Laurel added finishing touches on a five-layer cake as spectacular as a white diamond.

In the Bride’s Suite, Mac documented another transformation—one of woman to bride, capturing the moment of pride and pleasure when their client stood in her glimmering white gown, sparkling with silver beads on the strapless bodice.

Parker watched the bride sweep back her elaborate skirt so her mother—obviously too overcome to think of feuds—could fasten the icy fire of diamonds around her daughter’s neck.

“Something old,” the mother murmured.

Parker knew Mac would capture that iced fire, the lovely lines of the bride’s shoulders, the sweep of the dress—but the moment and the photo would also illuminate the emotion between mother and daughter as they smiled into each other’s damp eyes.

“Baby, you look like something out of a dream.”

“I feel . . . God, I—Mom. I didn’t expect to get all choked up.”

Parker handed her a tissue.

“You were right, Parker,” the bride added as she carefully dabbed the corners of her eyes. “About not wearing a veil.” She touched a hand to the simple band sparkling in her dark, upswept hair. “About keeping the headpiece understated.”

“You couldn’t look more perfect, Alysa,” Parker told her. “Unless . . .”

As Emma was still completing the Ballroom, Parker took the bridal bouquet from its box, offered it to the MOB. “One last lovely detail.”

With the trail of silver-edged orchids accented by clear beads in her hand, the bride turned to the cheval glass once again. “Oh. Oh. Now I—I guess I feel like something out of a dream.”

The MOB laid her hand on Parker’s arm, sighed.

And that, Parker thought, was the best acknowledgment of a job—so far—well done.

She heard the squeal—young, happy, not distressed—but hurried to the other side of the room as Mal, his arms full of flower girl, opened the door.

“Excuse me, ladies, but I found this fairy princess. Is this the entrance to the castle?”

“It certainly is.” Parker started to reach out for the girl when a woman called out, and headed toward them, the other two flower girls on each hip.

“Leah! I’m sorry, so sorry. She got away from me, and I couldn’t catch up with her with the other two.”

“No problem.”

“They’re ready for pictures,” Parker said. “So you can take them right in to Mac. I’ll give you a hand.”

She took the unrepentant Leah. “Thanks,” she said to Mal before carrying the little girl away.

“Bye, Mal! Bye!” Leah called over her shoulder, and Parker’s lips twitched in amusement as the girl added noisy blown kisses to the farewell.

When she came back, she found Mal helping himself to the cheese tray.

“Good stuff,” he commented.

“Protein helps keep the energy up.”

“Okay.” He spread some Port Salut on a cracker. “Have some energy.”

It couldn’t hurt, she decided, and accepted. “Where did you find Leah?”

“The kid? Right out in the hall, dancing. Doing, you know. . .” He twirled a finger in the air. “She’s all about her getup. I’d just taken the—what is it, FOG?—or maybe it was the other, the FOB—a shot of Jack Black, so she couldn’t have been out there long.”

“We appreciate the help.”

He smiled. “Show me.”

“I don’t have time for this. I have to—” She held up a hand. “Red Alert. Solarium.”

“What are you, Captain Kirk?”

But she was already streaking out of the room. “What’s the—Well, damn it,” she muttered into her headset. “I’m on my way.”

“What’s the deal?”

“One of the guests decided the B and G’s specific directive of no children under twelve didn’t apply to their four kids, who are now apparently wreaking havoc during the preceremony cocktails. Laurel’s the only one down there, helping the servers, and she’s about to blow.”

“Do you often have to sprint through the acres of this house?”

“Yes.”

“Then why do you do it on stilts?”

“These are exceptionally attractive Pradas, and I’m wearing them because I’m a professional.”

She sure as hell could move in them, he thought. “It doesn’t have anything to do with vanity.”

“By-product.”

She slowed from sprint to brisk as they entered the Solarium.

He heard the kids before he saw them. Easily enough, he mused, as they were yelling, squalling, crying at the top of their lungs. He saw, as he imagined Parker did, the varied reactions of the other guests who’d arrived early enough to enjoy a few belts and some fancy finger food before the I Dos. Amusement, annoyance, distress, disdain.

A hell of a mix, he thought. And when he noted one of the uniformed caterers sweeping up broken glassware, a hell of a mess. As Parker wove through the crowd with the accuracy and focus of a heat-seeking missile, he noted the kids came by their manners naturally. Mama was shouting, too.

“Parker.” Laurel, who wore a white chef’s apron over her business suit, bared her teeth in what could only loosely be called a smile. “Mrs. Farrington.”

“Parker Brown.” Parker stuck out a hand, grabbed Farrington’s before the woman could object, then kept hold of it. “So nice to meet you.Why don’t you and the children come with me? Is their father with you?”

“He’s at the bar, and we don’t have any intention of going anywhere.”

“Laurel, why don’t you locate Mr. Farrington and ask him to join us? You have very handsome children,” she told the woman. “I have to ask you to control them.”

“Nobody tells me what to do with my own children.”

Parker’s smile remained; it simply turned fierce. “As this is my home, my property, and your children were specifically not invited to today’s event, I’m doing just that.”

“We’re here as a family.”

