Murder Has a Sweet Tooth - By Miranda Bliss Page 0,86
serious counseling to get over everything that’s happened. I can’t even imagine how hard it must be for them. To think that your husband is part of an elaborate plan to kill you . . .”
“He is not. Never would.” An ear-to-ear smile on his face, Jim cut into the dance, and Tyler didn’t protest. Eve was standing near the bar and he went over and gave her a peck on the cheek. My happiness factor shot up another couple notches. That’s what happens when a best friend sees her best friend in love. Would Eve and Tyler end up like Jim and me, with wedding rings on their fingers and the warm promise of years of happiness adding to the glow of every day? Honestly, I couldn’t say. But I could hope. From the love-struck look in Tyler’s eyes when he gazed at Eve, I could tell he did, too.
And who could blame him for looking at her like she had stepped out of a dream? That day, Eve was resplendent in a dress she’d bought the summer before, hung in her closet, and promptly forgot she even had. It was a satin sheath with a funky little beaded bolero, so like the one I’d lost beneath the wheels of that bus, it was uncanny. Her dress was robin egg blue, a perfect maid-of-honor complement to my sapphire gown.
Yeah, the strapless one with the rhinestone-studded bodice and the full skirt that looked like mounds of whipped cream. The one that Marie just happened to have in my size.
On the hanger, the gown was so bodacious and so not me, I couldn’t stand to even think about it, but once I tried it on—
“You look incredible,” Jim said. “Like a fairy-tale princess.”
I felt like I’d just stepped out of a fairy tale, too, and right into my own happily-ever-after. Especially when Jim scooped me into his arms and held me close. “Just so there’s no doubt about it,” he said, “you need to know that your husband adores you.” And he kissed me to prove it.
Our wedding guests were apparently watching. They erupted in cheers and applause.
Marc, one of our cooks, had volunteered to be the DJ for the evening. When he saw that Jim and I were dancing together, he changed the song from something with an upbeat, Big Band sort of feel to one that was nice and slow.
Jim’s arm tightened around my waist. I rested my head on his shoulder. We’d been so busy greeting guests and toasting since we’d said I do, we’d hardly had a moment to talk to each other. This was nice, swaying back and forth, curled into each other’s arms. I had never been so certain of anything: This was where I wanted to be for the rest of my life.
“And I’m not just saying I love you because of the deep-fried Mars bars.” There was a smile—and just a tiny smudge of chocolate—on Jim’s lips.
“It was the only Scottish food I could find that didn’t gross me out,” I explained. “I wanted to make something more traditional, something more truly Scottish, but—”
“What could be a better tribute to Scottish cuisine!” Jim laughed. “I remember having them in the fish-and-chips shops as a boy back in Glasgow. It was a wonderful gift, and you are a wonderful woman to have thought of it.”
I had to come clean. After all, this was my husband I was talking to. “Marc and Damien did the frying.” Since the smoke alarms hadn’t gone off, Jim probably had already figured this out.
“And it’s perfect. You’ll notice that Alex and the rest of my Scots relatives have eaten more than their share.”
“And the African violets?”
Jim glanced around the pub at the flowers we’d placed on every table. “They’re a lovely gift for our guests.” His smile settled and his expression grew serious. “Only, Annie, after everything that’s happened, do you still believe? I mean, in love and marriage and how two people can be together for the rest of their lives?”
It was a strange question, especially coming from my groom on our wedding day. I stepped back enough to look up into Jim’s hazel eyes. “You think—”
“I think that when you solve a couple murders and they’re all tied up with wives going out to meet other men, and husbands who are angry at their wives for going out and meeting other men . . . I don’t know.” Inside his tux jacket, his broad shoulders twitched. “I think all that might tend to make any woman a little nervous. You know, about marriage.”
“Not about my marriage!” This time, I kissed him. It was just about the best way I could think to prove my sincerity. “It’s sad that those relationships ended so badly. It’s tragic. But that’s not going to happen. Not to you and me. This is going to last forever.”
His eyes gleamed. “Aye, I was hoping you’d say that. It’s what I think, too.”
Across Bellywasher’s, Alex raised a glass and proposed another toast, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Alex doesn’t seem to have suffered any long-lasting effects. I’m glad it all worked out.”
“And Alex knows it worked out all because of you. Thank you!” Another kiss and I’ll admit it, I could have stood right there like that forever. That’s how contented and happy I was.
I might have stood right there like that forever if not for the fact that another cheer went up from the crowd. I pulled out of Jim’s arms (but kept a hold of his hand) just in time to see Damien carry our wedding cake out of the kitchen, and yes, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was the same understated wedding cake I had ordered from Clara: a yellow cake, frosted with chocolate mousse and tastefully decorated with a festive, ivory-colored ganache ribbon and dozens of multicolored (but not too bright) ganache stars. There wasn’t a sparkler in sight, and this made me very happy.
Even if the cake was bigger than I thought it was going to be.
I hardly had a moment to think about it. Our guests urged us to cut the cake, Marc put on an appropriately upbeat song, and, hand in hand, Jim and I approached the cake table.
“It’s wonderful,” he said. “Like you, Annie.”
“It’s perfect,” I agreed.
And it all was. There was nothing in the whole wide world that could ruin that moment or that day.
Even when Doc popped out of the cake.
“LIFE IS GOOD.” MY HEAD ON JIM’S SHOULDER, I stood on the walkway that led up to his house—our house—and enjoyed the moment. “Everyone was so nice. And they all seemed to have a good time.”
“It was the best wedding ever. Of that, I’m certain. And now . . .” He stepped in front of me so that we were face-to-face and I don’t think I was imagining it: Jim looked a little nervous. He ran his tongue over his lips. “I think there are some formalities. I’m supposed to carry you up the steps and into the house and over the threshold, yes?”
I laughed, took hold of his hand, and pulled him toward the house. “Oh, no. I need you to save your energy!” Side by side, we raced up the steps together.
“And you . . .” Jim unlocked the door and pushed it open. “You can finally get a look at your home.”
Now I was feeling nervous. I took a deep breath and stepped into the living room for my first look at the work Jim had planned and Alex had carried out.
My breath caught, and I smiled, twirling all around for a better view. “It’s wonderful!” I said. “No more cabbage roses! No more red walls! It’s all wonderfully, beautifully beige!”
And sure, I knew it before, but this sealed the deal: From that moment forward, my happily-ever-after was official.