Honored To Be Your Maid Of Honor Quotes

[The] maid of honor - the unambiguous, grown-up equivalent of wearing best friend necklaces.

Deuce, the maid of honor died at your wedding,” Ty said. “Well, I didn’t kill her,” Deuce argued.

Katie, honey, you need a date for your sister’s wedding.” “I had a date, Mom. He’s marrying the bride.

If you need servicing while we’re stuck in this fancy-ass hotel for a week, I’m going to be the one to do it. No one else. Not Golden Boy. Not even your right hand.

Oh baby, I could have come, just like this. With your fuck-me thighs opened up wide for me on the door. Now?” He laughed darkly. “Nothing will satisfy me unless I taste all that heat first.

We were in the middle of a game of cards when I noticed a figure out of the corner of my eye. It was Maxon, standing at the open door, looking amused. As our eyes met, I could see that his expression was clearly asking what in the world I was doing. I stood, smiling, and walked over to him. "Oh, sweet Lord," Anne muttered as she realized the prince was at the door. She immediately swept the cards into a sewing basket and stood, Mary and Lucy following suit. "Ladies," Maxon said. "Your Majesty," she said with a curtsy. "Such an honor, sir." "For me as well," he answered with a smile. The maids looked back and forth to one another, flattered. We were all silent for a moment, not quite sure what to do. Mary suddenly piped up. "We were just leaving." "Yes! That's right," Lucy added. "We were-uh-just..." She looked to Anne for help. "Going to finish Lady America's dress for Friday," Anna concluded. "That's right," Mary said. "Only two days left. They slowly circled us to get out of the room, huge smiles plastered on their faces. "Wouldn't want to keep you from your work," Maxon said, following them with his eyes, completely fascinated with their behavior. Once in the hall, they gave awkwardly mistimed curtsies and walked away at a feverish pace. Immediately after they rounded the corner, Lucy's giggles echoed down the corridor, followed by Anne's intense hushing. "Quite a group you have," Maxon said, walking into my room, surveying the space. "They keep me on my toes," I answered with a smile. "It's clear they have affection for you. That's hard to find." He stopped looking at my room and faced me. "This isn't what I imagined your room would look like." I raised an arm and let it fall. "It's not really my room, is it? It belongs to you, and I just happen to be borrowing it.

When you think she deserves someone better? When you can’t imagine being the one who actually gets to keep her? That’s how you know you’re the one who deserves her. Not some asshole in a puffy shirt carrying a sword.

I’m warning you right now, it’s going to be a rough ride. If you’re not ready for it yet, I’ll put you on your knees for a while to take my edge off.

Your legs look goddamn incredible in that skirt." Her rejoinder died in her throat and came out sounding like, "Guhhhh wham." An uncharacteristic smile shaped his mouth. "Ah, you gotta love a bilingual girl." "Oh, no. You don't get to be funny, too." "Too?" "Here you go." She shoved the scavenger hunt list into his waiting hand and tried to hide her embarrassment with a saucy look. "Think you can keep up?" "We both know I can keep it up.

Ix who?" "Ix Caut. Your name in this life meant 'Little Snake.'" Bill watched her face change. "It was a term of endearment in the Mayan culture. Sort of." "The same way getting your head impaled on a stick was an honor?" Bill rolled his stone eyes. "Stop being so ethnocentric.That means thinking your own culture is superior to other cultures." "I know what it means," she said, working the band into her dirty hair. "But I'm not being superior. I just don't think having my head stuck on one of these racks would be so great." There was a faint thrumming in the air,like faraway drumbeats. "That's exactly the sort of thing Ix Caut would say! You always were a little bit backward!" "What do you mean?" "See,you-Ix Caut-were born during the Wayeb',which are these five odd days at the end of Mayan year that everyone gets real superstitious about because they don't fit into the calendar. Kind of like leap-year days.It's not exactly lucky to be born during the Wayeb'. So no one was shocked when you grew up to be an old maid.

finalize your maid of honor dress too,” McKenna said in a voice laced with true happiness. She’d found her match, and her happily ever after was in her hands. Julia wasn’t jealous, not

