Книга - You Say It First

You Say It First
Susan Mallery


#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR‘The perfect feel-good read’ Sarah MorganYou’re invited to visit a wedding destination found only in a fairy tale…Sculptor Nick Mitchell grew up in a family of artists and learned from his volatile father that passion only leads to pain. As he waits on a new commission, he takes a day job as a humble carpenter at a theme wedding venue. The job has its perks – mainly the venue's captivating owner, Pallas Saunders. Although he won't let love consume him, for ecstasy with an expiration date, he's all in.Pallas adores Weddings in a Box. But if she can't turn the floundering business around, she'll have no choice but to cave to her domineering mother and trade taffeta for trust funds working at the family's bank. Then when a desperate bride begs Pallas for something completely out of the box, her irresistible new hire inspires her. Nick knows she doesn't belong behind a desk, and she knows in her heart that he's right – where she really belongs is in his arms.







The #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Fool’s Gold romances invites you to visit Happily Inc, a wedding destination founded on a fairy tale

Sculptor Nick Mitchell grew up in a family of artists and learned from his volatile father that passion only leads to pain. As he waits on a new commission, he takes a day job as a humble carpenter at a theme wedding venue. The job has its perks—mainly the venue’s captivating owner, Pallas Saunders. Although he won’t let love consume him, for ecstasy with an expiration date, he’s all in.

Pallas adores Weddings in a Box. But if she can’t turn the floundering business around, she’ll have no choice but to cave to her domineering mother and trade taffeta for trust funds working at the family’s bank. Then when a desperate bride begs Pallas for something completely out of the box, her irresistible new hire inspires her. Nick knows she doesn’t belong behind a desk, and she knows in her heart that he’s right—where she really belongs is in his arms.


Praise for Susan Mallery and her fan-favorite, bestselling novels

“Susan Mallery is one of my favorites.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

“Funny, tender, moving, and shot through with enough emotional drama to resonate with anyone who’s survived a family wedding, [Daughters of the Bride] is pure delight and a rewarding read for romance and women’s fiction fans alike.”

—Library Journal, starred review

“As heartwarming as a hot chocolate by the fireside, this romance delivers a happily-ever-after that will delight you down to your toes.”

—BookBub on Marry Me at Christmas

“Romance novels don’t get much better than Mallery’s expert blend of emotional nuance, humor and superb storytelling.”

—Booklist

“Susan Mallery’s gift for writing humor and tenderness makes all her books true gems.”

—RT Book Reviews

“The characters will have you crying, laughing, and falling in love... Another brilliantly well-written story.”

—San Francisco Book Review on The Friends We Keep

“Heartwarming... Deft characterization and an absorbing story line will keep readers coming back.”

—Publishers Weekly on When We Met

“Romance superstar Mallery’s [The Girls of Mischief Bay] is both heart-wrenching and warmhearted... A discerning, affecting look at three women facing surprising change and the powerful and uplifting impact of friends.”

—Kirkus Reviews


You Say It First

Susan Mallery






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Contents

Cover (#uafa81376-92df-5898-8090-e89104466792)

Back Cover Text (#u62540793-d80c-5bfb-a0f3-af3c78b66a74)

Praise (#u7ed9c111-1d03-52bf-ba78-161e0668d118)

Title Page (#u42bba18e-88ca-5e2f-bd86-657c331e19ea)

CHAPTER ONE (#u41f779b2-2807-5865-b1ec-79c86b8d7b2e)

CHAPTER TWO (#u50da2744-483f-510b-99e1-985d26c64832)

CHAPTER THREE (#u8f35eda4-b35d-55ce-b758-7688b136dd72)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u8046c1aa-16ee-5284-aa55-6be9c9056358)

CHAPTER FIVE (#u4711a7e8-f7d3-5127-89ce-d15b9df3e74a)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#uff7f7b8d-4b40-54dd-bcf7-56373bc40896)

“DON’T TAKE THIS WRONG, but I really need you to take off your shirt.”

Pallas Saunders winced as she said the words—this was so not how she usually conducted an interview. But desperate times and all that.

Nick Mitchell raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

A valid semiquestion and certainly better than simply bolting, which, hey, he could have done.

“It’s an emergency,” she said, waving her hand in what she hoped was a can we please move this along gesture.

“I’m going to need more than that.”

“Fine.” She drew in a breath, then began talking. Fast. “I have a wedding in less than an hour and I’m one Roman soldier short. J.T. ran off to LA because his agent called about an audition. Note to self. Do not hire actors during pilot season. Anyway, I need a Roman soldier. You’re about the same height as the other guys and you’re here because you need a job, so take your shirt off, please. If you look halfway decent, I’ll sponge tan you and you’ll carry a very skinny girl in on a palanquin.”

“On what?”

“One of those sedan chair things. I swear, she probably doesn’t even weigh a hundred pounds. I don’t think she’s eaten in three months. You look strong. You’ll do great. Please? There’s a check at the end.”

Not a very big one, but money was money. And Nick Mitchell had answered her ad for a part-time carpenter, so he must be at least a little desperate for money. A feeling Pallas could so relate to.

“You want me to carry a girl in on a palanquin for her wedding?”

Why were the pretty ones always dumb, she wondered with a sigh. Because Nick certainly qualified as pretty. Tall with dark hair and eyes. His shoulders were broad and from what she could see, he looked to be in shape, so what was the big deal?

“The name of my business is Weddings in a Box.” She gestured to the walls around them. “This is box-like. People come here to get married. I do theme weddings. The couple today want a Roman wedding. You’d be stunned at how popular they are. The Roman wedding includes the palanquin for the bride. Please, I beg you. Take off your shirt.”

“You’re weird,” Nick muttered as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it onto her desk.

Hallelujah, she thought, walking around to view him from the back. As she’d hoped, he looked good—with broad shoulders and plenty of muscle. No massive tattoos, no ugly scars. Not that she objected to tattoos, but so few of them were Roman wedding appropriate and she really didn’t have time to do her thing with concealer. As it was, Nick would fit in with the other guys perfectly.

“You’re hired, but we have to hurry.”

She grabbed him by the hand and dragged him down the hall toward the male cast dressing room. Because themed weddings required a cast of, if not thousands, then at least three or four. Roman weddings had the palanquin carrying crew and all the servers were dressed in togas. Not original, but the clients were happy and that was what mattered.

She pulled Nick into the large, plain room with racks of costumes at one end and a counter with lit mirrors above at the other. Three guys in various states of undress were already there. Two were stepping into white togas while the third was studying himself in the mirror.

Alan glanced up from his self-appraisal and smiled. “Hello, stranger.”

“Not for long,” Pallas muttered. “Please help Nick get ready for the wedding. Nick, Alan. Alan, Nick.” She glanced at her watch and shrieked. “We have less than an hour, people.” She turned to Nick. “Ever done fake tanning?”

“Do I look like I do fake tanning?”

Until that second, the man in front of her had been little more than a capable shoulder upon which she could rest one quarter of a bride. Now she actually looked at him. At the dark eyes watching her with a combination of disbelief and wariness. The firm set of his oddly attractive mouth. He had big hands, she noted absently, then did her best not to laugh.

Big hands? Seriously? Because she had time for that in her life?

She walked over to the counter and opened a drawer. Inside were gloves sealed in plastic. Gloves coated with fake tanning product she could buy in bulk for a very happy price.

“I’m about to rock your world,” she told him cheerfully. “Let’s go.”

* * *

NICK MITCHELL FELT as if he’d stepped into an alternate universe. One where the crazy people ruled and the rest of the citizens were left to stumble along, trying to keep up.

Before he knew what was happening, the woman who was supposed to be interviewing him for a carpentry job was rubbing some weird-ass glove thing up and down his back.

“Even strokes,” she said as she worked. “It takes five minutes to dry, then you check for streaks. Do your arms and chest, then your legs. Front and back, please.”

She slipped off the gloves and held them out to him. “Can you do this?”

Her expression was two parts earnest and one part frustrated—as if the world conspired to make her day more difficult.

He thought about repeating that he was just there for the carpentry job, but realized she already knew that. Okay then—fake-tanned Roman soldier it was. If nothing else, he would have a good story to tell his brothers.

He put on the gloves and began rubbing on the fake tan goop. It was less gross than he’d thought. Pallas showed him his toga costume and asked the other guys to get him in place.

“I have to go get changed,” she said as she hurried to the door. “If you need anything, ask Alan. He knows all.”

Alan winked at her. “That’s true.” Once the door was closed, Alan turned back to him. “And your story is?”

Nick took off the gloves, wiped his hands on a towel sitting on the counter, then stepped out of his jeans. “I’m a carpenter. I answered an ad.” He put the gloves on again, bent over and rubbed up and down his legs.

“I see. Want some help with that?”

Nick didn’t bother looking up. “I’m good.”

“Well, I’m Alan, as you heard. Those two are Joseph and Jonathan. I call them the J’s. They’re high school students earning money on a Saturday. They play football.”

One of the teens looked up. “It’s basketball, Alan. We keep telling you.”

“Whatever. It’s sports and they’re all the same.” Alan turned back to Nick. “I’ve been on Broadway. That’s how I met Gerald. He was my mentor, and then he retired and moved here. I came for the winter weather and stayed. After Gerald died, I moved to LA, but when I’m here, I do this because it’s fun.”

As he spoke, Nick realized that the other man was a lot older than he’d first thought. At least in his late forties.

“People really have Roman weddings?” he asked.

“You have no idea. There are cowboy weddings, too, but I don’t do those.” He shuddered. “Horses are the worst! And they smell. I do like a good princess wedding though. I’m a very handsome courtier, if I do say so myself. But today we’re Romans. All hail Caesar.”

Ten minutes later, Nick stared at himself in the mirror. He was wearing an honest-to-God toga. Or at least a costume. The short white skirt came to midthigh. The top tied over one shoulder and Alan had given him a circlet of grape leaves to stick on his head. Now, as he laced up sandals, he thought maybe he wouldn’t be telling his brothers what he’d done, after all. They would never let him live it down.

“It’s very simple,” Alan told him when he was dressed. “The bride sits on the palanquin. We lift it up, carry her in. She gets off and we carry it out. The J’s and I also serve at the reception, but I doubt Pallas expects that of you. So you’re free to go.”

Nick didn’t bother pointing out that he’d yet to have his interview. To be honest, he was having his doubts about the job. He’d wanted something to fill his day while he figured out what he was going to do about his commission. While this place offered plenty of distraction, it wasn’t exactly what he was looking for.

Pallas returned. She’d replaced her jeans and T-shirt with a simple dark green dress that brought out her hazel eyes. Her long brown hair was still in its fancy braid and he didn’t think she was wearing any makeup. Of course she wasn’t the bride—she was here to make the bride’s dreams come true.

She walked up to him and nodded in approval. “You look great. Thank you for doing this. I would be in so much trouble if you hadn’t agreed to help out. Did Alan tell you what was going to happen?”

“We carry in the bride, then quietly leave.”

“Right. Oh, we still have to do our interview. I have no excuse for scheduling it so close to a wedding except to say I must have gotten the days wrong. There’s just so much to do.”

Emotions filled her eyes. He read worry, panic and more than a little determination. An interesting combination.

She squared her shoulders. “One crisis at a time, as Gerald always said. We are ready for the wedding. Gentlemen, if you’ll take your positions, please.”

She led the way downstairs. Nick wasn’t sure what to expect, but quicker than he’d anticipated, they were in a room with a frazzled-looking bride, several bridesmaids dressed in what he would guess were Roman-inspired gowns and an honest-to-God palanquin.

He moved closer to the sedan chair and studied the carving on the sides. They were hand done, then attached to what he guessed was a lightweight metal frame.

Pallas got everyone in position. The bride took her seat. Alan took the front right position, which Nick would guess meant he was in charge.

“On three, gentlemen. We lift slowly, in unison and with our knees.” Alan smiled at the bride. “Not that we have to worry about you, darling. You’re no bigger than a minute and so lovely in your gown. It’s designer, isn’t it? Lucky, lucky you.”

The bride visibly relaxed. “Thank you. I love my dress.”

“It loves you back. Shall we? On three.”

Nick waited for the count, then raised the bride. The crossbar had a padded, curved notch for his shoulder. He found he only had to use his hand to steady it, not support it. As Pallas had promised, the bride was light and the weight easy to bear.

