A/N: So, Laura was never meant to be pregnant in this story. As I've share before, the odds of Laura Holt getting pregnant without having first made a detailed plan is highly unlikely. But... Given the number of private messages I've received and a few references in the reviews, an added Christmas present (just ignore we are now into February). ~RSteele82

Chapter 12

In the end Laura and Remington decided to tell Abigail precisely… nothing… about their marital status. What was the point? The truth – which they were still reeling from – would only lead to accusations, recriminations and likely a good deal of dramatic tears. As the old saying went, what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

Mildred, however, was sworn to secrecy, then issued an invite to New York City to attend their New Year's nuptials.

And, much like the upgrade to their suite and the arrangements Remington had made for the proposal and the upcoming ceremony, he'd already reserved a room for Mildred at the Plaza and had a plane ticket awaiting her at the Seattle airport. The only thing friend, associate, and surrogate mother of one had to do was get herself to the airport and the rest was taken care of.

But, before Mildred arrived, there was a wedding dress to find and tuxes to have fit.

Kleinfeld was known to have one of the largest wedding gown collections in the United States. Long gowns or cocktail length; tulle or lace; long train or no train; virginal white, antique white, or rose – the store offered it all. For most, it would be the store of their dreams…

For Laura it was the store from her worst of nightmares: She in the company of the mother who'd been envisioning her in wedding gown since birth and the sister who could spend days on end dressing her Barbies in a gown, Ken in a tux, and marrying them off… again, and again and again. Now add to that a starry eyed thirteen year old girl who thought the upcoming wedding was 'the most romantic thing ever' and a six-year-old carting a doll and already complaining she'd rather be at the hotel playing. The entire set up left Laura shuddering as she walked through the doors of the store, knowing somewhat what she wanted and understanding she'd have to indulge her mother and sister by trying on any number of wrong dresses for them.

It had taken great effort on her part not to smile when the sales representative assigned to her announced that because she needed a gown fitted and ready to go in less than a week, they would be limited in their selections to off-the-rack and some samples. Laura silently celebrated the news, and then was positively ready to do a pirouette, when the representative added with further regret that Laura's petite size two frame would narrow the selection even further to available size twos and some fours that could be easily altered. Surely there couldn't be more than handful available, right?

Wrong.

Thus, forty-five minutes later she found herself stepping into the first of a dozen dresses that had been hauled into the room at her mother and Frances's direction – not a single one of them fitting her vision for herself.

And this, this, this… she didn't even have the words for it… was a dress straight out her nightmares. Can you really call a day dream a nightmare? A point to ponder later. But the dress was, quite literally, from her nightmares, no matter what it was called.

Shortly after she and Remington had exchanged vows on the trawler, she'd found herself staring out the window of the limousine, while trying to come to terms with what they'd just done. She may have dozed off, although she doubted it, but suddenly she could envision the interior of a beautiful church and her, in her wedding gown, walking down the aisle toward Remington. With its puffy sleeves, layer of lace, excessive trims and beading a ridiculously long train, was it any wonder after walking down the aisle in the dress of her mother's dreams that her groom had ended up being a fish and the priest Norman Keyes? She thought not.

Yet, now here she stood in a gown that was frighteningly similar, as the representative tugged at the zipper.

"A bit snug," the woman note, "But nothing an extension can't fix. Could you suck in your stomach just a little?" Laura did as asked and after another solid pair of tugs, the zipper slid up.

Then she had to wait until the skirt was fluffed and arranged to the saleswoman's satisfaction. She was anything but the picture of the glowing bride when she stepped out of the dressing room into the small viewing area. Still, Abigail and Frances's faces lit up, and 'aws' and 'oohs' abundantly flowed. She never thought Mindy, of all people, would be the voice of reason.

"It's perfect," Abigail oozed. Mindy wrinkled her nose.

"Maybe for Mom," she allowed, "But not Aunt Laura."

"I don't think I like what you're implying," Frances said in the tone of voice that said her feelings had been hurt.

"I only meant, that this dress is Princess Diana," Mindy explained. "You always talk about Princess Diana's wedding dress when we see her on the news or on the cover of The Enquirer when we're at the grocery store. That—" she pointed at the dress "Is Princess Diana. But Aunt Laura's like Jackie Kennedy: American royalty. Elegant. Timeless." Laura snapped her fingers and pointed at her niece.