If you have no arms To hold your crying child but your own arms And no legs but your own to run the stairs one more time To fetch what was forgotten I bow to you If you have no vehicle To tote your wee one but the wheels that you drive And no one else to worry, “Is my baby okay?” When you have to say goodbye on the doorsteps of daycare or on that cursed first day of school I bow to you If you have no skill but your own skill To replenish an ever-emptying bank account And no answers but your own to Satisfy the endless whys, hows, and whens your child asks and asks again I bow to you If you have no tongue to tell the truth To keep your beloved on the path without a precipice And no wisdom to impart Except the wisdom that you’ve acquired I bow to you If the second chair is empty Across the desk from a scornful, judging authority waiting For your child’s father to appear And you straighten your spine where you sit And manage to smile and say, “No one else is coming—I’m it.” Oh, I bow to you If your head aches when the spotlight finally shines on your child because your hands are the only hands there to applaud I bow to you If your heart aches because you’ve given until everything in you is gone And your kid declares, “It’s not enough.” And you feel the crack of your own soul as you whisper, “I know, baby. But it’s all mama’s got.” Oh, how I bow to you If they are your life while you are their nurse, tutor, maid Bread winner and bread baker, Coach, cheerleader and teammate… If you bleed when your child falls down I bow, I bow, I bow If you’re both punisher and hugger And your own tears are drowned out by the running of the bathroom faucet because children can’t know that mamas hurt too Oh, mother of mothers, I bow to you. —Toni Sorenson

Here are some of the truths about money that you can use to measure your own attitudes: 1. Everything we have comes from God (James 1:17). 2. Our most important possessions are heavenly ones, not earthly ones (Matt. 6:19–21). 3. We must be financially responsible. We should make sure we do not depend on others (outside the family) for our livelihood. “If a man will not work, he shall not eat” (2 Thess. 3:10). 4. We should be content no matter our circumstances. Paul says, “But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that” (1 Tim. 6:8). 5. Our identity is based on what Christ did for us and not on anything else (Gal. 2:20). 6. We are to be generous and give to those in need (1 Tim. 6:18).

Still lying on the ground, half tingly, half stunned, I held my left hand in front of my face and lightly spread my fingers, examining what Marlboro Man had given me that morning. I couldn’t have chosen a more beautiful ring, or a ring that was a more fitting symbol of my relationship with Marlboro Man. It was unadorned, uncontrived, consisting only of a delicate gold band and a lovely diamond that stood up high--almost proudly--on its supportive prongs. It was a ring chosen by a man who, from day one, had always let me know exactly how he felt. The ring was a perfect extension of that: strong, straightforward, solid, direct. I liked seeing it on my finger. I felt good knowing it was there. My stomach, though, was in knots. I was engaged. Engaged. I was ill-prepared for how weird it felt. Why hadn’t I ever heard of this strange sensation before? Why hadn’t anyone told me? I felt simultaneously grown up, excited, shocked, scared, matronly, weird, and happy--a strange combination for a weekday morning. I was engaged--holy moly. My other hand picked up the receiver of the phone, and without thinking, I dialed my little sister. “Hi,” I said when Betsy picked up the phone. It hadn’t been ten minutes since we’d hung up from our last conversation. “Hey,” she replied. “Uh, I just wanted to tell you”--my heart began to race--“that I’m, like…engaged.” What seemed like hours of silence passed. “Bullcrap,” Betsy finally exclaimed. Then she repeated: “Bullcrap.” “Not bullcrap,” I answered. “He just asked me to marry him. I’m engaged, Bets!” “What?” Betsy shrieked. “Oh my God…” Her voice began to crack. Seconds later, she was crying. A lump formed in my throat, too. I immediately understood where her tears were coming from. I felt it all, too. It was bittersweet. Things would change. Tears welled up in my eyes. My nose began to sting. “Don’t cry, you butthead.” I laughed through my tears. She laughed it off, too, sobbing harder, totally unable to suppress the tears. “Can I be your maid of honor?” This was too much for me. “I can’t talk anymore,” I managed to squeak through my lips. I hung up on Betsy and lay there, blubbering on my floor.

Right, Jo. Better be happy old maids than unhappy wives, or unmaidenly girls, running about to find husbands," said Mrs. March decidedly. "Don't be troubled, Meg, poverty seldom daunts a sincere lover. Some of the best and most honored women I know were poor girls, but so love-worthy that they were not allowed to be old maids. Leave these things to time. Make this home happy, so that you may be fit for homes of your own, if they are offered you, and contented here if they are not.

