Soul of the Bride Read online

  “I couldn’t let you leave,” she said. “I have just one more little, tiny favor to ask of you.”

  “Uh-huh,” Piper said, placing a hand on her hip.

  “Well, Phoebe was right. As I said, this is going to be an all-day shoot, and well, I’ll need to feed the models . . .”

  “You want me to cook for you and eight models?” Piper asked.

  “And I’ll probably need a photographer’s assistant, too,” Prue said, scraping her toe on the parquet. “Please, Piper, it’ll be fun! You told me you’ve been meaning to develop some new recipes for P3. Here’s your chance. Besides, this is my big break. I need your support.”

  Piper bit her lip. Of course, she wanted to help Prue. But this just added to her feeling that her sisters were doing major things in their lives, while she was just on the sidelines . . . cooking dinner.

  “Well, since I don’t start work until the evening, I guess I can’t say no,” Piper said grudgingly.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” Prue said, giving Piper another hug. “What would I do without you?”

  “I don’t know, order pizza?” Piper said with a wink. Then she opened the stained-glass door and headed to work.

  The next day the manor doorbell rang sharply at noon. Prue glanced in the foyer mirror as she hurried to answer it. She was glad she’d let Phoebe convince her to go with the hot-pink halter and turquoise satin capris. With her long black hair tied into a loose topknot, she looked casual enough for lunch, but glam enough to let Mitchell know she was definitely interested.

  When she opened the door, his face showed that he was clearly interested, too.

  “Wow . . .” Mitchell breathed.

  “Hi,” Prue said, feeling herself blush again. Mitchell stepped inside and said, “Prue, you look, amazing.”

  He gazed around the foyer at the antique grandfather clock and swooping walnut staircase, the overstuffed horsehair sofas, and the velvet chaise.

  “And I’ve got to tell you, your house is almost as breathtaking as you are,” he said. “This is some place.”

  “It was my grandmother’s house,” Prue said, leaning against an ornately carved chair. “You could say she was really into antiques.”

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Mitchell said, strolling into the sunroom. “That Victorian architecture shoot you were talking about? You should do it right here. In this very room.”

  “I’m one step ahead of you,” Prue said, following him. In the light of the sunroom, she could see the natural blond highlights in his hair. She also couldn’t help but notice how nicely his gray shirt picked up the color in his eyes. “I’ve got a shoot scheduled here two days from now.”

  “You’re kidding!” Mitchell said. “I should have known, Prue. You’re so together. And you’re clearly so talented.”

  Prue could feel warmth spread through her. Mitchell was incredible. With many guys, she’d write the compliment off as empty flattery. But Mitchell seemed so sincere. She couldn’t wait to spend an entire lunch with him.

  “So are you hungry?” Prue asked. “Lead the way to the restaurant.”

  In twenty minutes Prue and Mitchell were sitting at a very small table outside Bien Hoa, a tiny place in the Castro neighborhood. An elderly siver-haired woman walked across the deck to their table and served them glasses of sweet, milky iced tea.

  “Your order?” she asked in a thick accent.

  Mitchell began speaking to the woman in Vietnamese. Prue’s eyes widened. Apparently, Mitchell had done plenty of research before she’d met him in the library yesterday. She was impressed.

  The elderly woman clearly felt the same way. When she heard Mitchell speak her native tongue, she responded with a huge smile and several minutes of excited chatter. Finally, she squeezed Mitchell’s shoulder and hurried off.

  “She’s getting us the house specials,” Mitchell said, turning to Prue with a smile. “She said to leave the ordering to her.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing!” Prue laughed. “I wouldn’t know what to order.”

  “You’ll love the food. I promise,” Mitchell said. “So, I want to hear more about your photography. How did you get started?”

  Prue explained how she’d segued from the stuffy business of auctioning antiques to shooting for a hip, urban magazine.

  “I guess I took quite a leap,” she said with a shrug. “Sometimes I wonder how on earth I got here.”

  “I know the feeling,” Mitchell said. “Let me tell you, when you travel as much as I do, sometimes you forget what city you’ve woken up in.”

  Prue laughed. “You know, we subscribe to National Geographic,” she told Mitchell. “I flipped through some old issues and found the article you did about Prague’s youth culture. It was so vivid, so fascinating. You’re really good.”

