Happy Ever After(ISBN=) 英文原版

　　Dreams are realized in the eagerly-awaited fourth
novel in Nora Roberts’s Bride Quartet. 　　
　　As the
public face of Vows wedding planning company, Parker Brown has an
uncanny knack for fulfilling every bride’s vision. She just can’t
see where her own life is headed. Mechanic Malcomb Kavanaugh loves
figuring out how things work, and Parker is no exception. Both know
that moving from minor flirtation to major hook-up is a serious
step. Parker’s business risks have always paid off, but now she’ll
have to take the chance of a lifetime with her heart…

　　Nora Roberts is the #1 bestselling author of
more than 190 novels. She is also the author of the bestselling
futuristic suspense series written under the pen name J. D. Robb.
She is indisputably the most celebrated and beloved women’s fiction
writer today. Nora lives in Maryland.

　　PROLOGUE
　　Grief came in waves, hard and choppy, buffeting and breaking the
heart. Other days the waves were slow and swamping, threatening to
drown the soul.
　　People—good, caring people—claimed time would heal. Parker hoped
they were right, but as she stood on her bedroom terrace in the
late-summer sun, months after the sudden, shocking deaths of her
parents, those capricious waves continued to roll.
　　She had so much, she reminded herself. Her brother—and she didn’t
know if she’d have survived this grieving time without Del—had been
a rock to cling to in that wide, wide ocean of shock and sorrow.
Her friends Mac, Emma, Laurel, a part of her life, a part of her,
since childhood. They’d been the glue mending and holding all the
shattered pieces of her world. She had the constant, unshakable
support of their longtime housekeeper, Mrs. Grady, her island of
comfort.
　　She had her home. The beauty and elegance of the Brown Estate
seemed deeper, sharper to her somehow, knowing she wouldn’t see her
parents strolling through the gardens. She’d never again run
downstairs and find her mother laughing in the kitchen with Mrs. G,
or hear her father wheeling a deal in his home office.
　　Instead of learning to ride those waves, she’d felt herself being
swept deeper and deeper down into the dark.
　　Time, she’d determined, needed to be used and pushed and
moved.
　　She thought—hoped—she’d found a way, not only to use that time,
but to celebrate what her parents had given her, to unite those
gifts with family and friendships.
　　To be productive, she mused as the first spicy scents of coming
autumn stirred the air. The Browns worked. They built and they
produced and they never, never sat back to laze on
accomplishments.
　　Her parents would have expected her to do no less than those
who’d come before her.
　　Her friends might think she’d lost her mind, but she’d
researched, calculated, and outlined a solid business plan, a
sturdy model. And with Del’s help, a fair and reasonable legal
contract.
　　Time to swim, she told herself.
　　She simply wouldn’t sink.
　　She walked back into the bedroom, picked up the four thick
packets she’d set on her dresser. One for each of them for the
meeting—though she hadn’t told her friends they were coming to a
meeting.
　　She paused, took a moment to tie back her glossy brown hair in a
tail, then simply stared into her own eyes, willing a spark to
light in the deep blue.
　　She could make this work. No, no, they could make this
work.
　　She just had to convince them first.
　　Downstairs, she found Mrs. Grady putting the finishing touches on
the meal.
　　The sturdy woman turned from the stove, gave her a wink.
“Ready?”
　　”Prepared anyway. I’m nervous. Is it silly to be nervous? They’re
my closest friends in the world.”
　　”It’s a big step you’re looking to take, a big one you’ll ask
them to take. You’d be foolish if you weren’t a bit nervous.” She
stepped over, took Parker’s face in her hands. “My money’s on you.
Go on out. I’ve gone a little fancy, so you’ll have hors d’oeuvres
and wine on the terrace. My girls are all grown up.”
　　She wanted to be, but God, there was a child inside her who
wanted her mom and dad, the comfort, the love, the security.
　　Outside, she set the packets on a table, then crossed over to
take the wine out of its cooler, pour herself a glass.
　　Then simply stood, holding the glass, looking out in the
softening light over the gardens to the pretty little pond and the
reflection of the willows mirrored on its surface.
　　”God! Do I want some of that.”
　　Laurel bolted out, her sunny blond hair brutally short—a new look
her friend already regretted. She hadn’t changed out of her uniform
from her position as dessert chef at an upscale local
restaurant.
　　Her eyes, bright and blue, rolled as she poured her wine. “Who
knew when I changed my schedule to make our Girl Night we’d get a
last-minute lunch reservation for twenty? The kitchen was a
madhouse all afternoon. Mrs. G’s kitchen now…” She let out a huge
groan as she dropped down to sit after hours on her feet. “It’s an
oasis of calm that smells like heaven. What’s for dinner?”
　　”I didn’t ask.”
　　”Doesn’t matter.” Laurel waved it away. “But if Emma and Mac are
late, I’m starting without them.” She spotted the stack of packets.
“What’s all that?”
　　”Something that can’t start without them. Laurel, do you want to
go back to New York?”
