A Wedding on Primrose Street (Life In Icicle Falls Book 7) Read online

  Cam’s gaze was riveted on her breasts, wrapped in red lace. His voice turned silky and he ran a hand up her arm. “Never put off till later what you can enjoy right now,” he said, slipping off the blouse. “Red, my favorite color.”

  “I know,” she said.

  He tugged playfully on the waistband of her jeans. “What have we got under here? More red?”

  She slithered out of her jeans and showed him.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He pulled her close once again and nibbled her ear. “How do you do it, babe?”

  “Do what?”

  “Stay as beautiful as you were back in high school?”

  “You’re so full of it,” she murmured, sliding her fingers through his hair.

  “No, it’s true. You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Then he hadn’t looked around much. Her nose was too thin and her feet were too long. Gray hairs were invading the brown ones at such a rapid rate she was having to increase her visits to her favorite salon on The Ave, and she had a colony of cellulite growing on her thighs. Those flaws didn’t seem to bother him, though.

  They sure weren’t bothering him at the moment. He picked her up and hoisted her onto the kitchen counter. “Let’s start with dessert tonight.”

  “You mean the cake?” she teased.

  “I’m not dignifying that with an answer,” he said and kissed her.

  Oh, yes. Happy Valentine’s Day.

  Later, as they ate steaks off the grill and toasted each other with champagne, she was still feeling the glow from their lovemaking. Her husband had magic hands, and he sure knew how to make Valentine’s Day memorable.

  This one was going to be extraspecial. Cam was right; Laney would either call or come by to show off her new ring. What a perfect ending to the day, celebrating love with the next generation of family.

  Her baby, her only child, was getting married, and to her high school sweetheart, just as Anne had done. Technically it was more a case of marrying a post–high school sweetheart, although the two had been friends for years. Anne and Cam had watched Drake change from a skinny, pimple-faced boy with tats and crazy-colored hair to a responsible young man who was ready to settle down. She could hardly wait to help Laney plan their wedding.

  Of course, they’d talked a lot about weddings over the years. How could they not, considering what Anne did for a living? It had started when Laney used to play bride as a small child, dressed up with a pillowcase for a veil and a bouquet of some silk flowers Anne used for crafting. When Laney was in high school, she used to joke about wearing sneakers under her wedding dress like the bride in the old Steve Martin movie Father of the Bride. (Naturally, they’d watched that, along with My Best Friend’s Wedding, Runaway Bride, Made of Honor, 27 Dresses, My Big Fat Greek Wedding and any other wedding movie that came down the pike.) Hopefully, Laney had forgotten the tennis-shoe idea.

  Anne could already envision Cam escorting their daughter down the aisle at Queen Anne Presbyterian, surrounded by flowers, Laney wearing a beautiful wedding gown, her long, chestnut hair falling to her shoulders in gentle waves. Anne’s vision conveniently ignored the tattooed artwork running up Laney’s neck and covering her right arm.

  “There is such a thing as overkill,” she’d said when her daughter went for her second tattoo, but Laney had just laughed and kissed her and skipped off to the tattoo parlor to commemorate her twenty-first birthday with more body art. Why, oh, why did her daughter have to take everything to extremes?

  Because she was Laney. She’d always pushed the boundaries, staying out past curfews, cutting classes her freshman year in high school (thank God they’d broken her of that habit), dyeing her hair every color of the rainbow, adorning her ears with piercings. She’d gotten her nose pierced, too, but Anne had persuaded her to get a little diamond rather than the big stake she’d talked about, so at least that looked classy.

  She’s another generation, Anne constantly reminded herself, and they have their own style. Except style was such a subjective thing, and it wasn’t only Laney’s generation getting tattoos. Women Anne’s age did it, too. One of her friends had a discreet rose on her ankle. It just seemed that the younger women, especially her daughter, never knew when to stop. It was enough to make a mother crazy. But then, she told herself, it was the duty of every generation to drive their parents nuts. Heaven knew, she’d done it to her own mother. Still...

