Читать книгу The Perfect Wedding - Arlene James, Arlene James - Страница 8

She was going through a floral design book for the third time with poor, harried Mrs. Stapleton and her petulant daughter, Leslie, when he walked through the door with Dedrah, hat in one hand, notebook in the other, exactly as she’d last seen him some forty-eight hours earlier.

The thrill the sight of him brought her was entirely out of proportion with the circumstance, especially since Dedrah March stood beside and slightly behind him, but thrill her he did. She perversely noted that his hair had been carefully parted and combed, that his shirt was fine and crisply pressed, its blue reflected in the starry depth of his eyes, and that his jeans were new and stiff and anchored about his narrow hips with a wide leather belt and palm-size silver buckle bearing the initial C on a bed of black onyx. Moreover, his boots were black and smooth and freshly polished, and the black felt hat in his hand had a narrow brown band sporting a tiny blue-andyellow feather. Without a doubt, this was Rod Corley turned out in his Sunday best, and if she hadn’t known better, Layne would have thought it was for her.

Hastily she tucked that notion into a small, private compartment in her mind and closed the door on it. Rod Corley was here for one reason and one reason only—to plan a wedding, and weddings were her business. She shifted the look of surprise and pleasure on her face, though she couldn’t know how much of the latter she had given away in that first unguarded moment. Composed and professional, she excused herself from the Stapleton pair and rose to greet the newcomers with outstretched hands.

“Well, hello.”

“Hello.”

Rod reached out with both hands, but as his were filled with hat and notebook, she could do little but lay hers gently atop them before quickly taking hers away again. He smiled at her with something very like relief, a reaction she found wholly incongruous. Her cocked head must have said so, for he cleared his throat and injected a businesslike tone to his voice.

“Have we come at a bad time? You did say—”

She cut him off. “No, no, it’s fine. If you’ii just excuse me a moment, I’ll get some help.” Smiling benignly, she stepped into the front showroom, where a clerk was ringing up a purchase of lace gloves for a couple of teenagers. “Frankie,” Layne said, “could you see to the Stapletons for me?”

The tall, painfully thin Frankie nodded smartly. “Of course.”

“Thank you. Call Angie to come up front, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And bring coffee for Mrs. Stapleton. Leslie may prefer a soft drink.”

“I’ll take care of it right away.”

Satisfied, Layne turned back to the couple waiting in the arched doorway of the consultation room. “Right this way, please.” She led them quickly and swiftly past the Stapletons, who occupied the bamboo table, to the far corner of the room. Screened by a grouping of large ferns in enormous baskets, the area around her desk was suitable for consultation. She used it often when payment was to be made or in the event that two clients were in the shop at the same time for consultation. She indicated two comfortable armchairs beside the small, rolltop desk where she did her accounts. Dedrah chose the farthest one, leaving Rod to fold his long frame into the one situated right next to the desk. Layne sat down in the desk chair, swiveled it to face them and crossed her legs. “How may I help you?”

“We’re ready to start,” Rod said, placing the notebook on the desk and pushing it toward her.

Layne swiveled and opened the cover. Inside she discovered several pages had been filled out in a tight, cramped hand of decidedly masculine origin. She lifted a brow at Rod Corley’s anxious expression. “Very good,” she muttered, settling back to read. “Let’s see what we have here.”

Quickly she scanned the pages, some of it written in pencil, some in pen. In the space indicating the chosen date of the ceremony, he had written in pencil, “Soon as possible.” The groom was evidently anxious. She bit her lip and went over everything again. He might be anxious to have it done, but he obviously wanted it done right, for the ceremony he had mapped out was both formal and elaborate, and there were more than two hundred names on his guest list. Some of the names were those of Duncan’s most prominent citizens, from bank presidents to real estate agents, oilmen and restaurateurs. It was an impressive list, and she found herself murmuring, “Do you actually know all these people?”

“They’re my friends,” he said blankly, “and business associates. Mostly business associates.”

