“Agreed,” she managed through stiff lips.
She wasn’t hurt. But if she’d needed any more proof that she was a rotten judge of men’s characters, here it was. She hadn’t pegged Michael for one who’d be ungracious after spending the night with a woman. Not that it mattered. The further away they kept from each other, the better.
The next two months kept them occupied, appearing at various social events in the evenings following their busy workdays, but they had very little time alone. After the night in Napa, their relationship was strained, though they kept up appearances.
Sensitive to the Callahans’ limited financial means, Connor declared he would host the wedding that he expected to be an elaborate affair. Horrified at the idea of a large church wedding for a marriage that was a façade, however, Sierra firmly refused to consider it.
To her surprise, Michael supported her.
Of course, he had no wish for a showy wedding that would mean nothing, either. No wonder he agreed with her wishes.
Sierra insisted on a simple afternoon civil ceremony at the Donovan home instead. “Then I’ll host a dinner reception afterward at the Excelsior Hotel,” said Connor one evening when she and Michael were having dinner with him. He was adamant.
“We’ll have to relent on this one,” Michael told her afterward. “A certain amount of show is part of being part of this family, and my father wants to present us to the world, some local city officials, our business associates, long-time friends. He’s been waiting years for me to get married. Remember, we’re doing this for him.”
And for her mother and Claddagh.
Much to her mother’s disappointment, Sierra refused to wear a traditional wedding gown. Again, Michael backed her up. At his insistence, he footed the bill for a designer winter white suit that Jen picked out and was special-ordered.
“It probably costs more than any wedding gown would have!” Sierra expostulated.
Michael shrugged. “You know I can afford it. It will look perfect on you.”
“The groom isn’t supposed to buy the bride’s dress!”
“Ours is not a typical arrangement, so why be conventional now? You’re going to be my wife. Why shouldn’t I buy you clothes if I want, and if you want to wear them?”
Now the judge spoke. “By the authority vested in me by the laws of the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Was she in an episode of The Twilight Zone? Despite the warm fire that burned in the living room against the gloom of a chilly San Francisco fall afternoon, she shivered. How had time flown by?
Michael kissed her, whispered, “Here we go,” and turned with her to face the tiny group of friends and family. It was a far cry from San Francisco society’s expectations.
“Mr. and Mrs. Michael Donovan.” The beaming judge presented them to their guests.
A smattering of applause accompanied the announcement. Grace and Connor were there, as well as Rafe and Gabe. John Murdoch was also present, as were Brian and Bruce. Jen and Nora were her attendants.
That was it.
It was an even smaller affair than the cocktail party where their engagement had been announced. That was the way Sierra wanted it.
“It’s not the wedding I imagined for you two, but you and Michael have made me very happy, my dear.” Connor was the first to embrace her. He had been growing stronger over the months of her engagement to Michael, and Sierra was touched by the genuine affection he showed her. “I couldn’t be more delighted in his choice of bride!”
Next to hug her after Connor was Grace. “Be happy, darling,” she whispered in Sierra’s ear. She seemed far less careworn now. That alone made the day worthwhile.
But she wished she didn’t have to lie to either of their parents. The falseness of their marriage rendered even this simplest afternoon ceremony a travesty. She hadn’t bargained on feeling so guilty.
“Good job, Michael.” Gabe clapped his brother on the back.
Rafe observed, “You chose well.”
The four Donovan men certainly were a study in alpha males, Sierra thought, not for the first time. Connor was the tallest with snowy white hair, and his three sons, almost as tall, each attractive in his unique way. In her eyes, however, Michael outshined the others. It was probably only because she knew him better.
“I’m so happy for you!” Nora gave her a huge hug.
Neither she nor Jen understood Sierra’s desire for a tiny wedding, particularly as she was marrying into one of San Francisco’s oldest and wealthiest families. They’d been with her that morning, though, helping her dress and keeping her company before the wedding, every bit as attentive as they would have been for a larger, more formal ceremony.
Close on Nora’s heels was Jen. “As usual, you look fabulous. Didn’t I tell Michael I would help you find the perfect bridal outfit?”
Sierra had to admit that Jen and Michael had been right about the suit. It looked beautiful, and she felt beautiful in it. Still, Sierra watched the scene in the room from afar, outside her own body.
A wave of panic engulfed her. What had she done?
At that moment, Michael reclaimed her from the small clutch of well-wishers, taking her aside and offering her a flute of champagne. “Are you all right?” he asked in an undertone. “You look sick all of a sudden.”
“I am sick,” she whispered back through a falsely bright smile. “I can’t believe you aren’t.”
“Too late for that now.” Shades of the morning after in Napa were in his tone. As responses went, it wasn’t the most reassuring thing she’d ever heard. “Heads up. My father’s about to give a toast.”
Arm around Sierra’s waist, Michael became the picture of a loving husband as he turned them toward the assembled group, smiling his response to Connor’s salute welcoming Sierra into the family.
“I always wanted a daughter, and now I have a smart, talented, and beautiful one,” the senior Donovan concluded after a couple minutes of remarks. “Thank you, Michael, for adding to our family, and thank you, Sierra, for honoring us by joining it.”