My sisters don’t be afraid of the words “old maid,” for it is in your power to make this a term of honor, not reproach. It is not necessary to be a sour, spiteful spinster, with nothing to do but brew tear, talk scandal and tend a pocket handkerchief. No, the world is full of work, needing all the heads, hearts, and hands we can bring to do it. Never was there so splendid an opportunity for women to enjoy their liberty and prove that they deserve it by using it wisely. If love comes as it should come, accept it in God’s name and be worthy of His best blessing. If it never comes, then in God’s name, reject the shadow of it, for that can never satisfy a hungry heart. Do not be ashamed to own the truth—do not be daunted by the fear of ridicule and loneliness, nor saddened by the loss of a woman’s tenderest ties. Be true to yourself; cherish whatever talent you possess, and in using it faithfully for the good of others, you will most assuredly find happiness for yourself, and make of life no failure, but a beautiful success.

My sisters don’t be afraid of the words “old maid,” for it is in your power to make this a term of honor, not reproach. It is not necessary to be a sour, spiteful spinster, with nothing to do but brew tear, talk scandal and tend a pocket handkerchief. No, the world is full of work, needing all the heads, hearts, and hands we can bring to do it. Never was there so splendid an opportunity for women to enjoy their liberty and prove that they deserve it by using it wisely. 4 minutes ago Heidi M If love comes as it should come, accept it in God’s name and be worthy of His best blessing. If it never comes, then in God’s name, reject the shadow of it, for that can never satisfy a hungry heart. 4 minutes ago Do not be ashamed to own the truth—do not be daunted by the fear of ridicule and loneliness, nor saddened by the loss of a woman’s tenderest ties. Be true to yourself; cherish whatever talent you possess, and in using it faithfully for the good of others, you will most assuredly find happiness for yourself, and make of life no failure, but a beautiful success.

Charlie, I want to get married," she said. "Well, so do I, darling -" "No, you don't understand," she said. "I want to get married right now." Froggy knew from the desperate look in her eyes that Red was dead serious. "Sweetheart, are you sure now is a good time?" he said. "I'm positive," Red said. "If the last month has taught me anything, it's how unpredictable life can be - especially when you're friends with the Bailey twins. This could very well be the last chance we'll ever get! Let's do it now, in the Square of Time, before another magical being can tear us apart!" The idea made Froggy's heart fill with joy, but he wasn't convinced it was the right thing to do. "Are you sure this is the wedding you want?" he asked. "I don't mean to be crude, but the whole street is covered in a witch's remains." A large and self-assured smile grew on Red's face. "Charlie, I can't think of a better place to get married than on the ashes of your ex-girlfriend," she said. "Mother Goose, will you do the honors?" Besides being pinned to the ground by a three-ton lion statue, Mother Goose couldn't think of a reason why she couldn't perform the ceremony. "I suppose I'm available," she said. "Wonderful!" Red squealed. "And for all intents and purposes, we'll say the Fairy Council are our witness, Conner is the best man, and Alex is my maid of honor. Don't worry, Alex! This will only take a minute and we'll get right back to helping you!" Red and Froggy joined hands and stood in the middle of Times Square as Mother Goose officiated the impromptu wedding. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today - against our will - to unexpectedly watch this frog and woman join in questionable matrimony. Do you, Charlie Charming, take Red Riding Hood as your lovably high-maintenance wife?" "I do," Froggy declared. "And do you, Red Riding Hood, take Charlie Charming as your adorably webfooted husband?" "I do," Red said. "Then it is with the power mistrusted in me that I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the frog!" Red and Froggy shared their first kiss as a married couple, and their friends cheered. "Beautiful ceremony, my dear," Merlin said. "Believe it or not, this isn't the strangest wedding I've been to," Mother Goose said.

BEST FRIENDS SHOULD BE TOGETHER We’ll get a pair of those half-heart necklaces so every ask n’ point reminds us we are one glued duo. We’ll send real letters like our grandparents did, handwritten in smart cursive curls. We’ll extend cell plans and chat through favorite shows like a commentary track just for each other. We’ll get our braces off on the same day, chew whole packs of gum. We’ll nab some serious studs but tell each other everything. Double-date at a roadside diner exactly halfway between our homes. Cry on shoulders when our boys fail us. We’ll room together at State, cover the walls floor-to-ceiling with incense posters of pop dweebs gone wry. See how beer feels. Be those funny cute girls everybody’s got an eye on. We’ll have a secret code for hot boys in passing. A secret dog named Freshman Fifteen we’ll have to hide in the rafters during inspection. Follow some jam band one summer, grooving on lawns, refusing drugs usually. Get tattoos that only spell something when we stand together. I’ll be maid of honor in your wedding and you’ll be co-maid with my sister but only cause she’d disown me if I didn’t let her. We’ll start a store selling just what we like. We’ll name our firstborn daughters after one another, and if our husbands don’t like it, tough. Lifespans being what they are, we’ll be there for each other when our men have passed, and all the friends who come to visit our assisted living condo will be dazzled by what fun we still have together. We’ll be the kind of besties who make outsiders wonder if they’ve ever known true friendship, but we won’t even notice how sad it makes them and they won’t bring it up because you and I will be so caught up in the fun, us marveling at how not-good it never was.

