Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Coming in at one,” Ari said. “I was up and happened to look out my window when you pulled in. You did not go over there in a turquoise minidress. I texted Gussie.”

  “Shit,” Willow murmured, fighting a laugh. “It’s like living with the FBI.”

  “Gory details, please.” Gussie tapped her eyeliner on the counter. “Not one thing left out.”

  She puffed a sigh but couldn’t really act put-upon. For one thing, she’d do the same if the tables were turned, and for another…she was dying to share everything. “He thinks we need to build up to a…a perfect deflowering.”

  “Ahhh,” Ari sighed.

  “It’s sweet, yeah,” Willow said. “But come on. I’ve waited twenty-nine and a half years. I’m built up already.”

  “But maybe he’s right,” Gussie countered. “You might think you’re ready, but are you ready in every way?”

  “Mentally, emotionally, physically, and every otherly. I am ready.”

  But Gussie shook her head.

  “You mean, do I, like, have birth control or something?” Willow asked.

  “Actually, I was worried about this last night, but didn’t want to kill your mojo.” She reached to drag the neckline of Willow’s old running shirt to the side “Just as I thought. A disgusting bra.”

  “I’m not going to do the deed in my sports bra.”

  “But do you have gorgeous underwear?” Gussie demanded. “Are you properly groomed in your nether regions?”

  Willow snorted, not even sure she wanted to answer that.

  “And maybe you have some pertinent questions,” Ari said. “Gussie’s right, and honestly, so is Nick. This is a big deal, and his willingness to draw it out and make it awesome is not just romantic, it’s practical. You can be as ready as one of our brides.”

  “Agree!” Gussie exclaimed. “Do you know what’s on our schedule today, Ari?”

  “Of course. I just checked the master calendar, and we have no meetings except a phone conference with Deanna Bartlett at eleven.”

  “Nice bride,” Gussie said. “And she’ll understand if we push that back a few hours.”

  “Don’t forget the Peyton-Orinson wedding party starts to arrive tomorrow morning,” Willow reminded them. “With Jill Peyton in the lead.”

  “Not-nice bride,” Gussie sighed. “So this is our last day with some relative freedom. If we leave now, we can hit Silk for some serious shopping and maybe a spa visit with a nice lunch before we get back to work.”

  “What is Silk?” Willow asked.

  “An absolutely to-die-for lingerie boutique. They have one up in Boston where I used to send my brides all the time, and I found out they opened one in Naples. We are going there this morning.”

  “She’s right,” Ari agreed. “A deflowering occurs only once. Let’s make it beautiful for you.”

  Willow looked skyward again, but she couldn’t help smiling for how much she adored these two women. “Spoken like a true wedding consultant.”

  An hour later, they were inhaling the powdery, irresistible satins and laces of exquisite undergarments. They giggled like a bridal party all the way back to the oversized dressing rooms with soft lighting and rooms for privacy or showing off. Silk was glorious, and so was the lingerie sold in the elegant boutique.

  In her dressing room, Willow admired the array of breathtaking bras and camisoles spread over lavender, tufted sofas, listening to Gussie and Ari’s chatter outside the door. Willow slipped into a new bra—smaller cup size than her last, hooray! But that wasn’t why she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. Right at that moment, she loved her life and her friends, and…now she had to turn to the mirror.

  This was the part she hated most—at least for the vast majority of her life. This was why she didn’t go underwear shopping with friends. This was why she was still a virgin at twenty-nine. This was why she avoided three-way mirrors.

  Slowly, she turned and…oh.

  She gave into a small shudder of delight.

  “How’s that one fit?” Ari asked.

  “They have it in…” Gussie’s voice faded, but maybe that was because the blood in Willow’s head pounded so hard as she stared in the mirror. Nick was going to see this.

  Outside, she heard some voices, the attendant asking a question and some other footsteps, but it all simply faded to white noise as Willow stared in the mirror.