　　Laurel eyed her over the rim of her glass. “Are you kicking me
out?”
　　”I guess I want to know what you want. If you’re satisfied with
how things are. You moved back for me, after the accident,
and—”
　　”I’m taking it a day at a time, and figure I’ll figure it out.
Right now, not having a plan’s working for me. Okay?”
　　”Well…”
　　She broke off as Mac and Emma came out together, laughing.
　　Emma, she thought, so beautiful with her mass of hair curling
madly, her dark, exotic eyes bright with fun. Mac, her bold red
hair choppy in tufts, green eyes wickedly amused, lean and long in
her jeans and black shirt.
　　”What’s the joke?” Laurel demanded.
　　”Men.” Mac set down the plates of brie en croute and spinach
tartlets Mrs. Grady had shoved into her hands on the way through
the kitchen. “The two of them who thought they could arm wrestle
for Emma.”
　　”It was kind of sweet,” Emma insisted. “They were brothers and
came into the shop for flowers for their mother’s birthday. One
thing led to the other.”
　　”Guys come into the studio all the time.” Mac popped a sugared
red grape into her mouth from the bowl already on the table. “None
of them ever arm wrestle each other for a date with me.”
　　”Some things never change,” Laurel said, raising her glass to
Emma.
　　”Some things do,” Parker spoke out. She had to start, had to
move. “That’s why I asked you all to come tonight.”
　　Emma paused as she reached for the brie. “Is something
wrong?”
　　”No. But I wanted to talk to you all, at once.” Determined,
Parker poured wine for Mac and Emma. “Let’s sit down.”
　　”Uh-oh,” Mac warned.
　　”No uh-ohs,” Parker insisted. “I want to say first, I love you
all so much, and have forever. And will forever. We’ve shared so
much, good and bad. And when things were at their worst, I knew
you’d be there.”
　　”We’re all there for each other.” Emma leaned over and laid a
hand on Parker’s. “That’s what friends do.”
　　”Yes, it is. I want you to know how much you mean to me, and want
you to know that if any of you don’t want to try what I’m about to
propose, for any reason at all, it changes nothing between
us.”
　　She held up a hand before anyone could speak. “Let me start this
way. Emma, you want your own florist business one day,
right?”
　　”It’s always been the dream. I mean I’m happy working in the
shop, and the boss gives me a lot of leeway, but I hope, down the
road, to have my own. But—”
　　”No buts yet. Mac, you’ve got too much talent, too much
creativity to spend every day taking passport photos and posed kid
shots.”
　　”My talent knows no bounds,” Mac said lightly, “but a girl’s got
to eat.”
　　”You’d rather have your own photography studio.”
　　”I’d rather have Justin Timberlake arm wrestling Ashton Kutcher
for me, too—and it’s just as likely.”
　　”Laurel, you studied in New York and Paris with the aim of
becoming a pastry chef.”
　　”An international sensation of a pastry chef.”
　　”And you’ve settled for working at the Willows.”
　　She swallowed a bite of her spinach tart. “Well, hey—”
　　”Part of that settling was to be here for me after we lost Mom
and Dad. I studied,” Parker continued, “with the goal of starting
my own business. I always had an idea of what it would be, but it
seemed like a pipe dream. One I never shared with any of you. But
over these last months, it’s begun to feel more reachable, more
right.”
　　”For Christ’s sake, Parker, what is it?” Laurel demanded.
　　”I want us to go into business together. The four of us, with
each of us running our own end of it—according to our field of
interest and expertise, while merging them together under one
umbrella, so to speak.”
　　”Go into business?” Emma echoed.
　　”You remember how we used to play Wedding Day? How we’d all take
turns playing parts, and wearing costumes, planning the
themes.”
　　”I liked marrying Harold best.” Mac smiled over the memory of the
long-departed Brown family dog. “He was so handsome and
loyal.”
　　”We could do it for real, make a business out of Wedding
Day.”
　　”Providing costumes and cupcakes, and very patient dogs for
little girls?” Laurel suggested.
　　”No, by providing a unique and amazing venue—this house, these
grounds; spectacular cakes and pastries; heartbreaking bouquets and
flowers; beautiful, creative photographs. And for my part—someone
who’ll oversee every detail to make a wedding, or other important
event, the most perfect day of the clients’ lives.”
　　She barely took a breath. “I already have countless contacts
through my parents. Caterers, wine merchants, limo services,
salons—everything. And what I don’t have, I’ll get. A full-service
wedding and event business, the four of us as equal
partners.”
　　”A wedding business.” Emma’s eyes went dreamy. “It sounds
wonderful, but how could we—”
　　”I have a business model. I have figures and charts and answers
to legal questions if you’ve got them. Del helped me work it
out.”
　　”He’s okay with it?” Laurel asked. “Delaney’s okay with you
turning the estate, your home, into a business?”
　　”He’s completely behind me on this. And his friend Jack’s willing
to help by redesigning the pool house into a photographer’s studio,
with living quarters above it, and the guest house into a flower
shop with an apartment. We can turn the auxiliary kitchen here into
your work space, Laurel.”
　　”We’d live here, on the estate?”
　　”You’d have th…