He leaned over and pulled from the bunch a bright red ribbon that had a key attached to it. "This one in particular said that I was to make sure you received her gift or else she would poison me while I eat. So in lieu of hiring a taster for my meals, I wanted to make sure it reached you." Stryder rolled his eyes as Kit took it and broke the seal on the note that was also attached to the ribbon. His brother read aloud. "Milord, 'tis with great honor I give you the key to my chastity belt. Meet me tonight in the rose courtyard. Ever your lady, Charity of York" "A key to a chastity belt?" Christian asked in an amused tone. "Aye," Stryder said, his voice thick with ill humor. "And an invitation to a forced wedding if ever I saw one." Christian laughed again at that. "And you wonder why I prefer to wear the garb of a monk. It's the best shield I have found against conniving would-be brides, and even it isn't foolproof, as you have seen." Stryder handed the key back to Kit. "Tell the lady I am previously engaged." Kit arched a brow at that, then headed for one of Stryder's plate codpieces. He frowned as he watched his brother place the codpiece inside his hose. "What is it you do?" "The last time I told one of your would-be paramours nay on your behalf, she damn near unmanned me. This time I wish protection when I deliver the news." Stryder joined Christian's laughter. "'Tis not amusing," Kit said, his tone offended. "You think what you do is dangerous? I defy you to be in my boots for one moment when I face the great Ovarian Horde in your stead." "And that is why I send you, my brother. I haven't the courage to face them." "What?" Christian said in feigned shock. "Stryder of Blackmoor afraid? I never thought I would live to see the day a mere maid could send you craven." "The day you doff your cleric's robes and don your crown, Your Highness, you may taunt me on that front. Until then, I know you for the coward you are as well." Christian's eyes danced with mischief. "Women do make cowards of us all." Kit opened his mouth to say something, then must have rethought it. Grabbing a shield, he headed for the door. "If I don't return by night's fall, please make sure I am buried on home soil." -Kit, Christian, & Stryder

Nathaniel said, “Allow me to help.” She kept pacing. “What can you do?” “I can marry you.” She whirled, incredulous. “Marry me?” He flinched as though she’d slapped him. “I know it was Lewis you wanted. If that is still the case, I will do everything in my power to convince him. In fact, he may be more amenable, now he knows of your inheritance.” She frowned. “I don’t want to marry Lewis. How would marrying anybody help my sister?” “If Marcus has proposed to your sister to force you from hiding . . . and still hopes to marry you for your inheritance . . .” “My birthday is only two weeks away. If I can remain unwed until I receive my inheritance I will grant Caroline a generous dowry and she can marry someone worthy of her. And I can marry, or not, as I wish.” He shook his head. “You have been living under our roof for months now, Margaret. A gentleman in such a situation, unusual as this one is, has a certain duty, a certain obligation.” A chill ran through her. She lifted her chin. “I assure you there is no obligation, Mr. Upchurch. You and your brother did not know I was here, though I suspect your sister knew all along. You need not worry. You are under no compunction to uphold my honor, such as it is after all this.” “It would be no burden, Miss Macy, I promise you.” He took a step nearer, a grin touching his mouth. “In fact, I can think of no other woman I would rather be shackled to.” She stiffened, anger flaring. “I don’t want you to be shackled to me. I don’t want anyone to have to marry me. Not Marcus Benton, not Lewis, and not you.” “Margaret, I was only joking. Don’t—” She whipped opened the door and whispered harshly, “Now I must ask you to leave, sir, this very moment.” Nathaniel hesitated. Then, with a look of pained regret, he complied.

Don’t worry,” Tandy groaned, righting herself on the seat. “After he and I fall in love, you can be the maid of honor at our lavish wedding at some stunning castle in the Greek isle.” “Oh, yeah?” I nodded in encouragement. “As a counterpoint, I have to ask; if you earn your first restraining order on this trip, do you think you’ll frame it?” “Most definitely.” A gleaming white smile brightened her face. “I’m going to hang it in my foyer so even the pizza delivery guy can see it. Then, I will happily tell the story of how I earned it. Thus insuring my legacy.” “If we don’t die in this cab, I look forward to doing my part to help build your infamy.

