She kissed her daughter on the cheek. “Oh, and if you want to use my little 9-mil pistol you can. It’s still in my purse.”
“Ma—”
“I have a conceal and carry. I’m legal.”
“Last time you shot the gun you nearly took York’s head off.”
“I missed on purpose. If I wanted to shoot someone, I would. Not saying I want to, though.”
RJ shook her head.
“Listen to me, Ruby Jane. God put you in York’s life—and you in his—for a reason. Go be that reason.”
RJ said nothing as her mother went back inside.
But yes. God had clearly put them together. Over and over.
And their story wasn’t over.
She was going to go to Vegas and do what she’d gone to Russia to do in the first place…stop an international assassin. And then…and then they’d have a private conversation about what life York wanted to live.
And with whom.
9
See, everything was going to be just fine.
Perfect, in fact.
Tate had said Set a date. So Glo had set a date.
And last night on the phone, Tate hadn’t so much as hiccuped his hesitation at her ten-days-from-now announcement.
So maybe Glo’s fears really did reside only in her head.
Maybe everything was going to work out, she’d marry the man of her dreams, her singing career would skyrocket, her mother would be elected as VP, and they’d all live happily ever after.
After all, Glo had even won the showdown with her mother. Sure, she’d caught the senator in-flight, on her way to an event in Ohio, and her mother probably had her current speech notes in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other as she spoke to Glo on her earpiece, but her only concern was, of course, “We’ll have to make a media announcement immediately and offer up the contract to sell the photos. I’m sure People Magazine will want them.”
Right. Oh, Tate would be thrilled with the idea of his face in every grocery store.
Oh, and, “It’ll have to be on Friday night—Saturday I’m due in Minneapolis.”
“Friday night is fine,” Glo had said. “I’m thinking just a small event at the house in Nashville. By the pool. Just the band, a few friends, and the Marshall family.”
“Whatever you’d like, darling.”
What? Glo had never heard those words emerge from her mother’s mouth before.
It was much more expected coming from Tate. “Whatever you want, babe, I’m in.”
So, yes, Glo had probably dreamed up all her fears—literally. Because after that night, a week ago when she’d talked to Tate, her nightmares vanished.
Now, it was just a matter of finding the right dress.
“I’ve got you set up for a private fitting.” Her friend Cher held the door open as Glo, Dixie, and Kelsey entered Nora’s, a private bridal shop in the Green Hills district of Nashville. “Nora said she’d work with you personally. She works with designers, and I know you’ll probably need an in-stock dress, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get a one-of-a-kind sample.”
Cher wore a green maxi dress and gold sandals, her red hair caught back, and large gold hoop earrings. Glo felt spectacularly underdressed in her faded jeans, a white tunic, and flip-flops. But she had just gotten off a flight from Seattle, during which she’d approved a catering menu of brie and apple beer soup, a pumpkin seed and fig vinaigrette salad, filet mignon with a demi-glace, and butternut squash ravioli.
Cake tasting was later on today’s schedule, again, courtesy of Cher, who had contacts she’d used before during the book launches of her handful of best-selling authors. Apparently, being an acquisitions editor for one of the largest Nashville-based publishers had its advantages.
“She’s picked out a few dresses similar to the samples you pinned on your Pinterest board.”
“I think Kelsey pinned most of those,” Glo said and glanced at her friend who was stopped in front of a lacy A-line dress worn by a faceless mannequin. And Dixie had stopped in front of a mermaid dress that would only add va-va-voom to her already tall and willowy figure.
“Are things getting serious with Elijah Blue?” Glo asked her as Dixie turned away and followed her into the suite. Dixie had been secretly dating their drummer for the better part of three months. Or maybe not so secretly because even though they hadn’t mentioned it to their bandmates, Dixie and Elijah shared a look that hid nothing.
Dixie blushed. Lifted a shoulder. “We’re here for you.”
“This place is magical,” Kelsey said as she followed them to two long, pink velour sofas that faced a dais and three massive mirrors.
A gold chandelier hung from the ceiling, dripping a kaleidoscope of lights onto the white carpet. Chamber music played overhead, and on a tufted gold ottoman, a charcuterie tray held cheeses, meats, crackers, grapes, and fluted glasses of champagne.
Glo was really getting married.
She stepped up on the dais and looked in the mirrors. Oh, she looked tired, bags under her eyes, her white-blonde hair held back by a white bandanna, wild in the back. Maybe she was rushing things, maybe—
“Gloria Jackson. What an honor to fit you with the perfect dress.” The voice came from their hostess, Nora Kleinfeld, mid-fifties, petite, with pixie short, curly dark hair and thick red glasses. She wore a pair of billowy black pants, platform heels, a tight white tank, and a slew of bangles on both arms, which she opened as she stepped up on the dais. She gathered Glo into a hug, then kissed her cheek and pulled back. “Your mother must be so thrilled. Will she be joining us today?”
Oh, wouldn’t that be a boon for the shop? To have Reba Jackson’s entourage camped outside, the senator herself in the private fitting session.
“No. Sorry. She’s still on the campaign trail. But I told her I’d send pictures. And, of course, we’ll let everyone know where I got my dress when the press release is written.”
“Oh, whatever. Of course.” Nora waved her words away. “And who do we have with us today?” She turned to Glo’s group, neatly hiding any disappointment, clasping her hands together like they might be a kindergarten class.
“These are my Yankee Belle bandmates, and of course you know Cher. She roomed with me at Vanderbilt, and she’ll be my maid of honor.”
“Delightful. Cher sent me a number of designs, and I have matched them with some one-of-a-kind gowns from our recent trunk show. I think we can find something you’ll like. You ladies settle in to the viewing lounge and we’ll get Glo started.”
She gestured with her head toward the dressing rooms. Glo walked into the hallway and found her room. Inside, three dresses hung on high hooks, shimmering white, flouncy, lacy, and honestly, Glo didn’t know where to start.
“I suppose getting married in my jeans and T-shirt wouldn’t be right.”
Nora swept in behind her. “Not for the daughter of Senator Reba Jackson, darling. Now, I think we should start with some undergarments, don’t you?”
Under— “Like a girdle?”
“We prefer shapewear. I’ll be back with a sample.” She closed the door, and Glo examined the dresses. A strapless ball gown glittered with a sheen of tiny sparkles throughout the entire dress. The second was a vintage A-line with a sheath of embroidery over a V-necked top. But crazily, it was the short one that made her catch her breath. White silk taffeta with an organza overlay bodice, a sweetheart neckline, and a satin waistband. She dug her fingers into the deeply ruffled skirt that looked like roses. The dress would fall right above her knees.