It was the tradition of wealthy families that the bride's family pay for the wedding. Though, of course, in this case there were two brides and Maura's had made no mention of helping. Neither of Jane's parents were in a position to give financial assistance and Jane's salary was modest, so it was Maura who offered to pay for the bulk of the wedding and in doing so, insisted on a wedding planner.

"It's a waste of money!"

"It's my money, I choose how to spend it!"

"It makes me uncomfortable."

"We don't have time with our jobs to organise everything! You'll thank me."

"Okay, fine, but nothing too fancy, Maura"

It seemed their definition of fancy varied somewhat.

"Do we really need orchid center pieces, Maura, really?"

"It's understated elegance."

"And bloody expensive!"

"Well what would you like?"

"Well do we need a center piece for each table?"

"Jane! It's a wedding!"

"Okay, okay! How about daffodils, seeing it's in springtime."

"The yellow will clash with the colour scheme and besides, it's not appropriate. There will be a lot of very wealthy people attending and although I don't need to have the most replete wedding, there are certain standards."

"So you'll have the wedding they want? If they don't care that we are two women getting hitched, they're hardly going to judge us on daffodils for a center piece. Cheap, easy to get-in-spring daffodils, might I add. Maura… don't look at me like that. I'm just saying that getting a dozen orchids center pieces is a lot more expensive."

"Actually thirty-three."

"Thirty-three!? Maura, we said a small wedding!"

"Well that is small. I'm not inviting half of the people I should."

"That's 240 guests…"

"246."

"Whatever. My point is that 246 is not a small wedding, it's a big wedding. It's a ridiculous amount of big. And if we invite that many then we may as well invite 500 because if we don't then the Rizzoli extended family will get pretty annoyed that they didn't' get a chance to gawk at the lesbian cousin and eat free food. And I seriously don't think I want to subject you to them. They makes me look refined in comparison. How about this. You get your orchid center pieces but we only have 15 tables, deal?"

"Twenty tables and you have yourself a deal."

"Eighteen."

"Deal"

"Hmmmm. You just gave in way too easy… why you smiling at me like that?"

"Because I love you."

"That's not why. You look like the cat that got the cream."

"Cats are lactose intolerant."

"Maura!"

"What?"

"Just…can we just finish figuring out the table settings before you Wedding Planner lady get's annoyed at us for not doing the little we need to do?"

"Her name is Lauren, Janie-baby."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay, Janie."

"Maura!"

"Yes, baby?"

"Come here."

With the help of Lauren, Maura managed to cajole and charm Jane into agreeing to an haut cuisine five course meal, a better venue, silver table settings, premium table linen, tasteful flower arrangements and conveniently forgot to mention the substantial increase in the cost. It would only occur to Jane on the day that their wedding may 'only' have 144 or so guests, but that this not a small wedding, it was rather grand indeed.

Xxx

On a snowy December morning, Constance and Maura Isles were standing in a designer bridal boutique in Milan, Italy, surrounded in billowing clouds of white dresses. A compact little assistant swirled around them displaying option upon option of off the rack wedding gowns, describing the various features in fluid Italian. The two women were pouring over them with studious intensity, discussing each gown in an excited mixture of English and French.

Maura had flown in on a jet plane organised by her mother after receiving a phone call offering to help her design a dress. Maura was touched. It was an olive branch after a shaky few months of stilted phone conversations, so with hopeful trepidation she joined her mother at the Ritz on the Saturday morning. Her mother had crooked her head on one side and greeted her, eyes scrutinizing as if trying to see if her daughter had transmuted into something altogether foreign now that she was engaged to a woman. When she asked about Jane, her face took on a pinched look, her voice became clipped and sharp and Maura felt her heart sink. It was awkward. Both were trying to reach a place where it was okay with the other but they were there for a reason linked to the very thing Mrs Isles was struggling with. They engaged in a tense little dance in which neither of them felt equal to addressing the situation but they both knew that it bubbled silently beneath the surface. Instead they spoke of anything else as they were driven to the boutique; of Mrs Isles' latest installations, of her guest speaking tour, of Maura's work, of Mr Isles and his current research paper. It wasn't until they found themselves looking at the dresses that the tension eased.

"I love this patterning on here with the diamante and the way it roushes on the side."

"Oh and the back on this one is simply delightful."

"That is gorgeous, Mother!" Maura exclaimed her eyes lighting up. She held up the gown and inspected it closely.

"Well, keep it in mind then for when we meet with the designer this afternoon. Now tell me, darling, what were you thinking. Straps, strapless, off the shoulder…? And what material would you like? Silk, satin, taffeta, …?"