Chelsea, as your maid of honor, I have to advise you to cancel the wedding. This isn’t like some daytime soap opera where one of the actors calls in sick.” Moira assumed a television announcer’s ultrasmooth voice. “‘Today, playing the part of Chelsea’s groom will be Moira’s brother Ron.

Don’t be ridiculous, dear. There is no reason for you to carry on as you are. I can give you everything you need—lovely clothes, servants, and maids; grand parties, balls, and soirees. You will entertain dignitaries, diplomats, and naval officers, take tea with members of your own fair sex instead of crossing swords with criminals, killers, and rogues. By God, never again will you have to steal just to feed yourself, fight just to defend your honor! I will take care of you, Maeve. I will love you. As my wife you shall enjoy the life you deserve to have, one of grandeur, society, and status.” “But that is not the life I want.” He drew back, hurt. “What do you mean? Isn’t that what every woman wants?” “It is not what I want. And I am not ‘every woman.’” “Well, what do you want, then?” He twisted the purple ribbon in his hands, looking bewildered, confused, lost. “Ask, Maeve, and you shall have it.

[Maid of honor is singing to the bride and groom at their wedding reception. One guest is particularly appalled.] '. . . Will this ordeal never end? No wonder this country's in such a mess if this sort of vulgar display of your shortcomings is considered suitable entertainment. What? Well I doubt anyone can hear me over the iron lung yodellings of Kiri Te Canary. This is the sort of story which ends with the words, "Before Turning The Gun On Himself.

Title: Professional Bridesmaid for Hire—w4w—26 (NYC) Post: When all of my friends started getting engaged, I decided to make new friends. So I did—but then they got engaged also, and for what felt like the hundredth time, I was asked to be a bridesmaid. This year alone, I’ve been a bridesmaid 4 times. That’s 4 different chiffon dresses, 4 different bachelorette parties filled with tequila shots and guys in thong underwear twerking way too close to my face, 4 different prewedding pep talks to the bride about how this is the happiest day of her life, and how marriage, probably, is just like riding a bike: a little shaky at first, but then she’ll get the hang of it. Right, she’ll ask as she wipes the mascara-stained tears from her perfectly airbrushed face. Right, I’ll say, though I don’t really know. I only know what I’ve seen and that’s a beautiful-looking bride walking down, down, down the aisle, one two, three, four times so far this year. So let me be there for you this time if: — You don’t have any other girlfriends except your third cousin, twice removed, who is often found sticking her tongue down an empty bottle of red wine. — Your fiancé has an extra groomsman and you’re looking to even things out so your pictures don’t look funny and there’s not one single guy walking down the aisle by himself. — You need someone to take control and make sure bridesmaid #4 buys her dress on time and doesn’t show up 3 hours late the day of the wedding or paint her nails lime green. Bridesmaid skills I’m exceptionally good at: — Holding up the 18 layers of your dress so that you can pee with ease on your wedding day. — Catching the bouquet and then following that moment up with my best Miss America–like “OMG, I can’t believe this” speech. — Doing the electric and the cha-cha slide. — Responding in a timely manner to prewedding email chains created by other bridesmaids and the maid of honor.

Okay, now you’re finally sounding crazy. Of course not. I’m forwarding you a new email from a bride named Amy.” I keep Jay on the line and check my email. Dear Jen, Let me preface this by saying that I have never been a bridesmaid. I am one of the first of my friends to be getting married and am 25 years old. I am getting married this September, weekend after Labor Day, and it has been quite a learning experience at that. I had to let my maid of honor go, due to her issues of not being able to be part of the big day and rearrange. That was a stressful part of planning. :/ I knock the pizza box off my bed and put my brother on speakerphone, tapping the reply button as my eyes begin to flutter shut. My body clearly isn’t on the same page with my brain, which is screaming that professional bridesmaids don’t get to nap. Dear Amy, Thanks so much for taking the time to write to me. Congratulations on your upcoming wedding! It’s great to hear about your interest in having me as a professional bridesmaid at your wedding, especially since you’ve had some problems with your maid of honor. I’m very sorry about that, by the way. I’d be happy to see what I can do to help between now and September. I would love to jump on a call with you to chat more about this. Please let me know when is best for you. All my love, Jen Glantz “I really hope she says yes, Jay. I think I could really be there for her. I think I could really help.

You had such promise, Katarina. You were top of your class in mathematics, in chemistry, physics. You won the English essay contest. You were on the honor roll. You could have been anything you wanted, but now you are a maid, cleaning up after other people.

