Skip to main content

Excerpt - Breach Of Trust by DiAnn Mills

Captain's Log, Stardate 03.16.2009

Breach of Trust
by
DiAnn Mills


Paige Rogers survived every CIA operative’s worst nightmare.

A covert mission gone terribly wrong.

A betrayal by the one man she thought she could trust.

Forced to disappear to protect the lives of her loved ones, Paige has spent the last several years building a quiet life as a small-town librarian. But the day a stranger comes to town and starts asking questions, Paige knows her careful existence has been shattered.

He is coming after her again. And this time, he intends to silence her for good...

Paige Rogers is a former CIA agent who lost all she treasured seven years ago when her entire team was killed in a covert mission. She blames their leader—Daniel Keary—whom Paige believes betrayed them. Disillusioned and afraid for her life, she disappeared and started a new life as a librarian in small town Split Creek, Oklahoma.

But her growing relationship with high school football coach Miles Laird and the political ambitions of her former boss threaten to unmask her. When Keary announces his candidacy for governor of her state, he comes after Paige to ensure that she won't ruin his bid for office by revealing his past misdeeds. He threatens everything she holds dear, and Paige must choose between the life of hiding that has become her refuge . . . or risking everything in one last, desperate attempt to right old wrongs.


Buy from Christianbook.com

Excerpt of chapter one:


Breach Of Trust


Tyndale House Publishers (February 5, 2009)



Chapter 1


Librarian Paige Rogers had survived more exciting days dodging bullets to protect her country. Given a choice, she’d rather be battling assassins than collecting overdue fines. For that matter, running down terrorists had a lot more appeal than
running down lost books. Oh, the regrets of life—woven with guilt, get-over-its, and move-ons. But do-overs were impossible, and the adventures of her life were now shelved alphabetically under fiction.

Time to reel in my pitiful attitude and get to work. Paige stepped
onto her front porch with what she needed for a full workday
at the library. Already, perspiration dotted her face, a reminder
of the rising temperatures. Before locking the door behind her,
she scanned the front yard and surveyed the opposite side of
the dusty road, where chestnut-colored quarter horses grazed
on sparse grass. Torrid heat and no rain, as though she stood
on African soil. But here, nothing out of the ordinary drew her
attention. Just the way she liked it. Needed it.

Sliding into her sporty yet fuel-efficient car, she felt for the
Beretta Px4 under the seat. The past could rear its ugly head
without warning. Boy Scouts might be prepared; Girl Scouts
were trained. The radio blared out the twang of a guitar and the
misery of a man who’d lost his sweetheart to a rodeo star. Paige
laughed at the irony of it all.

She zipped down the road, her tires crunching the grasshoppers
that littered the way before her. In the rearview mirror,she saw birds perched on a barbed wire fence and a few defiant
wildflowers. They held on to their roots in the sun-baked dirt
the way she clutched hope. The radio continued to croon out
one tune after another all the way into the small town of Split
Creek, Oklahoma, ten klicks from nowhere.

After parking her car in the designated spot in front of the
library, Paige hoisted her tote bag onto her shoulder and grabbed
a book about Oklahoma history and another by C. S. Lewis.
The latter had kept her up all night, helping her make some
sense out of the sordid events of her past. She scraped the grasshoppers from her shoes and onto the curb. The pests were everywhere this time of year. Reminded her of a few gadflies she’d been forced to trust overseas. She’d swept the crusty hoppers off her porch at home and the entrance to the library as she’d done with the shadow makers of the past. But nothing could wipe the nightmares from her internal hard drive.

Her gaze swept the quiet business district with an awareness of
how life could change in the blink of an eye. A small land scaping
of yellow marigolds and sapphire petunias stretched toward the
sky in front of the newly renovated, one-hundred-year-old courthouse. Its high pillars supported a piece of local history . . . and the secrets of the best of families. Business owners unlocked their stores and exchanged morning greetings. Paige recognized most of the dated cars and dusty pickups, but a black Town Car with tinted glass and an Oklahoma license plate parked on the right side of the courthouse caught her attention.

Why would someone sporting a luxury car want to venture
into Split Creek, population 1,500? The lazy little town didn’t
offer much more than a few antique stores, a small library, a
beauty shop, Dixie’s Donuts, a Piggly Wiggly, four churches—
including one First Baptist and one South First Baptist, each at
opposite ends of town, one First Methodist, and a holiness tabernacle right beside Denim’s Restaurant. She wanted to believe it was an early visitor to the courthouse. Maybe someone lost. But those thoughts soon gave way to curiosity and a twist of suspicion.