  Well, look at you, girl. She’d studied her body in the mirror plenty over the last three years, but never while wearing a baby-blue lace bra that made her breasts look young and perky. Every run, every sit-up, every uneaten cookie, every damn spinach leaf had been worth this moment. Chills rose over her skin and tears welled up as she looked at herself…as Nick would see her.

  “He’s going to love this,” she whispered, loud enough for the girls to hear. But they didn’t answer. “Ari? Gussie?” She unlatched the door and tried to inch it open, but one of them was pressed against it, holding it closed tight. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  “Um…stay in there for a…what should I do?” Willow could tell the last question was fired at Ari with a minor note of panic.

  “Gussie, what is going on?” Willow demanded, giving the door a little nudge.

  Gussie tugged it open, her bottle-brush lashes wide with something unspoken.

  “What is it?” Willow asked.

  “Let me in,” Gussie whispered.

  Confused, Willow opened the door, but Gussie slipped in and closed it instantly behind her, staring at Willow. “You’re not going to believe who’s out there.”

  And then she knew, her chills turning to something more heated and excited. It had to be Nick. This was something he’d do. Her mind whirring, she tried to figure out how. He’d probably asked Misty, who’d been given the name of the place from Gussie.

  And he was here buying something to make her first time amazing.

  “I don’t want to see him,” she whispered.

  “Him?” Gussie’s brows furrowed under her pink bangs. “There’s no him. Just her.”

  “Her?” Disappointment spiraled, but that didn’t matter. “One of our brides?”

  She shook her head, gnawing on her lower lip.

  “Who is it?” Willow demanded.

  “Didn’t you hear what the attendant said?”

  “No.”

  Ari tapped on the door. “She’s gone,” she whispered.

  What the hell? Willow inched Gussie out of the way and pulled the door open. “Who’s gone?”

  “Shhh!” Ari said, finger to her lips. “Unless you want to talk to her, in which case, have at it.”

  She stepped to the side, and Willow peeked around her, seeing no one else in the plush gathering area of the dressing rooms. “Who is it?”

  Ari and Gussie looked at each other, a thousand words silently exchanged, but Willow didn’t catch a single one. “Who is it?” she demanded, her voice rising.

  “Oh, you left one in the dressing room!” The attendant’s voice preceded the woman who sailed into the room. “It’s right here, Mrs. Zatarain.”

  Willow’s world tilted a little.

  “She’s in the store,” Ari said softly.

  Willow tried to swallow, but her throat was bone dry, every muscle tense and frozen.

  The attendant scooped up a burgundy silk robe hanging over a chair, catching the look from all three women as they stared at her.

  “Did you see her?” the woman asked breathlessly. “Ona Z herself is shopping here! Can you believe it?”

  No, Willow almost said. She didn’t believe it. But, then, Ona was a world traveler, and this boutique catered to wealthy women.

  Ari turned, her face ghost-white. “This is not a coincidence,” she whispered, her words barely puffs of air. “The universe has put her in your path for a reason, Willow. Why else would she be here?”

  To ruin her day? To steal the simple moment of joy she’d been embracing? To send her back to a life of criticism and judgment and disappointmen
t? What universe would do that to her?

  “A trunk show, a TV interview, a meeting with models,” Willow explained, knowing exactly how her mother lived and worked. “Lots of things could get her to a place like Naples, where the wealthy congregate.”

  “Do you want to talk to her?” Gussie asked.

  When Willow didn’t answer, Ari’s look made it clear what she thought was the right thing to do. “Paths don’t cross for no reason,” she said.

  Willow could feel herself slowly shaking her head.

  “Willow,” Gussie said, giving her a slight nudge. “You could show her how you look. Show her the gorgeous woman you’ve become. Maybe you could—”

  “No.” They both recoiled at the force of the word, making Willow gesture a quick apology. “I mean, not now.”

  But she meant not ever.

  “Are you sure?” Ari asked softly. “You may never get another moment like this one.”

