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“Beg your pardon?” Mary Paige said, darting a glance toward Judy, who looked as if she might laugh.
“Mary Paige, this is Gigi Malone, the manager of— What are you the manager of?” Judy asked, a small flush spreading across her cheeks.
“Couture,” the woman said, pinching the fabric at Mary Paige’s hip and studying it. “Carolina Herrera?”
“Oh, is that a designer?” Mary Paige asked, feeling completely out of her depth. “I’m not sure. I actually got this at a secondhand store.”
The woman literally stepped back. “Well, it’s stunning and quite brilliant to pair it with substantial lingerie. A little last season, but you wear it so well, and that’s half the battle. I applaud you, my dear.”
Substantial lingerie?Jeez, what was the woman’s idea of non-substantial? “Thank you—I think.” Mary Paige was almost positive Gigi had paid her a compliment. “And may I say you look equally stunning? You, too, Judy.”
Judy wore her hair in soft swooping waves à la Rita Hayworth inGilda,and it matched the ’40s-style taffeta dress that had to have a petticoat beneath it if the skirt’s volume was any indication. She looked pretty adorable, and her smile matched the flash of the tasteful diamond on her left hand.
“Thank you, Mary Paige.”
“Well, I’m off to find Ellen and Mark. They’ve promised to give me a ride home. Cheers, ladies, and very nice to meet you, Mary Paige.”
“Likewise,” Mary Paige said, turning to Judy as Gigi strode away, chin up, back straight, parting the crowd with her very aura. “I heard about the engagement. Congratulations, Judy. I’m so pleased for you and Mr. Henry. I don’t think I’ve seen a man preen before, but he’s a regular peacock.”
Judy held out the ring. “Isn’t it perfect? Not big but Malcolm says there isn’t a single flaw. Crazy man thinks it represents me, which is silly. You and I know, no girl is perfect.”
Mary Paige looked at the ring—so simple and suitable for Judy—then lifted her gaze to the woman who had been a steadying force each time Mary Paige felt a stormy sea rocked beneath her. She marveled at that special something Judy had, that knack for making everyone feel comfortable.
“Nope, none of us is, but to Malcolm you’re perfect for him, and you can’t argue with that.”
“I can.” Judy looked at the ring before shaking her head in wonder. “But I won’t. Both he and I are too old to argue about such things. If that man says he loves me and wants me next to him every morning when he wakes, I’m not standing in his way because I feel exactly the same way.”
“It’s what every person wants,” Mary Paige said.
“But many never have, so I feel incredibly blessed.” Judy studied Mary Paige—not the dress as everyone else had—but her face, her eyes. It was as if the woman had taken out a trowel and dug around until she found the roots beneath the surface. “And you?”
“Me?”
“I haven’t known Brennan for very long, but he’s definitely spinning in circles over you. And, while I don’t know you well, you’re different than that night several weeks ago. Something more peaceful—” she gestured toward Mary Paige’s dress “—or secure.”
Secure?Not in the least. Mary Paige mostly felt as if she were walking on a ledge trying not to look down. Her relationship with Brennan was strange—like meeting a guy at summer camp. Everything was good while living in that bubble, but real life tended to be a long pin that popped the bubble, leaving a girl exposed, blinking at intrusion, wondering how everything shiny had gone so quickly.
“I’m not secure, just inspired when I saw this dress. Guess I felt like being bold for once in my life, but that proves nothing.”
“Okay,” Judy said with a little smile that made Mary Paige want to argue with her, to convince her otherwise.
But what did it matter what Judy believed? All that mattered was what Mary Paige believed, and when it came to her and Brennan, she didn’t have a clue what that was.
So she simply wouldn’t think about it.
Spying Brennan across the room, she started toward him. His dark head was angled toward the woman she remembered was his secretary. He looked so different than when Mary Paige had first met him. Maybe it merely seemed that way because she knew him better. Had seen the gooey center in the hard man he showed the world, had seen beneath to the man he could be.
“Dance with me?”
She spun at the touch on her shoulder and the sound of the voice in her ear. “Oh, Asher. You startled me.”
His smile could melt the ice sculpture. “You were deep in thought. Sorry.” He held out an expectant hand.
She cast a final look at Brennan, who was still talking, and took the proffered hand. “Sure.”
“Perfect.” Asher let her pass in front of him as they moved toward the dance floor centered in front of the band the Funky Meters, which included members of the Neville family. The New Orleans originals played their own music mixed with funky versions of traditional Christmas music.
Asher spun her into his arms as the band launched into a soulful number with jazzy snare drums and rich guitar, inspiring a wicked dance groove. He was a good dancer, light on his feet with natural grace. No awkward jerking or silly-looking footwork.