With a smile intended to be more appealing than a Fourth
of July storefront, she crossed the street to subtly investigate the
out-of-place vehicle. Some habits never changed.

Junior Shafer, who owned and operated a nearby antique
store, stooped to arrange his outside treasures. Actually, Paige
rarely saw an antique on display, just junk and old Avon bottles.
“Mornin’, Mr. Shafer. Looks like another scorcher.”

“Mornin’. Yep, this heat keeps the customers away.” The balding
man slowly stood and massaged his back. “Maybe I’ll advertise
free air-conditioning and folks will stop in.”

“Whatever works.” She stole a quick glance at the Town Car and memorized the license plate number. No driver. “Looks like you have a visitor.” She pointed to the car.

Mr. Shafer narrowed his eyes and squinted. “Nah, that’s probably Eleanor’s son from Tulsa. He’s helping her paint the beauty shop. She said he had a new car. The boy must be doing fine in the insurance business.”

“Now that’s a good son.”

Mr. Shafer lifted his chin, then rubbed it. “Uh, you know, Paige . . . he ain’t married.”

“And I’m not looking.” She’d never be in the market for a
husband. Life had grown too complicated to consider such an
undertaking, even if it did sound enticing.

“A pretty little lady like you should be tending to babies, not books.”

“Ah, but books don’t grow up or talk back.” He shook his head and unlocked his store.

“I have a slice of peach pie for you.” Paige reached inside her
tote bag and carefully brought out a plastic container. “I baked
it around six this morning. It’s fresh.”

He turned back around. A slow grin spread from one generous ear to the other. “You’re right. You don’t need to go off and get married. I might not get my pies.” He did his familiar shoulder jig. “Thank you, sweet girl.” He reached for the pie with both hands as though it were the most precious thing he’d ever been offered.

The door squeaked open at Shear Perfection.

“Mornin’, Eleanor,” Mr. Shafer said. “I see your son’s car.
Glad he’s helping you with the paintin’.”

“That’s not my son’s.” Miss Eleanor crossed the street, shielding
her eyes from the steadily rising sun. “He isn’t coming till
the weekend.”

Paige’s nerve endings registered alert. “Won’t that be wonderful
for you?” She took another passing glance at the vehicle. “I
wonder who’s driving that fancy car? Too early for courthouse
business.”

“Somebody with money.” Mr. Shafer lifted the plastic lid off
the freshly baked pie and inhaled deeply. “Can’t wait till lunch.”

“Mercy, old man, you’re already rounder than my deardeparted
mama’s potbelly stove.” Eleanor’s blue hair sparkled in
the sunlight as though she’d added glitter to her hairspray.

“You’re just jealous. If you weren’t a diabetic, you’d be stealing
my pie. Paige here knows how to keep a man happy.”

One block down, a man carrying a camera emerged from between one of Mr. Shafer’s many antique competitors and the barbershop. He lifted it as if to snap a picture of the barbershop. Paige swung her attention back to her friends. He could be the real thing. She hoped so and forced down any precursors of fear.

“What’s he taking pictures of ?” Eleanor paused. “I’m going to ask.” Determination etched her wrinkled face. She squared her shoulders and marched toward the stranger as though she represented the whole town.

Good, Eleanor. I’ll head back and let you do the recon work.

Eleanor and the stranger stood too far away for Paige to read their lips, but at least while the two talked, the man couldn’t take pictures. A few moments later, the stranger laughed much too loud. Eleanor reached out and shook his hand, then walked back.

Paige focused on Mr. Shafer. She picked up a watering can
leaning precariously against a rotted-bottom chair. “Is this a new
addition?”

“Nah. It was inside. I just brought it out yesterday.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw the stranger stare at them.
Medium height. Narrow shoulders. Italian-cut clothes. Couldn’t
see the type of camera. The stranger walked their way, shoulders
arched and rigid. Unless he was a pro, she’d have him sized up in
thirty seconds, and then she’d go about her day—relieved.

Mr. Shafer lifted his gaze toward Eleanor. “Who’s your friend?”