  Mitchell looked into his tea glass. “Stop flattering me, Prue,” he joked. “I’ll get a swelled head.”

  But when he looked up at her, Prue could tell that he took enormous pride in his work. She felt so connected to Mitchell already. She’d finally met someone whose professional passion matched her own.

  “Come on, tell me some tales from abroad,” Prue urged him.

  While Mitchell entertained her with vignettes about his travels, the silver-haired woman brought them two enormous bowls of steaming pho—a Vietnamese soup laden with fresh leafy vegetables and thinly sliced beef. Prue took a taste.

  “Mmm!” she exclaimed. “It’s delicious.”

  “Discovering cuisine like this is a nice perk of my job, isn’t it?” Mitchell said.

  “I’ll say,” Prue said, spooning up some more of her soup.

  “Of course, there’s nothing like capturing images on film, the way you do,” Mitchell conceded. “A thousand words and all that . . . Hey! I just thought of something.”

  “Oh?”

  “Have you hired an assistant for your photo shoot yet?” Mitchell asked.

  Prue blinked.

  “Actually no,” she replied, taking a sip of the super-sweet tea. “In fact, I was planning on talking to my photo editor about that after lunch.”

  “Well, don’t,” Mitchell said. “I’ll assist you. We’ll call it our second date.”

  “You?” Prue said nervously. Oh no! she thought. How can I tactfully turn down Mitchell’s offer?

  After all, she was already using a bunch of amateur models. Having to correct Mitchell as he fumbled around her set was not going to make a great foundation for their relationship.

  “Um, no offense, Mitchell, but you’re a writer,” she said carefully. “Do you know your way around a light meter?”

  “I’m a journalist,” Mitchell corrected her. “A product of Columbia Journalism School, in fact. And they’re very old school there. Everybody learns photography and the basics of assisting shooters in the field.”

  Prue stared at Mitchell. Could this guy be any more perfect?

  “You don’t mind taking orders from your date?” she teased. “I run a pretty tight ship.”

  “Order away,” Mitchell insisted. “I’d love to watch you work.”

  Prue pondered the idea for a moment as she ate some more pho.

  “Okay,” she agreed. “But you have to let 415 pay you. I insist.”

  “No way,” Mitchell retorted. “I’m not in this for the money.”

  “Oh, really?” Prue said. “So what is it that’s making you give up a day of your Vietnam research to hang around my house shooting pictures?”

  “This . . .” Mitchell whispered. He leaned across their small table and planted a soft, warm kiss upon Prue’s lips. Then he sat back in his chair, grinning adorably. Next thing Prue knew, she was leaning across the table and planting a smooch on him. His kiss was so warm, so intoxicating. It made her forget everything around them—the food, the sidewalk traffic near the restaurant—until the elderly woman bustled onto the deck with a plate of cold spring rolls.

  As she walked up to their table, Prue and Mitchell sprang back into their seats. Bot
h blushed slightly. But the woman just winked at Mitchell and pinched his cheek, saying something in Vietnamese.

  When she left them alone, Prue felt herself still blushing.

  “What did she say to you?” she gasped.

  “She said, ‘Don’t mind the old lady. Kiss her some more!’ ” Mitchell told her.

  “You’re lying,” Prue joked.

  “No, I’m serious,” Mitchell said, gazing into Prue’s eyes. “And then she said, ‘This fish, she’s magic. Don’t let her swim away!’”

  Prue glanced quickly down at her soup bowl. Oh Mitchell, she thought wistfully, if you only knew.

  CHAPTER

  3

  Phoebe! Aren’t you up yet?” Phoebe lifted her head from her pillow and squinted blearily at the door. Prue’s indignant face was peeking through it.

  “What time is it?” Phoebe croaked.

  “Eight o’clock,” Prue said, sounding exasperated. “The shoot’s in two hours and there’s so much to do.”

  “Uh . . . , there is?” Phoebe asked, hauling herself painfully to a sitting position and yawning widely. “Like beyond finding seven models, which I’ve done, and making sure everybody knows to be here at ten sharp, which I’ve also done. I think the only thing I haven’t done for today’s shoot is get enough beauty sleep, Prue.”

