you'd really make my mother nervous." Pilar laughed, and she looked young and mischievous as she did.
"Oh? Is your mother worried that I'm too old for you?" He was, after all, only a few years younger than she was.
"No . . . she's afraid I am. She thinks we might go crazy and decide to have half-witted kids, who would then become her patients."
"How nice of her. Is that what she said to you?" He looked mildly annoyed, but he wasn't going to let anything seriously upset him on this special day he had waited so long for.
"Yes, it is actually. The good doctor thought she ought to warn me."
"See if we invite her out for our twenty-fifth anniversary," he said softly as he kissed her.
They danced with each other, and with their friends. And at midnight, they slipped away quietly to the suite he had reserved at the Biltmore.
"Happy?" he asked, as she leaned against him in the rented limousine.
"Ecstatic." She beamed, and then yawned as she rested her head on his shoulder, and her white-satin-shod feet on the jump seat. "Oh, God .
. ." She suddenly frowned as she looked up at him. "I forgot to say good-bye to my mother, and she's leaving in the morning." She was gong to L.A. for a medical convention. She'd been very pleased Pilar's wedding date was so convenient for her.
"You're allowed this one time. This is your wedding day. She should have come to kiss you and wish you happiness," Brad said as Pilar shrugged. She really didn't care now. It had taken a long time, but for her the war was over. "I'll wish you happiness instead," Brad said softly and she kissed him again, and knew that she had lived her entire life for this moment. He was everything she had ever wanted, and more, and for just an instant, she was sorry that she hadn't married him sooner.
Her past no longer mattered to her, her parents, or how they had failed her. All that mattered now was Brad, and the life she was gong to share with him. And all she could think of as they drove up to the Biltmore that night was their future.
The week after Thanksgiving, Diana was swamped with coordinating shoots for their April issue. They were doing extensive pieces on two homes in Newport Beach, and another in La Jolla. She drove to San Diego herself to oversee the one there, and by the end of the afternoon she was exhausted. The people were difficult, the woman who owned the house hated everything they'd done, and the junior editor she'd assigned to the piece spent most of her time crying on Diana's shoulder.
"Take it easy," Diana told her calmly, feeling on edge herself, and since noon that day she'd had a raging headache. "If she thinks you're upset, she'll get worse. Just treat her like a little girl. She wants to be in the magazine, and you have to help her get there." But shortly after that, the photographer had a fit and threatened to walk out, and by the end of the day, everyone's nerves were raw, most especially Diana's.
She went back to the Valencia Hotel, let herself into her room, and lay on the bed without turning on the light. She was too tired to move, or talk, or eat. She didn't even have the energy to call Andy. She knew she would eventually, but she decided to take a hot bath first, and order some soup from room service. She did that before she ran the tub, and then she went to the bathroom. And when she did, she saw it there. The terrible telltale trace of blood she prayed not to find each month, and always found anyway, despite her prayers, despite their attempts to schedule their lovemaking at the right time to get her pregnant. Despite all of it, it hadn't worked. Again.
She wasn't. And for six months, they'd been trying. It was getting discouraging, to Diana if not to Andy.
She closed her eyes when she saw it there, and tears were running down her cheeks when she stepped into the tub a few minutes later. Why was everything so difficult? Why did it have to be that way for her? It had been so easy for both her sisters.
She called
"Oh? Is your mother worried that I'm too old for you?" He was, after all, only a few years younger than she was.
"No . . . she's afraid I am. She thinks we might go crazy and decide to have half-witted kids, who would then become her patients."
"How nice of her. Is that what she said to you?" He looked mildly annoyed, but he wasn't going to let anything seriously upset him on this special day he had waited so long for.
"Yes, it is actually. The good doctor thought she ought to warn me."
"See if we invite her out for our twenty-fifth anniversary," he said softly as he kissed her.
They danced with each other, and with their friends. And at midnight, they slipped away quietly to the suite he had reserved at the Biltmore.
"Happy?" he asked, as she leaned against him in the rented limousine.
"Ecstatic." She beamed, and then yawned as she rested her head on his shoulder, and her white-satin-shod feet on the jump seat. "Oh, God .
. ." She suddenly frowned as she looked up at him. "I forgot to say good-bye to my mother, and she's leaving in the morning." She was gong to L.A. for a medical convention. She'd been very pleased Pilar's wedding date was so convenient for her.
"You're allowed this one time. This is your wedding day. She should have come to kiss you and wish you happiness," Brad said as Pilar shrugged. She really didn't care now. It had taken a long time, but for her the war was over. "I'll wish you happiness instead," Brad said softly and she kissed him again, and knew that she had lived her entire life for this moment. He was everything she had ever wanted, and more, and for just an instant, she was sorry that she hadn't married him sooner.
Her past no longer mattered to her, her parents, or how they had failed her. All that mattered now was Brad, and the life she was gong to share with him. And all she could think of as they drove up to the Biltmore that night was their future.
The week after Thanksgiving, Diana was swamped with coordinating shoots for their April issue. They were doing extensive pieces on two homes in Newport Beach, and another in La Jolla. She drove to San Diego herself to oversee the one there, and by the end of the afternoon she was exhausted. The people were difficult, the woman who owned the house hated everything they'd done, and the junior editor she'd assigned to the piece spent most of her time crying on Diana's shoulder.
"Take it easy," Diana told her calmly, feeling on edge herself, and since noon that day she'd had a raging headache. "If she thinks you're upset, she'll get worse. Just treat her like a little girl. She wants to be in the magazine, and you have to help her get there." But shortly after that, the photographer had a fit and threatened to walk out, and by the end of the day, everyone's nerves were raw, most especially Diana's.
She went back to the Valencia Hotel, let herself into her room, and lay on the bed without turning on the light. She was too tired to move, or talk, or eat. She didn't even have the energy to call Andy. She knew she would eventually, but she decided to take a hot bath first, and order some soup from room service. She did that before she ran the tub, and then she went to the bathroom. And when she did, she saw it there. The terrible telltale trace of blood she prayed not to find each month, and always found anyway, despite her prayers, despite their attempts to schedule their lovemaking at the right time to get her pregnant. Despite all of it, it hadn't worked. Again.
She wasn't. And for six months, they'd been trying. It was getting discouraging, to Diana if not to Andy.
She closed her eyes when she saw it there, and tears were running down her cheeks when she stepped into the tub a few minutes later. Why was everything so difficult? Why did it have to be that way for her? It had been so easy for both her sisters.
She called
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