Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Yes.” She slipped her phone out of her pocket and glanced at it to see if she’d missed a call. “She didn’t.”

  They started toward Misty, and he could have sworn he heard Willow let out a sigh of relief, or maybe she was bracing herself to meet the “exacting” client.

  “Hello,” Willow called out, her tone much lighter now. “I’m sorry. I took your man of honor on a tour.”

  Misty didn’t move as they hustled closer, staying put on the bridge, as if she preferred not to get sand in her toes.

  “Hey there,” Nick said as they reached her, bending down to give Misty a quick hug. He didn’t know her well—he’d met her only once, on his way home from Iraq during a stop in New York City. But he had to remember this was a favor to a guy he owed his life to, so he was always kind, no matter how much the crispy, self-absorbed model rubbed him the wrong way.

  Her attention was riveted on Willow. “Are you…”

  “Willow Ambrose,” she said, holding out her hand. “The front desk was supposed to give you my number to—”

  “Oh, they did, but…” She squinted at Willow’s face and leaned back, giving her a thorough and complete—and pretty awkward—once-over. “There’s no way you’re Willie.”

  Willow paled a little. “Willow,” she corrected. “Willow Ambrose.”

  But Misty was having none of it. “Oh my God! You are Willie Zatarain.”

  What? Nick whipped his head to look at Willow. What had Misty said? Willie Zata—

  “I’m…” She fought for a word that didn’t come, ghost-white now and definitely avoiding his eyes.

  “Willie Zatarain?” He choked the name, trying to comprehend what was hitting his brain.

  “I’ve seen pictures of you at your parents’ place in New York,” Misty said. “You look…different. You’re…so…”

  “Willie?” The girl he knew in college? Oh…wow.

  Finally, finally, she looked at him, and all that sense of vague familiarity slapped him with unbelievable recognition. But Misty stepped between them, already spewing chatter like sniper fire.

  “Your mother is like, well, you know, my mother,” Misty babbled, totally unaware of the dynamic of his shock and Willow’s—Willie’s—attempt to ignore it. “Ona’s been a mentor to me ever since I did her first runway show and we got so close, like this.” She held up two fingers smashed together. “And your dad, oh my God, I love him. But you? You are—”

  “Willie Zatarain,” Nick said one more time, the question out of his voice. “I know you.”

  “Well, you know her father,” Misty said, still clueless. “He’s a rock legend. And her mother is Ona Z, the amazing fashion designer who used to be a supermodel.”

  “I know.” Then the real truth hit him: She’d known who he was from the first minute they met. “We know each other,” he said. “We went to UCLA together.”

  Willow merely nodded, finally managing to look at him. “Yeah.”

  Misty drew back. “Get out! You two know each other?”

  “I didn’t recognize you,” he said. Because, whoa, she was half the girl she was in college and ten times more beautiful. She was the girl who…

  Shit. He managed not to cringe, their last conversation coming to his memory with stark relief. No wonder she hadn’t come clean. “But you said you’re not married. Why the name change?”

  “I dropped my family’s name and now use my middle name for privacy purposes,” she explained.

  “Of course you didn’t recognize her,” Misty said, pointing up and down Willow’s body. “She’s lost a person or two of weight. Your mother didn’t tell me.”

  Willow ignored Misty and looked at him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered softly.

  She was sorry? He was the dick who—

  “What are you sorry for?” Misty demanded.

  “Exactly,” Nick said quickly. “I’m the one who should be sorry for…” A clumsy rejection that had left her in tears.

  “For asking me out?” Willow asked.

  Oh, great. And now she thought he wouldn’t have asked her out if he’d have known who she was.

  But would he have?

  Nick opened his mouth to assure her of the answer, but Misty let out a hoot.

  “You asked her out already? Damn, boy. Jason said you were a ladies’ man with the well-earned handle of Kiss, but, whoa, that was fast.”

  “Kiss?” Willow asked.

  “It’s the last name,” he explained. “Hershey.”

  Misty shielded her eyes. “Can we get out of this horrible sun? Every ray is aging me more.”