Parker caught her breath as one of the boys fighting on the floor hurled a toy car at his brother. Malcolm caught it one-handed an inch before it collided with a glass cylinder filled with orchids.

“And are you prepared to pay for damages? Today isn’t about you and your family,” she continued, and though her voice stayed low, the tone shifted to hard-nosed. “It’s about Alysa and Bo. The invitation clearly expressed their wishes for no children under twelve.”

As the din stopped, she glanced down to see Malcolm hunkered with the four boys, all of them wide-eyed and blissfully quiet.

“I think that’s selfish and inconsiderate.”

“I’m sure you do,” Parker said equably. “But it remains their wish.”

“I told her not to bring them.” Mr. Farrington walked up, a low-ball glass in one hand.“I told you not to drag them along, Nancy.”

“And I told you that I expect my own cousin to have more tolerance and affection for my children than to bar them from his own wedding.”

“Would you like to continue to argue about it here?” Parker smiled grimly.“In front of those children and the other guests? Tell me, Mrs. Farrington, did you RSVP for six?”

The woman pressed her lips into a hard line, said nothing.

“As I don’t believe you did so, we have no dining accommodations for your children, and as it’s a plated meal, no dinner. However, we’ll be happy to make arrangements for child care for them elsewhere in the house, with appropriate food and beverage during the wedding and reception. I can have two licensed child care providers here within twenty minutes, for a fee of fifty dollars an hour. Each.”

“If you think I’m going to pay you to—”

“You’ll either agree to the child care and the quoted fee, or you’ll have to arrange for your own off-site. My job is to carry out Alysa and Bo’s directives and wishes. And I’m going to do my job.”

“Come on, Gary, we’re leaving. Get the boys.”

“You go.” Gary shrugged. “Take the boys, or leave them and I’ll pay the fee. I’m staying for the wedding. Remember, Nancy, Bo is my cousin.”

“We’re going. Boys,

now! I said right now!”

The crying, yelling, arguing revved up again as she grabbed, dragged, and hauled four angry kids away. Parker and Laurel exchanged glances. Laurel nodded and followed Nancy Farrington out.

“I apologize,” Gary said.“We’ve been going around about this for weeks, but I thought we’d settled it.Then she had the boys in the car when I came outside. I shouldn’t have let it go. I suspect they broke that tray of glasses I saw one of the servers taking out. What do I owe you?”

“Accidents happen, Mr. Farrington. I hope you enjoy the wedding. Malcolm, would you come with me?”

“Sure.” He dropped the toy car he still held in Gary’s hand. “Classic,” he said, and strolled out after Parker.

“What did you say to shut them off ?” she demanded.

“I told them I was holding the ’Vette hostage. Really nice Matchbox edition of the ’66. And that if they didn’t knock it off, the lady talking to their mother was going to arrest them.”

“Arrest them?”

“It worked. Then when they shut up, we talked about cars. They’d been playing cars when their mother came in and told Esme, the nanny, to get them dressed in their suits. They hate the suits, by the way, and just wanted to play cars. Who could blame them?”

“Well, you handled it very well.”

“There might’ve been four of them, but you had the tougher job. They’re brats, sure, but she’s a stone bitch. So, how about a beer?”

“I don’t have time for a beer. That ate up most of the arrival, mixer, photo time. Mac’s nearly done with the groom’s party.”

“How do you know?”

She tapped her earpiece.“She told me.We’re green to go,” she said into her headset and made Malcolm grin. “Cue guest seating music, please, and close the bar. If we don’t close the bar, a lot of people never get outside,” she told Malcolm. “Ten minutes to groom’s entrance. I’ve got to get upstairs.Thanks for your help.”

“No problem. I’m going to get that beer before I’m shut out.”

He liked watching her work. He didn’t know what she was doing most of the time, but that didn’t cut into the enjoyment. She covered ground, a lot of ground, or seemed to fade into the background. More than once he saw her produce something from a pocket, apparently she had a few hundred of them inside that all-business suit jacket, for a guest.

Kleenex, eyeglass cleaner, safety pins, tape, matches, a pen. She had a small department store on her from his point of view. Now and then he saw her lips moving, responding, he assumed, to something from her headset.Then she’d head off in a new direction, to some new duty or to avert some new crisis.

Occasionally she huddled with one or more of her partners, or one of the subcontractors, then they were all off and running.

But if you weren’t paying attention, it looked as if the entire deal ran on its own, sort of organically.

All the hoopla of the wedding itself—fancy dresses and tuxes, a cargo ship of flowers, candles and rivers of that strange white gauze winding around stuff. Music, tears, a lot of twinkling lights coming on to the ahhs of the crowd.

Processions, recessions, then hot dog, the bar’s open again and the horde’s guided in for more food and drink to hold them off until it’s time for the big elaborate dinner. More flowers, candles, twinkling lights, music, toasts, table-hopping. All timed, he saw, to the minute.

Then it’s the exodus to the Ballroom for party time, and before the last guest’s out the door, an entire hive of worker bees are clearing, cleaning, breaking down half the tables.

He knew this for a fact, as he somehow got drafted for the breakdown.