by Maya Rodale, Caroline Linden, Miranda Neville, Katharine Ashe
“I’m just … scared.”
For a moment he was silent. Then he laced his fingers with hers and said, “Me too.”
“So we are both scared. But we’re both into this. Can we pretend we never had this conversation?” Roxanna asked.
“Please,” he said. They sealed it with a kiss.
“Oh, and best not to mention that stupid business with The London Weekly. My mother will kill me.”
It turned out Roxanna was going to meet his mother immediately. A tall woman with blond hair strolled out of the house and up to them as they exited the car.
“Darling! I wasn’t expecting you! Why didn’t you call?” she asked in a very fancy accent. Air kisses ensued.
Roxanna did not come from an air-kissing family. Her father would gruffly say something resembling a hello, hold out a big burly paw and go back to watching the game. Her mom would be all nervous and talk about making a casserole or something awful. In short, her family was not oh-so-glamorous like Damien and his mother, who would probably be played by Meryl Streep in a movie.
“There’s no phone reception where we’re staying.”
“You can’t expect me to believe such rubbish. Why didn’t you call from the road? Send a text?”
“I believe most mothers admonish their children not to text and drive.”
“Yes … yes,” she said, patting his cheek and turning to Roxanna. “And who is this?”
“This is Roxanna Lane. Roxanna, my mother.”
“Call me Cassandra,” she said. Then, turning back to her obviously beloved and favored son, she said, “So is she a friend? Or a girlfriend?” Then, quickly, she turned back to Roxanna. “Apologies, darling. He’s just never brought a woman home before.”
“And now I am reminded exactly why,” Damien said.
Never brought another woman home? Roxanna caught his eye and lifted one brow. He just grinned and shrugged. She reached out and clasped his hand in hers.
Okay, this had definitely got real. This was a bigger deal than the talk because this visit spoke volumes. He was inviting her into his life, his childhood home. Or maybe his brain was addled by the wedding too. But she didn’t think so. Roxanna exhaled, trying to still the tingling nerves and the fluttering in her belly.
“Do come in. Let’s have some tea and a chat,” Cassandra said breezily. As they entered the house and passed the butler, she said, “Some tea, please, Jeffries.”
“Do you actually have a butler?” Roxanna whispered.
“Of course.”
“Even Jane couldn’t make you up,” she replied.
The three of them took tea in a sundrenched parlor looking out over extensive rolling lawns dotted with sheep.
“Purely decorative,” Cassandra explained.
“Pet sheep. We don’t have that in New York.”
Cassandra laughed and asked them about the wedding, their visit, how they met…
Meeting the parents was supposed to be a super awkward occasion. But they bantered easily and Roxanna found that she could just be herself. Damien also seemed more at ease as the visit progressed and everything was fine. Weird.
After tea, Damien gave her a tour of the house, but one that wasn’t at all like the boring school field trip tours. She was shown the room where they celebrated Christmas, the room where the dog had been sick after eating all the Christmas chocolates, the formal dining room, the less formal dining room, the dining room they actually used, the butler’s pantry, and the servants’ quarters in the attics, which were a good place for sneaking a smoke when at home on school holidays.
In the upstairs corridor he showed her the collection of framed front pages of early editions of The London Weekly.
“We keep a complete collection in the family archives and there is another collection at the Colindale branch of the British Library.”
“How fancy,” she murmured as she peered at the very first issue—all yellowed with age. There were a few other framed pages of a column called “Dear Annabelle.”
“What’s this?”
“The love story between the first Lord and Lady Northbourne started in the pages of the paper. She wrote an advice column for him in the 1820s. He was just mere Mr. Knightly then, and was later awarded the title based on the success of his publishing empire.”
“Oh, wow.”
“So you see, it’s not just a newspaper.”
“It’s your family history,” she said. “How could you wager this?”
“I had lost sight of what really matters,” he said softly. “But now I know.”
She turned to face him. In the darkened corridor, their gazes locked. And she knew. This was really real. And it was good. Really good.
Next he showed her his childhood bedroom. She barely noticed anything before he shut the door behind them and pushed her up against the door. She laughed, and said, “Hey!”
He kissed her. She kissed him back. Then she had to stop and ask, “What’s so funny?”
“I have a girl in my bedroom.”
