J. Robb: Kindred In Death

“Serious glitters.” Peabody whistled at the long dangles of diamonds Eve fixed to her ears.

“Ice really sets off the dress. Pendant, bracelets,” Mavis continued.

“I don’t need all that stuff.”

“Trust Leonardo. He worked out the look. See for yourself.” Mavis circled her finger so Eve turned to look in the long mirror.

“Hmmm.” The dress was more female than her usual, with all the sheer layers shimmering down, but she had to admit it wasn’t fussy. And the diamonds, clear and clean, probably did add something. “Fine. Good.”

“Total,” Mavis corrected.

“You need to help Louise dress now,” Peabody told her.

“Why? She’s a big girl. She’s probably been dressing herself for years.”

“It’s tradition.”

Eve rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay.” She walked over to where Louise stood unbelting her robe. And cocked her eyebrows at the frilly white corset and blue garter. “That’ll make a statement.”

“It will later. Right now its job is to make the dress fit perfectly.” She winced. “There’s that perfect again.”

“Well, let’s see.” Eve started to remove the dress from its hanger. “Man, there’s a lot of it. No wonder you can’t do it yourself.”

“Oh God. I’m putting on my wedding dress.”

Eve looked over sharply. “Don’t start leaking! It’ll do something to your face, then Trina will start up again.”

“I’m waterproofed.” She turned her back so Eve could fasten the back of the dress.

“Your grandmother’s earrings.” Peabody handed Louise the delicate pearl drops. “Something old.”

“New, the dress, blue, the garter.” Louise put on the earrings. “And the necklace Leonardo picked from Dallas’s treasure box for something borrowed.” She glanced back at Eve before Peabody helped her fasten it. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Nearly done here. One more button. There, Jesus, there must be two dozen buttons.”

“No, don’t turn around yet! Don’t look yet!” Peabody ordered. “We have to attach the veil, then you can look.”

“You do it. I’ll mess up her hair, then Trina will kill me.” And Eve had to admit, the soft, loose curls were pretty, and well, perfect, she decided when Peabody hooked the veil to the tiny, sparkling tiara nestled in them.

Peabody sniffled, blinked, but tears spilled out anyway.

“Cut it out,” Eve ordered.

“I can’t help it.” She stepped back, where she and Mavis wrapped arms around each other’s waist and sniffled in accord.

Louise took a deep breath, turned.

“Well, holy shit.” Eve stared. “I think you went a couple clicks up from perfect.”

Romantic, Eve thought, but almost otherworldly with acres of white foamy, filmy, floating skirts, the sparkle of beads on the strapless bodice. The dress was a winner, no question, but the look on Louise’s face outshone even that.

“I look like a bride,” Louise murmured.

“Here.” Tears trickling, Trina offered Louise her bouquet of sweet-heart roses in shades of the palest pink to the deepest red. Then gave Eve and Peabody their smaller rounds. “Come on, Mavis, we’d better get down there.”

Mavis scooped up the baby. “Say bye, Bellarina. You’re all seriously beautiful.” She sighed and hurried out.

“Ready?” Eve asked Louise.

“ Dallas.” She held out a hand, took Eve’s for a hard squeeze. “I’m so ready.”

The sun shone, and the quietest of breezes whispered under the music of flutes and violins. Masses of flowers sweetened the air. Peabody walked first down the white runner forming an aisle between the seated guests toward the arbor of white roses where Charles stood with Roarke and McNab.

Eve followed her. Her eyes met Roarke’s. And there, she thought, right there was the reason for this. The reason for the flowers and the pomp, the fuss and the formality.

There was love.

Only you, she remembered. She’d walked to him on a summer day once before, and he’d seen only her.

He smiled at her as he had when she’d walked down a white runner to an arbor of white roses toward him. As it had then, her heart gave one quick leap.

Sometimes, she thought as she took her place, turned, life could be pretty damn perfect.

Eleanor Marie Robertson Aufem-Brinke Wilder

Sarah Hardesty, Jill March, J D Robb

Nora Roberts was born in Silver Spring Maryland, the youngest of five children. After a school career that included some time in Catholic school and the disciplines of nuns, she married young and settled in Keedysville, Maryland.

She worked briefly as a legal secretary. "I could type fast but couldn't spell, I was the worst legal secretary ever," she says now. After her sons were born she stayed home and tried every craft that came along. A blizzard in February 1979 forced her hand to try another creative outlet. She was snowed in with a three and six year old with no kindergarten respite in sight and a dwindling supply of chocolate.

Born into a family of readers, Nora had never known a time that she wasn't reading or making up stories. During the now famous blizzard, she pulled out a pencil and notebook and began to write down one of those stories. It was there that a career was born. Several manuscripts and rejections later, her first book, Irish Thoroughbred, was published by Silhouette in 1981.

Nora met her second husband, Bruce Wilder, when she hired him to build bookshelves. They were married in July 1985. Since that time, they've expanded their home, traveled the world and opened a bookstore together.

Through the years, Nora has always been surrounded by men. Not only was she the youngest in her family, but she was also the only girl. She has raised two sons. Having spent her life surrounded by men has given Ms. Roberts a fairly good view of the workings of the male mind, which is a constant delight to her readers. It was, she's been quoted as saying, a choice between figuring men out or running away screaming.

Nora is a member of several writers groups and has won countless awards from her colleagues and the publishing industry.