Finally the room cleared, and Holly was alone with her mother. “The ice bucket challenge?” Frances said, glaring at Holly. “That was extremely inappropriate.”
“And throwing a Titanic-themed party isn’t?” Holly said. “Over a thousand people died, mother.”
“The charity ball is about raising money for a good cause, and the best way to do that is to generate excitement,” Frances pointed out. “People identify with the Titanic; you heard how enthusiastic everyone was about their costumes.”
Yes, Holly had heard. The entire first half of the brunch had been devoted to updates on custom-ordered dresses, included riveting topics such as what color each woman planned to wear, whether a dress copied Kate Winslet’s costume from the movie too closely, and whether it was absolutely necessary to wear a corset to bring the look together—the women had decided it was.
Holly bit her lip. When they’d chosen the theme back in January, she’d been as excited as everyone else. She’d designed her own gown, and Genevieve, her costume maker, had done a superb job. Standing in front of Genevieve’s three-way mirror at her final fitting last week, Holly had felt every inch a Titanic-era princess.
Le Ciel’s charity ball had a long tradition, dating back as far as Holly could remember. As a child, she’d always kept a close eye on the preparations, and watching her mother get ready for the evening was a highlight every year. When she’d been old enough to start attending the ball herself, she’d had even more fun designing her costumes and watching Genevieve bring them to life. Her costume from last year’s fairy tale ball, a replica of Giselle’s turquoise dress from Enchanted, still hung in the closet of her spare bedroom.
Usually Holly couldn’t wait for the party. So why did she feel so cynical about the whole thing this year?
“I’m sorry, mother,” Holly finally said. “I guess I’m just tired and feeling overwhelmed.”
Frances adjusted the hem of her gray Chanel suit jacket. “You need to make better use of your time … not to mention your help. There’s a reason we hired Marion.”
Marion, the wedding planner, who returned texts with a phone call and never met a cupcake tower she didn’t like. Frances hired her when Holly had shown a distinct lack of enthusiasm for planning her own wedding. Holly wasn’t in any hurry; they hadn’t even set a date yet. But the parents were getting restless.
She and Brit had been engaged for six months, but they’d been betrothed for well beyond that as part of a murky business deal no one liked to talk about. Holly had grown up knowing someday she would marry Brit Anderson, the son of her father’s partner. Like her, Brit had lived on the resort his whole life in an idyllic, sheltered childhood. Holly had never really given the betrothal much thought, but lately it had become impossible to push it from her mind, like a splinter beginning to fester.
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In the hollow behind the cotoneasters, Holly dropped her head onto her knees as confusion and resentment flashed through her. Brit didn’t look at her the way Darrin had looked at Nikki—and she didn’t want him to look at her that way. He was a friend, nothing more, yet she was expected to make a lifetime commitment to him. Had her parents even considered what that meant? Their marriage wasn’t the best, but at least it had been formed from love. Why didn’t they want the same for her?
Her muscles were starting to cramp, and her secretary was probably wondering where she was. It wouldn’t do any good to sit here moping. Holly unfolded herself with a sigh and crawled back through the tunnel toward the patch of sunshine at the end.
She poked her head out from around the swing in time to see a man pick up one of the shoes she’d left by the fountain.
“Hey!” Holly yelled.
Startled, he dropped the shoe, which bounced off the rock edge of the fountain and into the water with a splash.
Holly bounded to her feet and stalked across the grass. “Those are Jimmy Choos and they’re expensive!” Glaring at him, she plunged her hand into the fountain’s pool and pulled out the shoe, the soggy green suede now much darker than its original shade of celery.
“I’m sorry. I thought someone had gone off and forgotten their things.” The man gestured to the grass, where Holly’s other shoe sat alongside her soft leather briefcase. “What are you doing lurking in the bushes like some kind of goblin?” He dug in his pocket and offered her a folded white handkerchief.
“None of your business.” Holly snatched the handkerchief and tried to sop up some of the water from the suede. “These are ruined.”
“To be fair, only that one is ruined,” the man said. “The other one seems fine.”