“You are supposed to be this debonair gentleman. You are a mysterious millionaire CEO. And you are laughing about having a girl in your childhood bedroom.”
“Oh, like the chic, clever, stylish Roxanna Lane won’t feel a little bit thrilled to have a hot, successful businessman with a sexy accent in her childhood bedroom when she brings me to her home in New Jersey.”
“So we’re meeting the parents? Is that what we’re doing now?”
“I’ve only ever driven through New Jersey. Never stopped.”
“For a reason. It’s the most boring place on the planet.”
“Not if you’re there,” he said softly.
There was only one response to that. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.
She kissed him like she was a schoolgirl again, with her heart unabashedly bursting with feelings. The cute boy liked her! Her crush returned the sentiments. Some feelings never got old. And some feelings made a girl feel downright new again.
His lips on hers were firm, then yielding, as if he, too, couldn’t help but surrender to the simple joy of a good kiss with the girl who liked him back. This knowing that they had romantic feelings for each other made her soften … but it didn’t dull her spark at all. Oh no. This was a just a kiss, a sweet, innocent, in-his-childhood-bedroom kiss…
… and damn she could feel the sparks starting, then catching, and the fire in her belly starting to smolder.
They were interrupted by a text message from Arwen, the wedding planner. Followed by a text from Jane.
Arwen Kilpatrick: We could use your advice, if you have a minute.
Jane Sparks: OMG come back ASAP. Disaster!
“We have to get back for the rehearsal,” Roxanna said reluctantly. She pressed one more kiss on his lips. “And, crap, I have to write a speech.”
“You haven’t written it yet?”
“I’m an impulsive, last-minute kind of girl,” she said with a grin.
“We don’t want to upset the bride any more than we have already,” he said. They said their good-byes to his mum, got in the car, and buckled up. But Damien didn’t start the car. He just looked at her. She just looked at him.
God, she lo—had the feelings for this man. For the first time she realized that if they stopped having this thing, she’d be devastated.
“Me too,” he said, replying to the thoughts in her head. Then he started the car and they were off to the wedding rehearsal—and, apparently, disaster.
Scheming with the bride and groom
A short while later, Roxanna and Damien breezed into the small sitting room at Brampton house and encountered a tense scene with the wedding planner, Arwen, the owner of the place, Harry, and the bride and groom.
“What did we miss?” Roxanna asked.
“There is a paparazzo lurking on the grounds and we can’t get rid of him. But Arwen and Harry have a plan so that he spies on the wrong wedding,” Jane explained.
“Well, that
sounds like one of your books,” Roxanna said, taking a seat on the couch.
“I know. God forbid anyone gets married and it’s easy,” Duke grumbled.
“The happily-ever-after is sweeter when there are obstacles,” Jane said. Presently, no one shared her romanticism. There were more practical matters to consider.
“We’re planning a second, decoy wedding,” Arwen told them.
“Naturally,” Roxanna replied.
“We can’t let Snooper get a picture of the real wedding; otherwise, the People magazine deal will be off. They’re already pissed about those hunting photos, and the ones on Jezebel,” Duke explained, with a dark look at Roxanna and Damien. Jane and Roxanna had the same reply.
“But the puppies! The kittens!”
The mood in the room was tense, in spite of Jane’s efforts to keep things cheerful. Something wasn’t adding up. Damien knew what it was, but there was no way in hell he would say it. A few days ago, he would have without a second thought. But things had changed now. He slipped his hand over Roxanna’s.
“What about Damien’s … deal?” Roxanna asked. “If Snooper gets pictures and runs them in the Daily Post and everyone thinks they’re real, Damien will be screwed. Once the People magazine pictures run, they’ll know ours were fake. Oh no!”
Roxanna looked up at him, eyes full of concern. His heart slammed in his chest. He knew what he had to do.
“It’s fine,” he said softly.
“What?” she exclaimed, not at all softly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jane and the others watching them avidly.
“If Snooper runs wedding pictures, the People deal will be off and you’ll lose your newspaper,” Roxanna exclaimed. There was a sharp intake of breath from someone, a gasp of shock. He could feel the intensity of Duke’s angry gaze. Roxanna looked around at everyone. “We all have an interest in keeping him out.”