He went with the others down the hall. A photographer snapped pictures. Huge double doors opened for them and they walked into a massive room with at least a twenty-foot ceiling.

Guests lined up on either side of the large aisle and a groom in a fancier version of a toga waited up at the carved altar. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the afternoon, flickering torches provided light.

They reached the end of the aisle. Alan directed them to lower the bride. When she was with her Roman groom, they carried the palanquin back out. Alan ushered them to a huge outdoor courtyard set up for the reception. The palanquin was set down in a corner.

“People love climbing all over it for pictures,” Alan told Nick. “All right, you’re free to go.” He pointed to a door. “Go through there. You’ll find a staircase that will take you up to the second floor. The dressing room is at the end, on the right.”

“Thanks.”

Nick followed his directions. When he went inside, he saw the staircase. Before he reached it, however, he spotted a partially open door.

“No way,” he murmured as he moved closer.

He opened the door wider, swore under his breath and stepped inside.

Several large carved wooden panels hung from tracks where they could slide into place. He stepped to the side and visually followed the track. He would guess it led to the big ballroom he’d just been in.

These panels—easily ten feet tall and twice as wide—were exquisite works of art. The carvings depicted what he would guess was early palace life. There were several tableaux of a royal court and a few outdoor country scenes. Sure, the arrangements were cheesy, but the carving was incredible. Each of the characters in the first relief seemed ready to come to life. He traced the etched lines that created dimension in a few elegant strokes only to feel rough edges. He looked more closely and saw the panels were dinged, dry and in need of some serious TLC. Was this the job Pallas wanted a carpenter for?

He went back out the way he’d come, circling around the now-empty courtyard. He crept into the back of the ballroom and saw the carved Roman panels in place on the walls. They were as brilliant as the other ones and even from a distance, cried out to be restored.

And here he’d thought Pallas was looking for someone to repair windows or build cabinets. To work on something like this... Had Atsuko known about the panels? Was that why she’d suggested Nick apply for the job? Because while he’d grown up working with glass, in the past decade he’d fallen for wood.

Glass was cold and mercurial, but wood was alive. Wood had a soul.

He retreated back the way he’d come and headed up the stairs. The whole carry-a-bride-after-being-fake-tanned thing had put him off the part-time job, but now that he’d seen the panels, he knew he didn’t have a choice. He had to restore them and make sure they were in good enough shape to last for future generations.

Dramatic much, he thought to himself as he entered the dressing room. Except the panels were worth the drama and oddness that was Pallas’s wedding business. They deserved the very best of him and he was determined that they would get it. As much as he might want to deny it, he was, down to his bones, an artist. His father’s blood ran through him and with it came the need to create. Or in this case, restore.

* * *

PALLAS RARELY SCHEDULED more than one wedding on a weekend. It was simply too difficult to set up everything and then break it down in time. The only exception was when a wedding party wanted a Friday event—then she could handle a second one on Sunday. Still, even with that option, and the slightly lower cost for choosing “off hours,” most brides and grooms wanted the traditional Saturday night party. Which meant she had most Sundays off.

Bright and early Monday morning she made her way to Weddings in a Box and walked the property. The main building was three-sided, in a U shape with a courtyard in the middle. At the west end was the small lobby with a fairly traditional facade done with a slight Italian villa flair. The north side was finished with stone and resembled a medieval castle. The south side was covered with wooden siding—giving it a ranch-like, Old West, rustic feel.

One building, three options that could easily be fluffed to fit nearly a dozen wedding themes. Quirky, yes, but she loved every fake brick and nonworking window.

She checked for damage to the building and fence—because there was that one time a groomsman had run his car into the gate—and lost or abandoned property. Celebrations went late, liquor ran freely and more than one shoe, bra or pair of panties had been found on the lawn.

What was it about weddings and irresponsible sex? Sure, the bride and groom were likely to get some but that was tradition. Everyone else should wait until they got home—only they rarely did. Fortunately today all she found was a streamer and a few flower petals. No need for protective gloves to pick up those.

She made her way inside and headed for the business office on the second floor. She’d only moved into what she still thought of as Gerald’s office a few weeks before. For the first month after his death—after learning that he’d left her his business—she’d been in shock. For the next two months, she’d been unwilling to make any changes. Last month she’d realized that running from her desk to his fifty times a day was just plain dumb. Gerald wouldn’t have given her Weddings in a Box if he didn’t want her to keep it going. So she’d moved into his office.

Instead of feeling sad, she’d realized that being where she always pictured him had made her feel closer to him. He’d been like a second father to her, and while she missed him every day, she knew he would be happy with what she was getting done.

Now she checked her calendar while carefully avoiding the pile of bills in her in-box. Weddings in a Box might be a happy, interesting place, but it was also hanging on by a financial thread. One that was constantly in danger of snapping. Theme weddings didn’t come cheap, but neither did the venue and the special touches.

Tomorrow, she promised herself. She would be brave tomorrow. She checked her email and saw that two more brides had sent back signed contracts. That was good news. She would review them before—

“Good morning.”

She looked up and saw a man in the doorway to her office. Not just any man—Nick Mitchell.

Several emotions collided. Gratitude for how he’d rescued her on Saturday, slight embarrassment at how she’d stripped him down and fake-tanned him, major embarrassment after she’d figured out who he was and disappointment that she was still going to have to keep looking for a part-time carpenter. Oh, and confusion as to why he was here.

She rose, ignoring the fact that he was the best-looking man she’d had in her office in oh, forever, and smiled. “Hi. How can I help you?”

He leaned against the door frame. “I thought we could have that interview now.”

Because she’d accidentally scheduled the last one right before a wedding. Only there was no way he would want to work for her now, was there? “I really appreciate how you helped me out on Saturday.”

“You’re welcome. It’s not every day a guy gets to be a Roman soldier.”

“Unless you work here, then it happens way too often.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry about how everything played out.”

“I’m not. It was an experience I can talk about for a long time.”

“I’m relieved you’re not mad. Alan said you were a nice guy. He’s generally a good judge of character.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“You’re not threatened by Alan?” Because a lot of straight guys were.

“Not even close.” He flashed her a grin. “I work with a chainsaw. It takes a lot to threaten me.”

“That certainly puts things in perspective.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot and decided to just say it. “I don’t mean to be rude, but there’s no point in us having an interview. When I set up our appointment I hadn’t done more than pencil in a name on my calendar. I looked you up yesterday.”

One eyebrow rose. “Google or Bing?”

She smiled. “Both, and they said the same thing.” Her smile faded as she remembered everything she’d read. Nick Mitchell wasn’t anything close to an out-of-work carpenter. He was a world-renowned artist who had won awards. Yes, he worked with wood, but on a completely different level. It would be like asking a successful race car driver to teach someone to drive.

“I don’t know what my friend Atsuko was thinking when she gave me your name. You’re some famous artist guy and I’m a small-business owner who needs some repairs done. On the cheap.” She tried not to wince over the last word because someone like Nick Mitchell wouldn’t understand what it was like to scramble for every penny to keep her business open.

“But I appreciate you coming by,” she added. “And you being a good sport about the whole fake tanning thing.”

“It was fun. I enjoyed myself. The tanning was...interesting.”

“Not an experience to be repeated?”

“Um, no.”

She stood by her desk, waiting for him to leave, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to go.

“What did you want done?” he asked.

Why did he care? “Nick, I’m serious. I was going to pay a few dollars above minimum wage. That’s all I can afford.”

“Is it the wood panels?”

“Yes, but—”

He nodded toward the hallway. “Let’s go see them.”

She was more than a little confused, but okay. They went down the stairs and through the large, empty ballroom toward the storage areas on the side. She pulled open the big doors and flipped on the lights, then waited while Nick examined the panels hanging in place.

The rectangles of wood were huge—tall and wide, completely carved on one side. As she watched, Nick moved to the first one and placed his hands on the wood. He half closed his eyes as he traced the carvings with his fingers. Pallas had the oddest sense of watching something intensely personal, which was uncomfortable and more than a little fanciful.

“What do you know about these?” he asked, still studying them.

“Not much. They were here long before I started working for Gerald. To be honest, I never thought much about them except as decorative backdrops. When he died and left me the business, I did an inventory of everything. That was the first time I’d really looked at the panels. I realized they were in rough shape.”

“They are. They’re old, and the dry air is both preserving them and causing them to split. You can see the workmanship. Someone took a long time to create these. Someone with talent.”

“I wish I knew more about them,” she admitted. She should have asked Gerald about them, but it had never come up. She’d never realized what his plans were. In her mind, she’d been an employee and he’d been a great friend. The inheritance, an unexpected and unbelievably generous gift, had caught her off guard.

“My brothers work in glass,” he said without looking at her. “They talk about the beauty, the cleanness of it. The purity. Glass can be anything. It doesn’t exist until we bring it to life. But wood is alive. Wood has a soul—it tells the artist what it’s supposed to be. You can ignore what it says, but if you do, the carving will never turn out right.”

He turned to her, his dark gaze intense. “I want to work on these.”

She stared at him. “What? No, that’s ridiculous. You’ve been in People magazine.”

He chuckled. “Why does that matter?”

“It just does.” She was going to ignore the fact that he’d been in their Sexiest Man Alive issue and that the picture had been impressive. “I’m going to find some carpenter to—”

“No. Not a carpenter. These are incredible, Pallas. They deserve to be revered. I’ll do it for whatever you were planning to pay. I want the job.”

“Why?”

He turned back to the panels and placed his hands on them. “They told me they trusted me.” He dropped his arms to his sides and faced her. “Don’t worry. I’m not going off the deep end. This kind of work is rare. I’ll enjoy it. I’m between projects right now, so I have the time.”

He paused as if considering how much to tell her. “I’m up for a commission in Dubai. I’ll know in the next couple of months if I’m going to get it. I doubt there’s much question, but until I hear, I don’t want to commit to anything big.”

“Dubai?”

“A hotel wants to hire me to create a piece for its lobby. I would be there about two years.”

“That’s a long time.”

“I know, but it would be an interesting experience. These will keep me busy until then.” He smiled. “I promise to take good care of your panels.”

“I don’t doubt your ability,” she admitted. “Or your commitment. But I’m serious about what I could pay.”

“It’s not about the money.”

Right. Because a guy like Nick didn’t necessarily work for the money, she reminded herself. Wouldn’t that be nice?

“Take advantage of me,” he urged. “You’ll like it.”

She knew exactly how he meant the comment but for one brief second, she pretended he was coming on to her. In a boy-girl kind of way. Because it had been forever since anyone had bothered.

She knew the reasons for that were complicated. She was perfectly normal looking with an average body and no habits that were outside of social norms. In theory she should be able to find some nice guy to date and take to bed. But while there had been the occasional man in her life, there hadn’t been anyone close to “the one.” Or even “the right now.”

Part of it was where she lived. Happily Inc was a relatively small town and in her part of it, there weren’t that many single guys. The ones she knew happened to be relatives, so ick. There was also the fact that she had a way of holding herself back, emotionally. She knew why—what she didn’t know was how to change. Which meant being propositioned was rare and something to be treasured. Not that Nick had. He’d been talking about—

“Pallas?”

“Huh?” Oh, right. He wanted an answer. “If you’re willing to accept my sad little hourly paycheck, then I’m happy to offer it,” she told him.

“It’s a deal.” He held out his hand.

She shook it, ignoring how large it was and the brief heat she felt. Nick was so far out of her league as to be an extraterrestrial. Still, he was nice to look at. She would enjoy the show while it lasted.

“You can work whatever hours you want,” she told him. “As long as you’re not interfering with a wedding. I’ll give you a time sheet for you to keep track of your hours. You’ll get paid twice a month. Do you need tools or supplies or anything?”

“I’ll bring my own.”

“Good.” Because she wouldn’t know where to start. “Then I guess I’ll see you around.”

“You can count on it.”

If only that were true, she thought humorously. She wondered how wrong it would be to ask him to work shirtless. Because he’d made a fine Roman soldier.

Maybe one of her brides would want a Garden of Eden wedding where the attendants would be naked. Nick could be an extra. A fantasy to brighten her day, she thought as she returned to her office. One she would be sure to remember.


CHAPTER TWO (#uff7f7b8d-4b40-54dd-bcf7-56373bc40896)

NICK HANDED HIS brother a beer. The evening was clear and promised to be cold, but for now it was warm enough. They sat on Mathias’s back patio, overlooking the sixteenth hole of the golf course to the right. To the left was, well, definitely an open, grassy area. It wasn’t the landscape that required an explanation so much as the residents.