I’m sorry I can’t speak this into this mic for you, loud enough for everyone in this room to hear. But Fee, I love you. I love you you foolish, insane, beautiful, kind, intelligent, completely stupid woman.” I laugh as a tear slips free. “You want to get married in Vegas? I’ll buy us plane tickets right now.” “I’ll be your maid of honor!” Hazel adds.

Ilost my left eye during blades training at assassin school. My twin brother did the deed using a clever feint and a quick crosswise cut that caught me by surprise. “Well, Carmen, that’ll leave a scar,” Corwin had said. Then he’d laughed that snorty, snotty laugh that had grated on my nerves a thousand times since childhood. My vision had been too blurry to aim a cutting blow at him, and I wasn’t certain if I even wanted to. He was the only family I had. And despite his laughter, he may not have known how deep the wound was. He often made a silly joke when he’d done something stupid. But when I stumbled and fell toward the floor, Corwin dropped his blade and caught me. “Aw, sorry, sis,” he said, holding me against his chest. Then the healers rushed in with their bandages and salves and led me to the healing room. Maestru Alesius—my master—soon followed them, bringing the bad news: “You will lose that eye, Carmen.” I was thirteen. I’d been ahead of my brother on the honor roll—the top of the class. I often wondered if a bout of jealousy inspired my blinding. The blades were sharp, but we students weren’t supposed to cut each other—the idea was to keep the mind sharp as well. And I’d love to know where he’d learned the move. I’d never seen it before, and I was better with the sword than him. Did he have a secret teacher? Everything was harder with only one eye—the sword fights, the dagger throws, learning to avoid traps; even the poisons and potions were more difficult to pour. A half-blind assassin was a joke. I was pretty certain my fellow students had chuckled and celebrated as my position on the honor roll slipped. I had the knowledge and the skill. But the patch over my eye meant I had a weakness, and the school trained assassins to exploit weaknesses. I’d have quit, perhaps to be a scullery maid or to work in the massive wheat fields of the Akkad Empire, if only to get away from the other apprentice assassins who had once been beneath me and who now scorned me. I especially wanted to flee from the kinder ones who looked at me with pity. But Maestru Alesius had insisted I stay. “Adversity will toughen your mental bones,” he’d promised. His support and my perseverance had kept me in school. Three years had passed since the incident. Three years of struggling to keep my spot. I was finally sixteen, in my final week of classes. Corwin would graduate at the top of the honor roll. He was the best with bladed weapons, the best at hiding in shadows, the best assassin the school had seen in many years. He may even be better than the legendary Banderius. All the kings, queens, and archons would seek to hire Corwin. Maybe even Emperor Rima himself. I’d be lucky to get hired at all.

No doubt ye’ve heard the rumors.” “About her being your mistress? About her bartering herself in exchange for the Earl’s vowels? About you keeping her prisoner for a month in your ruined castle, debauching her thrice daily, feeding her naught but bread and water, forcing her to serve you as a maid, all instead of doing the honorable thing and allowing her father to pay his debt?” “Aye,” Demon drawled drily. Oh, hell. “Those rumors.

Your wedding will be the prettiest thing I’ll ever be apart of,” Jenna says. I look over at her and raise my eyebrows. “Who said you’ll be part of it? Did you—Did you just throw a marker at me?” “Don’t joke about that. I’m your maid of honor. End of story.” “Okay, calm down, Sparky. I’m not even engaged.

And so there I am standing beside you on your phantom wedding day, holding back tears, offering you to the future you will never have. Your mother is in the front row waiting for me to join her. Your sisters are by the preacher, opposite the boy, and they are beaming and nervous and proud and tearful from the romance and also from fear of the changes they know will come. They are both maids of honor. They are both wearing dresses that were fought over long ago. They are both so proud and so pretty and so ready to get out of their tight dresses and pinching heels. You cling to my arm. You hold on to my hand—tightly, the way you used to do when we crossed the street, when a scary movie was on, when you just wanted to let me know that you were there and that you loved me. You look up at me. I am startled. Suddenly, quite miraculously, you are a grown-up beautiful woman. You look so much like your mother, but you are still uniquely you. You have thoughts I will never know. Desires I will never understand. Friends I will never meet. Passions I will never share. You have a life. You have an entire world in front of you. Then you smile, and you squeeze my hand, and even in my sleep, I understand the truth: No matter what happened to you, no matter what horrors you endured when you were taken away, you will always be my pretty little girl.