  “What are you thinking about?” Cam asked as he cut off a piece of steak.

  She smiled at him. “Our baby’s getting married.” And that eclipsed fashion frustration. Fashion issues could be dealt with later.

  “Yeah, I can’t believe it. Seems like only yesterday that she had colic and I was walking the floor with her.” He shook his head. “They’re so young.”

  “So were we,” Anne pointed out.

  He nodded. “Our parents probably had this same conversation.”

  Anne was thankful she’d been spared hearing her parents’ conversation. The one she’d had with her mother had been unpleasant enough.

  “Drake’s a good kid, though,” Cam said. “They’ll be happy.”

  “If they’re half as happy as we are, they’ll have a great marriage,” Anne said and took a bite of her baked potato, which she’d slathered in butter and sour cream. Sour cream, butter, chocolate cake. She’d have to eat nothing but salad for the next week.

  They were watching a romantic comedy and eating their cake when Laney called. “Mom, can Drake and I come over? We’ve got something to show you.”

  “Sure,” Anne said, playing dumb. “Come on by.”

  “Okay. See you in a few.”

  Twenty minutes later, her daughter was walking through the door, dressed for Valentine’s Day in black leggings and a short denim skirt she’d probably scored at her favorite consignment store. Her curls peeped out from under a black tam and she wore red platform shoes and a matching red top under her black leather jacket. She’d accented the outfit with a long, red scarf.

  She was followed by her boyfriend, a tall, skinny, tattooed drink of water wearing jeans and a black T-shirt under a black leather bomber jacket. Unlike Laney, he didn’t have an ear full of hoops and cute earrings. Instead, he wore gauges that had stretched holes in his earlobes. Anne had to admit that if she’d gone boyfriend shopping for her daughter she would’ve passed him over in favor of a preppy-looking boy in law school. But what would Laney have had in common with that kind of boy? She and Drake loved each other and that was what counted. Just as Cam said, he was a good kid. Tonight he wore a smile that reached from ear to ear.

  And Laney sported a ring with a diamond best viewed under a magnifying glass. “See what I got for Valentine’s Day?” she crowed.

  Anne took her daughter’s hand and gave her ring the attention it demanded as Cam clapped Drake on the back and welcomed him to the family. “It’s gorgeous,” she said. Then she hugged both her daughter and her future son-in-law. “We’re so happy for you two. Come on in and let’s have some chocolate cake to celebrate.”

  “You’ll never guess where we went to dinner,” Laney said, following Anne into the kitchen. “The Space Needle.”

  “Pretty impressive. Did Drake rob a bank?”

  “He’s been saving for this since Christmas.”

  At least someone in their marriage would be good with money. “Well, how was it?”

  “Oh, wow,” Laney said. “The view from up there, you can see everything. Puget Sound, the city, the mountains. And the food was sooo yummy.”

  “Maybe you don’t have room for cake,” Anne teased.

  “I always have room for cake. You know that.”

  Anne cut pieces and put them on plates, and Laney took them to where Drake and Cam sat in the living room. Meanwhile, Anne grabbed
two more glasses and another bottle of champagne.

  Once the glasses were filled, Cam raised his in salute to the happy couple squeezed together in an oversize armchair. “To Laney and Drake. May you both be as happy as we are.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Laney said, and she and Drake kissed each other.

  “Have you set a date?” Cam asked.

  “We’re thinking June,” Laney said.

  The same month Anne and Cam had gotten married. “An excellent month,” he said, winking at Anne.

  But it didn’t give them much time to pull together a wedding.

  “We thought it would be really cool to go to Vegas,” Drake added.

  The two exchanged besotted smiles.

  Anne hardly saw them. Instead, she was seeing her daughter in some tiny chapel, all dressed up like a showgirl with a big, feathery headdress. And there was Drake, wearing a sparkly, white Elvis jumpsuit. To Laney’s “I do,” he responded, “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  Vegas. Aaack!