“You’ll get used to it,” Mathias offered as Nick stared at the shapes moving in the near twilight. “They head in for the night.”

“To what? A barn?”

“I’ve never asked,” Mathias admitted. “Something. My guess is they get out of the open to avoid predators.”

Nick didn’t bother pointing out there weren’t any predators—at least not that he knew about. Instinct was instinct and he’d long since learned there was no arguing with nature.

A couple miles southwest of town, just beyond the golf course, were hundreds of acres of grassland. If you kept going, you got to the city dump—a high-tech, ecofriendly kind of place where everything that could be recycled or reclaimed was. But the most interesting part wasn’t the fact that Happily Inc had one of the lowest trash-to-resident ratios in the country, it was the animals that made the grasslands between the dump and the golf course their home.

So far Nick had seen zebras, gazelles and something that looked a lot like a water buffalo. All grazing animals. In the past few days, he would swear he’d seen a giraffe strolling around, but that could have been a trick of the light.

“It’s odd,” he muttered, then took a drink of his beer.

“We grew up in Fool’s Gold,” Mathias pointed out. “We don’t get to say any other town is odd.”

That was probably true, Nick told himself. And a reason why he was already comfortable in Happily Inc. Once you’d lived in a weird place, it was hard to settle for normal.

But there were differences. Fool’s Gold was in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. Happily Inc was on the edge of the desert. There were mountains in both towns, but the ones here seemed newer, with sharper peaks and more edges. As interesting to his artist’s eyes were the changes in colors. Dawns were a mix of oxblood and carnelian with umber and sepia for shading.

He’d been in town for three weeks. Mathias owned a ridiculously large house on the edge of the golf course and had offered him a place to stay until he figured out what he wanted to do.

“Why’d you move here?” Nick asked. “Why not Sedona or some artists’ village in Tennessee?”

“Atsuko was already selling our work,” Mathias said, mentioning the gallery owner in town. “She wanted us to meet, and when she heard we were leaving Fool’s Gold, she suggested we stop by and visit her. One thing led to another and here we are.”

His brothers had a sweet setup, Nick thought. Atsuko had contacts all over the world. With her acting as broker, they didn’t have to bother with the business side of what they did. Instead they could focus on their art. Their studio was large and open. They had each other for company and yet plenty of space.

While Mathias lived here, by the golf course and the zebras, Ronan had a house up in the mountains. Built mostly of stone and native materials, the structure blended perfectly with the surroundings. There was even a large studio out back, when Ronan didn’t want to make the drive into town.

When Nick had figured out it was time for him to get somewhere else, he’d considered a lot of options, but Happily Inc had been the obvious choice. Especially with the Dubai commission looming.

Twilight turned to night. There were a million stars out here. Nick studied the sky and wondered if they were far enough south for it to be different from what he was used to. Probably not.

“Any regrets about leaving?” Nick asked.

“No.”

Because of their father, Nick thought grimly. Ceallach had made an impression on all of them. Some good and a lot bad.

There were five Mitchell sons. The oldest two hadn’t been blessed—or was it cursed?—with any form of Ceallach’s talent. They had been mostly ignored by their father, while the younger three had gotten the brunt of his attention.

“Ronan okay?” he asked. Their youngest brother had had the most to deal with.

“We don’t talk about it.”

“Still?”

“Always.”

Which had to be a bear. Mathias and Ronan had always been tight. Probably because they were twins—or they used to be.

Neither of them would want to talk about that so he changed the subject. “How was your date Saturday night?”

Mathias looked at him over his beer bottle. “It wasn’t a date.”

“You didn’t take a woman to dinner, and then have sex with her?”

“Yeah, sure, I did that.”

“How is it not a date?”

“I’ll never see her again.”

“I guess that does change the definition.”

Since moving to Happily Inc, Mathias had started taking up with the various bridesmaids that came into town. He hooked up with them for a night or two, then they were gone.

Nick enjoyed women as much as the next guy, but he’d never been that into volume, or variety. He liked the idea of having someone in his life—as long as he could keep things under control. He wanted enough passion for things to be interesting, but not so much that he was consumed. Sometimes that balance was difficult to find so he erred on the side of not doing.

“Just be careful,” Nick warned. “You don’t want some woman coming back in six months and saying she’s madly in love with you.”

“Not gonna happen.”

Nick hoped he was right.

“Atsuko says you’re going to be working for one of the wedding venues,” Mathias said.

“Yup. Weddings in a Box.”

His brother frowned. “Doing what? Folding napkins?”

“I’ve never folded napkins. It could be interesting.”

Mathias stared at him. “Do I have to worry about you?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

His brother’s stare turned into a glare. Nick laughed. “I’m going to be restoring two sets of wooden panels. They’re old and in bad shape. The work is brilliant. I need to do some research to see if I can figure out who made them.”

“You should ask Atsuko. She knows things and has a lot of connections in the art world.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll take some pictures and see if she can show them around.”

He’d only known the gallery owner a few weeks but he was already impressed. The fifty-something woman had buyers everywhere. She drove a hard bargain, got an excellent price, then handled shipping. He’d sold more through Atsuko in the past three weeks than in the past three years.

His father’s philosophy had always been to let the art buyer come to him. Nick was beginning to believe that was a very shortsighted way of doing business.

“Heard anything on the Dubai commission?” Mathias asked.

“No. It’s going to be a couple of months until they decide. Then I’ll have to figure out what I want to do. Two years is a long time.”

“Is this where I point out you don’t have the job yet?”

Nick grinned. “Hey, it’s me. Who else would they give it to?”

“Someone with talent.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Not of you, big brother.”

Nick laughed and turned his attention back to the night. “Any bats around here?”

“Scared?”

“Intrigued. I keep getting flashes of a piece that has a lot of bats in it.”

Mathias shook his head. “There’s something wrong with you.”

“Probably.”

“Bats. Fruit or vampire?”

“Fruit. I think. I should do some research.”

“On bats.” Mathias took a drink of beer. “Do you think Mom dropped you on your head when you were little?”

Nick laughed. “Not as often as she did you.”

* * *

WHILE PALLAS ENJOYED lunch out with friends as much as the next woman, lunch with her mother was a completely different animal. First there were the logistics involved. They didn’t trade off picking restaurants. Instead the command performance always occurred in the bank’s executive dining room. A fancy title for a slightly nicer than average display of tables and chairs in a square, windowless room. There wasn’t a kitchen, so food was brought in. Still, there was an assigned server and white tablecloths were the norm. All of which meant changing from her usual jeans and T-shirt into a dress.

As she drove across the river to the north side of town, Pallas told herself she would be fine. She’d been dealing with her mother for twenty-eight years. She knew how to get through the conversations with a minimum of pain and judgment. She just had to smile and nod and say what was expected. No big deal.

Except it always was a big deal—one way or another.

All her life Pallas had wanted desperately to please her mother, which shouldn’t have been a problem. Libby Saunders loved rules. The most sensible plan would have been for Pallas to follow said rules and voilà—motherly love. Only it hadn’t worked out that way. Not even once.

Perhaps it had something to do with the old saying about the road to hell and good intentions. Or the fact that Pallas had felt torn between wanting to make her mother happy and wanting to make herself happy. Whatever the reason, her childhood had been an ongoing battle—one she’d never won. Not for a lack of trying.

Cade, her twin brother, had been much smarter. He’d simply withdrawn from the field of conflict and had gone his own way. Emotionally and physically. Pallas still remembered their shared fifth birthday. Libby had asked her children if they wanted to work in the bank when they grew up. Pallas had immediately said she did, even though she had no understanding of what “working in the bank” meant. All she knew was that her mom went there every day and it was important and that working in the bank would make her mom love her enough that she didn’t feel scared inside.

Cade had smiled that happy smile of his and said, “No. I’m going to grow up to be a cowboy.”

Libby had been unamused, but Cade stood firm. He loved horses, not stuffy banks. He’d never once wavered. At eighteen, Pallas had dutifully gone off to college to major in finance and Cade had taken off to learn his trade at a famous breeding farm in Kentucky. Five years later, he’d moved on to Texas.

They stayed in touch, and from everything he’d told her, he was blissfully happy. Life away from Libby and the bank was, apparently, very good. Pallas wouldn’t know. She was still trying to prove herself to the stern matriarch of the family.

Pallas parked in the customer parking lot, careful to take a spot at the far end so as not to inconvenience anyone, then walked into the bank.

Her great-great-grandfather had established California First Savings and Loan in 1891. It wasn’t the first S and L in the state by a long shot, or even the second, but it was still standing and she figured that had to be a point of pride. A lot of people thought that if she came from a banking family, she must be rich. Alas, no. While her grandfather had been the only one to inherit, he’d produced seven daughters, all of whom had children. Not only was Pallas’s sliver incredibly tiny, she wouldn’t inherit anything until she was thirty-nine. Because if nothing else, Grandpa Frank had a sense of humor.

So making her own way in the world wasn’t an option and she had the student loans to prove it. She also had Gerald’s business, which wasn’t exactly the shining example of flush.

It was early April. Except for one oddly vacant date in June, she had a wedding booked every weekend from now until late September. If all went well, she would be able to pay her bills, make a few repairs and continue to take a small salary herself. Assuming she kept the business. Because as much as she loved Gerald and appreciated his completely unexpected gift, she’d never planned on making Weddings in a Box her life’s work. She’d always thought she would go to work with her mother at the bank.

Pallas walked into the old, Spanish-style building. The combination of high ceilings and dark wood made her feel as if she were stepping back to a more elegant time. A floor-to-ceiling mural depicting the desert at sunrise dominated the east wall. It had been an old WPA project paid for by the government during the Great Depression in the last century. For reasons not clear to Pallas, her mother had always hated the mural, but there was nothing to be done. It was as much a part of the bank as the marble floors and old-fashioned teller windows.

She passed through the lobby and headed toward the executive suites. Despite her brisk steps, she felt a growing need to bolt for the door. Her stomach clenched and her chest tightened. When Pallas was ten feet from the door to her mother’s office, Libby stepped out into the hall and gave her a tight smile.

Pallas instantly felt as if she were eight years old and had broken a treasured plate. Or tracked mud on the floor. Or been responsible for one of a million transgressions that had marked her childhood.

“Hello, Pallas.”

“Mom.”

Libby offered her cheek for the expected brief kiss. The Saunders clan weren’t much for hugging.

Pallas had inherited her brown hair and average height from her mother. She knew she had her father’s hazel eyes, but other than that, Libby’s genes dominated. Their smiles were the same, as was the way they walked. As a teenager, Pallas had hated looking so much like her mother. Eventually she’d surrendered to the fact and had tried to appreciate that despite the passing years, Libby never seemed to age. At least that was something to look forward to.

As always, her mother wore a dark suit and a white blouse—appropriate attire for her senior vice president position. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her makeup was light and tasteful, her jewelry elegant and simple. Pearl studs and, despite being a widow for eighteen years, a gold wedding band.

“Thank you for being able to make lunch,” Libby said as she led the way to the small dining room.

Pallas didn’t know what to say to that. “My pleasure” wasn’t exactly the truth and “You’re welcome” seemed oddly snarky. She settled on a noncommittal throat noise.

As per usual, the table was set with china and crystal. Two large delivery bags sat on the sideboard. As a kid, Pallas had been so impressed to learn that any restaurant in town would happily bring in food for lunch. Now she wondered why Libby couldn’t simply go get a sandwich or bring her lunch from home like the rest of America.

She also noted the lack of server, which was not a good sign. Not that she needed anyone plating her food—it was more that Libby didn’t want anyone else overhearing their conversation. Pallas spent a couple of seconds trying to figure out what she’d done wrong this time, before giving up. No way could she guess. Besides, Libby would tell her over and over again, when she was ready.

“Would you like to dish us up?” Libby asked, taking her seat.

“Sure.”

Pallas brought the bags to the table and opened them.

Inside the first were green salads, broiled chicken and a side of vegetables. The second bag contained bottled iced tea and one roll, along with a single, tiny square of butter. The latter were for her, Pallas thought, not sure if she should be amused or not. Libby wouldn’t eat carbs at lunch.

Pallas put the food onto plates, and then collected ice from the small refrigerator in the corner. Her mother poured the iced tea and they sat across from each other.