  “And yet she wants a wedding on the beach,” Nick murmured as he and Willow waited a beat before following the other woman.

  “So, what were you sorry about?” Willow asked.

  Was now the time to apologize for how he’d turned her down when she offered him everything she had to give? Or was he just being arrogant to think she even remembered that?

  “Nick?” she urged.

  He went for easy and casual, putting a light hand on her shoulder to nudge her toward Misty. “Sorry if I, uh, didn’t do justice to your dad’s song,” he muttered.

  “Didn’t do justice? Annihilation is more accurate.” Her pretty mouth tipped in an easy smile that he wished reached her eyes. But it didn’t. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you back…Kiss.”

  She slipped out of his touch and followed her client, leaving Nick staring at her and finally comprehending all of the mixed signals he’d been getting. “Hope that’s a promise and not a threat,” he said, just loud enough for her to hear.

  Chapter Three

  The next hour was brutal for Willow. She regretted not telling Nick who she was before he asked her out, and now, of course, he was squirming in discomfort. Everything was magnified by Misty Trew’s endless verbal diarrhea. Not about her ideas for the wedding, which would have been understandable. Not about the pros and cons of using this resort, which would have been reasonable. But all about her “life-altering, mind-blowing, soul-shifting” relationship with Donny and Ona Zatarain.

  If Willow heard “They are like surrogate parents to me!” one more time, she actually thought she might throw up.

  Because if they really were that close, then wouldn’t Misty know that Willow hadn’t seen her mother in three years and they barely spoke? Was the bride-to-be getting some wretched satisfaction over flaunting her relationship with Willow’s parents when she had to know that Willow had no such relationship with them? At least, not with Ona, and not much of one with Donny.

  The minute she could, Willow hauled her guests over to the Barefoot Brides office to introduce them to Gussie and Ari and start the planning meeting. After that, she got out a few pictures, samples, and checklists, and then grabbed an excuse to step away and get some air.

  “I have some refreshments prepared,” she said, pushing all the materials at Nick and Misty. “Go ahead and start without me.”

  She didn’t make it ten steps into the hallway before Ari caught up with her and grabbed her arm. “Are you leaving the clients alone?”

  “They’re not alone.” Willow didn’t want to get into a long explanation, not here in the hall, not now. Later, when she and Ari and Gussie had left the office and gathered at their home on the other end of the island, she’d tell them everything. “You can start without me,” Willow said quickly.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Ari demanded. “This bride contacted you, and that means she’s your client. Why are you running off to get food? I’ll do it.”

  “I know she’s my client, Ari. I’ve opened the files and put together the presentation. But I’m also the F&B person, and Chef Ian already made me hors d’oeuvre samples for them. Food is my problem, just like this bride.” And her man of honor.

  “Hey.” Ari’s sharp gaze softened a little. “I know you think she’s a pain, and she talks about your mother like the woman walks on water—”

  “Which you know she doesn’t.”

&n
bsp; Ari nodded, a close enough friend to have intimate knowledge of how Willow struggled with her over-controlling mother. “But she’s still a client, and one who’s in a hurry. We don’t have a wedding booked for the weekend she wants, and we need her to…” Her voice faded as Willow shook her head, maybe a little too vehemently. “What is it?” Ari demanded.

  Willow looked over her shoulder and gestured for Ari to follow her into the kitchen. “I don’t want to talk here.”

  “Did you hear her say my mother referred her?” Willow asked as they headed down the hall.

  “I did, and I think that’s awesome, Willow.”

  She threw Ari a what the hell? look.

  “Maybe Ona wants to reconcile,” Ari suggested.

  “Fat chance.”

  “Pun intended?”

  “Probably. But reconciliation would mean my mother knew she’d done something wrong.” Ona was far too self-absorbed to get to that point. Had she even realized that she hadn’t seen her own daughter in three years, not since Willow had become so adept at using travel as an excuse, aided by her parents’ crazy bicoastal lifestyle? She’d even managed to avoid her father, except for the occasional lunch or phone call. She hadn’t seen him in, oh, seventy-five pounds.