She looked up and smiled, an oblique apology for an insensitive question. “Well, you’ll likely add to it as time goes by,” she said, then dropped her attention to a second list done in an entirely different hand, Dedrah’s no doubt. Less than twenty names comprised Dedrah’s list, and nearly all of them ended with March. There was something pathetic about that, and it just pointed out once more how very implausible this match was. It was on the tip of Layne’s tongue to say so, and she realized with some panic that she must not. She pushed the book away from her, as if pushing away the words she wanted to say, and sent up a frantic prayer. Dear God in heaven, what’s wrong with me? Help me do and say the right things. Her smile was strained when next she lifted her gaze to Rod Corley’s, but it was absolutely the best she could do, and she almost hoped it was not good enough. In that case, he would surely get up and walk out, and she wouldn’t have to help him marry a woman he shouldn’t be marrying. But she was forgetting the child, his child, his and Dedrah’s. She took a deep breath and reminded herself to remain professional.

“Now I have an idea where we’re going,” she said briskly. “The next step is to narrow in on a date. Let’s see what’s going on six to eight months from now.” Leaning forward, she began to flip through her personal calendar, speaking to herself. “Let’s see, the Canons are set for April, the Porters are the eighth, the Cliff/Bicknell nuptials on the fourteenth. The Harpstones have the first weekend in May…Oh, dear.” She looked up at Dedrah and smiled. “How would you like to be a June bride?” The girl turned white beneath that cap of dark hair. Suddenly alarmed, Layne leaned forward. “Dedrah, are you all right?”

“June?” Rod Corley’s voice claimed Layne’s attention. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“We can’t wait till June!” Dedrah gasped.

“Absolutely not,” Rod agreed implacably. “Eight months is too long. Six months is too long!”

Layne’s mouth fell open. Didn’t they understand how much time went into producing the kind of wedding they seemed to want? She slumped, feeling inexplicably weary, then took a deep breath and began carefully choosing her words. “I’m afraid six months is the minimum for the type of ceremony you’ve indicated here,” she said gently. “You can’t begin to imagine how much there is to do, how many choices there are to be made. Even the people who come in here confident that they know what they want begin to waffle when they-see the available options. It just takes time to work through them all. Weddings are supposed to be perfect, you see, and…” The words died away as Rod Corley passed a hand over his eyes. It was the gesture of a desperate man, and the sight of it did strange things to her patient resolve. She bit her lip. “It takes six months to produce a perfect wedding,” she finished lamely.

Rod Corley sighed. “Then we’ll have an imperfect wedding,” he said quietly, and when he lifted his gaze to her face, his smoky eyes were imploring. “Six months is too long.”

Layne found herself saying, “W-we might be able to work something out.”

It was then that Dedrah grasped a small part of Rod’s sleeve and tugged it, saying, “You’d better get Sammy.”

Rod sent her an irritated look and turned back to Layne. “Does it have anything to do with money?” he asked bluntly.

Layne lifted both brows. “Not really. Cash as an incentive never hurts where suppliers are concerned, but the real problem is simply time. It takes time to decide specifics, to make arrangements, to order materials, to create designs…” She shook her head. How could she make him understand the myriads of details to be addressed? “I’ve been doing this a long time now,” she said. “Trust me.”

“I do,” he told her flatly. “That’s why I’m asking you to help me make it happen sooner.”

It was not an appeal she could ignore. The tone, the look, the posture, everything about it was totally sincere. He needed her help. It was as simple as that. She swallowed. “I hope you’re prepared to spend a lot of time on this,” she said.

He reached out and laid his hand over her wrist, squeezing gently. “Thank you,” he said, relief softening his voice to a near whisper.

It was almost her undoing. She fought the impulse to cover his hand with her own, to answer his soft look with her own. She edged away from him, breathing deeply and forcing her focus back to business. She made a decision. “Four months,” she said, “and that’s really pushing it.”

“That’s the best you can do?”

“The very best, and you’re going to have to put yourself completely in my hands at that. We won’t have time for second choices.”

He nodded. “All right.”

To Layne’s surprise, Dedrah leaped to her feet. “I’m going after Sammy!” she announced. “You promised him!”

Sammy? Layne looked to Rod for an answer, but he turned his gaze to Dedrah. “I said it’d be done as quickly as possible,” he told her patiently, “and that’s what I’m doing.”

“But four months!” the girl cried.

Rod jerked a thumb in Layne’s direction. “You heard what she said,” he argued reasonably. “Four months is the best she can do, and I think we ought to be grateful that she’s willing to do it for us.”

Dedrah glared down at him with very large, very liquid eyes. “You promised Sammy,” she whispered.

“So I did,” Rod admitted.

“Who—” Layne began, but Rod suddenly stood up and strode away. Impulsively, she went after him. “—is Sammy?”

“My nephew,” he snapped without slowing a bit.

Layne threw a smile at the Stapletons as she passed. This was impossible. This whole thing with Rod Corley was just impossible, and she made up her mind to tell him so. They hadn’t the foggiest idea really what they were doing, and she certainly didn’t need this kind of aggravation. Four months was in all likelihood not enough time, and probably after she’d knocked herself out for them, they’d decide they were making a mistake and cancel! Suddenly she didn’t know which would be worse, if they canceled or if they didn’t. All she really knew was that she didn’t feel up to the task of seeing Rod Corley and Dedrah March “properly” married. Surely God intended her to say no to this. As soon as they emerged into the front showroom, she lifted a hand to halt his progress, only to watch him stride out of reach and through the door.

“Oh, Lord,” she muttered frantically, “what’s going on here? What do you expect of me?” She’d just have to tell Dedrah that she didn’t want to handle this affair after all. She nodded in satisfaction, then walked to the window and boldly spied on Rod Corley as he stood at the passenger window of the pickup truck, obviously arguing with someone. After a moment, he backed up, and a tall, lean, young man got out and gestured toward the shop. Both turned in that direction, sending Layne scurrying back into the showroom. Angie, she noticed, sent her a curious glance, which she ignored.

Momentarily, the door opened amidst chimes, and Rod Corley stepped inside, the young man at his elbow. “Miss Harington,” he said, “this is my nephew, Sammy Corley. Sam, this is Miss Harington. If you won’t believe me, then maybe you’ll believe an expert.” He glanced at Layne. “Tell him.”

Tell him what? And why tell him? She opened her mouth and closed it again, forced a smile and said to Sammy, “What is it you’d like to know?”

He pushed a hand through his close-cropped hair, allowing her a few seconds to look him over. The family resemblance was strong, from the color of their hair—though Sammy’s was lacking the streaks of silver—to the planes of their faces and the color of their eyes. Sammy was simply a younger, slimmer version of his uncle. Even the timbre of their voices were alike.

Sammy struck a cryptic pose, jerking a thumb at his uncle. “He says it can’t be done in less than four months.”

He had to be talking about the wedding, of course, but she still didn’t understand what he had to do with it. She wondered if she ever would, but nodded and gave him his answer. “Yes. Four months.”

“We don’t want to wait that long!” he said urgently.

We? Her jaw descended slowly. He couldn’t mean him and Dedrah! Could he?

“It’s just the best that can be done,” Rod was saying. “You understand why, don’t you?”

“I understand,” Sammy replied, “and we appreciate what you’re trying to do, but we don’t want to wait.”

“I thought you said you wanted it done properly,” Rod countered.

“We do!” Sammy said. “We just don’t want to wait.”

“Well, four months is the best that can be done,” Rod said impatiently. “She wanted eight!” He pointed at Layne, who was listening with her mouth hanging open.

“Eight!” Sammy erupted. “No way!”

“Then be grateful she’s agreed to do it in four!”

Sammy opened his mouth to make a retort to that, but Layne had had enough. She forestalled him by stepping quickly forward and raising a hand. “Wait a minute!” she commanded, employing a tone usually reserved for the hired help, and Sammy snapped his mouth shut. In the ensuing silence, she tried to decide how to proceed, but there was only one question that really needed answering. She pinned Sammy with a stern look and addressed him. “Who are you?” she said, enunciating clearly.

Sammy passed a look to his uncle, who was clearly as befuddled as his nephew. The young man shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I’m—”

“In regard to this wedding,” she clarified. “I mean, who are you in regard to this wedding?”

Again, uncle and nephew traded looks, then it was Rod who answered. “Why, he’s the groom,” he said. “Who’d you think?”

The groom? The groom! Layne stepped back and lifted a hand to her mouth. The wave of relief that hit her nearly buckled her knees. “Oh, my,” she said, looking at Rod Corley with fresh eyes. A generous uncle. He was nothing more than a generous uncle. This boy was going to marry that girl in there. He had fathered her child. Whose sweet girl are you? Are you Mommy’s girl? Are you Daddy’s girl? Or are you Uncle’s girl? Layne laughed aloud. If that child had any sense at all, she was her uncle’s girl and blessed at that. Layne composed herself and offered her hand to Sammy Corley, ignoring the tremor in her voice. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, thinking, Thank you, Lord. “Miss March is waiting in the next room.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, then with a speculative look that he shared between them, he slowly turned and started into the consultation room. Layne stood as if rooted to the spot, wondering what to say to the man at her side.

“You didn’t really think…”

The sound of his voice prompted her to turn to face him. “What?”

Those smoky blue eyes literally plumbed hers, then he shook his head, a lopsided smile quirking one corner of his lips. “You thought Dedrah…and I…?”

It did seem absurd, always had, and the smile wiggling on her mouth said so, but it was understandable. She dropped her gaze. “What else could I think?”

He chuckled softly, bringing her gaze right back up. Those smoky eyes were as warm as summer skies. “And here I am trying to impress you,” he said, his voice low and silky.

She caught her breath. It was for her, the new jeans, the blue shirt, the desperately straight part in his sand-and-platinum hair. Oh, Lord, could it be that he! was for her? She was trembling suddenly, aware that something momentous had just occurred, something incredible. And hadn’t it? No, not yet, but unless she missed her guess it was about to. She was intensely attracted to this man, and he was apparently attracted to her, enough to want to impress her. Wasn’t she right to think that something might begin between them if she let him know the attraction was mutual? She hoped so. She surprised herself with how fervently she hoped. She was thinking like a schoolgirl, but she wasn’t about to act like one. God had given her this opportunity, and she wasn’t about to blow it.

She straightened her spine and lifted her chin, adopting her best business tone. “Try no more,” she said. “I was impressed to begin with.” She strode forward, reveling in the rich laughter that followed her.

It was that laughter, augmented with smiles, that bolstered her during what was to be a difficult consultation, for if Dedrah was uncertain, her intended was not. He didn’t want this wedding. He didn’t say so in words, but he didn’t have to; Layne had become adept over the years at reading the silent body language of her clients. A stony face, and she had seldom seen one stonier, was a sure sign of dislike. When she added a fist that reflexively clenched, then deliberately relaxed, a leg that jiggled uncontrollably and a frown that turned too quickly to a iusteriess smile, she came up with a fellow trying to appear accepting of something he did not truly want.

The question was why he was playing the game—for Dedrah’s sake or for Rod’s? The latter seemed unlikely. Sam could save his uncle a bundle by expressing a preference for a simple service, so he had to be keeping quiet for Dedrah’s sake. He wouldn’t be the first groom to indulge his bride, and yet something about this whole arrangement didn’t quite add up. Rod had said he wanted Dedrah to have the best, and apparently Sammy did, too, so why wasn’t Dedrah enthusiastically embracing everything Layne had to offer? Maybe the girl didn’t know what she wanted. Maybe she didn’t know what a “proper” wedding actually entailed, and maybe she felt guilty about the amount of money Rod would have to spend in order to provide her with one. Whatever the problem, Layne concentrated on making Dedrah feel relaxed and included, while actually leaving her very few decisions. Time dictated the leeway Layne could allow in this case, and everyone seemed to accept her “suggestions” until they came to the matter of guest lists again.

“I think we should plan for no fewer than three hundred guests,” Layne contended. “Dedrah, you’re bound to think of a few names you’ll want to add to your list before the invitations go out, and both sets of parents will likely want their friends included.”

“I don’t think so,” Dedrah replied in a small voice.

At the same moment Sammy shook his head. “Me, neither. Till we’re married, Rod’s all I’ve got in the way of family.”

Layne could not prevent her gaze going up to Rod’s face. He was leaning against the wall, arms folded, the toe of one boot hooked around the heel of the other. Those smoky eyes were trained on Layne’s face, and she had the distinct impression that they had been there all along. Despite the little thrill that swept through her, she forced herself back to business.

“I know you think that now,” she told the pair confidently, “but experience tells me that you will add to the list. Don’t worry, we’ll eventually cut back, but the time for that is after the RSVPs come in. I’m guessing we’ll wind up around two hundred and fifty, but in the meantime we plan for three hundred. That leaves us a comfortable cushion. It also means that any surprises at the end will be pleasant ones in terms of expense. Now, are we agreed here?”

“We’re agreed,” Rod said flatly. After a hesitation, during which he reached over and clasped Dedrah’s hand, Sammy nodded his acquiescence. Only then did Dedrah give hers. Layne breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The matter was settled, and Sammy did seem to be holding back for Dedrah’s sake. However, if Rod Corley had his way, no one would be holding back for very long. He was an amazingly generous man, and family seemed to mean a great deal to him. She smiled to herself, remembering the way he’d cooed to Sam and Dedrah’s baby. Are you Uncle’s girl? A man like that should have had babies of his own. She wondered why he hadn’t, then wondered if maybe he had. But no, a family of Rod’s would have been family of Sammy’s, and Sammy had made it plain that he had only Rod—for now. When Sammy married, both he and Rod would expand their family. Maybe that explained Rod’s generosity. “I want her to have the best,” he had said of Dedrah. Yes, family meant a lot to Rod Corley. Layne was impressed, but again she made herself turn her thoughts to business. Producing a wedding of this magnitude in only four months time left no room for dillydallying.

“Location,” she said. “I’ll call around to the local churches that can accommodate a wedding of this size and find out which ones have open dates about four months from now. Let’s schedule another meeting. Oh…” She flipped through her calendar again. “How’s Friday?”

“Fine,” Rod said, and nobody else bothered to argue.

“About four-thirty?”

“We’ll be here.”

Not they but we. Because of her? Layne wondered. Did he want to see her again, or was he just that rare man who actually enjoyed planning weddings? She could easily believe that God would chose such a man for her. She smiled to herself as Dedrah and Sammy got to their feet, then quickly composed herself and rose also.

“We’ll see you, Miss Harington,” Sammy said, his hand resting in the small of Dedrah’s back.

“You’re kind to do this for us in so short a time,” Dedrah added, but Sammy snorted.

“Four months looks like four years just now, if you ask me.”

“Well, nobody did,” Rod said, a hand falling on Sammy’s shoulder. “Now scoot. I need a word with Miss Harington.”

Layne took pains to smile at Dedrah. “I look forward to seeing you again. Good day.”

“So long, ma’am.” Dedrah and Sam turned and left them, their arms linked about each other’s waists.

Layne stood beside Rod and looked up at him. Was he really for her? Somehow she believed that he was and she couldn’t help thinking that God was being very generous. “Walk me out?”

“My pleasure,” she said, and he gave her a smile that warmed her from the inside out.

“I, um, just wanted to thank you again,” he said, “and, ah, explain about Sam.”

She cocked her head to one side. “What about him?”

He reached out a hand and cupped her elbow, turning her smoothly, and they began to stroll after Sam and Dedrah. “Actually, it’s about Heather,” he said haltingly. “Sammy didn’t know Dedrah was pregnant when he went to Saudi Arabia.”

“He’s military, then?” That explained the haircut.

“Was. He just got out. If I’d had my way, he’d never have enlisted, but it was done by the time I found out about it. Anyway, apparently they had some kind of fight—and that’s another thing. I didn’t even know they were seeing each other. I mean, I knew he was going out when he was home on leave, but I didn’t know who with. I figured he was seeing lots of girls, but instead he was seeing just one, and obviously things got pretty serious. But then they had this fight, and they broke up. I don’t think he was very happy about it, because he did write her from Saudi Arabia. I guess she had her reasons for not telling him about the baby.”

“I can understand that,” Layne said quietly. They had walked past Frankie and the Stapletons, and she was anxious to keep the conversation private, considering the delicate nature of the subject. That being the case, she stopped right beneath the arch that led out into the front showroom, keeping as much distance as possible between the two of them and the Stapletons. “I would imagine Dedrah didn’t want him to feel pressured,” she said. “They had broken up. He’d gone off to war. It wasn’t as if he could do anything about it from Saudi Arabia.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Rod agreed, “especially as he didn’t know. But like I said, I think he cared about her all along, because when he got stationed over at Ft. Sill, he didn’t waste any time looking her up, and apparently as soon as he laid eyes on Heather he knew she was his.”

“And naturally he claimed her.”