With every minute, the happy scene in which she played a leading role seemed more and more artificial.
That’s all it was. Play-acting. Not to mention a deception of some of their closest friends and family. She wiped away a surreptitious tear.
Michael looked down at her. “What’s the matter?” he whispered.
To deflect his scrutiny, she replied in a similar whisper, “I thought brides always cried on their wedding days.”
“From happiness, yes. Right this moment you look like you’re about to pass out.”
With that, he plucked the glass from her hand, put it aside, and turned back to her. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m about to kiss you, so let’s make this good.”
Before she had a chance to think, Michael took her in his arms in what Sierra told herself was a stage kiss, put on for the benefit of the onlookers. With the part of her brain that could still think, she concluded that perhaps he’d missed his calling. He should have gone into acting.
And then she ceased to think at all.
Michael had done no more than kiss her lightly and hold her hand when they were seen together in public. It had been two months since he rocked her world with the most amazing sex she’d ever experienced. He hadn’t touched her again except to create the impression of a loving couple in front of others.
Now his lips covered hers in a kiss that seemed both teasing and tender. Gone was the remote man of a few seconds ago. Wrapped in his arms, she felt both cherished and protected.
Even though she knew, once again, this impression was for the sake of others.
An illusion, yes, but a powerful one.
She twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back, forgetting that they were sharing a moment of pretense, nothing more. Forgetting, too, that she was didn’t want anything else.
It satisfied their friends and family, who beamed as Sierra, some
what flustered, extricated herself from Michael’s embrace. “That’s better,” he said, underneath the voices of their guests. “You don’t look so pale now.”
A little peeved she felt shaken by a kiss that left Michael unaffected, Sierra took refuge in irony. “One kiss is all it takes, is that it?”
He laughed. “Oh, I do hope not. Why do myself out of the pleasure of more such kisses?”
“You haven’t appeared to want them recently,” she retorted in a whisper, turning away.
Well, it was true. Not that she cared.
Grace broke in. “Okay, you lovebirds, time to break it up. Sierra needs to change and prepare for the reception.”
“She spent all morning getting ready for the wedding. What’s left to do, for heaven’s sake?” Michael looked mystified.
“That’s for us to know and you to find out,” said Jen, overhearing Michael’s words and joining forces with Grace. “You may have married her, but you can’t see her again until tonight. We have more work to do. You’ll see each other at the hotel later.”
“We’ll see each other when we go to the reception.”
“Oh no, you’re not riding there together.” Jen stood up to Michael. “I don’t want you to muss her up on the way, and judging from that kiss right now, that’s exactly what you’d do.”
Sierra, remembering their first time in a car alone together, felt herself turn red.
The room erupted in friendly laughter.
****
Stunning in a designer moss-green evening gown she and Jen had selected at Threads, Sierra was exhausted before the dinner and dancing even began. An hour of standing in a receiving line greeting some two hundred guests as they entered the lavish gold and white Excelsior ballroom had done a number on her feet. She took turns easing first one foot and then the other out of her very high heels and wiggling them. Jen knew how to pick both gowns and footwear but she didn’t select shoes with an eye to comfort.
The guests, the majority of whom she did not know, were blurring in her mind.
“Sierra, you remember Lydia Foster.” Sierra stumbled a little in place as Michael spoke. “You met her a number of months ago.” He steadied her as she climbed back into her shoes and instantly gained three inches in height.
“Of course.” Who could forget the look Lydia had directed her way when Michael announced their engagement? As Lydia stopped before them, Sierra said “How nice to see you again.” There. That was polite. Also insincere.
Dressed in a clinging scarlet gown with plunging neckline and back, the woman looked stunning, though Sierra thought her attire was more appropriate for a nightclub than a wedding reception. Nevertheless, the color of the gown was a perfect foil for the woman’s dark, dramatic good looks.
“Michael, congratulations!” Lydia ignored her for the moment and, in a brazen move, kissed Michael on the mouth, putting her arms around his neck.
To his credit, he disentangled himself from her and pulled away. “Thank you.” His tone was dry. “You do remember Sierra, my wife?” He underscored the last word.
“Who could forget her?” Lydia’s smile was fully in place. “Michael, I don’t believe you’ve met my friend, but I understand Sierra has.” Lydia’s companion had paused earlier in the line to chat with Connor and Grace. Now he turned from them to Michael, and Sierra’s blood froze.
It couldn’t be.
But it was.
Grant Townsend. William’s father. Despite the intervening years, Sierra would have recognized him anywhere.
“Hello, Sierra.” Still good-looking in a past-his-prime way, Grant kissed her on the cheek in a familiar, lingering manner. “It’s been a long time.”
“Very,” managed Sierra, lips numb.
“You’ve done well for yourself, I see.” His smile was more than a little snide. “Congratulations on your marriage.”
Michael slipped an arm around Sierra’s waist. “I believe it’s customary to congratulate the groom, not the bride.” His tone was smooth. And dangerous. A muscle tightened in his jaw. “You are who, exactly?”