Lucien is throwing a ball next Friday in honor of Charles's homecoming, and he wants you to be there." "Wants?" Juliet drawled, "Demands is more like it." "It's his way of thanking you for all you've done for Charles," Nerissa added.  "He wants to give you a magical, Cinderella night-at-the-ball as his way of expressing his gratitude for saving Charles's life." "But — but I can't attend, I — I don't even know how to dance!" "Then you will learn," said Nerissa, blithely. "And . . . I don't know the correct things to say to people, or how to address them properly . . . or — or . . . anything!" "We will teach you." "And I can't afford fancy new clothes, let alone a ball gown!" "Ah, but I can, and I would be very offended if you do not accept them as a small token of my appreciation for saving my brother's life," intoned a smoothly urbane, aristocratic voice.  Gasping, Amy whirled to see the duke of Blackheath standing in the doorway, an amused little smile playing about his otherwise severe face. Amy sank in a curtsey.  "Your Grace!" "My dear girl.  Are you giving my sister trouble?" "No, but I really can't go to a ball, I'll look the fool and I've got no business being there anyhow and —" "Do you want to go to the ball?" "Well of course, it'll be magical, wondrous, but I'll feel like a chicken amongst a flock of peacocks!" The duke folded his arms and leaned negligently against the door jamb, his black eyes holding her captive.  "Do you remember the conversation we had last night . . . about helping Charles?" That soft, suave tone was enough to make Amy's heart still.  "Well yes, but I don't see how this has anything to do with him . . ." "Of course you don't.  And so I will tell you.   Nerissa wants a new gown for the ball.  As a lady's maid, you will want some new clothes.  And I —" he gave a silky smile — "I will want Charles to ride alongside your coach to provide safe escort to and from London."  He smiled, but the gesture was just a little bit sinister.  "It would benefit him greatly to feel . . . useful, don't you think?" And Amy, standing there feeling nervous and dry-mouthed and very, very intimidated indeed, suddenly understood.  By sending the girls off to London and asking Charles to go along as protection, Lucien was setting things up so that Charles would have opportunity to regain some of his feelings of self-worth. She only hoped he wasn't lining up a highwayman to rob them, as well! She returned the duke's smile, suddenly feeling like a co-conspirator instead of a scared ninny.  "Yes, your Grace.  I quite understand." "Good.  I knew that you would.

Young lady, you will attend your mother in her sitting room at once.” And Deene was supposed to just toddle back down the stairs to await an uncertain fate? “If Your Grace would allow Lady Eve and me a chance to discuss the events of the—” “You, sir!” His Grace was not inclined to keep his voice down when discretion might be most appreciated. This was known by all familiar with him, and beside Deene, Eve graduated from wincing to cringing. “Your Grace, Lady Eve’s nerves are not aided by a display of temper, though you have every reason to rail at me.” The ducal eyebrows went up. “I have every reason to kill you, young man. The harm you have done cannot be explained or excused, and no adequate reparation ever made to my daughter.” This was the moment for Eve to step forward and explain that they were betrothed, that the indiscretion was just that, more a slip than a sin. Certainly not a matter of a lady’s slighted honor. His Grace’s gaze went to his daughter while a silence stretched, a silence during which Deene wanted to go down on bended knee and beg the blasted woman to marry him. “Unhand my daughter, Deene.” Eve slipped away from Deene’s side and disappeared into the house. His Grace waited a long moment while Eve’s footsteps faded rapidly, and then the older man glanced about. “You, come with me. And get that mulish expression off your face. The last thing Her Grace will do is castigate Eve for a situation that must lie exclusively at your handsome, booted feet.” Was there a softening in His Grace’s eyes? Deene was not about to bet his life on it. When the duke led him to a chamber on the first floor, Deene noted an absence of footmen, maids, or other curious ears. “Your Grace, I think you well might have to call me out.” Moreland opened the door to the ducal study and preceded Deene through it. He closed the door, then turned, and without any warning whatsoever, delivered a walloping backhand across Deene’s cheek. “Perhaps I shall have to call you out, Deene. Let’s make it a convincing show, then, shall we?” ***

reached beneath the folds of her cloak and brought forth a lamp, a delicate thing hanging on a slender chain. “To light your way in the darkness,” I heard her murmur. She let the chain slide through her fingers, and the lantern dropped gently into the pit on top of the other things. Then she raised her voice and said, “Her name was Ismene. Let it be known. She was a sister of our familia. A gladiatrix of House Achillea. She fought as we fight, with bravery and with skill. Five days ago, she fought to win honor in a match with a warrior maid of the House Amazona. She won, but Ismene was grievously wounded in that fight. Our surgeons did what they could for her. Last night the goddess Nemesis, she of the midnight brow, in her great wisdom called Ismene to the realm of heroes and sent forth Mercury to guide her there. She feasts now in the halls of Dis, she spars with Minerva, and she waits for all of us to join her there, and we mourn her absence even as others have this very day joined our ranks here.