“Jason Stevens, a photographer looking for some homespun
pictures about small towns in Oklahoma.”

The way he’s dressed? Paige’s heart pounded. She replaced the
watering can. “Did he say for what magazine?”

“Didn’t ask. Why don’t you? He wants to take a few shots of
us standing in front of our businesses.” Eleanor beckoned to
Stevens. “Come on over and meet my friends. Paige here wonders
what magazine you work for.”

The man continued to smile—perfect teeth, perfect smile.
“It’s for a newspaper, the Oklahoman.” He stuck out his hand.
“Mornin’, folks. I bet you’d like your picture in the magazine
insert.” His camera rested in the crook of his right hand, a new
Nikon with fast lenses, perhaps a D90 or D200. No dents or
sign of use. Who was this guy? He wasn’t any more a photographer
than Eleanor or Mr. Shafer.

Have you used that piece of equipment before today?

“Welcome to Split Creek,” Paige said. “I’ll pass on the picture,
though. I’m not photogenic, but you have a beautiful day to photograph our town.” She turned and started across the
street to the library.

“Of course you’re photogenic,” Eleanor called. “No one wants
to see a couple of old fuddy-duddies like us, but you’d make
front-page news.”

“You two are the center of attention. I’m the dull librarian.”
Paige continued to move rapidly across the street.

“Wait a minute,” Stevens said.

“Sorry. I need to open the library.”

“Come on back, sweet girl. There’s no one waiting to get in,”
Mr. Shafer said.

She lifted her hand and waved backward. Guilt nipped at
her heels for leaving them with Stevens, but she had more at
stake than they did. “See you two later. Nice meeting you, Mr.
Stevens.”

She unlocked the old building that had once been a bank but now served as the town library. It oozed with character—beige and black marble floors, rich oaken walls, tall ceilings with intricately carved stone, and a huge crystal chandelier the size
of a wagon wheel. The areas where tellers once met with customers now served as cozy reading nooks, and a huge, round, brass-trimmed vault—minus the door—held children’s books. The windows still even had a few iron bars. If only the town had high-speed Internet access. They’d been promised that modernization for months.

For a precious moment, she relaxed and breathed in the sights
and smells. Bless dear Andrew Carnegie for his vision to establish
public libraries. Because of his philanthropy, Paige had a
sanctuary. From the creaking sounds of antiquity to the timeworn
smell of books and yellowed magazines, she had quiet companions that took her to the edge of experience but not the horror of reality.

In a small converted kitchen behind a vaulted door in the rear corner, Paige placed a peanut butter, bacon, and mayo sandwich
in the fridge. Reaching down farther into her tote, she wrapped
her fingers around a package of Reese’s Pieces. Those she’d stash
in her desk drawer. The rest of the peach pie sat on the backseat
of her car. She’d retrieve it once Stevens moved down the street,
preferably out of town.

If he worked for Daniel Keary, her life was about to change—
and not for the better. She shook off the chills racing up her
arms. I can handle whatever it is. Snatching up her tote bag, she
closed the kitchen door behind her. With the election nearly
three months away, Stevens could be one of Keary’s men sent to
make sure she still understood her boundaries. Regret took a stab
at her heart, but there was nothing she could do about Keary’s
popularity. She’d tried and failed against a force too power ful for
her at the time. But her prayers for truth continued.

Her sensible shoes clicked against the floor en route to the
front window. Standing to the side, she peered out through the
blinds to the sun-laden street for a glimpse of Stevens. He continued to take pictures. Mr. Shafer would most likely give him a tour of the town, beginning with his store and the history of every item strewn across it. The so-called photographer from the Oklahoman entered the antique shop.

That’ll bore him to tears and chase him out of town.
Paige went through the morning ritual of checking the drop
box for returned books, of which there were six. She changed
the dates on the date-due stamps and stacked the books to be
shelved in her arms. The seasoned citizens of Split Creek representing the local book club would arrive any minute, as regular as their morning’s constitutional. For an hour and a half they’d discuss the merits of their current novel, everything from the characters to the plot. Today they couldn’t storm the shores of the library too soon for Paige.

As if on cue, Miss Alma bustled through the door—her purse slung loosely from her shoulder, her foil-wrapped banana nut
bread in one hand and two books in the other.

“Good morning, Miss Alma,” Paige said. “Do you need some
help?”

“No thanks. If I loosen my hold on one thing, everything else
will fall.”

