Without a Hitch(33)

I chance a peek at my overly sentimental father, who always seems to read my mind, but his teary-eyed gaze roams over the wedding processional. For once, he isn’t focused on me, so I turn my attention back to Pepper.

I feel it the second she recognizes me. As her gaze locks on mine, her sharp intake of air might as well have been sucked straight from my lungs. Her long, slow exhale caresses an uncomfortable pang I haven’t wanted to address, and I smile when she lifts her chin and marches forward.

When she’s close enough, I whisper a greeting. “Pepper. I look forward to picking up where we left off.”

Her eyes go wide, and she wobbles slightly but catches herself before continuing without a word.

“Who is she?” My father murmurs at my side, glee seeping from his pores. When I don’t answer, he pinches my side.

“Ouch! She’s just a friend,” I mutter but don’t give him the satisfaction of searching my eyes. I’m afraid of what he might find there.

“Oh, a friend,” he croons in sheer delight. “I’ll be sure to introduce myself.”

My gaze snaps to his, and he gives me a knowing wink.

I’m screwed. But when I turn my attention back to Pepper, his whispered words fade away. Her gaze is cursing me, and this time, I’m front and center, not hidden away in the back. I’m so close that I can scan her full body over and over again. She keeps the forced smile in place as she nudges a bridesmaid to her left and taps the one on her right with her toe.

So, she’s babysitting again? My Pepper seems to be a very trusted friend. My estimation of her just improved tenfold. There are few trustworthy people in the world, yet this is the second time someone in my orbit has depended on her, and it has me infinitely more curious.

When she chances a peek in my direction again, I give her a small salute and mouth, “I’m not done with you.” Through the thin material of her dress, I watch her thighs wiggle and her tummy tighten.

Her brain may be fighting this reaction to me, but her body doesn’t lie.

It seems my Pepper is ready for round two, and I’m more than happy to oblige.

I ENTER the great hall of the New York Public Library with my parents on each arm. Lanterns illuminate a path up the stone stairs and lead us to our destination. It’s truly a magnificent sight, but my parents miss it all as they talk to each other around me. My head is on a swivel, searching for Pepper.

My mother’s hand clamps onto my forearm, forcing my attention to her. “Who are you looking for, Banny?” Kitty Bryer-Blaine is an elegant woman who has never followed a rule in her life. Her silver hair shines even in its sleek updo.

“My money is on a certain dark-haired bridesmaid.” My father, Oliver Blaine, chuckles on my left. His signature bright pastel pocket square matches his cummerbund and stands out in a sea of black-tie tuxedos.

Mum stops walking, forcing the men in her life to halt as well. “What bridesmaid? You know, Ollie, it’s a little disheartening that you can still read our boy better than his own mother.”

“You know you’re the brains of this friendship,” my father assures her. “I’m the heart. It’s always been that way—it’s why we get along so well.” He leans forward and squeezes her hand on my arm affectionately. Looking at them now you’d never know they’ve been divorced for over half my life.

He’s right, of course. My father may have been the face of our company for years, but she was the one running things behind the scenes. And my father? Let’s just say he could give Prince Charming a run for his money in what my sister calls the “swoon department.”

“All right, you two. I don’t know what either of you is droning on about. I’m a benefactor of this library. I’m merely making sure their events staff is up to snuff.”

My father snorts on my left while my mother very demurely giggles behind her hand. I let out an exasperated sigh and drag them both forward.

“I spoke to Mrs. Moore yesterday.” My mother has never minced words or had any tact for timing.

“Yes. And?”

“She’s still planning to retire, but you’re going through assistants faster than a used car salesman can say hello,” my father interrupts. His bright blue eyes are so like my own. But his dance and sparkle with pure joy. Mine do not.

“It’s nice to see the two of you haven’t slowed down in retirement. You still spend your days gossiping about me.” It’s annoying, but I don’t fault my parents. Even if they have an unconventional friendship, their love and commitment to Nova, me, and each other have never wavered.

“Oh, Banny. It’s not just you. We talk about Nova too,” my mother says absentmindedly, like that will help.

“Speaking of Nova, where is our girl?” my father asks.

“Considering she designed the wedding gown, I’m going to assume she’s with the bride.” I also make a mental note to ask her about Abby.

“I am so proud of our girl,” my mother coos, and I smile at her fondly. In a world notorious for women tearing other women down, my mother always accepted Nova, and her mother, as part of our unit. Even when Nova’s mother was alive, the three of them worked hard to make us a cohesive family by taking co-parenting to new extremes. Our family blended seamlessly and because of it, Nova has never been an outsider; she’s never been a step-anything. She’s always just been ours.