Read Online Mother of the Bride by Lynn Michaels - Free Book Online

so now?”
    “No. I know better now.” Cydney Parrish's ostrich-size nest egg had convinced him.
    “So what do you think of Bebe?”
    “She throws a wicked left.”
    “C'mon, Uncle Gus.” Another inch or so of smile cracked the scowl on Aldo's face. “I mean really.”
    His nephew didn't want to know and Gus didn't want to tell him what he really thought. He thought Bebe Parrish was a few fries short of a Happy Meal, her aunt was a kook who talked to pictures of him cut out of magazines and her grandfather was a first-class SOB.
    “She's very pretty,” Gus said. “And she seems very sweet.”
    “So it's okay with you for us to get married?”
    “I didn't say that.” Aldo pushed off the Jag, his fists clenched, and Gus flung up a hand. “It might be okay if you can convince me that you and Bebe realize the responsibilities of marriage and that you're genuinely committed to each other.”
    “The State of Missouri says we're old enough to get married. We don't need your permission.”
    “No, you don't, but I hope you want my blessing.”
    “Sure I do. Why do you think I called you?”
    “Why did you call? If you wanted me to think there was something not quite kosher about all this, that was the perfect way to do it.”
    “I didn't think of that,” Aldo admitted.
    “I didn't think much last night, either, and I'm sorry.” Gus offered his hand to Aldo. “Want to start over?”
    “Sure.” Aldo threw his arms around Gus. “I'm sorry, too. I love you, Uncle Gus.”
    “Love you, too, Aldo,” Gus said thickly, and hugged him tight.
    The leaf blower switched off and Gus glanced toward the yard. Cydney Parrish stood near the fence smiling, her goggles on her head, leaves stuck in her hair and her eyelashes sparkling.
    “I've reconsidered your invitation, Miss Parrish. What's for dinner?”

chapter
    eight
    “Chicken and noodles, thanks to my mother.” Cydney smiled to hide her panic. If he'd said yes this morning, she could've had her nails done and bought a new outfit. Maybe scheduled a quickie liposuction. “Mother and Bebe should be here soon,” she added, gathering up the cord of the leaf blower. “Why don't you take your uncle inside, Aldo, while I put this away?”
    “You go ahead, Aldo,” Angus Munroe said. “I'll help Miss Parrish.”
    He pushed off the Jag and picked up a green tissue-wrapped cone of flowers, one of two lying on the trunk lid. Chrysanthemums, Cydney guessed, by their spicy scent and purple-tipped lavender blooms.
    Her best falling asleep fantasy of Angus Munroe involved an armful of roses. Peach roses, her favorite. He brought them to her first book signing, went down on one knee beside the table where her fans were lined up for her autograph, smiled and laid the roses in her lap.
    “Miss Parrish,” he said to her, starry-eyed and worshiping at her feet. “Cydney. I'm in awe of your talent.”
    Ob gag me, her little voice said. Not that one again.
    “Stop right there.” Cydney flung up her gloved right hand as Angus Munroe reached the fence. “I haven't found the wicket yet.”
    “I'll risk it.” He unlatched the gate and stepped into the yard, the sunlight slanting through the branches of the maple tree winking on the lenses of his sunglasses. “I'm sorry about last night, Miss Parrish, and about the flowers in my roomthis morning. They were delivered to the wrong person. I hope you'll accept these with my apologies.”
    Holding the mums out to her, he waded toward her through the shin-deep leaves she'd blown away from the fence so they'd be easier to rake. He didn't see the wicket and neither did Cydney, though she supposed she should have. It was a natural, after all.
    She did see the catch in his step, the startled O his lips formed when he put his foot through it. And a flash of the headline in tomorrow's Kansas City Star — AUTHOR SUES HOME OWNER FOR NEGLIGENCE —as he tripped and fell face first in the leaves with a crunching plop.
    “Mr. Munroe!” Cydney