A picture of PoliGrip hit Paige’s mind. “Well, you’re the first
today.”

Miss Betty sashayed in, a true Southern belle dressed in her
Sunday best, complete with a pillbox hat. “Miss Paige, may I
brew a pot of decaf coffee?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s waiting for you.” Oh, how she loved these
precious people.

Within moments the rest of Split Creek’s Senior Book Club
arrived. Paige waved at Reverend Bateson, and as usual, Miss
Eleanor and Mr. Shafer were bickering about something.

“At least we agree that Daniel Keary should be our next governor,”
Miss Eleanor said.

At the mention of that name, Paige thought she’d be physically
ill. Keary was running on an Independent ticket, and she
didn’t care if a Democrat or a Republican pulled in the votes.
Anyone but Keary.

“I have banana bread,” Miss Alma said. “But don’t be picking
up a book with crumbs on your fingers.”

“We know,” several echoed.

Paige appreciated the comic relief. The rest of the members
placed chairs in a circle beneath the massive chandelier while
Paige checked in their books.

The library door opened again, and Jason Stevens walked in
with his camera. The sight of him erased the pleasantries she’d
been enjoying with the book club members. He made his way
to the circulation desk and stood at the swinging door, trapping
her inside.

Hadn’t she just swept the bugs off the steps of the library?

“Since you won’t let me take your picture outside, I thought
I’d snap a few in here. Wow—” his gaze took in the expanse of
the building—“this was a bank.” His brilliant whites would have
melted most women’s resolve.

Paige approached the swinging door. “No pictures, please.
They always turn out looking really bad.”

“How about lunch?”

“Are you coming on to me?” Disgust curdled her insides.

He waved his free hand in front of his face. The man knew
just when to utilize a dimple on his left cheek. “I’m simply looking
for a story to go along with my photos. This library is charming,
fascinating, and so are you.”

Revulsion for the dimple-faced city boy had now moved into
the fast lane. “Miss Alma, I’ll help you arrange the chairs.”

“Nonsense.” Miss Alma shook her blue-gray head. “You help
this young man. Those old people can do something besides
stand around and complain about their gout and bursitis.”

Any other time, Paige would have laughed at the remark. But
not today.

“Looks like they have everything under control.” The low,
seductive tone of Stevens’s voice invited a slap in the face.

“I suggest you visit with a few other business owners for your
newspaper’s needs,” she said.

“I’m very disappointed.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“Can’t we talk?” He leaned over the swinging door.

“You can leave, or I can call the sheriff. Your choice.” She
picked up the phone on her desk and met his gaze with a stare
down.

“So much for sweet, small-town girls.” He tossed her his best
dejected look. Obviously he wasn’t accustomed to the word no.

Her reflexes remained catlike thanks to tai chi workouts still done at home behind drawn curtains. With minimal effort, she
could dislocate a shoulder or crash the kneecap of an opponent
twice her weight. Such skills were not a part of the job description
for most small-town USA librarians, but then again most
of them didn’t have a working knowledge of Korean, Angolan
Portuguese, Swahili, and Russian. The ability to decipher codes,
a mastery of disguise, and a knack for using a paper clip to open
locks . . . not to mention a past that needed to stay buried. She
had to resist the urge to toss Stevens out on his ear. Calm down.

“I’m sorry we don’t have the book you wanted. I’m sure one of
the branches in Oklahoma City can help you.”

A silent challenge crested in his gray eyes, and she met it with
her own defiance.

Stevens walked to the door and turned, carrying his camera
the way patrons carried books. “Know what? This town would
be a great place to hide out a CIA operative.”

Popular Posts

Laura’s Apricot Shell Shawl knitting pattern

I usually have a knitting project in mind when I write it into one of my books, but Laura’s apricot-colored shawl just kind of appeared upon the page as I was writing the first scene of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 4: Betrayer , and it surprised even me. I immediately went to my yarn stash to find a yarn for it, and I searched through my antique knitting books to find some stitch patterns. I made her an elegant wool shawl she could wear at home. The shawl ended up tagging along with Laura into the next book, Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 5: Prisoner , where it imparts some comfort to her in her trying circumstances. The two stitch patterns are both from the same book, The Lady’s Assistant, volume 2 by Mrs. Jane Gaugain, published in 1842 . A couple excessively clever and creative knitters might have knit these patterns in the Regency era, but they would have only passed them around by word of mouth or scribbled “recipes” to friends or family, and it wouldn’t have been widely use