She stared up into his eyes. They were dark, almost black, and were dancing with mirth under his heavy brows. He was several inches taller, broad-shouldered and big. She took in his clean-shaven, rather square jaw, and full lips set in a slightly cocky smile and felt the stirrings of butterflies in her stomach. His light brown hair curled over the edge of his collar and was adorably tousled.
Adorably? Wait … no.
“I’m very sorry for baptizing your shoe,” he said, keeping the grin in place. “I’ll reimburse you for it. Also, did you know you’re bleeding?” He reached out and plucked the soggy handkerchief from her fingers and lightly brushed it over her cheek.
It must have been a scratch from the bushes, but Holly didn’t feel anything beyond the zing of her nerves igniting at his touch. She jumped back.
“Whoa, settle down.” He extended the handkerchief, showing her the small spot of red. “Bleeding … see?”
“Thanks.” She took the handkerchief from him and pressed it to her cheek. “I’m Holly Clarke; who are you?”
Read more or buy The Rebellious One here.
Excerpt from The Resilient Bride by Lucy McConnell
Liam Bernhard took a large bite of bienenstich and savored the vanilla flavor as the sweet pastry melted into his taste buds. “There’s enough cream in this to choke a cow.”
“You keep eating like this, and you will be a cow,” countered his older brother, David.
Liam pointed at David’s plate covered with large zwetschgenkuchen. “You’re older than me. Your metabolism is slower.”
David grunted. “I work out.”
Liam grunted back. “Life’s too short to live in a gym.”
The zwetschgenkuchen went to the table and stayed on the square napkin like a forlorn and forgotten friend. Liam didn’t mean to bring up his impending doom, but he just couldn’t see the point of ignoring it like David wanted to. David, Liam’s best friend and partner in crime, had been in a perpetual bad mood, and Liam was tired of living with Eeyore.
The last six months of revelry and dream-making darkened like the German sky above them. They’d skied, golfed, surfed, swum, biked, viewed priceless artwork, toured ancient ruins, dug for buried treasure, and even sailed the high seas. His more recent exploits had taken a domestic turn, and they’d sampled foods across the globe. Even now they occupied two chairs in a small German bakery with a full selection of the baker’s wares spread before them. What did Liam care if he took one bite of everything?
“I’ve been thinking …” Liam trailed off, taking another large bite and chomping away like a kid at scout camp.
“Yeah?” David folded his arms.
“What this adventure needs is a woman’s touch.” Liam had David’s full attention. “I’d like a warm body around once in a while.”
“Exactly what do you have in mind?”
Liam reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card he’d gotten from his trust fund manager.
“BMB?” David raised an eyebrow.
“Billionaire Marriage Brokers.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“A side effect from the tumor, I’m sure.”
David glared at the table. “So what, you buy a wife? Isn’t that human trafficking?”
“Hire. I would hire a wife uniquely chosen for me.”
“Uniquely chosen by whom?”
Liam picked up a kreple. It looked like a donut. “Pamela Jones.”
David licked icing off his thumb. “Is this prostitution? Do I need to call Mom?”
“Ha ha. No. There’s no hanky-panky. It’s in the contract.” Besides the fact that the drugs I’m on make that impossible … For that reason alone, he’d been happy to sign up for a business marriage—any marriage. The fact that Pamela could find him a wife who could also be his nurse was a benefit. David was a great brother and buddy, and Ella was an excellent personal secretary, but neither of them knew the first thing about medicine.
According to his doctor-issued time line, Liam had three months left. That was great on paper, but Liam suspected the doctor had been overly optimistic. He couldn’t explain his premonition, just that he knew if he was going to find a bride, now was the time.
Liam wanted to be married before he died. He wanted to know what it was like to have someone to belong to, and if that meant going through Billionaire Marriage Brokers, then that’s what he would do.
Read more or buy The Resilient Bride here.
The Masquerading Groom
Sweet romance coming soon by Amazon bestselling author, Taylor Hart. Click here for more information.
The Protective One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance Page 15
