Susan Mallery: Daughters Of The Bride

Courtney nodded. “Good luck.”

Sienna laughed. “While I appreciate the sentiment, I’m not going to need it.”

She waved and headed for the Stewart Salon. The meeting room was set up with glasses of wine and plenty of hot and cold appetizers. At one end was a large screen, a podium and a microphone. Sienna removed her laptop from her tote and turned it on. While it booted, she plugged it into the room’s A/V system. She started the video and was pleased to see the pictures on the screen and hear the music through the speakers.

“Perfection through planning,” she murmured as she set the video back to the beginning.

Ten minutes later the good members of COOOSM bustled into the salon and collected glasses of wine and appetizers. Sienna circulated through the room, chatting with as many people as she could. She knew the drill—introduce herself, ask lots of friendly questions and generally be both approachable and charming, so that by the time she made her pitch, she was already considered someone they knew and liked.

She made as much effort with the women as the men. While studies were divided on which gender gave more to charity, Sienna had always found that generosity came in unexpected ways, and she wasn’t about to lose an opportunity based on stereotypes. Every dollar she brought in was a dollar the organization could use to help.

Milton Ford, the president of COOOSM, approached her. The little man barely came up to her shoulder. So adorable. She smiled.

“I’m ready whenever you are, Mr. Ford.”

“Thank you, my dear.” He shook his head. “This town does have its share of very tall women. There’s a young lady who works here at the hotel. Ramona, I believe.”

Sienna happened to know that Ramona was about five-two, but she didn’t correct him. No doubt Courtney had done something to confuse Mr. Ford, but this wasn’t the time to set him straight. Not with donations on the line.

“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the podium.

Sienna walked over to the microphone and turned it on, then she smiled at the crowd. “Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you so much for taking time out of your schedule to meet with me today.” She winked at a bearded older man wearing overalls. “Jack, did you ever decide on that second glass of wine? Because I think it will help you make the right decision.”

Everyone laughed. Jack toasted her. She smiled at him, then pushed the play button on her computer. Music flowed from the speakers. Carefully, slowly, she allowed her smile to fade. A picture of a large American flag appeared on the screen.

“Between 2001 and 2012, nearly sixty-five hundred American soldiers were killed in Iraq and Afghanistan. During that same period of time—” the screen shifted to the face of a battered woman clutching two small children “—almost twelve thousand women were murdered by their husbands, boyfriends or a former partner. Even now, three women are murdered every single day by the man who claims to love them.”

She paused to let the information sink in. “Through the money we raise at The Helping Store, we provide a safe haven for women and their families in their time of need. They are referred to us from all over the state. When they arrive here, we offer everything from shelter to legal advice to medical care to relocation services. We take care of their bodies, their hearts, their spirits and their children. One woman in four will experience some kind of domestic violence in her life. We can’t stop that from happening across the globe, but we can keep our corner of the world safe. I hope you’ll join me in making that happen.”

She paused as the voice-over on the video started. She’d planted the seed. The material she’d brought should do the rest.

Two hours later the last of the guests left. Sienna carefully put away the pledge forms. Not only had the group been generous, they also wanted to challenge other chapters of their organization to match their donations.

“How’s the most beautiful girl in the world?”

The voice came from the doorway. Sienna hesitated just a second before turning. “Hi, David.”

“How did it go?” her boyfriend asked as he moved toward her. “Why am I asking? You impressed them. I know it.”

He pulled her close and kissed her. Sienna allowed his lips to linger for a second before stepping back.

“I’m working,” she said with a laugh.

“No one’s here.” He moved his hands to her butt and pulled her close again. “We could lock the door.”

If the words weren’t clear enough, the erection he rubbed against her belly got the message through. How romantic—going at it on a serving table while surrounded by dirty plates and half-full glasses of wine.

Sienna chided herself for not accepting the gesture in the spirit in which David meant it. Successful and smart. He loved his family, puppies, and as far as she could tell, he was an all-around nice guy.

“Remember you telling me about the time you took a girl home to meet your parents and realized you couldn’t do it in their house?” she asked, her voice teasing.

He chuckled. “I do. Humiliating.”

“Joyce, the owner of the hotel, is a little bit like my grandmother.”

“Ouch.” He drew back. “Grandma is even worse than Mom.” He nibbled on her neck. “Rain check.”

“Absolutely. Thanks.”

He released her and pushed up his glasses. “You heading back to the office?”

She’d kind of wanted to head home after her presentation. She could deliver the pledge forms to her boss in the morning. But if she said that, David would want to make plans. Wow. She would rather go back to work than spend the evening with her boyfriend? What was up with that?

She looked at him. He was about her height, with dark brown hair and dark eyes. A nice build. He wasn’t handsome, but she’d never cared much about that. Once a guy crossed the “not a troll” threshold, she was fine.

David Van Horn should have been the man of her dreams. Lord knew she’d been looking. He was the thirty-five-year-old senior vice president at the recently transplanted aerospace design firm in town. She was pushing thirty and had no idea why she hadn’t been able to find “the one.” Maybe there was something wrong with her.

Not a conversation she wanted to have with herself right now, she thought. Or ever.

“I don’t have to go back to work,” she told him.

“Great. Let’s have dinner here.”

“I’d love that.”

A statement stretching the truth more than a little, but who was going to know?

3

“WANT ME TO put vodka in yours?” Kelly asked as she handed Courtney a tray of glasses filled with lemonade.

“I wish,” Courtney told her. “Alas, no. I have a meeting.”

“Uh-huh. With your mom. Just give me the high sign and I’ll start screaming. That will give you a good excuse to come running.” Kelly wrinkled her nose. “I’ll have to think of a reason. Maybe a broken ankle.”

“You’d look adorable in a cast. Tiny and broken. Men would be flocking.”

Kelly grinned. “I could use a good flocking.”

Courtney was still laughing as she walked out of the bar and around to the pool area, where Joyce sat with Courtney’s mother, Maggie, at one of the tables on the far side. A large umbrella protected them from the mid-May afternoon sun. Sarge and Pearl lay on the grass a few feet away.

Joyce wore her usual St. John separates—today she had on black knit pants and a three-quarter sleeve black knit shirt. A blue, black and gray scarf pulled the look together. Maggie had come from her office. Her tailored dark green dress brought out the color of her eyes and complemented her blond hair.

As Courtney approached, her mother caught sight of her and quickly scrambled to her feet. Her haste to get to Courtney and rescue the tray would have been comical if it wasn’t a metaphor for their entire relationship. Assume, no matter the circumstances, that Courtney can’t handle it. Although given her somewhat predictable ability to create a disaster out of thin air, she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised.