Cat In A White Tie And Tails

“Because there’s only one person whose presence would make Mira’s wedding extra memorable. You. She doesn’t really want to share this moment with anybody else.”

“Because…”

“Frankly? You’re the son she was frantic to give legitimacy and instead she gave you, and herself, years of grief.”

He looked unconvinced.

“Hey, Mr. Voice of Shrinkology.” Temple put her hands on Matt’s shoulders and leaned even closer to whisper in his ear. “It’s hard to see your own family forest for the trees sometimes. This is what Mira wants, this is what she needs, to step away completely from family influences and do what’s best for her. Trust me.”

He nodded, pulling her into another long, deeply promising kiss that would have to hold them for at least a day. “I do,” he said, mimicking the marriage vows. “We’ll have to say that for real and all as soon as we decide what we want, free of family influences.”

“Good thing we waited,” Temple said, grinning. “I get to be maid of honor again. I’m just not ready to be a ‘matron.’ It sounds so Girls Gone Wild in jail.”

Chapter 51

Makeover of Honor

Eighteen hours later, after the Marriage Bureau business was followed by a celebratory brunch for four at the Paris hotel, Temple banished the prospective groom from seeing his bride until the 5 P.M. ceremony. The women left the men bonding over coffee while Temple led Mira into temptation … the Bally’s-Paris Promenade.

Under an artificial cloud-airbrushed blue sky, quaint three-story storefronts promised Paris byways lined with excessively smart and expensive goods.

Mira was unsure about this expedition. “I brought along a perfectly good suit. Beige silk from Marshall Field’s.”

“Piffle,” Temple said. “Beige silk suits are for luncheon benefits. This is your wedding, girl! We are looking for splash. We are shopping for smashing!”

“At my age—”

“You certainly don’t want to go for sedate. We need something sophisticated.” She stopped and examined Mira. “Something feminine. What jewelry are you wearing?”

“Just … earrings. The blue topaz ones Matt bought me. I thought they could be something semi-old and something blue.”

Temple smiled approval. “Now we get ‘new.’”

“I really can’t afford—”

“Nonsense. This is on Matt and me. Well, mostly Matt. I’m the poor creative one.”

“Temple—”

“Tut-tut, ‘Temple,’ good-bye.” She linked arms with Mira and steered her to the goal; a nearby shop front.

“‘Nina Ricci,’” Mira read aloud the elegant letters above the entrance. “Isn’t that perfume?”

“You’re thinking of L’Air du Temps, the perfume in the Lalique glass bottle with two doves atop it. So symbolic for weddings. This brand is way more than perfume now. Every designer has expanded into across-the-board merchandise.”

Temple swept Mira inside before she could offer more objections. Clothes ringed the perimeter of the spare space that featured gift-worthy accessories and lingerie in the center. Only a few choice pieces of clothing hung in each display bay. Size and price were extremely invisible. Many of the clothes were neutral in tone, otherwise known as the currently fashionable “nude.”

Mira was confused. “But isn’t that color there, sort of, in a very extravagant way … just beige?”

“Shhh,” Temple whispered. “Are you saying the empress wears mere beige? What we have here is designer ‘blush’ silk chiffon. It does wonders for the complexion.”

“And ruffles … so immature.”

“Loose, flattened folds.”

By then they’d attracted a sales assistant, tall, thin, and balancing like a Cirque du Soleil acrobat on extreme platform heels almost higher than her skirt was long.

Temple indicated the bay full of dressy summer numbers just shy of being formal. “Something for an informal wedding.”

The sales clerk’s kohl-rimmed eyes darted from the clothes to Temple and Mira, then settled on the right candidate. “My name is Briana. What size, madam?”

“Ten.” Mira couldn’t help looking like she expected to be admonished for her answer.

“Excellent. We have several delightful options for you. Please follow me.”

Armless upholstered white leather chairs awaited at the shop’s rear. Briana vanished, and Mira leaned close to Temple to whisper, “Don’t I have to pick some things to try on?”

“Briana does that. She’ll bring out pieces in your size and we decide from there what’s in the running.”

“What about the price?”

“We don’t ask about such trivial matters until you’ve tried on some candidates and whittled down your choices. Frankly, if you’ve found ‘the’ dress, you’ll get it no matter what.”

“But I don’t … I’m not, I didn’t expect—” Mira looked around the shop. “She’ll see I’m not wearing underwear like the things in here.”

“Excellent. Something more she can sell you.”

“I’d never wear these.”

Temple shrugged. “A bride should have a mini-trousseau at least. Mira, isn’t Philip a successful businessman from a well-to-do Chicago family?”

“Yes, but that had nothing to do with our … connection.”

“I’m sure not, but do you really want to play the poor little match girl forever?”