  “We can only hope.”

  “Willow,” Gussie said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “She is your mother. Are you sure you don’t want to show her how far you’ve come? It might be good for you.”

  Willow swallowed the retort, not expecting someone who’d never met Ona Zatarain to understand what it was like to be raised by her. It wouldn’t be good for her—it would be like throwing ice-cold water over this lovely day of excitement and anticipation.

  She could just imagine the reaction. Hmmm. Not quite there yet, Willow, but maybe someday you will be the girl I wanted you to be.

  Except that she wouldn’t ever be that girl. Not for her and maybe…not for Nick.

  Well, thank you very much, Ona Z. You’ve managed to suck my joy once again.

  “No,” she replied, backing into the dressing room. “I don’t want to talk to her. Let me know when she’s gone.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  As much as he wanted to put the headphones on and blast his ears, Nick chose the sensible option and plugged his iPhone into the sound system built into the villa, and let Z-Train’s Garden of Evil rock the house and patio instead.

  Not quite the same, but it did the job, which was to celebrate the end of a chapter…the fifth since he’d seen Willow Ambrose three nights ago. That was about to change. Grabbing an icy bottle of water, he stepped out into the afternoon sunshine and flopped on a chaise next to the pool.

  From this spot, almost the entire beach was visible to him. Normally, his gaze glossed over the lemon-yellow umbrellas and relaxed vacationers and focused on the horizon where navy met baby blue to the ends of the earth. In a few hours, those colors would change to a palette of peach and purple and a pool of setting sun.

  But today, his attention was on the sands of Barefoot Bay, not the postcard view beyond it. Small groups of people gathered and talked, Casa Blanca staff set up, then moved some tables and chairs. A canopy of white silk was erected, then disassembled and moved down the beach.

  At the middle of it, one young woman seemed to be causing the chaos.

  This must be the high-maintenance bride Willow had mentioned in her very brief response to his last text. In her defense, his communication hadn’t exactly been highly respondable.

  First, he’d sent her a 1, then a 2. She’d sent back a smile on the first and a winky-face on the second. Then a 3 and a 4. She’d written that she was busy with a high-maintenance bride, but…

  But they were both counting chapters.

  He looked at the cell phone he’d set on the table next to him, already eager to send her one more digit…5.

  Low in his belly, way too low to be anything but raw, unfettered lust, everything stirred and hardened. His body was deep into battle with his brain, and he knew which side Willow was on.

  Which meant…tonight?

  In the background, Donny Zatarain’s nimble fingers slid through a heartstopping solo riff in the middle of one of his favorite songs, the weeping high notes followed by a line that left little room for nuance.

  Baby, let’s be dirty, let’s be sinful, let’s be so damn bad in the garden of evil.

  How was it that the daughter of a man who made a career promoting sex had managed to stay a virgin until she was damn near thirty? Was it only because some douchebag turned her down when he was eighteen and stupid? Or was her purity also a rebellion against her dad?

  He wanted to know. In fact, he wanted to know everything about her. As he reached for the phone, he spied three women walking across the beach barefoot but in street clothes, one on the phone, one with a clipboard, and one—the one with orange hair—carrying a long swatch of fabric.

  Willow had the clipboard, and as they moved north on the beach, he could get a better look at her. She wore a pale-blue sundress, about the color of the sky behind her—and her eyes right after he kissed her. She had her hair up in a knot, but even from here, he could see that a few stray locks fell in waves around her face and neck.

  And even from here, he caught her turning and looking right at his villa.

  He gave it a few more minutes while the troupe moved closer and he could see Willow better. A soft breeze fluttered the loose skirt she favored, giving him a nice view of her legs.

  He closed his eyes and remembered the whole package climbing out of the pool.

  That did it. He tapped his phone to life, touched the text message box and typed one single digit.

  5

  He hit send and kept his vision locked on her like she was a moving target he couldn’t and wouldn’t miss. Almost instantly, she reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out her phone to read the text.