  Prue smiled ruefully and leaned against the doorjamb.

  “I know. You totally came through for me, Phoebs,” she said. “I’ve been so busy getting costumes and putting the set together, I don’t know what I would have done if I’d had to take care of the models, too.”

  “Gratitude accepted,” Phoebe said, smiling sleepily and flopping back onto her pillow.

  “So, will Nikos be among these beautiful college kids?” Prue asked.

  “You know it,” Phoebe said, propping her head on her elbow and grinning at her sib. “He was way into it when I asked him in class the other day. And get this, he said, ‘A Greek god? Me? You’ve got to be kidding!’ Gorgeous, talented and modest, too. I have to get this guy to be my boyfriend!”

  “Well then, you have to get up, don’t you?” Prue said, wiggling her finger at the bed. Suddenly, the fluffy duvet zipped off of Phoebe and landed in a heap on the floor.

  Phoebe stared at her bare toes. Then she glared at her sister, who was grinning smugly from the doorway.

  “Telekinesis before breakfast, Prue?” Phoebe growled, jumping out of bed. “You’re such a witch.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” Prue giggled. “Now, hurry up and shower. Then I need your help with the costumes.”

  “Urgh, it’s going to be a long day,” Phoebe grumbled as she plodded to the bathroom. She glanced into the mirror and gasped at the dark circles beneath her eyes and her limp blond locks. Maybe watching that two A.M. movie on TV hadn’t been such a good idea after all, especially since today was her big chance with Nikos.

  “You never know—this guy could be your future husband,” she said to her reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. “Don’t blow it.

  “Yeah, right,” she said with a giggle. Then she hopped into the shower.

  Downstairs, Prue rushed into the kitchen, carrying an armful of wispy dresses. Piper was just peeking into the oven, where three loaves of honey wheat bread were baking. Then she returned to the enormous pasta salad she was concocting.

  “Piper, that smells fabulous,” Prue said as she hung the gossamer robes over the kitchen chairs. “Now, I want to make sure I’ve got all our characters straight. So we’ll have Zeus and Hera in the center, since they’re the king and queen of the heavens, right?”

  “Right,” Piper said as she stirred some sun-dried tomatoes into her salad. “Zeus is lord of Mount Olympus. He’s the big cheese. Then you’ve got Ares and Aphrodite, better known as Mars and Venus.”

  “You mean to tell me Mars and Venus actually had a love affair?” Prue said with a laugh.

  “Oh, yeah,” Piper said. “Aphrodite was actually married to Hephaestus, who was the only ugly god on Mount Olympus. So, she had an affair with Ares, the dashing god of war.”

  “Man, those gods and goddesses had their very own soap opera, didn’t they?” Prue said, laying out some gold strappy sandals for the models.

  “Don’t even get me started,” Piper said, rolling her eyes. “Okay, so then you’ll have Artemis and Apollo, who were twins. Artemis is the goddess of the hunt and Apollo is the god of music.”

  “So, he’ll hold this lyre,” Prue said, pulling a small, gold-painted harp out of a box of props she’d rented from a costume shop the day before.

  “Perfect,” Piper said. “And last but not least, you’ve got your edgy couple, Hades and Persephone.”

  “What’s their story?” Prue asked.

  Piper slipped on her oven mitts and began pulling her bread loaves out of the oven.

  “Hades is the god of the underworld, but not by choice,” she said over her shoulder. “He had two brothers—Zeus and Poseidon. When they came to power, they drew lots to see how to divide the world. Zeus won the draw and got the best position—king of the gods and ruler of the heavens. Next in line was Poseidon, who became lord of the sea. Last and least was Hades, who became king of the underworld, which also came to be called Hades. Eventually, he kidnapped a young goddess, Persephone, to be his wife. She would have been able to escape his clutches, but because she’d eaten one pomegranate seed while she was down under, she was doomed to spend half each year there. The rest of the time, she could come back to earth.”

  “Harsh,” Prue said. “I love it for the photo though. I’ll pick the darkest and most mysterious-looking guy in our group to play Hades. I can’t wait to see what they all look like.”

  “Well, you won’t have to wait too long,” Piper said as the doorbell rang.