  Chapter Two

  Roberta, Wedding Maven of Icicle Falls

  Roberta Gilbert smiled as she surveyed the wedding guests dressed in their finery. This wedding had a Valentine theme, and Roberta had placed little heart-shaped boxes filled with chocolates on the linen-clad tables, along with the pink carnations and red roses the bride had requested.

  It was the second time around for both bride and groom, who’d each been badly hurt by their exes. But that was behind them now, and the couple was clearly delighted with their new beginning as they swayed together in the center of the reception room.

  It had once been two separate rooms, but Roberta had combined them years ago, making more space for guests. Every time she entered it she could feel the positive energy stored up from so many happy events. Tonight the chandeliers glowed in the antique gilded mirrors, reflecting the image of two beaming people, surrounded by forty well-wishers.

  Roberta’s eyes misted, partly from sentiment and partly because, darn it all, her bunions were killing her. Much as she loved these touching moments, she’d be very happy when midnight came and the party ended. Her daughter kept telling her she was getting too old for this, but what did Daphne know? Seventy-one wasn’t that old. Anyway, Roberta couldn’t imagine living anywhere other than her pretty, pink Victorian with the white trim here on Primrose Street. She did love weddings, and after thirty years of hosting as well as planning them, it was a hard addiction to break. So here she would stay until she keeled over and they carried her out, bunions first.

  All right, maybe she could be tempted to pack in her business if some handsome older man who enjoyed Caribbean cruises and watching old doo-wop groups on PBS arrived on the scene.

  The odds of that happening were about as good as the odds of Roberta winning the lottery...which she never played. Besides, she had several wedding years left in her.

  “How are you doing?” asked a voice at her elbow, and she turned to see her assistant, Lila Kurtz, looking festive in a red dress and white apron decorated with red hearts.

  In charge of the caterers, Lila always saw to it that everything ran smoothly. And tonight’s food was especially elegant. It had been prepared by Bailey Sterling, who owned Tea Time Tea Shop and Tearoom on Lavender Lane, and the guests had raved about the three-cheese stuffed chicken, the pasta and tossed salads and the lavender cake. Roberta would definitely use Bailey again.

  “Just fine,” Roberta lied. Even though she had Lila and her crew, Roberta worked on the table settings, plated some of the food and did whatever else needed to be done. And no matter how much help she had, there was always plenty to do when a woman offered a full-service venue. Her bunions would attest to that.

  “You could duck out now,” Lila suggested.

  She could. Once she was in her bedroom, she’d be oblivious to any noise coming from below or from the second-floor changing room at the front of the house reserved for the bride and her bridesmaids. Lila would see the revelers on their way and then lock up. But for heaven’s sake, it was barely past nine o’clock. Only little old ladies went to bed at nine o’clock.

  Still, she had her Vanessa Valentine romance novel waiting for her. “You know, maybe I will.” She used to love watching the bride toss her bouquet but tonight her nice, soft mattress and a looming love scene were winning out over sentiment. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” Lila said. Lila was a single mom with two grown children and she liked to stay up late.

  “Well, then, I’ll go upstairs. I have a few things to do,” Roberta added in case Lila thought she was pooping out.

  Lila nodded approvingly. “Take it easy tomorrow. Leave the mess for the cleaning crew on Monday.”

  “I will,” Roberta promised. She had no desire to work any harder than she had to.

  “And don’t forget you’ve got Muriel Sterling coming over to do that interview for the paper on Monday afternoon,” Lila reminded her.

  Ah, yes. The interview. Roberta hoped Muriel didn’t ask any nosy questions that would be awkward to answer, but if she did, Roberta knew how to dodge them. She’d been doing it for years.

  The DJ was now spinning an upbeat song and the room pulsed with dancers. Roberta made her way around the edge of the crowd, ready to put her feet up and read her book. With her comfy flannel jammies on, she’d be free to let the story carry her away.

  Suddenly it looked as if there wasn’t going to be any carrying away—not considering who’d just arrived at the party. Roberta blinked, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. But no, Daphne was still there, hovering in the doorway, her lovely face contorted with a scowl. What on earth was her daughter doing here?