  He stayed right where he was, in full view of anyone who knew exactly where the Artemisia patio was tucked into the foliage, his heartbeat surprisingly strong as he wondered what her reaction would be.

  Was she smiling? He couldn’t tell. She leaned closer to one of the women, Ari, and showed her the text. Ari lifted her hands as if to say, Why not?

  Why not?

  Willow still didn’t look his way, but only because the woman he assumed was the bride was calling something out, and all three of the wedding planners marched toward her, then gathered in deep conversation.

  C’mon, Willow. Turn around. Give me a sign. Tell me you—

  She broke away from the group, still carrying her clipboard, and strode across the sand, taking out the phone to dial.

  Okay, then. Woman means business. He turned his phone over and stared at the black screen, imagining what she might say.

  Right now?

  I’m ready.

  Or…nothing else came to mind or, for that matter, to his phone. He could see her talking on the phone now, so obviously she hadn’t been dialing him. Frustrated, he leaned over the balustrade and watched her reach the path, slide on some shoes, then disappear, but not until his tracking skills verified which direction she was walking.

  This way.

  Nothing was on this side of the resort except the villas and, at the far end, the small farm that serviced the resort. Everything she would need—her office, the restaurants, the spas, and the main hotel building—was in the other direction.

  So she had to be coming to see him.

  Donny hit a high note and ended Garden of Evil, sliding right into the next track, Rock Hard. The opening drum solo reached into Nick’s soul and tore a little piece out with the perfection of the rhythm.

  Automatically, he raised his right hand and matched the beat.

  Was she coming to his villa? he wondered as he air-drummed. Or passing by?

  She couldn’t just pass by. Not if the music was loud enough to lure her in. He walked to the sound system in the living room and hit the volume, shaking the walls when Donny Z screamed out his opening line.

  Now is the hour. Now is the time.

  You’ve got the power. Give me a sign.

  Oh, yes, she did have the power and he needed a sign.

  So he opened the front door that led out to the pathway, so she couldn’t miss the message to underscore the t
ext…that she hadn’t yet responded to.

  He waited a few minutes, then stepped out on the stone patio. No one could walk past here and miss that music. In fact, any minute security would probably come by and ask him to turn it down.

  Still, he walked to the wrought iron gate that closed off the villa property, sticking his head out to the road.

  In time to catch a flash of blue. He walked out to the path and waited for her as she rounded a curve, her step faltering ever so slightly as she saw him.

  He continued toward her, unable to stop how much he wanted to greet her with a touch and a kiss.

  “I love that you’re replying in person.”

  “Replying to what?” she asked.

  He reached her and paused to drink in how pretty she looked. “I knew your eyes would match that dress.”

  Brows drawing together in a frown, she shook her head. “You saw this dress?”

  “I was watching you on the beach.”

  “Really.”

  “And I texted you.”

  “Creepy.”

  He laughed. “You read it and you know what it says.”

  “I didn’t see the text. I’m totally in the middle of a wedding rehearsal right now.”

  Of course she was. He couldn’t expect her to stop working just because he’d reached the goal.

  “Where are you going? Can I walk with you?”

  She gave him a smile. “I like your persistence, Lieutenant, but I’m just going up to the garden to get Tessa’s kids. They’re supposed to be in this wedding, and Bridezilla, er, Jill Peyton wants to see them to make sure they match.”

  “Each other or the decor?”

  “What did your text say?”

  “Five.”

  He saw the slow deepening of color in her cheeks. “Chapters.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “That’s right.” And they both knew what that meant.

  She gestured toward the house. “Setting the mood with the melodic and romantic strains of Rock Hard?”

  He just laughed. “Guilty.”

  She put a hand to her ear. “Oh, yes, there’s my favorite line. ‘Take it, take it, let me break it.’ You know what he’s talking about in that line, don’t you?”

  “I have a pretty good guess.”