  Prue glanced at her watch. “One of them is early!” she said incredulously. She dashed out of the kitchen.

  “Ooh, I want to see the beautiful people!” Piper said, following Prue into the foyer—and forgetting to take off her oven mitts.

  Prue threw the stained-glass door open and caught her breath. Standing before her was a tall, angular young man with a shock of glossy black curls and intense blue eyes. He wore distressed canvas carpenter pants and a tank top—an outfit that just screamed, “I’m an artist.” He was also struggling with an enormous wooden box that stood on three rickety legs. A black velvet cloth hung off one end of the box.

  “Whoa,” Piper whispered as she peeked over Prue’s shoulder. “Looks like we have our Hades. He’s gorgeous!”

  “Prue Halliwell?” the man said with a gleaming smile. “I’m Nikos. Phoebe’s friend?”

  “Come on in,” Prue said, stepping back. She motioned at the brown box. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Nikos placed his odd contraption in front of her.

  “You got it—an old Brownie portrait box, circa 1904,” he said. “My father—well, you could say he’s a collector. He’s got a lot of old stuff lurking around the basement. When I heard about your Victorian theme, I thought you might want to take a crack at this old camera.”

  “Would I!” Prue exclaimed. “This is perfect. Why didn’t I think of it? A Victorian camera with glass plates instead of modern film. The photos shot with this camera will look like images from another age. This is just the thing I need to give me an edge over the competition. Nikos, how can I thank you?”

  “Don’t,” the guy said with a grin. “Anything for a sister of Phoebe’s.”

  “Well, how about a hello for Phoebe herself?” said a voice behind them. The trio spun around to behold the youngest Halliwell wearing a gossamer Greek gown and posing in the foyer doorway. The dress’s high waist was tied with a crisscrossing of gold ribbons that matched the gold straps on her sandals. More gold ribbons were woven through Phoebe’s hair, which was curled and piled upon the crown of her head. A serpent bangle around her biceps and a single pearl around her neck completed the look. Phoebe looked as though she’d steppe
d straight out of an ancient Greek frieze.

  “Phoebe, you look awesome,” Nikos said.

  “You do!” Prue agreed. “Perfect for the photo.”

  “I found my costume in the kitchen and went ahead and changed,” Phoebe explained as she brushed past Prue. Then she planted a kiss on Nikos’s cheek.

  “Hello, you Olympian god, you,” she flirted.

  “Oh, jeez,” Piper muttered, rolling her eyes at Prue. “Let’s go pick out an outfit for Hades, here.”

  Prue grabbed the camera, and she and Piper slipped out of the foyer, leaving Phoebe to make flirty eyes at her new sweetie.

  “Well, this proves it,” Nikos said to her. “You are beautiful in any time period—ancient Greek, Victorian, contemporary . . .”

  “Aw, shucks,” Phoebe said, batting her gold-dusted lashes. “Go on . . .”

  “All right,” Nikos said. “I will.”

  He leaned over.

  He’s going to kiss me, Phoebe thought, closing her eyes. My plan so worked . . .

  Just then a chime sounded.

  “Whoops,” Nikos said, jerking backward. “Guess that’s the doorbell.”

  “Guess so.” Phoebe sighed. Irritated, she stalked to the door and threw it open. Standing on the porch was Chloe, a willowy blond girl with skin so pale, it was almost translucent. Her perfect, pouty lips were pursed into a self-important sneer. When Phoebe had seen this haughty babe on campus, she’d known she’d be perfect for Prue’s photo. Of course, she hadn’t known that Chloe would have a supermodel-size attitude. Phoebe sighed and rolled her eyes. What did I expect? she mused.

  Next to Chloe was a very cute, muscular guy with spiky brown hair and a bulging bag of gear.

  “Hi, I’m Mitchell,” the man said, reaching out to shake Phoebe’s hand. “I’ll be Prue’s assistant for the shoot.”

  Finally, Chloe deigned to speak, too.

  “Hello, Phoebe,” she drawled, stalking into the foyer. “I guess I’m in the right place. We do have hair and makeup, don’t we?”

  “Uh, that would be me,” Phoebe said, motioning the girl into the kitchen. Then she glanced at Nikos and rolled her eyes. “Guess we have to get to work,” she whispered to him.