Out of Town Bride. Kara Lennox
but firm mama.
Sonya had seemed different, though, since her trip. More mature, more serious, more assertive. Unfortunately for his mental well-being, more attractive, too. He would have to adjust his thinking.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” he said, moving toward the door.
“Oh, John-Mikey,” Muffy said, using his childhood nickname. Muffy was the only person who could get away with that. Not even Jock tried it. “Could you bring me something to eat? Maybe a nice blueberry muffin?” She batted her eyelashes. “The breakfast they served me was pitiful.”
“Don’t you dare,” Sonya said. “She’s not getting one bite of anything the doctor didn’t prescribe. But I understand if you’d like to get something for yourself,” she added. “I did get you up rather early this morning and didn’t even offer you breakfast.”
“I think I will get something,” he said gruffly. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” John-Michael slipped out the door, needing some space and distance from Sonya. He wasn’t sure he liked her being polite to him, nice, even. Such behavior upset the world order. It was much better that he treat her like a contemptible snail.
She’d started to be a little bit nice last night, too, sharing her macaroni and cheese. And he’d felt that familiar pull. She’d looked so approachable, all rumpled in her night clothes, her silky robe and nightgown showing far too much of her body’s contours to be considered modest.
That was why he’d deliberately picked a fight with her, calling her spoiled. Nothing was as certain to get her dander up. And he needed her mad at him. When she was nice, she was too damn tempting. And this added dimension she’d recently acquired, this mysterious allure he’d never noticed before, only added to the overall package.
SONYA HAD THOUGHT that, once she and her mother were alone, she might broach the subject of calling off the wedding altogether. Though she wasn’t ready to admit she’d been seduced, conned, dumped and picked clean, she couldn’t allow the wedding plans to continue. Her mother had already spent a fortune on the preparations, much of it nonrefundable.
But Muffy’s first words, once they were alone, changed her plans. She grasped Sonya’s hand with more strength than a woman so recently at death’s door should have been able to muster. “Sonya, promise me something.”
“I’ll try. But I won’t smuggle you any of Thomas’s cheesecake.” Thomas was Muffy’s favorite dessert chef, from the Cheesecake Emporium.
“No, be serious. You can’t postpone the wedding.”
“Mother—”
“Listen to me. Planning that wedding was…the most fun I’ve ever had in my life, more fun than planning…my own, even.”
“I know,” Sonya said. “But the stress—”
“Oh, stress, schmess. I was enjoying myself, and having fun never caused a heart attack.”
Sonya knew differently. Even good stress could affect the body in negative ways.
“Years of ignoring my doctor’s advice—and yours—are what made me sick,” Muffy continued. “But as I was lying on that gurney in the emergency room, and I heard them yell ‘Code Blue!’, only one thing kept me alive. I kept telling myself, ‘you have to get through this for Sonya’s wedding. You can’t miss Sonya’s wedding.’”
“Oh, Mother…”
“We can’t delay it. What if I have another heart attack and I don’t make it?”
“That’s not going to happen. Your doctor told me—”
“Doctors don’t know everything. We can’t predict the future. Promise me…” She paused to catch her breath. “Promise me you’ll carry on with the preparations, that we’ll do it on January 8, just as planned.”
Her heart dropped like a rock thrown down a well. The last thing she needed was to continue the pretense that she was going to marry that skunk. “Of course, Mother.” What else could she say? She’d straighten everything out when her mother’s health was better, when she was in no danger of relapsing. Meanwhile, she would have to pretend she was still a blushing bride-to-be.
THREE DAYS LATER Muffy’s health had dramatically improved. She was walking, talking in a normal voice, eating normally—if hospital food could be called normal for Muffy, which it couldn’t—and begging to be let out of the hospital. She chose to sit in her chair rather than in bed, looking resplendent in the quilted silk bed jacket her friend Tootsie had given her. She’d brought her manicurist in for a fresh set of tips and her hairstylist to reshape the flattened poof of her red-gold hair. She was even wearing makeup.
Per Muffy’s request, Sonya had brought her Day-timer and her Rolodex, and was now making a long list of tasks that had to be attended to ASAP for the wedding. Her cardiologist happened to visit during this heated planning session, and Sonya was positive he was going to put the kybosh on it. She was, in fact, hoping Dr. Cason would tell Muffy that she was not to even think about something as stressful as her daughter’s wedding for at least six months.
Unfortunately, the exact opposite happened. Dr. Cason took one look at Muffy, noting the sparkle in her eye and the roses in her cheeks and the smiles and laughter, and he declared planning a wedding to be the secret, curative tonic everyone was looking for.
“But, Dr. Cason,” Sonya ventured, “don’t you think this wedding is too stressful for her right now? I’ve told her we could postpone it.”
“No,” Muffy said, “absolutely not. That would mean starting all over, rebooking the orchestra and the country club, and who knows if our first choices will be available? It would be horrible, much more stressful than merely putting the finishing touches on what we’ve already planned.”
Dr. Cason grinned. “I think your mother’s right, Sonya. Look at her. She’s smiling and laughing, and studies have shown a happy attitude to be one of the key factors in recovering from cardiac illness.”
“And I won’t overdo, I promise,” Muffy wheedled. “Sonya can do all the running around and dealing with people. I’ll just recline on my chaise lounge, eating my steamed broccoli and drinking skimmed milk—” she shuddered slightly “—and directing her efforts.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Cason said, no help at all.
Of course, McPhee was listening to the whole exchange. She looked to him for help, but he remained silent. It was only after they were once again in the back seat of the limo that he voiced his opinion.
“You seem awfully anxious to postpone the wedding.”
“Nonsense. I can’t wait to marry Marvin. But of course I want to do what’s best for Mother.”
“Have you talked to Marvin yet?”
“Yes. Yes, he called last night. He was horrified to hear about Mother and he’s going to come home as soon as he can.”
Then McPhee did something odd. He closed the glass partition between them and Tim. Normally everybody talked freely in front of Tim, who was the soul of discretion. He’d been driving for the Pattersons since before Sonya was born.
“I’m sure Marvin’s parents would be happy to know you’ve talked to him,” McPhee said once they were hermetically sealed into the back seat. “Because they haven’t seen or heard from him in three months.” He dropped this bombshell casually, as if it were just normal conversation.
“Wh-what?” Sonya’s heart hammered inside her chest so hard she thought it was trying to escape.
“I took a closer look at the report the security agency provided on Marvin Carter III. He really is the oldest son in a very wealthy Boston family. Has quite a pedigree.”
“Well, of course he is!” Sonya said somewhat desperately. She could tell by the sound of McPhee’s voice that he had something