When Maura tried on a selection, Mrs Isles shone with a sort of pride that Maura had never seen before. She felt buoyed by it. The conversation flowed over lunch as they talked in detail about what they had seen, what they felt would work best so that by the time they had their appointment with the designer, they were in perfect agreement as to what would suit Maura best. The designer made some excellent suggestion, sketching swiftly with her pen and Mrs Isles had squeezed her arm in delight.

After measurements were taken, the two of them spilled onto one of the many quaint little cobbled back roads of Milan and Maura felt emboldened to slip her arm into mothers who started a little but then clasped her tightly and they meandered arm in arm down the road with the no greater purpose than the enjoy the setting of the winter sun against the snow that had fallen fresh that morning. The air was crisp and puffs of white clouds fell from their lips, curling into each other and dissipating. Their feet crunched into the snow, leaving inch deep imprints of their boots. The sound of the traffic was muted against the whiteness, giving an odd sort of stillness to the dusk. It was unseasonably cold but Maura did not feel it and she hugged into the warmth of her mother. She was reminded of Christmas when her parents would whisk her away to their chalet in St Moritz. There had invariably been other families that the Isles were intimate with and much of the time was spent socialising with them which, given Maura's bookish tendencies, had often been unpleasant – it was not a given that just because their parents were friends, that she got along with their kids – but there had always been moments when it had been just them and she had relished those moments.

They had planned to attend the Opera later that night but it wasn't for a few hours yet, so they wandered through a series of streets and ended up along the Riviera. It was then that the pair stumbled across Baron and Baroness Longdale. They were short and stout, indistinguishable beneath their stylish winter coats, scarves and hat. It wasn't until they were almost upon each other that they were recognised.

"My dear Constance, is that you?" The Baroness said, drawing out the vowels of Mrs Isles' name in a pronounced Queen's English.

Maura felt her mother tense. They stopped and turned.

"Lydia! Brian! How are you?"

"Perfectly splendid. Brian is here on a spot of business and I decided to join him. We had no idea that you in town, Constance, you never mentioned a word at the committee last week! Are you here long?"

"Only for the weekend. I'm due in France on Tuesday. But allow me to introduce Maura, my daughter. Maura this is Baron and Baroness Longdale, we are acquainted through the Longdale Charity of which Lydia is president." She turned to present her daughter to the pair of curious eyes.

"Maura! I imagine you don't remember me but the last time I saw you, you were five years old and running around in your pink frilly tutu, insisting we take a look through the microscope at a bug you had found."

Maura was only half listening to the woman, she was transfixed with a mild sense of horror at skin that had been lifted, injected and filled until the woman's wide eyes looked like she was in a perpetual state of shock. Make-up was caked over the taunt skin, eyebrows penciled in and a bright lipstick pulled focus to the obscenely plump lips. She might have been in her early fifties or older, it was difficult to tell. The tone of her voice seemed to indicate that she found the anecdote charming though it could not have been deduced from her facial expression as she didn't' seem to have the ability to pull any. The husband sported similar markings of cosmetic surgery, although he had not gone to the same extremes as his wife. It made them a most peculiar looking pair.

"I admit I don't recollect… but it is pleasure to meet you, again." She said shaking their extended hands in turn.

"And what brings you to Milan with your mother? Surely not this cold weather!"

"We just came from a wedding dress fitting."

"A wedding dress! Oh, Constance! You never breathed a word about your daughter being engaged, you sly thing."

"Oh didn't I?" Mrs Isles sounded faint.

"There must be something in the air – did you know that Sarah Stanfield is engaged to Jean De Rouse and Lady Ramsden's daughter just became engaged to the billionaire, David Suttonfield? Can you imagine the scandal? David is divorced no more than a month and they make the announcement. No wonder he gave such a generous settlement to his ex-wife, he was clearly in a rush… and I suspect he wants to marry the girl," she said leaning in and lowering her voice, "because he is after the business contacts the family has. I hear he wants to expand his interests into Turkey and the Ramsden's are have long standing affiliations with those circle. But look at me, I digress! Who is the lucky man? Anyone I might know?"

"No. It's not anyone you would know." Mrs Isles said hastily.

"She's a Boston PD Homicide Detective." Maura added helpfully.

The Baroness' eyes, if it was possible, opened wider than they already were. "She...?"

Before Maura could utter anything further, Mrs Isles had gripped her by the arm.

"Lydia, Brain, my apologies but I had not noted the time. We are due for a dinner reservation in ten minutes, pray excuse us."

She walked off pulling Maura with her, the startled faces of the Longdales following in their wake.

