Speak Low (Speak Easy 2)

“I know the feeling.”

She smiled. “Have you told Daddy?”

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It was the one thing capable of turning my smile into a grimace. Well, that and the thought of the conversation I had to have with Enzo. But I wouldn’t think about that now. “No. I wanted to tell someone who’d be happy about it first.”

“I think he’ll be happy,” Bridget said carefully. “He likes Joey. Always has.”

“He likes me at home better, though.”

She stood. “Leave Daddy to me. If he’s anything less than glad for you, I’ll take him to task. The girls are old enough to manage the house and themselves at this point, and you deserve to be happy.”

“Thank you.” I rushed forward and threw my arms around her so forcefully, she staggered backward. “I’ll need all the help I can get.”

She laughed and squeezed me back. “Want to wear my wedding dress?”

“Oh, Bridget, really?” I held her at arm’s length as my excitement soared. Bridget’s wedding dress was beautiful.

“Of course. It’ll have to be hemmed of course, but I think it will fit you.” Her lips tipped up. “We got married fast so no one would notice an expanding waistline.”

I groaned. “Hopefully I won’t have that problem.”

“Hopefully?” Her face went white. “Does that mean—Frances Kathleen O’Mara, have you gone crazy?”

“Never mind about that.” I breezed toward the door. “Let’s pull your dress from the trunk so I can try it on.”

#

Twenty minutes later I stood before the cheval mirror in Bridget’s bedroom wearing her wedding dress. She brought a hand to her mouth, fighting tears. “It’s beautiful on you, Tiny. It really is.”

I caught her eye in the mirror and smiled. “Thank you. I loved it on you, and I’m so grateful you’re letting me wear it. You’re sure it’s OK to alter it a bit?” The fit wasn’t terrible, since Bridget was small-framed too, but the length would need to be taken up and the side seam taken in. It was a simple gown, made by a friend of our mother’s. Cream-colored lace, three quarter sleeves, rounded neckline. A wide peach-colored satin sash emphasized my small waist and almost made it look like I had a few curves, and the lovely skirt fell in three fluttery lace panels to the floor. On me the final tier puddled a bit, but Bridget knelt at my side and examined the seam where the bottom panel was attached.

“This won’t be too hard to fix, Tiny. If I can’t do it, I’m sure Mrs. Hobbs would do the work for a reasonable price. She’ll like knowing it’s being worn again.” She looked up at me. “Want to try on the veil?”

I clapped my hands together. “Yes!”

Bridget got to her feet and dug in the trunk we’d lugged from the back of the cedar closet. The veil was boxed and wrapped in tissue paper, and I gasped when she pulled it out. From a thick crown of beads and lace hung a floor-length swath of lace-trimmed tulle. Bridget stepped behind me and settled the crown on my forehead; it rose to a peak in the center. The tulle fell over my ears and shoulders, flowing down my back to the floor. I wouldn’t be able to trim it, but that was all right. When I walked it would drift behind me like gossamer, just like it had on Bridget.

I turned to her with tears in my eyes. “I’ll take good care of it all.”

Fussing with the veil, she blinked back her own tears. “I hope you and Joey are as happy as Vince and I were the day we married.” She met my eyes. “And I beg you to convince Joey to choose a different path than his father.”

I put a hand on her arm. “I’m trying. I am.”

“Good.” She went behind me to begin undoing the column of looped buttons running up my back. “And I hope he’s more patient than Vince was trying to remove this dress—he tore off three button loops trying to get it off me!”

I grinned at my reflection in the mirror. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

Chapter Sixteen

Joey called that afternoon around four. “Hello,” I said, my insides warming at the sound of his voice.

“How’s my girl?”

“Good. Busy.”

“Oh?”