"Exactly." Stepping down off the short pedestal, she faced the saleswoman. "This isn't it. Nothing in that dressing room is right." Once the door to the dressing room door was closed, and the woman began unbuttoning and unzipping the gown, Laura launched into an explanation of what she wanted. "All satin, I think. White, sleeveless, form fitting to the waist, a full skirt… but not too full. And no train, not even the hint of one."

"I have a few things in mind," the saleswoman acknowledged.

"Thank you. And if you wouldn't mind taking Mindy with you?" She imagined it would be quite the boon to brag to fellow teenagers that she'd not only been in her aunt's wedding, but had helped pick out the dress.

For a while the room was filled with hustle and bustle, as staff removed grounds brought in previously, then Mindy and the saleswoman returned with a new selection of dresses. Standing, Laura examined the gowns, her eyes falling first to the skirts confirming nary a train to be found, then eliminated two dresses for their ball gown style skirts, then another pair as they'd been designed to show off décolletage she simply did not possess.

"What do you think, Mindy?" she requested her niece's advice on the four dresses still remaining.

"This one!" Mindy answered, immediately, her eyes glimmering with the pride she felt at being included on something so important. "It reminds me of the coat Uncle Remington gave you for Christmas." Her face fell and she shifted foot-to-foot, uncomfortable when Laura's eye narrowed thoughtfully. "I'm sorry," she apologized immediately. "I mean Mr. Remington." Laura did a double take, waved a dismissive hand at her niece, then her eyes returned to the dress.

"I think if you call him Uncle Remington, you'll make his day," she assured. "You're right about the dress. It's perfect." The pure white sleeveless dress featured a straight neckline that would leave her shoulders bared, a fitted bodice and a full, pleated, asymmetrical a-line skirt was a simple as it was elegant. "Why don't you go wait with your mother and grandmother while I try it on?"

"Okay," Mindy agreed readily, and stepped from the room closing the door behind her.

"Now, I couldn't find this in a two, so we'll need to take it in a bit," the saleswoman explained as she removed it from the hanger. "The simple lines will make alterations needed quick and easy," she assured, chattering away while Laura stepped into the skirt, then helped ease it up. "In the meantime we'll use clips to show you what it will look like when fitted."

"Alright." Laura looked downwards, examining the fall of the skirt as the saleswoman fastened the long line of buttons that began at her lower back and continued to the top of the dress. They'd give Remington fits on their wedding night, but, maybe it was for that very reason that she liked the dress all the more.

"It's like it was made for you," the saleswoman admired, "And only one alteration needed from what I can see, right here." She indicated an area beneath Laura's breasts, then with a couple of tugs, clipped the material in place at her back. "Would you like to take a look before showing it to your family?"

Laura turned to face the mirrors, and was rendered speechless. It was perfect, appealing to her bent towards timeless, classic clothing and Remington's love for the refined elegance of Lauren Bacall and Ingrid Bergman in those old movies he adored. The fitted bodice gave the illusion that she was a little heaver on top than she actually was, and the snug nip at her waist giving way to the pleats of the skirt gave her the illusion of a more curvy appearance than she actually possessed. Lifting her hair – she already knew the dress demanded her hair upswept into a French twist – she envisioned her Christmas earrings on her lobes and the necklace Remington had given her long ago around her neck. But it was when she pictured wearing the coat with it that she knew: This was it. This was the one. And it had only taken a little assertiveness and two dresses to find it.

She stepped out of the dressing room fully confident in how she appeared.

"Oh, Laura," Frances breathed,

"It's perfect," Mindy proclaimed.

"You're really pretty, Aunt Laura," Laurie Beth chimed in.

"How do you plan to wear your hair, dear?" Abigail wondered.

"French twist," Laura replied, definitively.

"Then hold your hair up," Abigail directed, evaluating her daughter critically from head-to-toe when she complied. "Beautiful," she pronounced. "The dress reminds me of one I saw Audrey Hepburn wearing in a magazine years ago, although if I remember correctly hers was heavily embroidered and it had a bit of a train. But as much as Remington loves his movies, I think he'll be speechless when he sees you coming down the aisle in this. Now, you'll need a veil, of course." Laura's pleasure at her mother's comparison of her to Audrey Hepburn – a reference Remington had made in the past on a few occasions – was quickly dulled by mention of a veil.