"Insufferable woman," Mrs Isles muttered under her breath, "always poking her nose in where it doesn't belong."

Maura said nothing. The feeling of camaraderie was gone and it chilled her heart to the temperature of ice.

xxx

"Oh, Jane." Maura was sighing into her cellphone. "I wish you were here."

"I'm sorry, baby. I miss you too."

Maura was in her bedroom of the hotel suite, looking at the winking lights of the city from the armchair. She'd rung Jane shortly after they had got back in after a very quiet walk back to the hotel. Mrs Isles had said that she was feeling unwell and didn't think she was equal to going to the opera. She had gone to her room and had not emerged since.

"How's Bass?"

"He's fine. I think he's moved a meter or two since you left."

"Oh good, he needs the exercise. Did you give him some strawberries?"

"Yeah but he hasn't touched them."

"Oh I hope he isn't coming down with anything!"

"Only a case of missing-maura-itis. I have the same thing. Luckily I don't go off food when I get it because otherwise I'd fade away, what with you gallivanting around the planet to see your parents all the time…"

"Jane, I've been away three weekends in three months. I hardly think you'd 'fade away' in that time, regardless of how slim you are."

"Maura!" Jane huffed affectionately into the phone. "You're sooooo literal."

"But you love that about me."

"I love-hate it."

"You can't love-hate something."

"Of course you can. I love-hate captain crunch."

"You love-hate captain crunch?"

"Yeah. I love how it tastes and how deliciously crunchy it is but I hate how sickly I feel once I've eaten too much, which I always do because it's devilishly addictive."

"I feel that way about fudge-clusters."

"See? You can totally love-hate something."

"It's an unsatisfactory term. It uses antonyms to describe a vague state of emotion."

"You got a better term?"

"No, Jane I don't. But I could look it up. I imagine there is a word to describe exactly what you mean. Did you know that English has the larges vocabulary of any language in use today? It's mainly because English tends to appropriate words from other languages. Did you know that the word pajamas comes from colonial India?"

"Did you know that the word defenestrate means to throw out the window, which is what I'll do to myself if you don't stop talking google."

"I'm surprised you know that word. It's not commonly used."

"Yeah, well maybe I got bored today and opened the dictionary."

"Really, Jane?"

"No. Not really. Mum's just got a smartphone, you know for her organising and she downloaded an app that has a word of the day. She's driving me crazy trying to incorporate them into sentences. Now that seriously makes me want to defenestrate myself."

"I think that is wonderful!"

"What that I want to throw myself out a window?"

"No, Jane, that your mother is interested in expanding her vocabulary. The English language has over a million recognised words but that the average speaker only uses 15, 000?"

"Wow. I feel so enlightened right now."

"Jane…"

Jane laughed and they lapsed into a easy silence. Maura could hear Jane breathing rhythmically through the phone.

"You lying on my couch?"

"No. I'm in your bedroom. The sheets smell like you."

"I only left yesterday evening."

"Yeah, but it feel like you left forever ago."

"You'll sleep at my house Sunday so you'll be there when I get back?"

"Of course. Even if Ma drives me batty. She can't wait to see the sketch of the dress, you know. I think she's more excited about yours than mine."

"I think it's because she's not convinced you are going to wear a dress."

"Well normally I wouldn't but it's my wedding. I think I can make the effort."

"If you wanted to wear a pant suit – a tailored pant suit- I wouldn't mind in the least."

"What and have my Ma ashamed to sit at the bridal table because her daughter is too butch!"

"You're not butch, Jane. You're very feminine."

"Thanks."

A pause. Then tentatively:

"Jane?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Do you think that Mother is ashamed of me?"

"Because she hasn't told her society friends about us?"

"Yes."

"I think she's struggling with her hopes and dreams for you."

"What? That I'd marry a Garrett who comes from the right family but who kills when he goes bankrupt?"

"Well, you know, the whole white picket fence."

"Neither of our places have a white picket fences."

"Maura…" she admonished gently, "I imagine that the circles she moves in are still pretty conservative. Two women… wouldn't it be a bit scandalous?"

"What, that two consenting adults, who love each other want to declare their commitment officially and legally to the world?"

"Not everyone is as non-judgmental as you are, honey. Maybe you should talk to her about it."

"Maybe."

"'kay, well Maur, I gotta go, Jo Friday looks like she's about to pee all over your carpet if I don't take her out for a walk. Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine. I think I'll meditate. Center myself."

"You do that, Bhudda Maura. I love you."

"I love you too."

xxx

She tried, perhaps a little halfheartedly, to talk with her mother about what had happened the day before but Mrs Isles didn't seem to want to. She cut her off swiftly, and changed the topic.