Prelude to a Wedding Read Online Free PDF

she'd never felt so disinclined to move away from the brush of
arms and legs that occurred in the tiny booth.
    Replete, and with an additional sensation of
content, she sat back. "You've lived a charmed life, Paul
Monroe."
    He considered that as he examined his
half-full water glass. Maybe he had lived a charmed life. He had
good friends, a good business. He'd benefited from a good mind and
good education. And family . . . Well, he couldn't deny the strains
and differences, but the bottom line was that he loved them and
they loved him—with one exception. And he'd fought his way clear of
that one exception's influence years ago, so he had freedom, too.
What else could anybody need?
    Without conscious thought, his gaze went to
Bette's face.
    Her smile pleased him at a level he couldn't
explain. More than the way her lips curved—although that was nice,
too—he liked the way her cheeks and eyebrows lifted, providing a
new showcase for her deep blue eyes. Even more, he liked knowing he
had lured the smile into the light. It was a shame to keep that
spark locked up behind the dusty seriousness she seemed to think
necessary. The challenge appealed to him.
    He wanted to see her laugh again. Here, in
the soft shadows of their corner.
    "You sound just like Michael," he said.
    "Michael? Your brother?"
    "No. Friend. Michael Dickinson, Grady Roberts
and I were college roommates." He told her about finding fungus
growing in the closet at the end of sophomore year and, though she
wrinkled her nose in distaste, she laughed. Laughter looked even
better on her than a smile.
    "By the time Tris came we had quite a
reputation."
    "Tris? Your sister?"
    "Nope. Wrong again." He recognized the flick
of annoyance. Bette didn't like being wrong, and especially not
twice.
    "But you do have a sister."
    "How can you be so sure—oh, of course,
Ardith. Yeah, I have a sister, but Judi's in college now. She's
eleven years younger than me. Tris Donlin's my cousin. Her freshman
year the three of us—Grady, Michael and I—were seniors, and we all
hung around together."
    "It sounds as if you had a wonderful
childhood."
    "Had? You look like you think I'm still going
through it." He laughed, but he noted the startled look in her
eyes, as if he'd caught her at something not totally polite.
    "I'm sorry, I—"
    "It's all right, I was kidding." He had to
cut her off. He didn't want a repeat of the tone she'd used to
describe his work as child's play; he didn't want a repeat of the
feeling. Better, much better, to turn the conversation.
    "Of course everything wasn't roses, you know.
At one time I thought the only answer was to get away. I wanted
nothing to do with my family." He kept words and tone light,
consciously pushing aside the jumble of those old feelings
threatening to rise again. Why had he brought this up?
    "About sixteen or seventeen? I think every
kid goes through that stage, don't you?"
    "I must have been an early developer, then,
because I was twelve and a half."
    "Twelve?" She cocked her head and her hair
swung, exposing the side of her neck in a most distracting way. She
pursed her lips—an even greater distraction—and said in ponderous
tones, "A manifestation of sibling rivalry, perhaps, since you were
displaced by your younger sister?"
    He shook his head, but more at his own
thoughts than at her words. "Nah, I'd gone through that the year
before. But I guess it was about being displaced in a way."
    He shifted, and felt the rub of her elbow
against his jacket, the sensation translating directly to a
prickling along his skin.
    "What happened, Paul?"
    Her voice, quiet and soft, lured him.
    "We'd just moved. Only across town but a
world away to a kid. My grandfather had retired. Not because he
wanted to kick back and relax or anything, but because the doctors
gave an order he couldn't refuse." He tried to fight stronger
feelings with ironic humor. He wasn't sure it worked. "Given the
choice of dying or going to Palm Springs, he took Palm Springs.