"Oh, Mother, I don't know," she hesitated. "A veil," she drew out the word, "Is so old-fashioned, a symbol for purity, even, and I think we can both agree, given I lived with Wilson and now Remington, that I left purity in the rear view—"

"A veil turns a ball gown into a wedding gown, nothing more," Abigail corrected, "And I know just the type you need. It was all the rage in the fifties." She looked at the saleswoman. "Would you have a simple…" she glance at Laura, then corrected, "I mean elegant elbow veil?"

"Do you know what jewelry you'll be wearing?" the woman asked Laura.

"Diamond drop earrings and a gold locket."

"I have the perfect veil in mind," the saleswoman promised. "I'll be right back."

She did, indeed, find the perfect veil, a simple white mesh lined in white satin that clipped into the hair with a clear rhinestone studded comb. The veil stopped just short of Laura's elbows and what there was of the miniscule material fell solely behind her head and shoulders. With everyone in approval on the dress, alterations followed, where she was measured, jostled, poked and pricked.

"Thirty bust, twenty-eight chest, twenty-four waist, thirty-two hips…We're going to bring it in right here… Pin… Turn please…"

A short note scribbled in her pocket calendar reminding her of her next fitting on Tuesday and the Holt women were on the move, Laura with a bag containing her veil inside. The entire morning had been set aside for finding a dress and Laura's quick success meant they had time to fill before stopping for lunch. At Laura's suggestion, they split up: Abigail, Frances and the girls went to Sak's to begin looking for dresses while Laura walked two blocks down to Tiffany's. She needed a matron of honor gift and flower girls gifts - that much she remembered from Frances's wedding and weddings of friends.

For Frances something ridiculously sentimental would be demanded. She'd considered buying Frances a pair of earrings identical to the ones Remington had gifted her with at Christmas, but her eyes had crossed and her skin had paled when she'd surreptitiously glanced at the price tag. If he'd charged her earrings to the Agency account she was going to brain him. If he'd charged them to his personal card... well, he'd be eating in more often than not over the next year to pay off that bill. She'd roamed the store, stumbling across the perfect gift for each of the girls: A gold bracelet with heart shaped charm that had a diamond chip embedded in it. Then, only another case downwards and she found the most perfectly sappy gift that Frances would adore: A rectangular, gold charm with the word 'sister' embossed upon it and a tiny diamond embedded at the bottom. One gold chain later, she was checking out. Her eyes had nearly bulged out of her head when she saw the total then the additional rush engraving charge but, with a deep breath she'd signed off on the credit card receipt.

She'd have to give up chocolate for the next three years to pay off that dent to her card. But maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing, she ruminated. She'd chosen to ignore the fact that a size 4 dress only needed to be 'nipped' in one place, and she'd taken purposeful note of her measurements when the seamstress had called them out. It was with some dismay that she realized her mother had been right: She had gained weight… and if she were honest with herself, she'd noticed it herself a few weeks before. Many of her bras and teddies had begun feeling a bit snug across her breasts and, as she'd told Remington only a few days before, some of her wardrobe no longer fit. According to those measurements, she definitely moved into the 'B' cup range, and her waist had thickened a full inch – only her hips, thank God, had remained steady.

So far, she grimaced as she wrote down the inscriptions she wanted on the jewelry. Too many of Remington's culinary masterpieces and too little jogging over the last year and half had taken their toll. Since there was no way she was going to turn her nose up at his cooking, she vowed to commit herself to a five mile run, no less than six days a week, beginning the day after they returned home to LA.

She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing her engraving choices. For Laurie Beth, on the front side of her charm, two words: 'Flower Girl'; On the back, '12-31-1987'. For Mindy, on the back the same date, but on the front the word 'Bridesmaid.' After all, if Danny could be an usher, surely Mindy could be bumped up to Bridesmaid. Another feather in her cap when she told the tale to her friends. Laura was certainly competitive enough to appreciate that. And finally on Frances's on the back she'd had inscribed 'And friend'. Frances would cry buckets for days, maybe weeks, which the thought of made Laura uncomfortable enough to consider going another route, but in the end she'd tipped up her chin and had handed the paper to the clerk. It was the truth, after all: After a lifetime of being on different pages, in the last two years they'd become friends.

At least of a sort – but not in that 'come over and hang out or call every day' type of way, you understand. Laura would be driven mad within a week of that.

After scribbling in her pocket calendar the rings would be ready pick up on Wednesday, she made her way to Saks. If they were as efficient in finding dresses as she'd been with her gown, there was a good possibility they could be back at the hotel by early afternoon. Those hopes were dashed when she saw her mother, Frances and the children waiting for her outside the store.