Mara knelt and clasped the big battle-scarred paws of the fallen badger Lord. Words tumbled out with her tears. “I came back too late. Now it is past the time when I could tell you what is in my heart. I have ranged far and wide to be back home here with you, and in that time I have slowly understood what you tried to teach me—you who were ever true to your own code of honor and duty. To everybeast you were Urthstripe the Strong, Lord of the mountain; so will your name be always remembered. You cannot hear me now, but I wish to add one more name to your title.” The young badger maid took both the lifeless paws and placed them on her bowed head as she spoke a single word: “Father!

I am attracted to you, and I think the attraction is mutual. I am asking you to marry me, Maggie Windham. Cry the banns, reserve St. George’s, your mama weeping in the first row while your brothers glare at me for my audacity…” He could not gauge her reaction. “Her Grace is not my mother, and my brothers would not glare at you, and while I understand the honor you do—” She tipped her head back, eyes closed. He watched while her throat worked and felt her hand clench in his. “Benjamin, I cannot.” He had expected an uphill battle. He had not expected the single, silver tear that slipped from the corner of her closed eye and trickled down her cheek. “Why not?” She shook her head and accepted his handkerchief. “I’m just a by-blow, and being your countess would only ensure I was the subject of constant gossip. Our children would be ostracized; I’d be the subject of much criticism…” “Our children would be the grandchildren of a duke and an earl. When one of the Wilson sisters can marry a titled lord and be accepted anywhere, your argument fails. We’d live in Cumbria, where the only ones to pass judgment would be the sheep climbing the fells. I’d give you as many children as you wanted, and we’d suit, Maggie Windham. We’d suit admirably.” He was an educated, resourceful man, but just a man. Words were not winning the fair maid, and while he’d been prepared to work for her capitulation, he was not ready for her to wall herself off in specious arguments and stubborn silence. He kissed her. He put all of his longing into the kiss, all of his determination to keep her safe and fight her battles for her. When she was sighing into his mouth and her hands were clinging to his biceps, he forced himself to pause, lest he be consummating unspoken vows on the carriage bench. “You must not…” She drew in a slow, deep breath, their mouths an inch apart. “You cannot ravish my reason, Benjamin. I am discharging you, and we will be cordial acquaintances from this day forward.” She dropped her forehead to his, her fingers circling his wrist where his hand cradled her jaw. A tactical retreat might be in order, but he was not going to be easily discouraged. “I will serenade you from the street, Maggie Windham. I will be so callow, you will marry me to save me from embarrassment.” She

Amy, what are you saying?" She turned her head and met his piercing stare.  "That I want you to take me to England with you." She saw him straighten up and wipe a hand down his face, blinking once, as though her request had not only surprised, but stunned him.  Then he turned away, raking a hand through his hair, putting a few steps between them.  "Amy, I am promised to another.  Much as I wish to help you, I'm not sure this would be wise.  You know that I . . . that I have feelings for you, but I am honor bound to keep my commitment to Juliet, and having you near would only make things difficult.  I'm sorry, but we must try to forget all that has happened between us." "Oh, Charles, I would never hinder your plans or do anything to jeopardize what is between you and Juliet.  After all that you've been through, you deserve to be happy.  But please don't leave me here to molder where I'm neither loved nor appreciated; please take me away, and let me have this chance at a new beginning, I beg of you." "Doing what, Amy?" "I would make a wonderful lady's maid." He stared at her.  "After all these years of catering to your sisters' every whim, is that what you want?" "At least I'd be getting paid for it!  At least there would be no shame in it, or in who I am!  What other chance do I have, Charles?  And even you must see that it's not an unreasonable request.  Why, your sister could teach me all that I don't already know, and once I'm accomplished, I will leave, Charles, I'll go work for someone far away from you.  I'll remove myself from your life so that I don't make things difficult for either one of us.  But please, Charles, don't go off to England and leave me here, I simply couldn't bear it." He

Share this post with twenty people on your friends list or . . . you’re not really my friend. SERIOUSLY?? Never mind that we grew up together, that I held your hair back in college while you puked, was the maid of honor in your wedding, held your hand while you pushed out that giant baby of yours, wet-nursed your daughter and drove you to the courthouse to get a divorce. Never mind all that. If I share this post—THAT’S how you’ll know we’re friends. Makes total sense.