Mother of the Bride Read Online Free Page A

off.
    “If you could keep Bebe for just a while,” her mother had cajoled. “Until I get all these damn TV shows and book signings out of my hair.”
    Of course Cydney said yes. She loved Bebe, and her niece spent most weekends with her anyway, so Georgette would have time to write. A fourteen-year-old, Cydney soon discov-ered, took a lot of time. So did a fifteen-year-old, a sixteen-year-old and so on.
    Cydney didn't have time for the gym, but Georgette had time to exercise two hours a day, beginning with a morning jog and laps in the indoor pool Fletcher Parrish's alimony paid for. In the afternoon she dictated her column to her secretary while she did the Stairmaster with nary a huff or a puff.
    In the last five years, Georgette had published two updates to Etiquette for All Occasions, while Cydney's book was unfinished. Georgette still had time for TV appearances and book signings. Cydney didn't have time to wind her watch. She had spider veins and her mother didn't.
    There's a word for what you are, her little voice said.
    “Chump,” Cydney said. Georgette shot her a sharp glance over her cup, put it down and asked, “What did you say?”
    “‘Chump,’ Mother,” she said fiercely. “I said ‘chump.’ “
    “That's no way to talk about your father, Cydney.”
    I'm not talking about Dad, Cydney wanted to shriek, I'm talking about me! But she didn't. As usual. She just sat gritting her teeth and watching her mother sip her coffee. Was she the chump of the century or was she just feeling sorry for herself?
    Always the bridesmaid and never the bride. Not that she wanted to get married. She loved her life. She really did. Cydney hadn't a clue why she suddenly felt so angry and abused.
    “I should be off.” Georgette carried her cup and saucer to the sink, rinsed them and turned to face Cydney. “Remind Bebe to call me tomorrow when she gets home. We're going shopping for her wedding dress.”
    “Are you sure you have the time?”
    The words were out before Cydney knew it, in a nasty, waspish snap that surprised her and jerked her out of her chair. Georgette tucked the Crock-Pot Cydney had washed and shined with Windex under her arm, turned away from the counter and arched an eyebrow.
    “What's the matter, darling? Feeling put-upon?”
    Cydney faked a laugh. “Who, me?”
    “You'd be a fool if you didn't.”
    Cydney blinked. “I would?”
    “Of course you would.” Georgette unhooked her purse from the back of her chair and looped it over her shoulder. “We all take shameless advantage of you.”
    “Well.” Cydney shrugged. “I wouldn't say shameless exactly.”
    “You would if I weren't standing here.” Georgette laughed. “And you'd be absolutely right. I've been feeling very guilty about it lately. I'm as happy for you as I am for Bebe that she's getting married. Now you'll have all the time in the world to finish that book you've been writing for the past ten years.”
    “Five years,” Cydney corrected her. “It's only five years, Mother.”
    “No more using Bebe as an excuse for not having time to write.” Georgette wagged a finger at Cydney, then gently caught her chin. “Don't be so afraid of failing, darling, that you never try.”
    Then she dropped a kiss on Cydney's cheek and sailed through the dining room, her car keys jangling as she fished them out of her purse. “Don't forget to remind Bebe to call me when she gets home!”
    The French doors slammed shut and Cydney's mouth fell open. She stood in the middle of her kitchen, slack-jawed and stunned at her mother's perceptiveness.
    How had Georgette known? How had she given herself away? How come she couldn't have been born an orphan?
    Well, you know what they say, her little voice said. If it isn't one thing, it's your mother.

chapter
    four
    It wasn't fear of failure that frightened Cydney, it was fear of success. A little niggle of worry that if her book sold and did well, she'd wake up some morning and discover she'd turned