A sharp tap sounded on his door just before Garen tumbled into his room. He whistled long and low. “My but aren’t we resplendent. Where’d you get the tux?”
“Back of my closet.”
“Did you check it for moth holes?” Garen circled him like an overactive helicopter.
“Some of us keep mothballs in our armoires.” He held out a hand. Garen clasped it. “Are the guests starting to arrive?”
Garen nodded. He clamped his jaw together, muttered, “What the hell,” and drew Lars into a quick embrace. “I’m so happy for you.” He clapped him on the back and withdrew a few steps.
“Thanks. Who would have guessed a year ago that before twelve months passed, we’d both be mated men?”
“Good point. Are you ready?”
Lars nodded. He and Garen headed for the door at the same time, bumping shoulders before he motioned his oldest friend through ahead of him.
Tamara wove lily of the valley into her dark tresses with hands that only shook a little. She’d redone her makeup twice because tears had ruined it. She assessed her dress in the floor-length mirror. It truly was beautiful. Made of heirloom lace and silk, it had been in Lars’ family for hundreds of years. Fine embroidery in pink, blue, and lilac covered the snug bodice. The gown had a dropped waist and hugged her figure from shoulder to hipline. Long, flowing sleeves of sheer silk fell to her wrists. The skirt draped in layers and ended in a train that was so long, she was afraid she’d trip over it in her high heels.
She flexed a foot and took a few tentative steps. Though she’d practiced walking in the shoes in the weeks since she’d bought them, they were still wretchedly uncomfortable.
“Can I come in?” Miranda called from the other side of the closed door.
“Please.” Tamara turned and grinned at her friend as she slipped into the room. “By all the bloody saints, I’m nervous as a whore in church.”
Miranda threw back her head and laughed. “You’re funny. Do I look okay to be your matron of honor?”
Tamara glanced at the lavender linen suit, silk blouse, and sensible flat pumps. “You look gorgeous. Sure and I’d like to borrow your shoes.”
“Eh, you can kick yours off right after the ceremony. I’m so damned tall. If I wore heels, I’d tower over Garen.”
“He wouldn’t care. I’ve never seen a man more in love, except maybe Lars.”
Miranda snorted. “I know he wouldn’t, but I would. Christ! I’ve felt like an overgrown moose my whole life. I hit six feet in something like seventh grade. I was taller than everyone—boys too, for years.”
She plucked pins from Tamara’s nerveless fingers and went to work on her hair, weaving more flowers into it. “I’ve never seen Lars so happy. I swear, he’s like a new man. Watching the two of you together has damn near brought me to tears a couple of times and I don’t cry easily.”
Tamara smiled softly. “Don’t. I cry at the drop of a hat. Sure and I don’t want to start all over on my makeup—again.” She met her friend’s gaze in the mirror. “It has been good. Amazingly so. I never thought I’d fall head over heels in love and have every day just get better and better. It’s not that we don’t have our moments, but he listens to me. If we can’t agree, we work together to find common ground.”
“Being able to talk is important. Garen and I had hellacious arguments in the beginning, but they’ve thinned out. There.” She handed Tamara a mirror. “What do you think?”
Tamara turned slowly, holding the glass so she could see the back of her hair. “It’s wonderful. Were you a hair stylist in a former life?”
“Nope. I didn’t even have any girlfriends to trade ‘dos’ with in high school. Once I shifted, and my aunt made me feel like shit about it, I kept to myself.”
Tamara’s heart hurt for her friend. Miranda had told her about the dirty, fucking shifter epithets her aunt had hurled at her. At least the woman hadn’t turned her in, but Miranda had grown up feeling seriously flawed. It was one reason she’d gone into the Green Berets: to prove her mettle, while she hid from the world.
She wrapped her arms around Miranda. “Sure and my family will love you.” Tamara straightened. “Speaking of which, let’s go. I want to get the hugs and kisses with Mum and Da over with before the ceremony. Och, sure and I’ll never get through it without dissolving into tears.”
“Of course you will.” Miranda winked. “Be prepared, though. I saw Lars before I came in here.” She whistled. “Wow! What a knockout that man is in formal clothes. If I wasn’t madly in love with Garen, I swear I’d give you a run for your money.”
Tamara laughed and walked out into the hall. She looped her train around her wrist to keep it out of the way before she tackled the stairs. Lars may have said he lived in a manor house, but it was more like a castle. Ten thousand square feet of marble, leaded crystal, granite, and stone sat atop a hill, surrounded by stables, servants’ quarters, and other outbuildings. It had taken her a couple of weeks to find her way around, and she still hadn’t seen either attic or basement. The place was furnished with priceless antiques and thick, Aubusson rugs. Lars assured her he’d bought everything new. His things had become antiques simply by dint of enough time passing.
Halfway down the staircase her parents’ voices drifted up to her. Tamara tottered down the rest of the way as fast as she could. “Mum? Da?” she cried.
“Right here, sweetheart.” Her da, a huge, strongly muscled man with coal black hair and green eyes, strode toward her and crushed her against him. “Sure and ’tis good to see you again, princess.” He was dressed as formally as she’d ever seen him in a crisp, black suit, an off-white shirt, and a maroon tie.
Tamara didn’t trust herself to speak. She clung to her father, filled with love for the man who’d raised her to believe in herself. It could have been so much worse. She could have had dead parents and a bigoted aunt like Miranda’s.
Her mum closed on them in a rustle of pale green long silk skirts with a hip-length ivory tunic atop them. Her blonde hair was braided in an intricate pattern. Blue eyes, exactly like Tamara’s, glowed with pride. “’Tis a beautiful bride you are, darlin’.”
“Och, thanks, Mum. Sure and I’ve missed the two of you.”
“How about me?” Her brother, Devon, flanked by her other three brothers, crowded close.
“Well,” she shot him a mock frown, “maybe not you so much.”
“Little sisters always were a pain in the ass,” he declared just before he wormed between her and her da and hugged her.
Tamara caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of one eye. She disengaged herself from her brother’s arms and turned to face Lars and Garen. “Sure and it’s bad luck for you to see me before the wedding.”
“I will take my chances.” Lars grasped both her hands in his and bent to kiss her cheek. “You are so beautiful. I have to be the luckiest man alive.”
“Just so long as you always treat her that way, we’ll have no truck with one another.” Christian MacBride offered his hand. Letting go of Tamara, Lars gripped it.
“Nice to meet you, sir.” He half bowed over their clasped hands.
Christian cocked his head to one side. “One of the old ones, aren’t you? I’d known, but forgotten.” He bowed in return. When he straightened, he said, “Perhaps we can catch a wee bit of time after the ceremony to get to know one another better.”
“I would like that.” Lars hesitated. “It is probably safe enough for us to visit Ireland. I was waiting to see…”