Read Online Savour the Moment: Now the Big Day Has Finally Arrived, It's Time To... by Nora Roberts - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nora Roberts
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right behind you.”
Shedding her apron, unclipping her hair as she went, Laurel hurried down and arrived at the checkpoint with thirty seconds to spare. Not her taste, she thought again, but she had to admit the bride knew what she was doing. A half dozen attendants lined up under Parker’s orders, glittering in their bell-skirted gold gowns with the striking bouquets Emma had created of blue dahlias offset with white roses. The bride herself, a regal vision in lustrous silk, pearls gleaming, sequins sparkling on her formal train, stood radiant beside her father—and he was damn dashing in white tie and tails.
“MOG’s in place,” Parker murmured to Laurel. “MOB’s being escorted now. Ladies! Remember to smile. Caroline, you look spectacular.”
“I feel spectacular. This is it, Daddy,” she said.
“Don’t get me started.” He took his daughter’s hand, pressed it to his lips.
Parker cued the music change so the string orchestra the bride had chosen segued into the entrance music. “Number one, go. Head up! Smile!You’re gorgeous. And ... number two. Heads up, ladies.”
Laurel smoothed skirts, adjusted headpieces, and finally stood with Parker to watch the bride take her walk on the flower-strewn path.
“Spectacular’s the word,” Laurel decided. “I thought it might be too much, just tipping over into gaudy. But it stops just an elegant inch short.”
“Yeah, but I can tell you I’ll be happy not to see gold or gilt for a month. We’ve got twenty minutes before we need to move the guests into the Great Hall.”
“I’m stealing ten and taking a walk. I need a break.”
Instantly Parker turned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just need a break.”
Head-clearing time, Laurel thought as she circled around. Away-from-people time. The valet team would be in the kitchen now, getting fed before they went back on duty, so she took the long way around, past the side terraces and gardens to where she could enjoy the quiet, and the abundance of summer flowers.
Emma had set urns and pots here and there to add to that abundance, with wildly blue lobelia spilling or sweetly pink impatiens dancing. The beautiful old Victorian stood dressed for the wedding with the bride’s favored blue dahlias and white roses rioting around the entrance portico, swags of tulle and lace adding romance.
Even without them, the house was romantic, to her mind. The soft, quiet blue trimmed with cream and pale gold. All the rooflines, the pretty bits of gingerbread brought that romance, and a touch of fancy, to dignity. It had been a second home to her as long as she could remember. Now, of course, it was home. And that lovely house stood only a quick call from the pool house and guest house where her friends lived and worked.
She couldn’t imagine it any differently, even with Carter and Jack now in residence, even with the addition nearly complete on Mac’s studio to make it a home for two.
No, she couldn’t imagine her life without the estate, the house, the business she’d built with her friends and, well, the community they’d made here among them.
She had to think about that, Laurel admitted, about why she had what she had.
Her own hard work, certainly, and the hard work of her friends. Parker’s vision. The check Mrs. G had handed her that day, so many years ago—and the faith that had been as valued as the money—had thrown open the door.
But that wasn’t all.
The house, the estate, everything on and in it had gone to Parker and Del when their parents died. Del had taken a leap of faith, too, every bit as vital and essential as Mrs. G had when she’d written that check.
This was his home, Laurel mused, standing back, studying the lines, the grace, the beauty of it. But he’d signed it over to Parker. There were legal ins and outs, business models, projections, percentages, contracts—but the bottom line remained.
His sister—no, all four of them, what he liked to call the Quartet—had wanted
Shedding her apron, unclipping her hair as she went, Laurel hurried down and arrived at the checkpoint with thirty seconds to spare. Not her taste, she thought again, but she had to admit the bride knew what she was doing. A half dozen attendants lined up under Parker’s orders, glittering in their bell-skirted gold gowns with the striking bouquets Emma had created of blue dahlias offset with white roses. The bride herself, a regal vision in lustrous silk, pearls gleaming, sequins sparkling on her formal train, stood radiant beside her father—and he was damn dashing in white tie and tails.
“MOG’s in place,” Parker murmured to Laurel. “MOB’s being escorted now. Ladies! Remember to smile. Caroline, you look spectacular.”
“I feel spectacular. This is it, Daddy,” she said.
“Don’t get me started.” He took his daughter’s hand, pressed it to his lips.
Parker cued the music change so the string orchestra the bride had chosen segued into the entrance music. “Number one, go. Head up! Smile!You’re gorgeous. And ... number two. Heads up, ladies.”
Laurel smoothed skirts, adjusted headpieces, and finally stood with Parker to watch the bride take her walk on the flower-strewn path.
“Spectacular’s the word,” Laurel decided. “I thought it might be too much, just tipping over into gaudy. But it stops just an elegant inch short.”
“Yeah, but I can tell you I’ll be happy not to see gold or gilt for a month. We’ve got twenty minutes before we need to move the guests into the Great Hall.”
“I’m stealing ten and taking a walk. I need a break.”
Instantly Parker turned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just need a break.”
Head-clearing time, Laurel thought as she circled around. Away-from-people time. The valet team would be in the kitchen now, getting fed before they went back on duty, so she took the long way around, past the side terraces and gardens to where she could enjoy the quiet, and the abundance of summer flowers.
Emma had set urns and pots here and there to add to that abundance, with wildly blue lobelia spilling or sweetly pink impatiens dancing. The beautiful old Victorian stood dressed for the wedding with the bride’s favored blue dahlias and white roses rioting around the entrance portico, swags of tulle and lace adding romance.
Even without them, the house was romantic, to her mind. The soft, quiet blue trimmed with cream and pale gold. All the rooflines, the pretty bits of gingerbread brought that romance, and a touch of fancy, to dignity. It had been a second home to her as long as she could remember. Now, of course, it was home. And that lovely house stood only a quick call from the pool house and guest house where her friends lived and worked.
She couldn’t imagine it any differently, even with Carter and Jack now in residence, even with the addition nearly complete on Mac’s studio to make it a home for two.
No, she couldn’t imagine her life without the estate, the house, the business she’d built with her friends and, well, the community they’d made here among them.
She had to think about that, Laurel admitted, about why she had what she had.
Her own hard work, certainly, and the hard work of her friends. Parker’s vision. The check Mrs. G had handed her that day, so many years ago—and the faith that had been as valued as the money—had thrown open the door.
But that wasn’t all.
The house, the estate, everything on and in it had gone to Parker and Del when their parents died. Del had taken a leap of faith, too, every bit as vital and essential as Mrs. G had when she’d written that check.
This was his home, Laurel mused, standing back, studying the lines, the grace, the beauty of it. But he’d signed it over to Parker. There were legal ins and outs, business models, projections, percentages, contracts—but the bottom line remained.
His sister—no, all four of them, what he liked to call the Quartet—had wanted
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