Phoebe’s Muffatees knitting pattern

In Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 4: Betrayer , Phoebe wears a pair of lace muffatees, or gauntlets/arm-warmers that hide a rather deadly surprise. :) I actually got the idea of having her wear muffatees because I saw a lace manchette pattern in Miss Watts’ Ladies’ Knitting and Netting Book , published in 1840, page 20. However, after doing some research, I found that they were called muffatees in the Regency era, and the term manchette did not arise until a few years later. They were essentially arm-warmers worn under those long sleeves on day dresses, which were usually made of muslin too thin to be very warm. I decided to knit Phoebe’s muffatees using a Leaf Pattern originally suggested for a purse in Mrs. Gaugain’s book, The Lady’s Assistant, volume 1, 5th edition published in 1842, pages 234-237. I think there was an error and row 36 in the original pattern was duplicated erroneously, so I have adjusted the pattern. The original manchette pattern called for “fine” needles a

Matthew 22:37-39

Dear Lord, You have done so much for me. I am so grateful to you for sending your son to die for my sins so that I can be renewed, so that I can come before you and feel the comfort of your presence. I know that I am not alone, because you are with me. I want to love you completely and without inhibition. Teach me to be like you and love others as you love them. Your love is truly unending and glorious. Amen 親愛なる神様、 あなたは私のために多くのことをしてくださいました。私が新しく生まれ変われるように、あなたの前に出て、あなたの存在の快適さを感じられるように、私の罪のためにあなたの息子を死なせてくださったことに、私はとても感謝しています。私は、あなたが私と共にいてくださるので、私は一人ではないことを知っています。私はあなたを完全に、阻害されることなく愛したいのです。あなたのようになり、あなたが人を愛するように、私も人を愛するように教えてください。あなたの愛は本当に尽きることがなく、栄光に満ちています。 アーメン

AI-narrated audiobooks

Google allowed me to create audiobooks with an AI narrator for free of my titles available on the Google Play store, so I decided to give it a try. Right now, Necessary Proof , Unshakeable Pursuit , Weddings and Wasabi , The Spinster’s Christmas , and my devotional Who I Want to Be are all available as AI-narrated audiobooks. From now until March 11, 2023, Necessary Proof digitally-narrated audiobook is free! Pick up you free copy and let me know how the audiobook sounds. If you hear anything weird, feel free to email me and let me know the exact time where you heard it, and I’ll try to have Google correct it.

No Cold Bums toilet seat cover

Captain's Log, Stardate 08.22.2008 I actually wrote out my pattern! I was getting a lot of hits on my infamous toilet seat cover , and I wanted to make a new one with “improvements,” so I paid attention and wrote things down as I made the new one. This was originally based off the Potty Mouth toilet cover , but I altered it to fit over the seat instead of the lid. Yarn: any worsted weight yarn, about 120 yards (this is a really tight number, I used exactly 118 yards. My suggestion is to make sure you have about 130 yards.) I suggest using acrylic yarn because you’re going to be washing this often. Needle: I used US 8, but you can use whatever needle size is recommended by the yarn you’re using. Gauge: Not that important. Mine was 4 sts/1 inch in garter stitch. 6 buttons (I used some leftover shell buttons I had in my stash) tapestry needle Crochet hook (optional) Cover: Using a provisional cast on, cast on 12 stitches. Work in garter st until liner measures

Have a relaxing Memorial Day

Enjoy the holiday today.

One-Skein Pyrenees Scarf knitting pattern

I got into using antique patterns when I was making the scarf my hero wears in my Regency romance, The Spinster’s Christmas . I wanted to do another pattern which I think was in use in the Regency period, the Pyrenees Knit Scarf on pages 36-38 of The Lady's Assistant for Executing Useful and Fancy Designs in Knitting, Netting, and Crochet Work, volume 1, by Jane Gaugain, published in 1840. She is thought to be the first person to use knitting abbreviations, at least in a published book, although they are not the same abbreviations used today (our modern abbreviations were standardized by Weldon’s Practical Needlework in 1906). Since the book is out of copyright, you can download a free PDF copy of the book at Archive.org. I found this to be a fascinating look at knitting around the time of Jane Austen’s later years. Although the book was published in 1840, many of the patterns were in use and passed down by word of mouth many years before that, so it’s possible these are