  “She must know,” Ari said. “You need to give her some credit.”

  Willow didn’t answer, not wanting to spend one more minute of her energy thinking about her mother. She wasn’t the only problem here. Willow bit her lip, thinking about Nick. There was no time to go into the whole college history, even if it could be summed up in a few short sentences.

  We lived in the same dorm. He was nicer than most. One night I hit on him. He couldn’t get away fast enough.

  “But the fact that your mom referred a bride means she obviously cares about your life and success,” Ari said, still stuck on the obvious issue of Ona’s involvement.

  “Doubtful. I guess Misty and my mother are…” Inseparable was the word Misty had used, twice—“Business associates. Misty models for the Ona Z line.” Which consisted of skinny-girl clothes that Willow had never owned in her life, no matter how much Ona longed for her daughter to be able to wear her designs.

  “Well, if you want my opinion,” Ari said, “I think this is the universe trying to get you and your mom to have a relationship again.”

  “Then the universe can suck it.”

  They entered the kitchen, assaulted by the sharp aromas of sizzling garlic, onions, and basil. Chef Ian must be going Italian today. A flurry of servers and prep cooks zipped around Willow as she headed to a service fridge for the tray of scallop BLTs and mascarpone-and-prosciutto cannoli the chef had prepared.

  As she slid out the tray, Ari was right there, reaching for her hands. “Girl, you are vibrating! This is more than some model who wears your mother’s clothes.”

  Did her friend have to be so damn in touch with people’s feelings? Nothing got by Ari. Willow closed her eyes, blocking out the clanging of china and the sound of the chef bellowing out orders in a British accent as the Casa Blanca staff geared up for the lunch rush.

  “It was a surprise, that’s all,” she finally said, nodding to the service bar. “Can you hold this while I make some drinks for them?”

  Wordlessly, Ari followed with the tray, standing a few steps away as Willow prepared two flutes of cucumber mint lemonade. “Quit looking at me like that,” Willow mumbled.

  “Like what? How do you know I’m looking at you?”

  “I can feel it.”

  “I’m trying to figure out what’s eating you.”

  “I just told you. Come on, let’s go.” As they re-entered the hall that led to the business offices, Gussie almost slammed into them, running around the corner.

  Willow let out a soft shriek, managing not to spill the drinks.

  “You went to college with that guy?” Gussie sputtered.

  Oh Lord. That didn’t take long. “Yeah, I did.”

  Once more, she could feel Ari’s penetrating gaze. “I knew it wasn’t the bridezilla,” Ari muttered.

  “What wasn’t?” Gussie asked. “What’s going on?”

  Willow tamped down another groan of frustration. “Nothing is going on.”

  “Except that you’re about to jump out of your skin,” Ari said. “And I guess now I know it’s more than just dear old mom that’s got your panties in a bunch.”

  Willow blew out a puff of resignation. “Yes, I knew Nick Hershey when I was a freshman in college, which was, oh, let’s see, eleven years ago. In some freak coincidence, he’s a friend of Misty’s brother, an Army buddy.”

  “Navy,” Ari corrected. “And there is no such thing as coincidence, freak or otherwise.”

  “Navy SEALs, thank you very much,” Gussie added, patting her fluttering heart. “Was he that gah-orgeous in college?”

  “I never noticed.” At their double looks of doubt, she sighed. “Okay, yes. He was a good-looking guy, lived in the same dorm as I did, and we passed in the hall a few times. End of story.”

  They looked at each other like it was so not the end of the story.

  “Were you friends with him?” Ari asked.

  “Did you date him?” Gussie one-upped.

  “No, Gussie, I did not.” They couldn’t help it—neither one of these two women, though they were her best friends now—had known her back then. When they met, about a year and a half ago, Willow looked like any other slightly overweight woman who was working her buns off to work her buns off. They’d cheered her on as she lost the last fifty pounds, but hadn’t known her when she’d tipped the scales at two sixty.