  She hurried over to where Daphne stood, wearing dark jeans and a leather jacket thrown over a plain, black sweater, a carry-on suitcase parked next to her. Her big blue eyes were bloodshot and her nose was red, probably from too many close encounters with a tissue.

  “Daphne, darling, what are you doing here?” On a weekend, looking like the bad wedding fairy. And with a suitcase? Oh, wedding bell blues. Roberta could already guess what was wrong.

  Daphne took in the crowd of happy revelers. “All that money wasted on champagne and cake. It never works out.”

  Sure enough. “Come upstairs,” Roberta said, steering her daughter toward the staircase. “We’ll get you settled and you can tell me what’s going on.”

  Daphne didn’t wait until she was settled. She started in right away, towing her suitcase up the stairs. “I knew something was wrong.” Thump. “I’ve suspected for months.” Thump. “I kept asking him and he denied it.” Thump, thump.

  Roberta sighed. Men were beasts. “So Mitchell’s been cheating on you.”

  “You were right—he’s slime,” Daphne said, her voice trembling. “How could he do this to me?” she wailed. “Is it that hard to be faithful to someone?”

  In Mitchell’s case, obviously, yes. Poor Daphne. She was so pretty, so trusting. She was like a man magnet. Sadly, she didn’t seem able to attract anything better than the man equivalent of paper clips.

  “I’m so sorry,” Roberta said.

  They’d reached the top floor now, and Roberta led her daughter to the back of the house, to the room opposite hers, the same room that had been Daphne’s growing up. Here they were, together again, mother and daughter. And daughter was going through yet another romantic crisis.

  Daphne was an underachiever when it came to relationships. Her first husband had been a lazy bum who spent as much time collecting unemployment as he did working. He drank too much and helped Daphne around the house too little. The only good thing to come out of that marriage had been Roberta’s granddaughter, Marnie. (Unlike her mother, Marnie knew how to pick a man who had his act together and was now busy setting the world on fire, working in New York as a
n editor.) Husband number two had bailed on Daphne when Marnie hit her teen years. As for number three, Roberta had never liked him. She’d seen the way Mitchell ogled other women when Daphne wasn’t looking. You couldn’t trust oglers. She’d told Daphne as much but would she listen? Of course not.

  Where was the ogler now? Back home, in Daphne’s bed with another woman? “Did you kick him out?” Roberta demanded. Sometimes her daughter was too soft.

  Daphne draped her coat over the bedpost and got busy unpacking her suitcase.

  “Daphne,” Roberta said sharply.

  “I told him he had until next week to get his stuff out.” Her face turned red and she pulled off her sweater. She opened the window and stuck her head outside.

  A very convenient time for a hot flash, Roberta thought cynically. “So you left him in your house? Why?” She grabbed the coat and hung it in the closet.

  Daphne pulled her head back in and scowled. “I didn’t want to look at him. Honestly, Mother. Did you expect me to stay there after what I found out?”

  “Yes,” Roberta cried, exasperated. “That house belongs to you. He should be the one to leave, not you. When you go home, you call a locksmith first thing. Even if you have to take Monday off.”

  Daphne bit her lip, a sure sign that she was hiding something.

  Oh, heavens, what now? “Daphne?”

  Daphne pushed aside a lock of long, blond hair. “I’m not going home, not for a while.”

  “But you have to. Your job.”

  Not that it was a high-powered job. Daphne had used her college degree from the University of Washington to land a position as a receptionist for a seafood distribution company in Seattle, where she’d remained ever since as an underpaid fixture. In spite of her talents and her mother’s high hopes, she had never felt the need to reach for the stars.

  She could’ve been a fashion model or started her own interior decorating business or...something. Roberta had given her any number of suggestions over the years, but Daphne had preferred to stay on the bottom rung of the ladder of success. If Roberta hadn’t been there for the birth she’d have sworn her daughter was some other woman’s.