Page 55 of The Mouse and the Maestro

“You screamed.” His eyes scanned her up and down, reminding her she was still wearing Emily’s wedding dress and holding a chair over his head. “Are you going to have that altered? You’re swimming in it.”

Jane set the chair down without answering. She scanned the dress for signs of wear and tear, breathing a sigh of relief when she found nothing. The dress was still perfect and perfectly white. “I need to take this off.”

“I’ll help,” Nick volunteered, reaching for the back of the dress.

Jane held her phone aloft, warning him away.

“I swear, Jane, do it and I will break off every one of your delightful little fingers and bake them in a pie,” he threatened.

“You’re too lazy to make a pie,” Jane returned.

“I’ll help with the dress,” Emily volunteered, herding Jane into the back bedroom to help remove the heavy, cumbersome dress.

“What is he doing here?” Jane whispered, standing still with her arms over her head while Emily unzipped her and lifted the dress over her head.

“I don’t know, but I think he’s gotten cuter,” Emily replied, also in a whisper. “Nick’s probably out there drafting a new proposal right now.”

“He’s not allowed to come barging back into my life when I’ve been trying to get over him the last six months,” Jane continued.

“And failing miserably,” Emily added helpfully. She hung up the dress and tossed Jane her clothes when she remained rooted to the floor, staring dazedly into space.

“I don’t want to go back out there. You go. Tell him I’m sick.”

“He just saw you. Do you think he’s going to believe you miraculously came down with the swine flu in the short time we’ve been away? Go see what he wants. You’ve got this.”

Jane nodded dumbly and turned for the door. Emily grabbed the back of her bra and hailed her back. “You should probably put clothes on first, unless you’re trying to send a whole different kind of message.”

“Yeesh,” Jane muttered, reaching for her pants with shaking hands. She slipped back into her shirt. “I’m going to cry.”

Emily pinched her arm, hard. The only thing that made Jane not cry was anything that should make her cry. Against pain, fear, and heartache, she was stoic, a champ. But tiny frustrations and disappointments seemed hardwired to her tear ducts.

“Thanks,” Jane said, taking another steadying breath. She reached for the door and paused again. “He has gotten cuter. What do you think he wants?”

“Go ask him,” Emily urged, giving her a little shove forward.

“You’re really not going to let this go until I do it, are you?” Jane said.

“No, and send Nick back here so he doesn’t stand there like the unwanted interloper he is,” Emily commanded.

“I think I might want him there. I need the buffer to remind me why men are bad and I want nothing to do with them, and no one does that better than Nick,” Jane said.

“Good point,” Emily agreed.

When Jane returned to the living room, Blue was now standing. He and Nick faced each other, as if they’d been having a conversation, but no one was talking when Jane entered the room.

“That took a bit, darling,” Nick said. Jane tossed him a look, annoyed by his blatant and undeserved possessiveness.

“So,” Blue said, drawing her attention to him.

“Not to be rude, but what are you doing here?” she asked.

“I need you.”

“You…need me?” she echoed.

“I mean the team needs you. For work purposes.”

“I thought that was over,” she said.

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