Pallas told herself that there was no need to feel defiant, yet she took two spoonfuls of salad dressing to her mother’s delicate drizzle. What was it about being around Libby that made her feel like a cranky preadolescent?

“I’m so pleased you’ve finally finished your degree,” her mother said with a smile. “I’m sorry it took you so long, but that’s water under the bridge.”

Pallas put her fork down and told herself to just breathe. Time would pass and she would get to leave. Or she could throw something or scream. That would work, too.

While Libby had paid for Pallas’s college in Southern California, there had been several stipulations. First, that Pallas maintain a B+ GPA. Second, that Pallas earn her own spending money. Pallas had gotten a job working at nearby Disneyland. She’d loved it so much, she’d taken on extra hours, and in her third semester, her GPA had fallen to a B-. Within hours of finding out, Libby had sent an email explaining she would no longer be paying for college, her dorm room or anything else. Pallas was completely on her own. Permanently.

With less than thirty dollars to her name, Pallas had been forced to return to Happily Inc and move in with a girlfriend while she figured out what to do. She’d eventually gone to work for Gerald at Weddings in a Box and had put herself through community college, then a state school. It had taken eight and a half years, but she’d done it. She was now the proud owner of a degree in finance.

Her mother looked at her. “I assume you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I don’t even know what that means, Mom.”

“That you won’t be foolish again.”

Pallas wanted to point out she’d simply gotten a C in geology. That she hadn’t been arrested, done drugs or even dated inappropriately. But there was no point. Libby wouldn’t care. The rules had been broken and there were always consequences. For everything.

“I’m pretty sure everyone but you is foolish every now and then,” she said instead. “Regardless, yes, I have my degree.”

“Excellent.” Her mother smiled. “Then it’s time. Pallas, I’m delighted to offer you a position here at the bank. You can start in two weeks.”

There it was. The one thing she’d wanted since she was a little girl. The chance to work here—with her mother.

Pallas waited for the wave of excitement or even a sense of satisfaction. Finally. Finally she would gain respectability. Stability. She would be part of the family legacy. She was thrilled. Really.

Or not. Because in truth what she felt was...nothing.

Her mother frowned. “What’s the problem? I thought you would be overjoyed.”

“I am. I appreciate the offer...”

“Do not say but to me, Pallas. I mean it. I’ve been waiting for this for almost a decade. If you hadn’t screwed around at college, you wouldn’t have wasted the last eight years of your life.”

“It was one C, Mom. Because I was working extra hours.”

“At Disneyland,” her mother said between clenched teeth.

“I loved my job there and I learned a lot. For the record, I don’t consider my life a waste, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Libby’s expression turned impatient. “Then what is your problem? You should be jumping at this opportunity.”

“I can’t leave Weddings in a Box in the next two weeks. I have weddings booked through September. I have employees who are depending on their paychecks.”

“Dear God, you can’t be serious. Are any of your employees full-time? Isn’t there someone else who can handle the weddings? It’s people getting married. How hard can it be?”

It was one thing for Pallas to wonder about making Weddings in a Box a success, but it was another to hear her mother denigrate the business. Her hackles went up and she went from mildly irritated to seriously annoyed.

“I owe Gerald,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice low and calm. “He left me his life’s work and I am going to do my best to honor his gift.”

“The man is dead. He doesn’t care one way or another.”

“That’s harsh, even for you.”

“It’s practical.” Libby’s brown eyes snapped with anger. “I absolutely can’t believe this. What is it about you, Pallas? You simply will not do what is expected. You’ve always been this way. Defiant. Stubborn. You get it from your grandfather.”

Something Pallas had heard her whole life. She found it difficult not to roll her eyes. Plus, she really loved Grandpa Frank, so where was the bad?

“So how long do you plan to keep that ridiculous business open?” her mother asked.

“You may not like what I’m doing, Mom, but that doesn’t give you the right to mock Weddings in a Box. It’s a legitimate firm that makes people happy. Even you should see the value in that.”

Libby pressed her lips together. “All right. How long do you plan to work there?”

“I’m not sure. As I said, I have weddings booked through September. I was thinking I would sell it then.” Maybe to Alan, not that he’d ever expressed any interest in owning the company.

“That’s a long way from now. I can’t promise there will be an opening then. Or ever.” Her mother’s stern expression returned. “This may be a one-shot deal, Pallas. Are you willing to give up everything you’ve worked for because of a worthless inheritance?”

And there it was—the Libby-like ultimatum. She shouldn’t be surprised. Or hurt. And yet...

“It’s not worthless to me.” Pallas still remembered how stunned she’d been to find out her boss had left her Weddings in a Box. She’d known they were friends and that he cared about her but to leave her the business—just like that—had been incredible.

“There will be consequences for this decision,” her mother warned.

“There always are.”

She looked at her plate and realized there was no way she was going to be able to eat anything.

“If there’s nothing else, I’m going to go,” Pallas said as she tossed her napkin on the table. “I’m sorry I’ve upset you.”

“You’re mistaken. I’m not upset. I’m disappointed. There’s a difference.”

A familiar one, Pallas thought grimly. Because she’d always been the disappointing child.

“Goodbye, Mom.”

Libby only sighed.

As Pallas walked back to her car she wondered why it was always like this between her mother and herself. No matter the circumstances, they clashed. Libby ended up disappointed and Pallas was left questioning the fact that she continually had to earn her mother’s love. Nothing was freely given. It wasn’t that way for Cade or any of her cousins, but it had always been like that for her. She had no idea why, and was equally clueless on how to get things to change.


CHAPTER THREE (#uff7f7b8d-4b40-54dd-bcf7-56373bc40896)

PALLAS WENT THROUGH a fast-food drive-through window on her way back to work. By the time she arrived, she’d finished her double cheeseburger and only had a few fries left. She tossed them in a belated attempt to be virtuous, then took the stairs to her office at a jog. As if that would burn off any excess calories.

“Mothers,” she muttered as she changed from her dress into jeans and a T-shirt. “What was God thinking?”

She tied her tennis shoes, then drew in a breath. She was restored to her regular self. The day would go on as if the unfortunate lunch incident hadn’t occurred. Pallas genuinely didn’t know what to do about Libby’s job offer. She’d earned her degree in finance because it was expected and required to go into the family business. Shouldn’t she be thrilled at the thought of working at the bank? It had always been her dream. Weddings in a Box was hardly making her a fortune. The sensible decision would be to sell it and start living a normal life. Only she just couldn’t seem to do it.

“I’ll decide in September,” she said aloud. “When the season is over. I’ll know what to do.” Assuming there would still be a job waiting with her mother. There was no way to know.

She went downstairs. The ballroom needed a good vacuuming and doing that would probably count as exercise. She would—

She turned the corner and screamed when she saw a man in the hallway.

The intruder turned and morphed into Nick. Pallas pressed a hand to her chest.

“What are you doing here?”

“I work here and have a key.”

Both were true, she told her rapidly thudding heart. “I forgot.”

“Which part?”

“Apparently all of it.”

He flashed her a smile. “Second thoughts on hiring me?”

“Gifted artist willing to restore my sad wooden panels for almost nothing above minimum wage? No second thoughts, although I do worry about your mental state. Not that I’m complaining about it. As long as you fall in the nonthreatening spectrum of crazy, I’m good with it.”

He chuckled. “I told you. I’m between projects and I’m excited to work on the panels. They need some serious love.”

She knew what he meant but had to admit the phrase “serious love” had her thinking of something other than wood restoration. She’d been without that particular brand of maleness for a long time now. Her lifestyle didn’t exactly lend itself to dating. For one thing, she worked weekends. For another, when guys found out she was “in the wedding business” they tended to get nervous.

To distract herself, she thought about how lucky she was that Nick was interested in helping her. What with him being talented and famous. Not that she knew more than the basic information. It wasn’t as if she’d actually seen his work in person. There had been lots of pictures online, but that was different than seeing the real thing. Maybe she should go to Atsuko’s gallery and poke around. Or not. Staring at what he’d created, complete with five-or six-figure price tags, would probably give her a heart attack.

“I came by to figure out what tools to bring with me when I get started tomorrow,” he added.

“You’re going to have to take them down, aren’t you?” She eyed the massive panels. “How is that going to work? And where will you put them?”

“I thought I’d move all the princess wedding props to the Roman wedding prop room and take over that space. My brothers and Alan will help me get the panels down and onto supports.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

“It seemed best to have a plan.” He hesitated. “You okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You seem upset or something.”

Ack! Having lunch with her mother was starting to leave actual marks. “It’s nothing. Family drama.”

Nick stayed right there in the hallway, as if waiting for her to say more. She told herself to keep quiet, but then belatedly remembered she generally caved under pressure.

“How much do you know about the history of Happily Inc?” she asked as she leaned against the wall.

“I don’t know. It was founded and people moved here?”

She laughed. “Probably. I’m talking more recent history. Say the 1960s.”

“Before my time. Yours, too.”

“But not my grandfather’s.” She drew in a breath. “In the 1960s Happily Inc was struggling. My grandfather on my mother’s side owned a local bank. If the town failed, no one would pay back their loans and he would lose piles and piles of money.”

“Bad for anyone,” Nick acknowledged.

“Exactly. Being the kind of man who wasn’t going to let that happen, Grandpa Frank invented a story about a stagecoach full of brides-to-be heading for the gold rush in northern California.”

Nick frowned. “I know this one. The stagecoach broke down right here and it took several weeks for the repair parts to arrive. By then, all the brides had fallen in love with local guys and the stagecoach continued its journey empty. That’s where the town gets its name.”

Her grandfather would be so proud, she thought humorously. “That is the legend.”

“It’s not true?”

“It’s a total crock, made up by Grandpa Frank. The thing was, he not only knew how to make up a good story, he knew how to sell it, and to whom. It played very well in Hollywood. Several movie stars were so intrigued, they held their weddings in Happily Inc. The media followed and now we have this.” She waved her arm to indicate the building. “An entire town devoted to the destination wedding.”

“Built on a lie. Pretty slick.”

“He’s an impressive guy.”

“Still around?”

“Grandpa Frank will outlive us all.”

“I hope I get to meet him.”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”

He nodded slowly. “There’s a family bank and you work here. That’s interesting.”

“You mean what’s a nice girl like me doing in a place like this?”

“Something like that.”

She told him the abridged version of her failure at college and having to finish putting herself through school before she could be considered for the family firm.

“Working full-time, it took a little longer, but I got there. I have officially matriculated.”

“Damn, you’re impressive.”

She blinked. That wasn’t exactly the reaction she was expecting. “I did what a million other people do every day.”

“You did great. So what’s got your mom all in a snit? You got a C. The world shouldn’t end.”

“She has a lot of rules.”

His gaze shifted to something beyond her. “Some parents are like that. They want things done their way.”

“Tell me about it.” Pallas thought of all her attempts to be her own person while still having her mother’s approval. For some reason she couldn’t seem to learn that those two things were mutually exclusive.

“I was supposed to go work in the bank as soon as I got my degree. Which I did last January. Then Gerald died and left me the business. I’ve been running it ever since. Now my mom has offered me a job and I don’t know what to do.”

“Why do you want to go work in a bank?”

“I always have. It’s a family thing. I’ve planned on working at the bank since I was a little girl.”

“But?”

She sighed. “Gerald loved this business. He was like a second father to me. I don’t want to let him down.”

“Plus you love it, too.”

She was less sure about that. She liked it and the work was always interesting, but was it her passion? “I’m confused.”

“What did you tell your mom?”

“That I have weddings booked through September. I’ll decide after that. It’s one of the reasons I want the panels fixed. They’re a big part of the business and if they’re in good shape, that should help attract a buyer.” She shook her head. “Wow, that was a serious amount of information you probably didn’t want. That’ll teach you to ask me anything.”

“I like knowing more about you.” He tilted his head toward the hallway. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

They went into the storage area where the panels were hung. He flipped on the overhead lights and motioned for her to step close.

“Give me your hand,” he commanded.

The eight-year-old inside of her silently murmured “but then I’ll only have one,” which totally explained why she really wasn’t ready to work anywhere serious like a bank.

She did as he’d asked. Nick pressed her hand to the panel and placed his on top of hers. The combination of cool, smooth wood and warm male skin was unexpected. And kind of nice. Especially when she felt a little tingle start low in her belly. It had been a long time between tingles.

“Can you feel it?”

