Say Yes to the Death by Susan McBride Page B

is over?”
    I wanted to shout, No, it can’t! Only describing my afternoon as my mother’s date at Penny Ryan’s wacko wedding wasn’t urgent, and I knew how much Brian wanted to watch this game. If I’d been bleeding, I’m sure he would have diverted his attention from the TV at least long enough to assess whether or not he needed to call 911.
    â€œHooking? Are you freaking kidding me?” Malone complained and threw his hands in the air as I went into the bedroom to change.
    When I emerged a few minutes later wearing my yoga pants and a Dallas Stars T-­shirt, the game was over and Brian was frowning.
    As I settled beside him, he glanced at my shirt with his bespectacled eyes and said, “I think I liked you better in that butt-­ugly purple dress.”
    â€œThe Blues lost?” I asked.
    He grunted in response.
    I wriggled over and wrapped my arms around him as tightly as I could. He looked like he needed a hug even more than I did.
    â€œHey, it’s four out of seven, right? They’ll beat the Stars next time,” I remarked.
    â€œIf you can’t win on home turf—­” Brian shook his head and nudged at his specs.
    â€œI know how to make you feel better,” I said, and he raised his eyebrows as if expecting something salacious. Instead, I started in on my zany tale of Penny’s wedding, from having my cell phone confiscated by Lester Dickens’s hired goons, to seeing Olivia La Belle rip Millie apart about the $10,000 cake that was late, to prying the pregnant, hoop-­skirted bride from the toilet, and walking down the aisle in the role of bridesmaid number nine.
    When I finished, Brian let out a soft, “Whoa.” He took off his glasses, rubbed the lenses on his shirt then propped them back on his nose. His blue eyes blinked from behind them. He said nothing, although I heard him slowly exhale.
    My pulse thumped. Was he having second thoughts about tying the knot with me? He was such a good guy, funny and sweet, as down-­to-­earth as his Midwestern roots, and one of the best young defense attorneys in Dallas. I was a wannabe artist who worked as a Web designer (and tried not to touch my trust fund except in emergencies). My mom was a well-­meaning lunatic. Maybe Malone was considering what would happen if he mixed my DNA with his. Our children had a fifty-­fifty chance of being whack-­a-­doodles.
    â€œI know what you’re thinking,” I said, because he kept looking at me so strangely. “That I’m like a living, breathing episode of I Love Lucy, especially when Mother’s involved.” My mouth went dry when he didn’t respond. “You’re wondering if you should be marrying someone who’s a magnet for lunatics. You’re probably afraid our wedding is going to turn into the deb ball I never had, which it very well may if my mother has anything to do with it.”
    An amused smile slipped over his lips, and he shook his head, reaching out to touch my hair (which I hoped wasn’t quite the rat’s nest Olivia had implied).
    â€œNo,” he replied quietly. “I’m thinking how lucky I am to be with someone who cares so much about other people. You did your mom a favor today. You stood up for Millie. You got the bride out of a jam. Hell, several jams. You’ve got a big heart, Kendricks. It’s what I love about you most.”
    I was so relieved I nearly burst.
    â€œAnd I thought it was my killer bod,” I cracked, because I wasn’t good at mush.
    He screwed up his face. “Okay, yeah, it’s your killer bod first then your big heart. My bad.”
    I opened my mouth to make another joke but bit down on my lip. Instead of zingers, I wanted to spout vapid Hallmark card thoughts about love. I can’t believe I’d ever doubted that there was someone out there just for me. It wasn’t that I’d felt like half a person without Brian; but