“Not yet,” Rod said uneasily. “I mean, not legally. The wedding will pretty much take care of that, but we haven’t figured out exactly how to handle the rest of it. The wedding’s the important thing, though. If we do that right, that’s half the battle. It took him some time to convince Dedrah that he really wanted to marry her.” Rod went on. “He was back in this area a couple of weeks before I even found out any of this.”

“And when you did, you offered them the wedding of their dreams,” Layne supplied helpfully.

Rod grinned. “Something like that. The point is, Sam’s a good kid who’s made a mistake, and now I’m trying to help him overcome it, not that any of us consider Heather a mistake, mind you. It’s just that they did kind of get the cart before the horse, and now they’ve got to…well, hold their heads up and fix it. They’re doing the right thing by getting married, but I personally think how they do it is important, too. I mean, if they slink off and do it in some shabby little office somewhere, that’s the same as saying they’re ashamed, don’t you think?”

Layne shrugged uncomfortably; this really wasn’t any of her business. But he had asked. “I don’t know. I suppose some people might think so.”

“Right, and I just don’t see why those kids ought to have to deal with that. Besides, they have every right to a fancy wedding. You understand what I’m saying?”

“I think I do,” Layne said. “You don’t want them to miss out on anything.”

“Them or that little girl,” he said, then a pained expression flitted across his face. “I know this wedding’s liable to cause some gossip,” he went on, “and goodness knows Dedrah’s had plenty of that already. If people only knew, when they started whispering tales, how much hurt they were causing, there wouldn’t be any such thing as gossip. But nobody seems to consider that, and I’ve no reason to think they will now. But I think it’ll all turn out for the best if we just keep our heads up and go on as we would have if they hadn’t made that one mistake.”

Layne smiled and was bold enough to reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “I think they’re very blessed to have you,” she told him.

His head bowed, and he started working his way around the brim of his hat with both hands. She took her hand away, and he said softly, “I think we’re all blessed for having found you to help us,” he said.

Layne put her head back and laughed. “Mr. Corley,” she said, “you could hardly have missed me. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the only game in town.”

“And most any other woman in that position would be a real snooty sort,” he said, “but you’re not like that at all.”

She actually felt herself blush. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Kindness deserves kindness,” he said softly, and for just a moment Layne had the crazy notion that they were somehow set apart from the others in the building. She could see and hear the others around them, and yet the spot where they stood had the most amazingly intimate aura about it. Then everything snapped back into perspective, and she saw clearly that they enjoyed no privacy whatsoever.

She lifted her chin, swallowed and wrapped her arms about herself as casually as she could manage. “You know, you really don’t owe me any explanations,” she pointed out. “I’m hired help, and because my services aren’t free, it pays to be on my best behavior with all my clients. If some are easier to be kind to than others, well, that’s a blessing.”

“I just thought it’d help if you understood the circumstances fully,” he said, and she nodded.

“It does. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now would you do me a favor?” he asked, his voice husky and low.

Anything, she thought, but wisely she said only, “If I can.”

He lifted his hat and fitted it carefully onto his head, saying, “Now don’t agree too fast. This is a biggie.”

Somehow she doubted it. The gleam in his smoky blue eyes seemed to say that he was teasing. “What?” she urged, her face perfectly blank.

He tugged his hat brim down over his eyebrows and leaned forward, whispering, “Call me Rod.”

The corners of her mouth quirked upward. “My name is Layne, in case you’ve forgotten,” she said, and those blue-gray eyes twinkled brightly.

“I haven’t forgotten.”

She nodded, feeling terribly conspicuous, where moments before she’d felt set apart, and said, “See you Friday, Rod.”

He shot her a smile like white lightning. “I’ll be looking forward to it, Layne.”

He tipped his hat and left her. Her heart was beating a slow, steady, but very pronounced staccato. Not the groom at all, she thought. Thank you, God. She smiled to herself. Only four months, but this was going to be a wedding to really make Rod Corley proud. It was going to take lots of her personal attention, she decided, more so than any wedding she’d ever handled. But something told her it was going to be worth it. Something told her she had just met the man intended for her, the man of her dreams, the answer to her prayers. Cherishing that secret, she turned back to Mrs. Stapleton and Leslie, and this time her smile was the real thing. Never mind that it wasn’t for them.