"Come along, Laura," Abigail instructed, while raising an arm and hailing a cab. "There was nothing that would do, but a lovely woman told me of a bridal store on twenty-fift, that she promised has multiple rooms filled with dresses that we can take home today."

Helplessly, Laura piled into the backseat with Frances and the girls, while her mother climbed in the front. After giving the cabbie the address, her mother turned in her seat to address Laura.

"We need to know your colors, Laura," she prompted. Laura stared at her blankly.

"My… my colors?" she stumbled. She worried she was about to fall down a hatch but instead of Alice in Wonderland, she'd be Laura in Weddingland.

"For the dresses and your bouquet," Abigail elaborated in a tone that suggested it was self-explanatory. It was, but it didn't mean she was eager to engage. She ran through the gamut of colors in her mind, immediately eliminating anything remotely pastel. Red and green were too 'Christmasy' and while their wedding might occur right after Christmas, they were… well… already married. Pastels were for spring, and she'd never been a fan of gold or silver as a color choice for clothing. She considered blue. A cerulean blue like Remington's eyes maybe?

"Of course, the boys will have to get bowties and vests or cummerbunds to match," Abigail reminded.

"Shouldn't we have thought of that before their tux fittings?" Laura groused.

"I'm sure it will be no trouble at all to match your colors," Abigail brushed off the concern.

"Black and white. My colors are black and white," Laura announced, definitively. Once she said the words, she found she loved the idea. A timeless color scheme, tying them to no place and time… and that the colors were reminiscent of the movies her Mr. Steele loved? Nothing could be more perfect.

"Black?" Abigail repeated in horror. "Laura, black is a color for funerals, not weddings."

"Not black or white, Mother," Laura corrected. "Black and white dresses, a bouquet of white roses. Simple, elegant, timeless," she repeated the words that had become her mantra.

"It will be impossible to find black and white dresses for a bridal party," Abigail predicted. Laura's chin tipped up a notch at that, and she dug in her heels.

"We'll see," she replied, blithely. "And if we don't find them at this place, well, we'll just have to go somewhere else."

She inwardly winced even as she said the words.

It wasn't just any tux shop that Remington escorted the Holt men to, but a top notch tailor recommended weeks ago by the concierge at The Plaza. The shop offered custom purchases as well as top-of-the-line rentals. But, there would be no rentals for Remington Steele, nor the men in the wedding party, for Remington Steele had spent far too much of his life wearing other's cast-offs, and it had been only through hard work and a steely determination to improve the perch he landed on with each subsequent job that had finally allowed him to reach a point in life where used clothing was long in his past. With a little help from Abigail on Donald and Danny's sizing, three tuxes, complete with tie, vest and tails had been awaiting the trio to try on when they arrived.

"This is really far too generous, Remington," Donald insisted for the umpteenth time. "Danny and I are perfectly fine renting—"

"I'll hear no more of it," Remington countered, much as he'd been since shortly after they'd entered the shop. "A little more here, I think," he indicated the waist of his jacket to the tailor kneeled before him, pinning final adjustments needing to be made. "Perhaps Laura and I will have you and Frances as our guests at the symphony one evening."

"Well, I'll certainly have the monkey suit for it," Donald laughed. "So, tell me, Remington. What made you decide to take—"

"That off-ramp?" Remington finished the thought, although in a different manner than intended by Donald. Donald laughed.

"Yeah, that off-ramp," he confirmed.

"I've actually been contemplating it since around the time you and Frances moved to LA," Remington admitted, in a rare moment of open honesty that seemed to occasionally overtake him in his future brother-in-law's company. "The last year and a half that we've lived together merely confirmed what I had suspected all along."

"What was that?" Donald asked, a second tailor worked on the cuff of a pant leg.

"Kismet," Remington replied quickly.

"Kismet?"

"Fate. Laura's and my paths were always meant to cross and no matter how hard we fought it at times, this was our inevitable end." He grinned at Donald's reflection in the mirror next to his own. "There's no one quite like Laura Holt."

"She's a rare one, alright, you don't have to tell me that," Donald agreed. "But I gotta admit: I wondered if she'd ever meet someone who could keep up with her, instead of trying to hold her back." Remington chuckled.

"She's certainly not a woman for the faint of heart," he mused. "The impossible challenge, I once called her. I suspect she'll always be that…"