The Wedding by Danielle Steel Page A

feet now? Allegra teased. Hers were small for her height, but Sam wore a size nine, and Scott was wearing a size thirteen the last time she asked him.
    Still a size thirteen, thanks a lot. He walked over and hugged his mother then, and sat down on the floor to chat with them both. Where's Dad?
    On his way home from the office, I hope. He called a little while ago. Sam's upstairs. And dinner's in ten minutes.
    I'm starving. He looked great, and it was obvious, from the way she looked, how proud his mother was of him. They all were. He was going to be a terrific doctor. So what's the inside scoop? he asked, turning to Blaire. Are you going to win, as usual, or are you going to disgrace us for once?
    Disgrace you, I'm sure. She laughed, trying not to think of the Golden Globes. Even after all these years of writing and producing hit shows, award ceremonies always made her nervous. I think Dad's the one who's going to make us proud this year, she said cryptically, but she wouldn't say more, and then five minutes later, he pulled into the driveway. They all hurried downstairs, and Blaire called upstairs to Sam to get off the phone and come to dinner.
    It was a lively meal, and the two men tried to engage in serious conversation over the female hubbub of gossip and news and talk about the awards, and Sam's barrage of questions about Carmen, what she was like, what she wore, who she was going out with. And in the midst of it all, Blaire sat back with a small smile and watched them, her three children, and the husband she had loved for all these years. Not unlike Scott, he was still tall and dark and handsome. He was six four, and there was just a small smudge of gray hair now at his temples, and small crinkles around his eyes, but even those small traces of time only served to make him more attractive. He was a fabulous-looking man, and just watching him still made Blaire tingle. But there was a small ache to it now sometimes, when she let herself worry about the fact that she was changing. He never seemed to change, he only seemed to get better as he got older. But she felt different now; she worried more than she had before, about him, about the kids, about her career. She worried about becoming obsolete, about her ratings having dropped just a bit in the last year, and about Samantha leaving for college. What if she went East after all, or decided to live in the dorms if she went to UCLA? What would she do when they were truly all gone? What if they didn't need her anymore ' or she lost the show? What would happen to her when it was all over? What if things should ever change with Simon? But she knew that was foolish.
    She tried to talk to Simon about it sometimes. Suddenly she had so many fears, about herself, her life, her body. It had just been in the past year or two, and she knew her looks had changed, no matter how many people told her they hadn't. She was getting older and it was painful sometimes realizing that she seemed to have altered more than Simon. It seemed amazing to her that it had all gone so fast, and she had reached fifty-four so quickly. And soon she would be fifty-five ' and then sixty. ' It made her want to shout Oh, my God, and Stop the clock ' wait ' I need more time. It seemed odd to her that Simon didn't understand that. Maybe because men had more time, their hormones didn't suddenly start changing at fifty, their looks altered more subtly, and they always had the option of a wife half their age, and half a dozen more children. Even if they didn't want them, which Simon always said when Blaire reminded him that he could still have children and she couldn't, even if he had no interest in them at all, he had the option, and that made things different between them. But when she tried to say all those things to him, he just told her she was overworked and she was being silly. For God's sake, Blaire, the last thing I want is more children. I love the ones we have, but if Sam doesn't grow up soon and get her