Free Mother of the Bride by Lynn Michaels Page B

and looked at her mother.
    “Angus will be fine. I don't hear it often and it's a fine old name.”
    “What do I call you?” Bebe asked him.
    “I don't know, Bebe.” He shrugged like he could care less and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “What would you like to call me?”
    “Rude,” she said flatly. “Uncle Cyd invited you to dinner and Gramma George baked you a cake, but you won't talk to them or to me unless one of us asks you a question. Don't you like us?”
    Angus Munroe sat back in his chair, startled. Her mother looked like a deer caught in headlights. Cydney held her breath.
    “Well, Bebe,” he said slowly. And carefully, Cydney thought, feeling his way. “I've just met you and your family. I'm not terribly at ease with people I don't know well.”
    “I keep telling you, Uncle Gus.” Aldo held his plate up to Georgette, who was cutting him a fourth slice of carrot cake. “You gotta get out of Crooked Possum more often.”
    “Yes, Aldo, you keep telling me that.” He glanced at hisnephew, a flicker of irritation in his gray eyes. “But I like my life the way it is.”
    “All work and no play makes Angus a dull boy,” Aldo said in a singsong voice, waving his fork back and forth. “When was the last time you met a hot chick in Crooked Possum, Uncle Gus?”
    “Put a sock in it, Aldo.” He gave his nephew a smile that said, “Or I will,” and picked up his cup. “I'm not interested in hot chicks.”
    “Then I have a great idea!” Bebe cried enthusiastically. “You should ask my Aunt Cydney for a date!”
    Angus Munroe choked on his coffee, grabbed his napkin and coughed. His water glass was empty and so was the pitcher. Let him strangle, her little voice said, but Cydney took the pitcher to the kitchen, her cheeks burning, filled it and brought it back to the table. Atta girl! her little voice cheered. Throw it in his face! But Cydney filled his glass and sat down.
    Angus Munroe snatched up the water and drank, coughed again and wiped his mouth. “Sorry,” he croaked. “Swallowed wrong.”
    Cydney just smiled. She'd keep smiling, even if it killed her. Or broke her heart, whichever came first.
    “Enough about me, Aldo.” Angus Munroe cleared his throat. “Let's talk about your wedding. When and where do you plan to have it?”
    “A week from Saturday.” Aldo caught Bebe's hand and laced their fingers together. A sign of solidarity in the face of the enemy, Cydney guessed. “The where, we haven't decided yet.”
    “We'd love to find a romantic, out-of-the-way place,” Bebe said, a soft, dreamy glow in her eyes that disappeared when she sighed. “But that's out of the question because of my mother.”
    “Why? This is your wedding, not hers.”
    “But I want my mother at the ceremony, Mr. Munroe. She's a photojournalist and very much in demand. I'm afraid if I don't take her straight to the church when she gets off theplane from Russia some magazine editor will call and she'll be gone again before the organist can sit down to play 'The Wedding March.' “
    “What if we get married in some really far-off place?” Aldo suggested around a mouthful of cake. “Like a sheep ranch in the middle of Australia? Bet they don't have many airports or flights to New York.”
    “Aldo,” Bebe said patiently. “Sheep are not romantic.”
    “Yeah, but we could go four-wheeling in the Outback. And rock climbing and crocodile hunting.”
    Angus Munroe sat back in his chair, his right hand cupped over his mouth. Through his fingers, Cydney could just see the grin lifting one side of his mouth. Bebe sat back in her chair and stuck out her lip.
    “Right. Not romantic.” Aldo pointed his fork at Bebe. “But your mother would definitely be grounded once we got her there. And I bet they don't have many phones, either.”
    “I've been thinking about the telephone problem, Cydney,” Georgette said. “I'm putting you in charge of taking Gwen's cell phone away from her.”
    “Oh no, Mother. I got