Toilet seat cover

Captain’s Log, Supplemental Update August 2008: I wrote up the pattern for this with "improvements"! Here's the link to my No Cold Bums toilet seat cover ! Okay, remember a few days ago I was complaining about the cold toilet seat in my bathroom? Well, I decided to knit a seat cover. Not a lid cover, but a seat cover. I went online and couldn’t find anything for the seat, just one pattern for the lid by Feminitz.com . However, I took her pattern for the inside edge of the lid cover and modified it to make a seat cover. Here it is! It’s really ugly stitch-wise because originally I made it too small and had to extend it a couple inches on each side. I figured I’d be the one staring at it, so who cared if the extension wasn’t perfectly invisible? I used acrylic yarn since, well, that’s what I had, and also because it’s easy to wash. I’ll probably have to wash this cover every week or so, but it’s easy to take off—I made ties which you can see near the back of the seat. And

Tabi socks, part deux

Captain's Log, Stardate 07.25.2008 (If you're on Ravelry, friend me! I'm camytang.) I made tabi socks again! (At the bottom of the pattern is the calculation for the toe split if you're not using the same weight yarn that I did for this pattern (fingering). I also give an example from when I used worsted weight yarn with this pattern.) I used Opal yarn, Petticoat colorway. It’s a finer yarn than my last pair of tabi socks, so I altered the pattern a bit. Okay, so here’s my first foray into giving a knitting pattern. Camy’s top-down Tabi Socks I’m assuming you already know the basics of knitting socks. If you’re a beginner, here are some great tutorials: Socks 101 How to Knit Socks The Sock Knitter’s Companion A video of turning the heel Sock Knitting Tips Yarn: I have used both fingering weight and worsted weight yarn with this pattern. You just change the number of cast on stitches according to your gauge and the circumference of your ankle. Th

ひとり寿司第36章パート1

「ひとり寿司」をブログに連載します! ひとり寿司 寿司シリーズの第一作 キャミー・タング 西島美幸 訳 スポーツ狂のレックス・坂井 —— いとこのマリコが数ヶ月後に結婚することにより、「いとこの中で一番年上の独身女性」という内輪の肩書を「勝ち取る」ことについては、あまり気にしていない。コントロールフリークの祖母を無視するのは容易だ —— しかし、祖母は最終通告を出した —— マリコの結婚式までにデート相手を見つけなければ、無慈悲な祖母は、レックスがコーチをしている女子バレーボールチームへの資金供給を切ると言う。 ダグアウトにいる選手全員とデートに出かけるほど絶望的なわけではない。レックスは、バイブルスタディで読んだ「エペソの手紙」をもとに「最高の男性」の条件の厳しいリストを作った。バレーボールではいつも勝つ —— ゲームを有利に進めれば、必ず成功するはずだ。 そのとき兄は、クリスチャンではなく、アスリートでもなく、一見何の魅力もないエイデンを彼女に引き合わせる。 エイデンは、クリスチャンではないという理由で離れていったトリッシュという女の子から受けた痛手から立ち直ろうとしている。そして、レックスが(1)彼に全く興味がないこと、(2)クリスチャンであること、(3)トリッシュのいとこであることを知る。あの狂った家族とまた付き合うのはごめんだ。まして、偽善的なクリスチャンの女の子など、お断り。彼はマゾヒストじゃない。 レックスは時間がなくなってきた。いくら頑張っても、いい人は現れない。それに、どこへ行ってもエイデンに遭遇する。あのリストはどんどん長くなっていくばかり —— 過去に掲載済みのストーリーのリンクはこちらです。 *** 36 誰かと結婚するとしたら、きっと駆け落ちだ。 クスクス笑うマリコのブライズメイドの後をついて、レックスはよろめきながらパゴダブリッジ・レストランに入った。泣きわめくティキの隣で四時間立ちっぱなし——マリコはレックスを列の最後に入れてくれたから、ありがたい——抜歯と同じぐらい喜ばしい経験だった。ノボケインなしで。 (ウェディングそのものは一時間だけ。よかった)リハーサルも終わり、あとはオリバーを見つけ、四時間ぶりに椅子に座って、祖母のおごりで高価なリハーサルディナー(結婚式リハーサ