The Bride Wore Size 12 (Heather Wells 5)

I stare at her bewilderedly. “I know that, Mom,” I say. “Why are you taking off all your jewelry?”

“Oh.” She looks down at the pile as if realizing for the first time it’s there. “Call it a wedding present, if you like.”

“Mom.” I’m not angry at her anymore. How can I be, when I have such a rich life, and hers is so pathetic? Plus I’ve said everything I needed to say to her. I’m feeling pretty good. “I don’t want your old jewelry.”

“Oh,” she says lightly. “I think you do. Consider it your ‘something borrowed.’ ”

She steps forward to give me a quick hug. Now that all her necklaces and bracelets are gone, she doesn’t jingle when she walks.

I don’t want to hug her back, but there’s something about being hugged by your mother that makes it impossible to not at least raise your arms and put them around her. The scent of her Chanel is as familiar to me, in a way, as the scent of Cooper’s shampoo and laundry detergent. And also as comforting, even though she completely betrayed me once.

But it turns out you can’t help loving your mother, no matter how hard you try.

“Good-bye, darling,” she says, and turns and walks swiftly from the shop before I can say another word. My father doesn’t attempt to bar her way.

“What the hell,” Jessica demands, after downing the remains of her champagne, “was that all about?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” I say.

Sammy the Schnozz has begun lifting pieces of the jewelry from the coffee table. Of course he has a loupe, the magnifying eyepiece used to closely examine gems and precious metals. He’s pulled one from his pocket and is studying her bracelets and chains with a jeweler’s concentration.

“She feels bad, Heather,” my father says. “She wanted to make amends.”

Cooper laughs out loud at this.

“She does,” my father insists. “She understands she won’t be welcome at the wedding—and obviously can’t attend because Ricardo will be hunting her—but if you can make a place for her in your heart, Heather—”

There will always be a place for her in my heart, I think. In my life? I’m not so sure.

Sammy the Schnozz whistles, slowly and appreciatively.

“What is it?” I ask him.

He lowers the loupe and looks at me solemnly. “Your mother may lack the maternal instinct, but she sure knows a thing or two about jewelry. These are platinum. All of them. Solid platinum.”

I glance at Cooper, then back at Sammy the Schnozz. “No. No, they’re not. They’re silver. No one walks around wearing that much—”

“Platinum? No one I know. Pirates, maybe. Who else wears their fortune around their necks?”

“Or someone else’s fortune,” Cooper says, looking down at all the softly gleaming metal on the table.

I shake my head, hardly able to comprehend what I’m seeing.

“No,” I say again, shaking my head. “No, she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t have stolen all my money only to give it back.”

Sammy has his smartphone out and is working the calculator. “She didn’t,” he says. “Platinum is selling high these days, but what you’d get if you sold this by weight”—his fingers fly over the keyboard—“is only about a quarter of a million dollars.”

I glance at Cooper, who returns my stunned gaze. “Only a quarter of a million dollars,” I say to him.

“Not nearly what she owes you,” he says. “But a start.” A grin begins to spread across his face. He holds out one arm, and I step into his embrace. “We could definitely upgrade the honeymoon.”

“Or,” I say, “we could turn the basement into a nice apartment, and then rent it out and make a healthy return on our investment.”

“So practical,” Cooper says, kissing me. “Such an amazing head for money.”

“And she’s got really good aim,” Virgin Hal adds shyly.

“Don’t forget,” my father, the convict, hastens to add, “whatever you do, you’ll have to pay taxes on the sale of the jewelry.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Dad,” I say, looking up from Cooper’s chest. “Did you know anything about this?”

“Well,” Dad says, looking a little sheepish. “I can’t say I’m entirely surprised. I knew your mother wanted to make amends, and I knew she and Ricardo had split up, judging from some phone conversations I’ve heard her making. I knew she took something of his, and he wanted it back—”

“No wonder she said to consider it something borrowed!” Magda cries, pointing at the jewelry. “She stole it!”

“From my manager, who stole it from me first. That jewelry is mine,” I declare. “It’s the only restitution I’m going to get.”

“Damn straight,” Cooper says, nodding at Hal. “Confiscate it, in the name of the law. Heather’s law,” he adds, winking at me.

“I’ll be happy to,” Hal says, and sweeps the jewelry into his duffel bag.

“How are we doing out here?” Lizzie, the proprietor of the salon, pops her head back into the waiting room. “Are we feeling ready to try on a wedding dress now?”

“You know what?” I say, turning to her. “I absolutely am.”

“Well, then,” she says, looking pleased. “Follow me.”

And so I do.

38

The pleasure of your company is

requested at the marriage of

Heather Marie Wells

to

Cooper Arthur Cartwright

Saturday, the 28th of September

at half past two in the afternoon

The Grand Ballroom

The Plaza

Fifth Avenue at Central Park South

New York, New York

I stand at the back of the room, nervously twisting the ribbons on the end of my bouquet. Cooper and I chose Gerber daisies for our wedding because they’re a nice cheerful flower for fall, and they aren’t fussy in the same way we aren’t fussy.

But the place where we’ve chosen to get married certainly is fussy.

“I think this is all a little too fancy,” I say to Patty as she adjusts the bow on the sash on the side of my dress. It’s shaped a little bit like a Gerber daisy, or at least a large, white silk rose. “Do you think this is too fancy? Cooper and I should have eloped. I knew we should have eloped.”