She had no idea what he was talking about. Him or the wood? Because if he meant the tingles, that was a big ole yes.

Before she could fake an answer, he moved her hand across the relief. “The work is exquisite. So detailed, so rich. The birds look ready to fly off and the plants should still be growing. This isn’t just a panel or even art. It’s life. Whoever did this was a master artist. They’re something you should treasure. But if things ever really get bad, you can sell them, Pallas. For a lot of money.”

That got her attention even more than the tingles. “Like how much?”

“Hundreds of thousands.”

“Of dollars? Are you kidding me? For these?”

“Not really an art major, huh?”

She shook her head. “Okay, then. I have more respect for them now. Not that I can pay you any more than I offered.”

“I believe you. Don’t worry about it. Just know that they’re here if you need them.” He flashed her a grin. “Like money in the bank.”

* * *

ALAN GLARED AT the panel. “I prefer skinny brides who haven’t eaten in three weeks. That sucker was heavy.”

It had taken Nick, his two brothers, Joseph, Jonathan and Alan to wrestle a single panel onto the supports Nick had put in place. Everyone else had already left but Alan lingered to complain.

“Is it inappropriate for me to say man up?” Nick asked.

Alan chuckled. “No. But next time I’m going to be busy and unable to help.”

“Fair enough. At least we know they’re solid wood.”

“Was there any doubt?”

“Not really.”

Nick walked around the single panel, studying it from all angles. He would take pictures and start his research when he got back to his brother’s place. For now he simply wanted to take in the piece, to get to know it so he could figure out where to begin.

“Have you done this sort of thing before?” Alan asked. “Restoration work?”

“No, but I understand the process.”

“No wonder Pallas got you for cheap. You’re not going to ruin it, are you?”

Nick looked at the other man. “I give you my word. I know what I’m doing. I’ve worked with wood for a decade now. I’m not going to screw these up.”

Alan didn’t look convinced. “I guess I don’t have a choice. Pallas trusts you.” His tone indicated that might not be a good thing.

For reasons he didn’t fully understand, Nick wanted to win the other man over. Maybe because he was someone Pallas trusted.

“Thanks for your help with the heavy lifting.”

“You’re welcome. At least I don’t have to go to the gym today.” Alan walked around the panel. “I should check on some of the costumes. They’re getting a little ratty. I don’t suppose you know how to sew?”

“Not my thing.”

“Too bad. It’s not mine, either. Pallas has a friend, Violet, who repairs the costumes when they need it. I know it would be better to simply replace them, but there’s the cash flow issue. Keeping this old place going isn’t cheap.”

Nick would imagine there was a lot of outflow—moneywise. “Moving the panels in place would take time. I wonder why she doesn’t replace them with lightweight frames with paper panels that could be changed out for different types of weddings? That would lessen the manpower needed.”

“An interesting idea. You should share it with Pallas.”

“I just might. How long have you known her?”

“Years. Nine or ten. Ever since she came to work for Gerald.” He smiled. “She was so earnest. He liked that about her. She also worked hard and enjoyed what she did. That can be hard to find.”

“Do you live in Happily Inc?”

Alan wrinkled his nose. “God, no. I did for a while, when I moved here.” His expression turned mischievous. “I’ll save you the trouble of the subtle questioning. Yes, I came here for Gerald. He was my mentor and then my lover. We were together five years, and when it ended, we stayed friends. I miss him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. Dying sucks, or so I’ve been told. Now I live in LA and come out on the occasional weekend to help out Pallas.”

Nick put the pieces together. “She’s like family.”

“She is. Gerald and I had Pallas in common, as well. We needed her and she needed us.” He sighed dramatically. “I’ve only met her brother once and he seemed decent enough, but her mother... Have you met Libby?”

“Not yet.”

“Brace yourself. On the surface she’s oh-so proper, but underneath, she’s a total bitch. At least to her daughter. I mean seriously, what’s up with all the rules? I keep telling Pallas to stand up to her. That once she does, all will be well, but she doesn’t believe me. Not a surprise. It’s easy to tell someone else what to do and more difficult when you’re the one who has to do it.”

“Families are complicated,” Nick said, thinking of his own troubled relationship with his famous father.

“They are. What I can’t figure out is why Libby resents Pallas so much.”

“You think that’s why she’s always on her?”

“It’s the only explanation. That or Libby hates her own daughter and trust me, no one wants to go there. My guess is there’s some deep dark secret in Libby’s past. Maybe her mother resented her and she’s just passing it on. We’ll probably never know. Gerald and I would run interference when we could.”

“I’m sure it helped.”

“I hope so.” He glanced at Nick. “So what’s your story?”

“I’m waiting to hear on a commission in Dubai. If I get it, I’ll work there for two years.”

“I wonder if I’d like Dubai.” He considered the thought for a moment. “If you move there, I’ll come visit and decide for myself.”

Nick had no idea what to say to that. “Ah, sure. Great.”

Alan winked. “If you could see your face. All right, my little woodcarver friend. I’ll leave you to it. And if you see Libby approaching, throw water. I’m fairly confident she’ll melt.”

* * *

WEDNESDAY PALLAS LEFT work early as she did every week. It was her night to get together with her friends. In a town that catered to weddings, no one had weekends off. With the exception of high school football games and Sunday morning church services, almost nothing social happened Thursday through Sunday. Everyone was too busy supporting the weddings that kept the town coffers full.

She drove north to the Rio de los Sueños and across the Transfer Bridge. Not only was the rhythm of the town affected by the dominant industry, but so were most of the local businesses and even street names. She lived in a neighborhood referred to as The Arcs. To the west was Honor Arc, to the east, Love Arc. There were streets named Serenity Boulevard and Hope Chest Drive. And if anyone found that really, really annoying, she could cheerfully inform them it was her grandfather’s fault.

She was still smiling when she turned onto her street. She lived in a small Spanish-style bungalow. When she’d first come back to Happily Inc after her college failure, she’d had to find a permanent place to live. Moving home with Mom had been out of the question. Along with a job offer, Gerald had told her about the bungalow and she’d become both his employee and his tenant. When he’d died last January, in addition to the business, he’d left her the small property.

His generosity still astounded her and she felt guilty for not appreciating him more when he’d been alive. All her life she’d been taught that love and one’s place in the family had to be earned. But not with Gerald. He’d loved her and had expected nothing in return.

Pallas parked in her narrow driveway. She looked at the sky and whispered a brief prayer of thanks for the man who had believed in her, then got out of her car and headed for the front door.

Twenty minutes later she had the French doors open to her walled garden. She’d already cut up the rotisserie chickens she’d bought at the grocery store for her curried chicken salad sweetened with mango chutney. She’d bought mini quiches to bake and a veggie plate with ranch dressing. Her friends expected good company, not home cooking.

When the salad was finished, she put it in the refrigerator, and then began cutting up grapes and kiwi for her chardonnay-based sangria. She set up her large drink dispenser that had a drop-in ice container to keep the liquid cold without diluting it. She put out glasses and plates on the small island in her kitchen, then stuck her phone on the docking station that was attached to the speakers in her living room. Seconds later, music began to play.

She glanced at the clock and saw she still had a few minutes before everyone started to arrive. She changed into white jeans and a lime-green cotton shirt, then slipped on espadrilles. As she returned to the living room, she heard someone walking up her front path.

Her girlfriend squad had six members. Carol, Violet, Natalie, Silver and Wynn. She’d known Silver and Wynn all her life. Wynn was a couple of years older, but Silver and Pallas had been friends all through school.

Carol and Violet were sisters. They’d moved to Happily Inc about three years ago. Natalie was the newest member—she’d been in town a little over a year. Pallas had first met Natalie when she’d been a bride. One horrific wedding disaster later, Natalie was single again and working for Atsuko at the gallery—a few weeks after that, Wynn had brought her to a girlfriend dinner and the rest was history.

Pallas opened the front door and smiled when she saw Carol about to knock.

“Hi, you,” she said, and hugged her friend.

“Hello, yourself.” Carol held out a container full of cookies. “I semibaked. They’re refrigerator sugar cookies, so technically an oven was involved. And I iced them.”

“You’re practically a Food Network star.”

“Tell me about it,” Carol said as she entered the small house. “I keep saying no to my own show, but they won’t stop bugging me. It’s getting embarrassing.”

Carol was tall, about five foot ten, with short red hair. She was strong and sensible. Her idea of glamor was jeans and a blouse rather than her usual uniform of khaki cargo pants and a T-shirt. She didn’t wear much makeup or bother with jewelry. Pallas frequently wondered how much of that was Carol’s personality and how much of it was necessitated by her career.

Carol worked for the animal preserve outside of town. She was in charge of the various animals—taking care of them, making sure they had what they needed. When she’d been two, her parents had moved to South Africa to live on a preserve. After their parents’ divorce, she and Violet had split their time between the preserve and New York City.

Pallas led the way into the kitchen. She put the cookies on the counter and got the oven started, then poured sangria for them both. They walked out onto the back patio.

Pallas frequently thought the garden was the best part of the bungalow. It was walled, with a trellis, and covered with climbing and creeping plants. She didn’t have to do much other than make sure the drip watering system was working and trim off a stray shoot or two. In return she had purple and pink flowers nearly all year long. There was a small gas fireplace when the evenings got chilly and enough privacy that she could dance around naked if she wanted, without anyone ever seeing.

Not that she did. She’d never been the dance-around-naked type.

“How are things?” Carol asked when they were seated on the covered patio.

“Good. Busy. Wedding season is ramping up. You know how we all get. What’s going on with you? Did your giraffe arrive?”

Because last week Carol had been excited about the arrival of a new-to-the-animal-park giraffe.

“Millie’s here and she’s settling in.” Carol didn’t sound all that happy.

“What?” Pallas asked.

“I can’t figure out if she’s having trouble adjusting or if she’s not feeling well. She seems off.”

“No giraffe laughter?”

Carol smiled. “There is that. She’s eating, but not as much as she should. I know it’s hard for the animals to adjust to a new location. They don’t understand what’s happening and why everything familiar to them is gone. I wish I could talk to her.”

Before Pallas could comment, she heard a voice from inside the house. She stood and turned to see Violet and Natalie walking in together.

Violet looked a lot like her sister—tall and redheaded—but the similarities ended there. While Carol dressed for comfort, Violet was all about style. She was an expert with a sewing machine and could transform the plain into the extraordinary. She believed in accessories, being girlie and making a statement. Her hair was long and curly, her makeup impressive.

Natalie was a petite brunette with big brown eyes. She also had her own style, but while Violet was cutting-edge chic, Natalie was more bohemian with an Earth Mother chaser. Her glasses were bright red, her maxi dress a patchwork of color. She wore a necklace made of metal shapes that were probably rescued from the local recycling center and each of her brightly painted toes sported a different geometric design.

Pallas got everyone drinks. Natalie had brought brownies, which meant they would have plenty of sugar to finish their meal. Always a good thing. She’d barely finished filling glasses when the final two arrived.

Wynn was a curvy woman with long black hair. Her mixed-race heritage had gifted her with killer cheekbones and a dark olive complexion. She was a couple of years older than the rest of them, with a ten-year-old son. Silver was tall and true to her name, a platinum blonde. Her wild streak was reflected in both her tattoos and her career choice. Silver owned a fifth wheel trailer she’d converted into a traveling bar called AlcoHaul. The party on wheels was popular with brides, not only because Silver was good at her job but because she got into whatever theme the bride had requested—dressing in costume, tailoring the drinks menu and frequently dazzling with the perfect signature cocktail.

Mini cheesecakes were added to the dessert collection. Everyone got a glass of sangria before heading out to the patio. When they were seated, Violet turned to Pallas.

“I have a lot of ideas for the black-and-white wedding. Easy ways we can transform the courtyard without spending a lot. I’ve been working on modifications for the servers’ outfits, too.”

Pallas groaned. “Why did I agree to her idea? It’s already going to be a nightmare.”

“It’s going to be great,” Violet told her. “Different is fun.”

“Different is more work.”

Silver raised her eyebrows. “There’s that go-to spirit we all love.”

“Sorry.” Pallas sipped her drink. “I’m grateful for the work. It’s just...she wants everything black-and-white, including the horses pulling the carriage. We have a limited horse selection. When I explained that, she asked if they could be painted.”

Wynn laughed. “I hope you told her no.”

“I did.”

