Нора Робертс - Midnight Bayou

"We're looking forward to the wedding," Colleen commented. "Remy's like family. And we're pleased to see Declan making such progress on the house."

"He's happy there.”

"Yes.”

Lena took out the two martini glasses she'd chilled during the mixing. "Be nicer for you if he'd be happy in Boston-and with the one he almost married.”

"Yes, it would, wouldn't it? But we can't choose other people's lives. Even our children's. And you certainly can't select the person they'll love. Are you in love with my son, Lena?”

Hands rock steady, Lena strained the martinis into the cold glasses. "That's something I'll talk to him about, when I'm ready. These are on the house," she added, sliding the olives in. "I hope they suit your tastes.”

"Thank you." Colleen picked up her glass, sipped. Raised an eyebrow. "It's excellent. I've always felt mixing the perfect martini is a kind of art, and have been surprised and disappointed that often those who own a bar or club or restaurant make or serve imperfect martinis.”

"Why do anything if you don't set out to do it right?”

"Exactly. It's a matter of pride, isn't it? In self, in one's work, one's life. Flaws are acceptable, even necessary to make us human and humble. But to serve a guest or customer less than the best one is capable of, strikes me as arrogant or sloppy. Often both.”

"I don't see the point in doing anything halfway," Lena said, and filled a bowl with fresh snack mix. "If I can't make a martini, fine, then I step back until I learn how it's done. Otherwise I'd disappoint myself and the person who was counting on me.”

"A good policy." Colleen sampled an olive. "Without high standards, we tend to settle for less than what makes us happy and productive, and can shortchange the people who matter to us.”

"When someone matters to me-and I'm careful about who does-I want the best for them. They may settle for less. But I won't.”

When Patrick leaned over, peered closely at Colleen's martini, she frowned at him. "What are you doing?”

"Trying to see what's in yours that isn't in mine."

It made Lena laugh, had her shoulders relaxing. "He's an awful lot like you, isn't he? Got his mama's eyes though. Sees right through you. Even when you don't want him to. He loves you both like crazy, and that says something to me. So I'm going to say something to you.”

She leaned a little closer. "I come from plain stock. Strong, but plain. My mother, she's a dead loss, and more of an embarrassment to me than I care to speak of. But my grandfather was a fine and decent man. My grandmama's as good as anybody, and better than most. I run this bar because I'm good at it-and I like it-and I don't waste my time on things I don't like.”

She swept her hair behind her ear, kept her gaze level on Colleen's. "I'm selfish and I'm stubborn, and I don't see a damn thing wrong with that. I don't care about his money, or yours, so let's just set that aside. He's the best man I ever met in my life, and I'm not good enough for him. I say that knowing I'm good enough for damn near anybody, but he's different. Turns out under that affable exterior that man's even more stubborn than I am, and I haven't figured out what to do about that quite yet. When I do, he'll be the first to know. I expect he'll fill you in on that particular outcome.

"Now." Unconsciously, Lena toyed with the key she wore around her neck. "Would you like another drink?”

"We'll just nurse these for a while," Colleen told her.

"Excuse me a minute. I see I have an order to fill." She moved down the bar to where her waitress waited with an empty tray.

"Well?" Patrick asked. "I believe she set you neatly in your place.”

"Yes." Well satisfied, Colleen took another sip of her martini. "She'll do.”

"I'm not nervous." Pale, jittery, Remy stood in the library while Declan attached the boutonniere of lily of the valley to his friend's tuxedo lapel.

"Maybe if you say that another dozen times, you'll believe it. Hold still, damn, Remy.”

"I'm holding still.”

"Sure, except for the mild seizure you seem to be having, you're steady as a rock.”

"I want to marry Effie. Want to live my life with her. This is the day we've both been looking forward to for months.”

"That's right. Today," Declan said in sober tones, "is the first day of the rest of your life.”

"I feel a little sick.”

"It's too late to puke," Declan said cheerfully. "You're down to the final fifteen. Want me to call your dad back in?”

"No. No, he'll have his hands full with Mama. How many people did you say were out there?”

"Couple hundred last I looked, and more coming.”

"Jesus. Jesus. Why didn't we elope? How's a man supposed to stand up in front of hundreds of people and change his life forever?”

"I think the tradition started so the groom couldn't run away. They'd go after him like a lynch mob.”

"That sure does settle me down, cher. How about you find me a couple fingers of bourbon?”

Declan merely strolled over to a painted cabinet and took out a bottle. "I figured you'd need a hit." He pulled out a tin of Altoids as well. "And these. Don't want to be breathing whiskey on the bride. She might be the one who runs.”

Declan started to pour, but when the door opened after a cursory knock and his mother marched in, he whipped bottle and glass behind his back.

"Don't you both look handsome! Declan, don't give him more than one shot of that whiskey you've got behind you, and make sure he chases it with mouthwash.”

"I got Altoids.”

"Fine." Smiling, she walked over and fussed with Remy's tie. "You're nervous because this is the most important day of your life. There'd be something wrong with you if you didn't have some shakes. I promise, they'll go away the minute you see Effie. She looks beautiful.”

Colleen framed Remy's face in her hands. "I'm very proud of you.”

"How about me?" Declan demanded. "I thought of the Altoids.”

"I'll get to you later. You're marrying the woman you love," Colleen went on. "You're surrounded by friends and family who love you both.

It's a beautiful day, and your brother– the one of your heart-has seen to it that you have a beautiful setting. Now you take a shot of that bourbon, then take a deep breath. Then get your butt out there and get married.”

"Yes, ma'am. I purely love you, Miss Colleen.”

"I know it. I love you, too, but I'm not going to kiss you and smear my lipstick. One drink, Declan. This boy goes out there tipsy, I'm holding you responsible.”

Later, Declan would think his mother was right, as usual. When he stood beside Remy, and Effie, frothy in white, stepped out on the gallery, Declan felt the nerves drain out of his friend– his brother. He saw the wide, wide grin stretch over Remy's face, heard his soft: "That's my girl.”

He found his own gaze traveling through the rows of people, meeting Lena's. And you're mine, he thought. This time around we're going to make it work.

So he stood in the spring garden, with the old white house rising over the green lawn, and watched his friends marry.

When they kissed, when they turned to be announced as husband and wife, cheers rang out, so much more liberating and celebratory than the applause Declan was more accustomed to.

He felt his own grin stretch, nearly as wide as Remy's.

The music started up almost immediately. Fiddles, washboards, accordions. When the photographer whittled down to just the bride and groom, Declan broke free and wove his way through the sea of people to Lena.

She wore red. Bright, poppy red that left her back bare but for an intriguing web of thin straps. Just above her heart, she'd pinned the enamel watch and gold wings Lucian had once given Abigail.

"I wondered if you'd ever wear it.”