  They knew, empirically, that Willow had been overweight her whole life. She’d shared that with them. But there were no pre-weight-loss pictures of her around since Willow had destroyed any she’d had. They couldn’t see Willow Ambrose as she sometimes, all too often, still saw herself: as Willie Zatarain, fat girl.

  But that “gah-orgeous” Navy SEAL knew exactly who and what she’d been…and had rejected her.

  “Still, it’s a bizarre coincidence that he’s here,” Gussie said.

  It was Ari’s turn to shake her head furiously. “There is absolutely no such thing as coincidence,” she announced. “Nothing happens by chance. I firmly believe that the universe has a plan, and you are being carried along in it.”

  “The only thing being carried along is our business loan, so why don’t we get in there and make some money, ladies, before they leave and go to Naples to visit the Ritz.” Willow said.

  But Ari didn’t move. “The universe works in funny ways, my friend. He’s here for a reason.”

  “Yeah, to be in a wedding we are hoping to hold at this resort.” Willow tugged the mantle of control over her shoulders, always safer when she had that. “So, let’s stop talking about the past, and figure out how to give her a kick-ass wedding, regardless of what baggage she lugs into our lives.” She powered past both of them and led the way back to the office.

  “Speaking of lugging baggage,” Gussie muttered.

  Willow almost risked spilling a drink to give her the finger over her shoulder, but it wasn’t worth the risk, or the joke. Gussie was right, and Willow had to leave her bags out here in the hallway and get down to business.

  Her relationship with her mother was moot, and her brief, unpleasant history with Nick Hershey was over. Ever onward! Clinging to the two words that got her down one pound a week for one hundred and sixty consecutive weeks, Willow swept into the office, where Nick and Misty waited at the small conference table by the window.

  Nick had his chair pushed back to balance himself on two legs, arms crossed over his impressive chest. He was listening to Misty, who leaned close, but she stopped whispering the moment Willow walked in.

  “Refreshments,” Willow said cheerily, gesturing for Ari to put the tray on the table. “I wanted to give you an opportunity to taste-test a few samples of our chef’s work while you tell us your vision for the big event.”

  Misty i
nched closer, staring. “How much did you lose?”

  Nick slammed the front legs of his chair on the floor with a thud. Guess he was interested in that answer, too. Heat crawled up Willow’s chest as her friends took seats at the table. “Much,” she answered.

  “Ona must be thrilled that you can finally wear her clothes.”

  The warmth moved into her cheeks as she made a show of giving them the plates and linens she’d tucked on the tray.

  “This part of the meeting is about you,” she said pointedly. “We’ll listen while you tell us what we like to call your themes and dreams, your every wedding fantasy.” She managed not to even look at Nick at the same time she said the last word. Did he remember she’d told him that he was her fantasy?

  Right before he bolted like a scared jackrabbit.

  Misty pushed her plate away with that skinny-girl disinterest in food that Willow never understood or trusted. “I think we should build the entire theme around my dress, which is, of course, an Ona Z custom-made original.” She gave a sly smile. “Would you like to see the sketches?”

  The sketches were possibly the last thing in the world Willow wanted to see. “Of course, but that would be Gussie’s department.”

  Gussie settled into her chair, with Ari next to her. “I’d love to see the sketches,” she said, enthusiasm genuine. “I absolutely adore Ona Z designs. But do you want to tell us about the overview for the day first? Afternoon, evening, number of guests, how many bridesmaids, that kind of thing?”

  Misty shot a thumb to Nick, who’d just put a cannoli in his mouth. “There’s my bridesmaid.”

  Willow met his gaze across the table, her heart stuttering as he grinned around the sweet, cheesy treat between his teeth. She didn’t know which she wanted to eat more—mascarpone or man. Both, she thought, feeling a physical longing churn in her stomach as her desire glands rocketed into overdrive.

  That’s all she was feeling, she reminded herself sharply. A glandular reaction to sex and food. Nothing more. She’d learned to control one a few years ago, and she certainly could figure out how to control the other. Nick was nothing but six feet of negative impulses, easily kept at bay by her finely tuned willpower.