The black-and-white wedding was an unfortunate offshoot of the regular princess wedding that Weddings in a Box offered. At first Pallas had thought that adding the black-and-white part would be no big deal, but she was starting to have her doubts. The wedding menu of services existed for a reason. There were certain things that were available and that was it. Going too far, going “out of the box” made events too different. Although even as she thought the words, a part of her whispered she was sounding way too much like her mother. And that was so not a place she wanted to go.

“She’s having to make do with the horses we have,” Pallas continued. “The linens were easy, as were the flowers.”

“Black roses?” Silver asked drily.

“White flowers with black vases.”

“Are you going to make a black cocktail?” Carol asked Silver. “There are a lot of white drinks, but black ones?”

“I have some ideas. We’ve been emailing.” Silver grinned. “You owe me, Pallas. I’ve steered her away from some of her more outrageous ideas.”

“Then I owe you forever.”

Violet pulled a small cloth bag out of her quilted jacket pocket.

Carol sighed. “Seriously? Again?”

“They’re beautiful,” her sister told her. “And it’s interesting.”

“Only to you.”

Pallas secretly agreed with Carol. She loved Violet and appreciated the other woman’s ideas and help with the costumes, but Violet was obsessed—with buttons. Not just any buttons. Antique ones. The older and more ornate, the better. Even more scary—she actually made money selling them to designers around the world. Violet was known to be a great button dealer—if that was the description for what she did. She had contacts everywhere. Mostly elderly women who went into family attics and flea markets where they bought buttons on her behalf.

Violet opened the bag and turned it upside down. Eight glittering buttons rolled onto her palm. They were deep blue and edged in gold.

Wynn leaned closer. “Oh my God! Are those sapphires?”

“Uh-huh, surrounded by eighteen karat gold.” She smiled impishly at her sister. “See. My buttons are fun.”

“If you say so.”

Pallas chuckled. “I’m going to put the quiches in the oven. I’ll be right back.”

She headed for her kitchen. Natalie came with her. “Can I help?”

“You can keep me company.”

“I’m good at that.”

Pallas set the small quiches on a cookie sheet, then set the tray in the oven. She leaned back against the counter.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Natalie nodded. “Of course. What?”

Pallas hesitated. “Nick Mitchell is working for me. He’s restoring those wood panels we use for backdrops. They’re in pretty bad shape.” She raised a shoulder. “I looked him up online and he’s this gifted, successful artist. I’m not sure why he’s helping me out. I’m not paying much and this is way beneath his abilities.”

Natalie grinned. “You do realize you didn’t actually ask a question.”

“I’m not sure what it would be. I guess I want to know if I should be worried or something.”

“You shouldn’t. I don’t know Nick very well, but I’ve known his brothers a couple of years now and they’re both good guys. Crazy artists, but decent men. As for Nick being better than the project—if he doesn’t think so, I would say go with it. I’ve seen Mathias spend two days on a vase that will sell for fifty dollars because he needs to get it exactly how he wants it, and don’t get me started on Ronan. Talk about a guy who needs to chill out. They take pride in their work, and when something captures their attention, they’re all in.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

As they walked back out to the patio, Pallas told herself she would do as Natalie suggested—in other words, shut up and be grateful. She smiled to herself. She was very lucky when it came to her friends. They were there for her and kept her grounded. As she took in the walled garden, the pretty house, and thought about her business, she once again thanked Gerald for giving her a wonderful life.


CHAPTER FOUR (#uff7f7b8d-4b40-54dd-bcf7-56373bc40896)

NICK SANDED THE sliver of wood so the point was sharper, then used tweezers to carefully put it into place. This time the fit was perfect. The restoration of the panels was painstaking work, but worth it, he thought. Something this beautiful deserved to be made whole again.

“Do you have a second?”

He looked up and saw Pallas in the doorway. Not a surprise—this was her business and from what he could tell, she was in the office every day. However, right now something was very different and every cell in his body noticed.

Instead of her usual work uniform of jeans and T-shirt, she had on a long dress. But not just any dress. It was low-cut, with a tight, black leather corset over a white short-sleeved puffy blouse and full, black-and-white vertical strip skirt that fell to the floor.

She had curves he hadn’t noticed before—the kind of curves that got a man to thinking about touching and tasting. While he’d known that Pallas was female and someone whose company he enjoyed, he hadn’t exactly seen her that way before. That he did now was unsettling. Worse was the possibility that now there was no way to unsee her.

She held out the skirt with both hands. “I have a princess wedding with a black-and-white theme. My friend Violet wants to make these changes to the server costumes.” Her voice sounded doubtful. “We’ve used this basic style forever, but she added the corset and the overlay on the skirt.”

She spun around for him to see the back, then bent over to look at the—well, he didn’t know or care what. Not with her breasts practically spilling out. Was it him or was it hot in here?

“I can’t figure out if it’s sexy or slutty. I thought I could get a man’s opinion.”

He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “It looks good.”

“Really? Do you think it will be a distraction?”

“Probably, but is that bad?”

“As long as the bride isn’t pissed.” She smiled. “I guess we’ll risk it. I’ll tell her we’re a go with the slutty dresses.”

“Sexy, not slutty.”

“I can only hope.”

She released the skirt and crossed her arms under her breasts. The full curves seemed to swell toward him, which made it difficult to think about anything but walking over and pulling her close. What he would do after that wasn’t totally clear. Mostly because there were so many possibilities—there was no way to pick just one.

“I always worry when we go outside the box.”

Her words were so at odds for what he was thinking that it took him a second to respond. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a menu the brides get to pick from. All the things we offer. This time it’s different.”

“How? Don’t you usually coordinate colors with the wedding party?”

“Yes, but not this much. She wants weird things. Matching horses and other things. There are packages. I understand them. But when people want to...”

“Color outside the lines?” he offered.

“Something like that. I get nervous. I’m not like you.”

“In what way?”

“You’re an artist. You’re trained to see possibilities. The unexpected. I’m too sensible for that. I always colored inside the lines. I like the lines.” She winced. “Oh, no. I was going to say ‘I like the rules’ but I won’t. I refuse to turn into my mother.”

An interesting assessment but one that made sense based on what Alan had told him about her. “You’re saying you’re not spontaneous or fanciful, but you throw weddings for a living. By definition, you’re fulfilling people’s dreams. That’s a little outside the box.”

“Maybe. I just worry that when we try different things, something will go wrong. A wedding is a big deal. I want everything to be perfect.”

“You can’t control every aspect of what’s happening.”

She smiled. “I can sure try.”

“Sometimes the mess-ups are the best part. It’s where the magic happens.”

“I’m too pragmatic to believe in magic.”

“Now you do sound like your mother.”

Pallas’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t say that. You’ve never met her.”

“You told me all I need to know.”

She drew in a deep breath, which was a hell of distraction.

“I want to say you’re wrong, but you’re not. It’s funny, I was just thinking about this last night. I’m Libby’s daughter and sometimes she’s the voice in my head. I’d love for that to change, but I don’t know how. It wouldn’t be so bad if it was a good voice, but mostly what I hear from it is disappointment.”

“Tell the voice to shut up.”

She smiled. “Good advice. I’ll try it next time.” She tilted her head. “It’s funny how we’re all so different. I have a twin brother—Cade. He and I are so completely different. He never wanted to go into the family business. I know he loves our mother but he never worried about making her happy. He always did his own thing.”

“You envy that.”

“I do. I hate disappointing her but I can’t seem to fall into line. It’s not a comfortable place to be. I envy Cade’s ability to simply be his own person.” She wrinkled her nose. “You know, now that I think about it, a lot of my friends are creative. Violet made this. Silver has her business and it has a creative side.” She wrinkled her nose. “Natalie’s a super gifted artist.”

“Natalie Kaleta? Our Natalie?” The part-time office manager-slash-artist from Willow Gallery?

She nodded. “Have you seen her work?”

He thought about the large pieces Natalie did—paintings, but using paper and found objects instead of paint. They were bright and textured and offered an optimistic view of the world.

“She’s very talented,” he said.

“Right? I’m surrounded by you artistic types. Maybe I should let that rub off on me instead of paying attention to my mother.”

“Does Weddings in a Box help?”

“Mostly. I like what I do. I like the variety.”

“As long as they stick to the menu.”

She grinned. “Yes, the menu is our friend.” The smile faded. “There are challenges. I’m not in the best financial shape, but I’m working on it.”

“Do you pass on costs to the wedding parties? If they want something off the menu do they have to pay for it?”

“Sure. They buy a package. Anything extra is on them.”

“Then why not offer crazy things? Make them pay for it. With the right markup, you’ll increase your profits.”

She shifted from foot to foot. “In theory,” she began.

“But?” he asked, doing his best not to smile, because he got it. On the one hand, Pallas knew exactly what to do to make her business more solvent. On the other, the thought of making changes made her uncomfortable.

“Some of the things the brides want are unreasonable.”

He raised his eyebrows and waited.

She sighed. “This black-and-white princess wedding. She wanted zebras.”

Nick thought about the grazing animals by his brother’s house. “The ones from the animal sanctuary?”

“That’s them. Zebras. Can you believe it?”

“You told her no.”

“Of course. I looked into it and I just can’t. According to the Library of Congress zebras can’t be domesticated. They’re unpredictable and are known to attack people. To be domesticated, animals must meet certain criteria. They have to have a good disposition and shouldn’t panic under pressure.”

“Has the Library of Congress ever met a cat?”

She laughed. “I didn’t ask. My point is zebras aren’t going to work at a wedding.”

“Sure they are. Just put them in a pen somewhere and have someone watch over them. The bride pays, you make money. It’s a win-win.”

“It must be nice to simply be able to do as you please.”

“It is,” he told her. “You should try it.”

She stared at him. “Why are you here?” She smiled. “I mean why are you in Happily Inc and not wherever you’re from? I’m not asking the existential question.”

“Good because I’m not all that deep.” He considered how to answer, then decided to tell her the truth. “I’m from a small town at the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. It’s called Fool’s Gold. I moved here to get away from my father.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s honest.”

“I already know your family secrets. You might as well know mine.”

“I appreciate the fairness of that.” She nodded. “I know your dad is a famous glass artist, right? Ceallach Mitchell.”

“Impressive.”

“I told you, I Googled you before the second interview. That’s how I knew you were so successful.”

“Not that successful. Not when compared to him.”

“Is that the problem?”

“His fame? No. It’s him. He’s a driven man who likes to control everyone around him. Especially his sons.” Not the ones who weren’t artists, Nick thought, but he wasn’t about to go there. “When I was twenty-two, we did an exhibition together. It was a year of hell. He told me what to do and how to do it. It wasn’t how I wanted to live my life.”

“The result wasn’t worth it?”

“Not even close. Opening night, there was a lot of press, a lot of attention. He loves that—I don’t.” He turned his mind away from those times and the memories that still lingered. “I learned that there is such a thing as too much passion when it comes to my work.”

The past seemed closer than it had in a while. Probably because he didn’t usually think about it. “When my brothers and I were kids, my dad drank a lot and he had a temper. He would go on a rampage and destroy a year’s worth of work in an afternoon.”

She winced. “That must have been terrifying.”

“It was. After he and I had worked together and had the show, my girlfriend broke up with me. I found myself throwing pieces against the wall.”

“You didn’t want to be like him.”

“Exactly.”

“So too much passion is a problem in both art and life?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Passion consumes.”

“Isn’t it supposed to?” Her voice sounded wistful.

“Being consumed isn’t always a good thing. People talk about being motivated, about having fire in their belly. Fire can also destroy. After the show and the breakup, I backed away from my art for five years before starting back in a different medium.”

She reached out and touched the panel. “Wood,” she said softly. “Because it’s alive.”

“You remembered.”

She nodded. “Is that why you’re not married? Passion consumes?”

“Uh-huh. I’ve seen the price people pay. My mom lives her life for my dad. My dad lives his life for his art. She swears it’s fine, but I don’t believe her. I don’t want to destroy anyone or be destroyed.”

“What brought you back to being creative?”

“I was drowning without it. I may not always like being an artist, but it’s who I am. I worked in secret. When my father found out, he hounded me to switch back to glass, to work with him. That’s when I left.”

“Wow. All I have in my past is a con man for a grandfather. You’re lucky.”

He laughed. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Why not? You are talented and famous and really good-looking.” She stopped talking as color stained her cheeks. “What I mean is...” She looked away.

“Go on.”

