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suite for a final fitting. Thanks for all these incredible gifts! Each of you can expect a personal thank-you note from Lance.” That didn’t get as big a laugh as she would have thought. Pippa loaded her presents into the Coach totes as all the bridesmaids save Ginny left the room. “That was strange,” she said.
    Ginny shrugged. “They can’t decide whether they love you or hate you.”
    â€œHate me? I thought I was doing them a big favor.”
    â€œYou snagged the top dog.” Ginny picked up the heavier of the totes. “Where is he anyway?”
    â€œDrinking tea with his mother. Playing rugby.” Pippa was not amused. “I haven’t seen him in days. I hope he’s not getting cold feet.”
    â€œLet’s find him. Make sure he knows where to go tomorrow.”
    Pippa hesitated. “What about our fitting?”
    â€œWe’ve had five this week. Come on. You need fresh air.”
    They tossed the totes and their hats into Ginny’s Lexus SUV and drove around Dallas. She was right: it felt great to get away from The Event and pretend this was just another lazy Friday in June. “Bet they’re here,” she said, pulling into the SMU campus.
    Sunbathers stared as they crossed the lawn. One even called out, “You guys clowns?”
    â€œMaybe we should have ditched the costumes,” Pippa said, her eyes raking the field for Lance.
    â€œNah. Good cover.” Ginny had no interest in Lance’s groomsmen: between expeditions she was seeing a rookie on the Miami Heat. Fortunately, since both Rosimund and Thayne frowned on interracial couples, the NBA finals precluded him from offending either of them this weekend.
    â€œThere they are.” Pippa headed for a softball game near the athletic center. “Hi, guys. Where’s Lance?”
    â€œHe and Woody went shopping for cummerbunds.”
    Pippa immediately hit the speed dial on her cell phone.
Hi. Leave a message and I’ll call back.
“Do you know where?”
    â€œNo idea.”
    â€œDoes anyone have Woody’s number?” Ginny asked. The guys just stared at her like parched sheep so she steered Pippa back to the SUV. “You okay?”
    â€œThe groomsmen had their cummerbunds months ago. I bet Woody took Lance to a whorehouse to enjoy his last hours of freedom.”
    â€œCome on! They would have done that last night at the stag party.” That went over like toads in a bra. “They’re probably at NorthPark.”
    As Ginny was driving to the mall, Pippa’s cell phone rang: Thayne. “How’s the fitting, baby?”
    â€œPerfect. Now we’re all going to see Brent for our hair.” Pippa thought she heard a voice in the background announce a flight to Vancouver. “Where are you, Mama?”
    â€œAt the florist.” Click.
    Pippa stared glumly out the windshield. “Why is everybody lying to me today? Do I look really stupid or something?”
    â€œExcuse me, but didn’t you just lie to your mother?”
    â€œI’m protecting her. She sounds overwhelmed.” Pippa frowned at her friend. “Couldn’t you have waited one day before getting that damn haircut?”
    â€œNo. Look at the schedule. Anyway, in twenty-four hours you’ll be Mrs. Henderson and I’ll be on a plane to Costa Rica.”
    Pippa’s stomach catapulted with terror. “Pull over,” she whispered. “I think I feel sick.”

Three
    R osimund Henderson was not accustomed to taking second place to anyone, anywhere, ever. On her home turf, the superior city of Houston, she was considered royalty. Her family fortune originated in the earliest days of Texas oil, when her great-great-grandfather Enoch Hicks had uncapped a ninety-thousand-barrel-a-day gusher in the Spindletop field. Rosimund was the product of four generations of magnificent breeding and she had preserved the line by marrying Lyman Henderson, scion