“Oh, I can’t believe that in all DEI’s dealings with high-end resorts, you and Grant haven’t encountered each other,” Lydia said. “Grant owns one of the top luxury destination travel agencies in the city now. He planned my last trip for me.” She shot a glance at Sierra. “And I understand his son William will take over the business someday soon. Sierra, I think you know William, don’t you? Didn’t Grant offer you an internship when you were in college?”
If Sierra had felt sick earlier, it was nothing to what she felt now. Her wedding day wasn’t a time she wanted her relationship with the Townsends to surface. She’d thought it was long vanished and buried.
“I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, Townsend,” Michael replied. “But I do hope you both enjoy the evening. Please make yourselves welcome.”
His abrupt dismissal was obvious and the pair moved along, Lydia not pleased to be shunted down the line. “You must save me a dance later,” she called back. “I’m sure neither Grant nor Sierra will mind. They’ll want to renew their acquaintance over a dance as well.”
What was Grant doing here after all these years? How well did he and Lydia know each other? Why was he here now, at her wedding reception? A wave of anxiety slammed into her, and she struggled to contain it.
“The end of the guest line is in sight,” Michael murmured before greeting the next person, mistaking her distress for fatigue. “Then we can go in to dinner. Sierra? Later you can explain to me how you came to know Grant Townsend.”
Bijou’s chef outdid herself. The hotel’s restaurant was shut down for the evening so its kitchens could provide a four-course meal for the reception’s guests. Pristine white linens covered the tables set with the finest china, crystal, and cutlery. Sierra marveled at the sheer size of the production. Between Juliette and a team of talented administrative assistants at the main offices of DEI, they had staged a magnificent dinner.
Thank God she hadn’t had to plan any of this. It would have been agony to orchestrate such an event for a marriage that was in name only. She’d wanted no part of it.
There were rounds of toasts, the usual cutting of a gorgeous wedding cake, and a crew of photographers who snapped staged shots that implied spontaneity. Selected photos would be released to the press the next morning, along with one of the portraits of her and Michael taken on the hotel grounds. Only now did she grasp the enormity of joining the Donovan clan. The mere prospect had been exhausting. The reality was even more so.
After the meal, the small orchestra that had been hired played a range of music in a smaller adjoining ballroom in which guests could dance. “We’re on again,” Michael murmured, and before she knew it, he’d ushered her into the middle of the room for the customary first dance of the bride and groom.
Sierra panicked. “I told you I don’t know how to dance!”
“As I recall, the last time you told me that, you did just fine.”
“We’re not going to dance like that in front of all these people!” She stiffened in his arms.
“My, my, such delicate sensibilities. We’re married, remember? How do you think people will expect us to dance?”
Despite his sardonic words, however, he guided her into a slow, simple waltz that she managed to follow after the first few turns, rather than a more intimate slow dance.
“Where’d you learn how to dance?” she asked, beneath the smattering of applause of their guests as they settled into a rhythm she could follow.
“Cotillion at the country club,” he replied, with a straight face. “How else was I supposed to learn how to escort San Francisco debutantes?”
It figured. While he’d been learning how to waltz, she’d been working her way through high school and college and worrying about the family business. She grimaced, and he laughed, reading her thoughts.
“That’s also where I learned how to lead,” he continued.
“Well, you do that well.�
�� She missed a step, which he quickly masked.
In a wicked undertone, he added, “I lead well in other areas, too.” It was the first suggestive remark he’d made in months.
She refused to look into his eyes, keeping her own on his chiseled chin. He laughed again. Sometimes she thought she was a source of constant humor for him. She knew for certain she was no match for his changing moods, especially on this day.
Michael circled her around the dance floor again, and Connor cut in to claim the rest of the dance. Following protocol, Michael invited Grace to join him, which was the signal for other guests to participate.
As far as Sierra was concerned, the evening couldn’t end soon enough. Among the demands of the past several weeks, the unexpected and unwelcome appearance of Grant Townsend, and the endless procession of guests, she couldn’t wait for the reception to end.
Which is exactly when Grant cut in on her partner, one of Connor’s friends, and claimed her for a dance. His looks had become more florid in recent years. The last thing she wanted to do was dance with him, but Lydia had set her up earlier, and good manners forbade her a refusal.
“Hello again, Sierra,” he said in an ingratiating yet overbearing tone. “I couldn’t miss a chance to dance with the bride, now, could I? After all, we’re old friends.”
Holding herself stiffly in his arms, she made no pretense at cordiality. “Hello, Grant. That’s not what I would have ever called us.”
He chuckled in familiar fashion. “Well, maybe friends isn’t the right term for our…relationship.” At Sierra’s disbelieving stare, he continued. “You wouldn’t want to warm up just a little bit, would you, for old times’ sake? Remember, I know exactly how friendly you can be when you want.” His arm tightened around her waist.
Sierra held herself away from him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Grant’s expression darkened. “Oh, come on. You weren’t so choosy before the Donovans came along, sucking up to William and me.” His arm was like a vise. “You were willing to be awfully friendly to William then.”
Buying His Bride (The Donovan Brothers Trilogy Book 1) Page 11