She shook her head. “Nope. I’m going to wait for the earth to open up and swallow me. If that doesn’t happen, I’ll just slink away.”

Nick took a step toward her. He had to admit he liked Pallas. She was honest and funny and earnest and easy to talk to. There was also how she looked in that dress. He had a bad feeling he would never quite see her the same way again.

“Don’t slink,” he told her as he moved a little closer. “There’s no need to slink.”

She stared up at him. “Not that you’re not good-looking, but it’s embarrassing to say.”

“Why? I liked it. I think you’re hot, too. Especially in the slutty dress.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You said it wasn’t slutty.”

“I lied.”

He bent his head and lightly brushed his mouth against hers. He felt her quick intake of breath and wondered if she would pull back.

She didn’t. They both stayed exactly where they were, only their lips touching.

He wanted to pull her close and feel her against him. He wanted to deepen the kiss and taste her. But he didn’t. Not just yet. He straightened.

She stared at him. “That was confusing.”

“Then I’m doing it wrong.”

She smiled. “No, I mean I thought you said passion consumes.”

“Not sex. That kind of passion is just fine.”

“Of course it is. How very convenient.”

“I’m a lucky guy.”

She laughed. “I have no idea what to say to that, so I’m going to take my slutty dress self back to my office.”

“Feel free to model for me anytime.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, shook her head, then turned and walked away. Nick watched her go. Next time, he promised himself. Next time he was going to kiss her in a way that neither of them would forget.

* * *

BY THE FOLLOWING Monday Pallas still hadn’t been able to put the kiss behind her. Annoying but true. While she knew in her heart that Nick had only been teasing her, she found it more difficult to put the brief contact in perspective. Mostly because men didn’t randomly kiss her very often. Or ever.

Something she could remedy if she started dating. She didn’t bother adding “again” because that would imply there had been dating before, and there hadn’t been. Not in a while now. Maybe when she got her future settled, she would think about finding a guy to go out with.

Her brain immediately supplied a very nice visual of a shirtless Nick, which she promptly told herself to ignore. And speaking of ignoring, while she was at it, she really should forget about the kiss. It had been nice and she’d enjoyed the accompanying tingles, and yes, Nick was definitely swoonworthy, but she had to be real. He was not for her. He was a big-time artist guy on his way to Dubai. She was a small-town girl who ran a destination wedding business. They had nothing in common.

As she walked down the sidewalk, she told herself that they had kissing in common and maybe that could be enough. She’d never had a sex-based affair before. She might like it. Which meant what? That if Nick offered, she would say yes?

She considered the question as she entered The Boardroom Pub, then felt her toes curl ever so slightly as she scanned the crowd already there and saw the man in question sitting at a middle table next to one of his brothers.

For a split second, she didn’t know what to do. Keep looking in his general direction? Run? Look away? Before she could decide, he glanced up, saw her and waved her over. She hesitated a single heartbeat before she found herself moving in his direction.

As she approached the round table, both Nick and his brother rose.

“Hi,” Nick said with a grin. “I didn’t know you came here.”

“I try to make it a couple of times a month. Especially on Monday, when we have tournament night. When did you start showing up?”

“This is my first time.” He turned to his brother. “This is my brother Mathias. Mathias, Pallas.” He winked at her. “Nobody likes him, so don’t expect very much.”

Mathias laughed. “Thanks, bro. Very smooth. Nick has always been a giver.” He smiled at her. “I’ve seen you around town, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Nice to meet you at last.”

“Thanks. You, too.” She shook hands, then sat at the table. “I’m friends with Natalie,” she told them. “I was hoping she would join me tonight, but she’s working late. Should I blame either of you?”

Nick held up both hands. “That’s on Atsuko, not us. We’re just the artists. Those two deal with the high finance.”

One of the servers came by to take orders. The guys ordered beers while Pallas asked for herbal tea. Game challenge nights could go long. Not only did she need to stay sharp, she had to drive home.

The Boardroom was a pub on the south bank of the river. The decor was board game based. Two walls were open shelves filled with hundreds of different games. Patrons were encouraged to play any they liked, as long as they put them back.

Every Monday was a challenge night. People could play in teams or individually. The games started easy, and then got harder as the night progressed. Sometimes there were themes. Word games or Monopoly night. Once they’d had a Clue tournament. Trivia evenings were always popular, as were the nights devoted to games intended for players under the age of five. Pallas always enjoyed watching adults swear when they lost at Candy Land or Chutes and Ladders. Tonight would be a regular tournament, with simpler games early in the evening and the more difficult ones later.

“Too bad,” Pallas said. “Natalie’s good at board games. She always helps with the table’s average score.”

Nick leaned back in his chair. “You take this seriously.”

“Sure. Otherwise, why play?” She glanced around, hoping to see one of her friends. She smiled when she saw Silver walk in, then felt the smile fade as she realized what would happen when Nick met her friend. The same thing that happened when any man met Silver.

It wasn’t the other woman’s fault, she told herself, as her tall, leggy, blonde friend approached. Silver was one of those sexy women men naturally gravitated toward. There was a sensuality about her—one those of the male persuasion seemed to find difficult to ignore.

“I was hoping you’d be here,” Silver said as she walked over. She spotted Nick and Mathias and wrinkled her nose. “Oh, is this a date or something?”

“Not at all,” Pallas said quickly. “Nick’s restoring the panels at Weddings in a Box and Mathias is his brother. Would you like to join us?” She looked at Nick. “Unless you were saving the seat for Ronan?”

“He’s not a board game kind of guy,” Nick said easily as he came to his feet. Mathias did the same and they shook hands with Silver. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” Silver sank into her chair. “Is Jasper here?”

“I haven’t seen him,” Pallas said. “And I’ve been looking.”

The two brothers glanced at each other.

“Who’s Jasper?” Mathias asked.

Silver waved over the server. “He’s an amazing player. He always wins. If it’s a team event, his team wins. He knows everything.”

“He lives outside of town,” Pallas added. “He’s a thriller writer.”

Nick stared at her. “Jasper Dembenski? Are you kidding? His books are great. I can’t put them down. He lives here?”

Silver grinned. “Uh-oh. A groupie. You leave Jasper alone. He’s asked me to be on his team twice and I don’t want you messing that up. If you fawn on him, you’ll scare him off.”

“I’m not fawning.”

“You’re practically swooning.”

Nick’s expression turned wounded. “I’m impressed by his talent. That’s all.” He leaned toward Pallas. “I need you to defend my honor here.”

“I think you’re on your own on that one.”

Mathias chuckled. Nick groaned and the server returned with their drinks.

Like Pallas, Silver had ordered hot tea. As she poured a cup, she glanced at Mathias. “Nick repairs wooden panels, so what do you do?”

“I make kitchenware out of glass.”

Silver brightened. “The ones Atsuko sells? Those plates and glasses?”

Mathias nodded.

“I have several of your pieces. I’m working on collecting a set. The ocean-colored ones. They’re beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

Pallas listened to the conversation. So far neither man showed any signs of falling for Silver’s considerable charms. Were they immune? She hadn’t realized that was possible. On the bright side, maybe it meant a shot at more of Nick’s kisses, and wouldn’t that be nice?

“I wish I had some talent like that,” Silver said. “To be able to create something out of just an idea.”

“Me, too.” Pallas shook her head. “I can draw stick figures, but that’s about it.”

“You create weddings,” her friend pointed out. “I’m just a bartender.”

“You’re not,” Pallas reminded her. She turned to Nick. “Silver owns a tavern.”

Silver rolled her eyes. “I own a fifth wheel that’s been converted into a bar. I take it to weddings and other events in town. I like it. I get to meet a lot of interesting people.”

“Sounds like fun,” Mathias said.

“It is. And honest work, even if it’s not classy enough for some people.”

The brothers exchanged a look of confusion. Pallas recognized the potential danger and quickly changed the subject.

“Nick and Mathias are from a small town north of here. What was it called?”

“Fool’s Gold,” Nick said.

“The town has California’s longest serving mayor,” Mathias added. “Mayor Marsha Tilson. She’s a strange old lady who knows things she shouldn’t. We can’t figure out if she has friends at the NSA or God on speed dial.”

“Equally scary options,” Pallas murmured, glancing at Silver.

Her friend raised her eyebrows as if asking what was wrong. They both knew the answer. Silver had been about to go off on Drew—Pallas’s cousin and heir apparent to run the family bank. Back in high school, Drew and Silver had been an item. More than that—they’d been in love. But after graduating, Drew had broken up with her, saying he needed someone who ran in his social circle.

Pallas had never been sure of the exact phrasing but the message had been clear. He’d dumped Silver and had taken up with a sorority girl at his college. Ten years later, there was still bad blood between them.

The servers started passing out games. Pallas laughed when she saw the first one. “Hungry Hungry Hippos is one of my favorites,” she said happily. “I love this one.”

“Is it actually a board game?” Nick asked.

“If there’s a board somewhere, it counts,” Silver told him. “Watch out for her,” she said, pointing at Pallas. “She’s cutthroat when it comes to collecting marbles. There is no mercy in that one.”

Pallas stuck out her tongue, then turned the board so she had her favorite blue hippo in front of her. She stretched her arms, flexed her fingers a few times, then waited for the signal to begin.

Nick looked at his brother. “I think we’re in trouble.”

“Me, too.”

* * *

“HOW DO YOU feel about playing a courtier?”

Nick looked up from the panel he’d been sanding. Alan stood in the doorway to the workroom.

“Welcome back,” Nick said. “When did you get into town?”

“This morning. I’m here for the wedding tomorrow. So, are you up for it?”

“What do I have to do? More bride carrying?”

“No. This is a princess wedding. The bride rides in a coach. It’s glass, but not pumpkin shaped. We are a nonspecific princess kind of place. It’s very democratic.”

Nick tried to make sense of the information. “So this is the black-and-white wedding?” Somehow he’d thought it wasn’t for a few weeks. Had Pallas had time to get all the server costumes modified?

Alan shook his head. “Silly man. That’s a regular princess wedding. This is a Regency princess wedding. They’re totally different.”

“They don’t sound that different.”

“The Regency era is a specific period in history. Do you remember Pride and Prejudice? There have been maybe fifty different movie versions. Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy?”

Nick thought a girlfriend or two may have made him watch something about that couple. “Maybe.”

Alan sighed. “Despite your lack of knowledge, the Regency wedding requires specific dress and music and food. The princess wedding is much more ‘I am a princess and I wear a poufy dress.’”

Nick shrugged. “Whatever.”

Alan stepped closer. “Fine. Let me put it in terms your artist brain can understand. Turquoise and cobalt are hardly the same color yet they can both be called blue. It’s like that.”

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place? That makes sense. So what do you want from me?”

“To wear stockings and knee breeches and a floppy hat.”

Nick put down his sandpaper. “You’re kidding.”

Alan smiled. “Do I look like I’m kidding? The J’s have a tournament. Football, I think.”

“Basketball,” Nick corrected, wondering how awful the costume was going to be. He wasn’t totally sure what knee breeches were but sure didn’t like the sound of them. Would they be better or worse than a toga?

Of course if the J’s were busy, then Pallas was probably shorthanded.

“I’m in,” he said. “Tell me when and where.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear. Tomorrow. Be here at two.” The older man hesitated. “You like her.”

Nick thought about their brief kiss and how much fun they’d had at The Boardroom a few nights before. Her competitive streak had been unexpected, but enjoyable.

“We’re friends,” he said as casually as he could. “You’ve known her awhile. What’s her story?”

Alan folded his arms across his chest. “You mean where was she born and did she ever want a pony when she was little?”

Not at all what he’d been asking. “No.”

“I thought not. Let me be clear. While I appreciate you helping with the weddings and restoring the panels, I’m team Pallas, all the way.”

“She doesn’t need protecting from me.”

“Neither of us know if that’s true or not, do we?”

Nick realized Alan had a point. “I would never hurt her on purpose.”

“Sometimes people don’t even have to try. It just happens.”

“Point taken. So there’s no guy?”

“You’re persistent.” Alan smiled. “Have you met Libby yet?”

“No.”

“Libby explains a lot. She taught her daughter that love had to be earned. All love. It was never freely given. Which means that sometimes love is more trouble than it’s worth.”

Interesting, Nick thought, but it didn’t answer his question. “Is there a guy?” he asked again.

Alan smiled. “Nuance isn’t your thing, is it?” He started for the door. “If you want to know anything else, ask the lady yourself.”


CHAPTER FIVE (#uff7f7b8d-4b40-54dd-bcf7-56373bc40896)

NICK REFUSED TO look at himself in the mirror. He figured if he didn’t see the whole image, he wouldn’t get a picture stuck in his brain. It might be the coward’s way out, but he was comfortable with that.

Alan hadn’t been kidding about the Regency costume. He was wearing some kind of pants that ended just below his knee, along with long socks that looked suspiciously like stockings. He had on weird, fancy black shoes, a white fluffy shirt and an embroidered cropped coat. To be honest, the whole thing freaked him out.

He stepped into the hallway and headed downstairs. He found Pallas in the main ballroom, doing a last-minute check for the ceremony. Rows of chairs had been set up, with a long center aisle. There were flowers and candles. Sunlight streamed in through the stained glass windows.

She smiled when she saw him. “Don’t you look handsome.”

“I look like the male version of an umbrella drink,” he grumbled. “You have to swear not to tell either of my brothers. Or take pictures. I’ll never live it down.”

Her hazel eyes danced with amusement. “Feeling a threat to our masculinity, are we?”

“You have no idea.” He took in her simple, dark blue dress. It followed the lines of her body, without being too tight. The floor-length fabric moved with her. The sleeves were long, the neckline scooped, but modest. “You look nice.” He nodded slowly. “Era appropriate without calling attention to yourself.”

“That’s what I’m going for,” she admitted. “Today is all about the bride. And the wedding, but mostly the bride.” Her mouth twitched. “Lucky for you, Atsuko isn’t performing the ceremony.”

He swore. “She does that?”

“Fairly often. She gets into character and has great costumes. But the bride brought in her own officiant. You get to be anonymous, and I am Lady Pallas, of no particular importance.”

He studied her. “Pallas is an unusual name.”

The humor returned. “It is. From the Greek. Pallas is the daughter of Titan. Some accounts say she was a childhood playmate of the goddess Athene, who later accidentally killed her. Rumor has it Athene felt really, really bad so she had a statue created of her. That’s where we get the Palladium from. It stood in the temple of Vesta.”

“I haven’t met your mother, but I have a hard time believing she would have chosen Pallas. Was it a family name on your dad’s side?”

“Oh, no. I was supposed to be called Alice. But Grandpa Frank took it upon himself to fill out the birth certificates for my brother and me. David became Cade and Alice became Pallas. According to several aunts who were there, my mother was furious when she found out, but she felt that changing the names to something else would cause a scandal, so here we are.”

“Interesting. So you defied her from birth.”

Pallas laughed. “Not me, exactly, but I’m happy to take credit.” She pulled up her sleeve and glanced at her watch. “We are close to start time. Alan will show you what to do. Basically you’re there to help carry the bride’s train.”

“I thought that’s what the flower girls did.”

“No, they scatter rose petals in front of the bride. You’re doing the work. I promise the train is much lighter than carrying the actual bride.”

The bride hadn’t been that heavy, so he wasn’t concerned. “I’ll go find Alan. He’ll enjoy telling me what to do.”

“He always does.”

Pallas hurried off. Nick watched her go before he turned toward the stairs. He hoped she didn’t take her mother up on her offer of a bank job. He couldn’t imagine Pallas sitting behind a desk. She was in her element at Weddings in a Box. Where else could she play dress-up and create memories?

He found Alan in the men’s dressing room with two other guys he didn’t recognize, all dressed in costume.

“There you are. My favorite courtier.” Alan waved him close. “You’re very handsome. The ladies will swoon. Now let’s talk logistics. The wedding party is huge.”

He paused for dramatic effect. “There are fifteen bridesmaids and fifteen groomsmen, along with three flower girls. The parents have all remarried, so we have two moms, two stepmoms, two dads and so on. You three will go downstairs and stand by the doorway, so guests can see you. Some will want to take your pictures. Smile for the camera, gentlemen.”

Nick held in a groan. He’d wanted not to have his outfit memorialized in any way. Hopefully none of the guests knew his brothers or figured out what he did in his day job.

“I’ll be in the bride’s room, making sure everyone is calm. When the bride is ready, we’ll meet her in the hallway,” Alan continued. “We will walk behind her, carrying her train. When she reaches the groom, we walk back down the aisle.”

He pointed at Nick. “You’re free to go after that. I’m part of the scenery and these two will be serving. Everyone clear?”

Nick nodded and joined the other two guys out by the entrance to the ballroom. The reception would be held outside. One of the advantages of the desert was that rain rarely got in the way of outdoor plans. With the afternoon temperatures barely hitting eighty, the weather couldn’t be more perfect.

Nick smiled at the guests and posed for a few pictures. When it was time, he and the other guys went to join Alan behind the bride. The older man was in his element, guiding the bridesmaids into place and offering words of encouragement.

Alan was a natural at this, Nick thought. He wondered why Gerald had left his business to Pallas instead of his former lover. Had they had a falling-out? Or was there another reason?

“Take that side,” Alan said, pointing to the edge of the train. “We will lift as one. Our beautiful Tiffany will set the pace. Come on, darling. I can’t wait to see the look on your soon-to-be husband’s face when he sees you. What a prize. He’s a lucky, lucky man.”

Tiffany flashed him a grateful smile before starting for the wide, tall open doorway. As they walked into the ballroom, he saw the panels were in place and the candles had been lit. There was a fairy-tale-like quality to the space. While this wasn’t his style, he could see the appeal.

As they moved down the center aisle, he glanced at the panels. They were magnificent and added lots of ambience, but he couldn’t help thinking they were outdated. Maintaining them was going to be an ongoing project. He would have to talk to Pallas about switching to lightweight frames with custom paper inserts instead. They wouldn’t cost much and she would be able to personalize the services even more.

They reached the end of the aisle. He waited for the signal from Alan, then lowered the train to the floor before turning and walking out with the other guys. When they reached the foyer, Alan and the other two courtiers headed for the catering area while Nick went to change back into street clothes.

By the time he was downstairs again, the ceremony was well under way. He circled around to the courtyard and saw the tables had been set for the reception. There was a dance floor, several ice sculptures and at the far end, a fifth wheel trailer.

He walked toward it, taking in the faux shutters and the silk plants that made it look a lot more like a tavern than a trailer. Fake wooden fencing hid the tires. There were wooden benches out front and several barrels, along with twinkle lights and what looked like a couple of Maypoles. He spotted Silver. She had on a dress much like Pallas’s, only hers was deep violet. She waved when she saw him.

“I heard you helped with the train,” she said. “I’m sorry I missed you in costume.”

He shuddered. “Let’s not talk about it. I’m trying to pretend it never happened.” He motioned to the decor. “You’ve done a great job.”

“I can fake just about any wedding Pallas can offer,” she said. “It only takes a few items to create an illusion.” She pointed to the blackboard up on the wall. “Signature drinks are described there. Some couples only want that plus beer and wine while others go all out with an open bar.”

“What’s happening with this one?”

“Open bar all the way. Don’t think about being on the road tonight.”

“I’ll stay in.” He looked around. “I like this. How you all create a special world. The bride and groom are going to have unique memories.”

“That’s one way to look at it.”

“Not your style?” he asked.

“No way. I don’t see myself getting married, but if I ever did, I would so elope.”

“Vegas?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m more an island paradise kind of girl.”

He briefly wondered what Pallas would want for a wedding. Something formal or would she, too, want to—

Back the truck up, he thought, stunned by the question. He barely knew the woman. Why would he care what her wedding dreams were? The most he was interested in was to take their kissing to the next logical level—or ten. That was as much as he did. Ever.

“You okay?” Silver asked.

“Yeah. Fine. I just remembered I have to be somewhere. I’ll see you.”

He took off as quickly as he could without breaking into an actual run.

It was those ridiculous stockings, he told himself. They’d messed with his head. He was going to spend the rest of the afternoon with a piece of wood and his chainsaw. Because that was what men did.

* * *

DESPITE HER DEGREE in finance, Pallas didn’t enjoy the number side of her business. Going over the bank statements always depressed her. At the end of the month, bills due came perilously close to cash in. No matter how she tweaked and massaged, there just wasn’t much left over.

She supposed that was better than having nothing left over, or worse, a negative balance, but still. She wanted to make Weddings in a Box a success. To do that, she would have to invest in the company, and without money, that was going to be a challenge.

She studied the list of services offered. Raising prices was always an option. She just wasn’t sure it was a good one. After all, she had competition. Not only in town, but in other destination spots. She didn’t want to price herself out of the market.

She told herself she was still incredibly lucky. Thanks to Gerald, she now owned her own home. She had Weddings in a Box and plenty of determination and energy. She would figure out how to grow things and—

Or she could sell.

She tried to push away the thought but it refused to budge. Probably because selling was a legitimate option. Her mother certainly expected her to. Maybe someone else would do a better job. Maybe someone else would have better ideas or hey, an influx of cash.

Talk about a depressing thought. She saved her latest data, then closed her accounting program. She didn’t want to sell. But if she didn’t, she couldn’t go work in the bank and hadn’t that always been her dream?

She supposed the truth was, after so many years, she wasn’t exactly wild about the bank job anymore. Maybe she’d never been—maybe it had all been about belonging. Which was way too much to contemplate after looking at her bank statements.

She went downstairs, locked the front door behind her and started toward the river. It was nearly noon. She would take a walk, get some lunch and clear her head. If that didn’t work, there was always ice cream.

She crossed the pedestrian bridge but instead of turning toward her favorite Thai take-out place, she turned left and found herself in front of Willow Gallery.

She’d been there a handful of times, mostly for various social events or fund-raisers. She wasn’t exactly gallery clientele. Her home decor consisted of framed posters and garage sale finds. But she had to admit, the art in the windows was stunning.

On the left was a painting of a flower. It was huge—maybe four feet by four feet—done in every shade of yellow imaginable. From what she could tell, the painting was heavily textured, as if the artist had used a palette knife to apply the paint instead of a brush. And she might be totally wrong about that, she thought with a grin. What she knew about how to create a painting could fit on the head of a pin with room for directions to heaven.

Tucked in a corner was a smaller piece—also floral. But this one was created with torn bits of paper and featured more of a field of reds and oranges rather than any single bloom. Pallas smiled as she recognized Natalie’s work.

In the other window was a large vase of tulips, although to call it that was like saying Mount Everest was a big pile of rock.

The flowers, each created individually, hung down over the mouth of the vase in a cascade of reds and oranges and pinks. The stems were perfect, as were the leaves, and the petals were just imperfect enough to be real. There had to be dozens of them, forming the arrangement. The vase was simple and elegant, a swirl of gold and white and silver, and the entire piece from vase to stem to petal, was created from glass.

She didn’t know how it was possible. The flowers looked as if they would flutter in the lightest breeze. She supposed that was the genius of the work.

She walked into the gallery. There were more glass pieces on display, along with several wood carvings. She studied a large one of a nearly life-size ballet dancer up en pointe. Her arms were so graceful, her hands and fingers perfect in every detail.

“That’s one of Nick Mitchell’s creations,” Atsuko said as she came out of her office. “He’s my latest find. The one I shared with you. Hello, Pallas. I don’t usually see you in here.”

“I know. I’m checking things out.”

They hugged. Atsuko was a slim, fifty-something woman with short dark hair and beautiful features. She dressed like a fashion executive, had elegant jewelry and favored thigh-high boots—even in summer.

“Nick’s great,” Pallas admitted. “He’s helping restore the panels at Weddings in a Box.” She raised one shoulder. “He swears it’s an interesting project while he’s waiting to hear on the commission in Dubai.”

“I’m sure it is. Nick enjoys the unusual.” Atsuko motioned to the various items on display. “Have a look around. Oh, Natalie is probably going to want to take her lunch soon, if you two girls would like to hang out.”

“Thanks. I’ll go find her.”

Atsuko smiled and retreated to her office. Pallas moved closer to the dancer and desperately wanted to touch the smooth surface. Instead she tucked her hands behind her back, terrified that a “you break it you bought it” policy would mortgage her future for the next fifty years.

She walked around the girl and admired the lines of her body. Everything about her spoke to movement—from the turn of her raised foot to the forward thrust of her chin. Pallas could see the shadow of her ribs, the muscles in her calves. She had trouble imagining how Nick had seen this beauty inside of a block of wood. What must it be like to be so talented?





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