“It’s fine,” he repeated. “If Snooper runs those fake pictures, People’s pictures will be much more valuable for being authentic,” Damien explained. “And I’ll deal with the Daily Post. Neither of us can win if we’ve both published fakes.” Then, clearing his throat, he added. “But for what it’s worth, I am prepared to lose The London Weekly. I will do whatever I can to help with the decoy wedding and to preserve the privacy of the real wedding.”
“But…”
“I have figured out what matters more,” he said, gazing into Roxanna’s eyes and squeezing her hand.
“Oh,” Jane sighed, dabbing at her teary eyes with a tissue. “It’s so romantic.”
At the rehearsal dinner
For the rehearsal dinner in the State Dining Room, Roxanna put on another sexy dress that Damien wanted to strip off, to reveal the even sexier lingerie underneath, which he also wanted to strip off to reveal the sexiest thing of all: that girl, her bare skin, in his bed.
But what he felt for her was not just lust.
He suspected there were very few women to whom he could admit being scared … and even fewer who would respond perfectly, as Roxanna had done. They were not emotional, demonstrative people. That didn’t mean they didn’t feel deeply.
He had never really felt this deeply before, to be honest. And now…
As he said, he was scared. He was scared of the intensity of his feelings for her. Scared that he might lose his family’s prized possession, yet resolute in putting Roxanna and her friends first. He had been a presumptuous idiot to make that wager. And who knew—perhaps he could win or buy it back. Perhaps if they both published fakes, the wager could be deemed a draw. He’d worry about it later. But he now knew what was most important.
But Damien had not been raised to sulk with his feelings. Men in his family put on their suits and strolled out as if they owned the world.
So he did, with one gorgeous redhead on his arm.
They were more affectionate and demonstrative than usual that evening. It was as if the wedding was affecting them. Or now that he’d started to acknowledge the intensity of his feelings for her, he couldn’t help but express them with a kiss on her cheek, his palm on her lower back, or a suggestive gaze and wicked smile.
Did the other guests notice? He didn’t care.
Damien was thinking seriously romantic thoughts when Roxanna stood up to make a speech. He was glad to have this time to just gaze at her and appreciate how hot she looked in that black dress. He was lucky to have this glimpse into her heart and mind. And, frankly, he was damned curious to hear what she, a woman of more sass than sap, had to say in a speech at a wedding rehearsal dinner.
“Hello everyone,” Roxanna started. “Jane asked me to say a few words, which is a request she is going to regret in a few minutes.”
Everyone laughed, including the bride.
“I first met Jane when she propositioned me on the Internet,” Roxanna began. “Craigslist, to be specific. I was looking for a roommate who wouldn’t stiff me on rent or murder me in my sleep, so I was incredibly lucky to find Jane, who is the kindest, nicest, most trustworthy girl I know. We’re an unlikely couple, but we hit it off right away. Fortunately for me, she made sure that all our bills were paid and that I didn’t subsist exclusively on bourbon and popcorn, which is the only thing I know how to cook.”
That didn’t surprise him in the slightest, knowing her as he did. But why didn’t he know that about her? They would have to hire a chef when they moved in together or got married.
He straightened in his chair. Where had that thought come from?
He braced himself for the wave of discomfort that would come from even considering sharing his flat with a woman, or binding himself for life to another person. It didn’t come. So they would have a chef. He certainly wasn’t going to cook—he couldn’t—and a chef was an expense he could afford.
“Jane has been a terrific friend and has taken such great care of me,” she continued. “Which is why I decided to return the favor by announcing her engagement to Duke. Before they even met. I have been forbidden, upon pain of death, from telling any more of that story. Sorry, kids.”
Everyone in the crowd laughed and called out demands for that story.
“While I have given her romance a little nudge forward, she’s also done the same for me. Living with a romance novelist will make you start believing in all this romance stuff.”
She paused to take a long sip of champagne, which made him grin. All this romance stuff. He wanted to share in all this romance stuff with her.
“When she asked me to read her first book, I did it as a friend. And I should point out that by ask, I mean that I might have taken a printed version of the manuscript off her desk without permission. Because really, there are only so many reruns of the Kardashians a girl can watch. But as I read the love stories she wrote and watched her own love story unfold, Jane kind of sort of maybe made me believe in love.”
“That’s her equivalent of shouting her undying everlasting love from the rooftops, by the way,” Jane added, to everyone’s amusement.
“Or maybe I’ve been reading too many of her novels about haughty, devastatingly sexy, undeniably romantic English lords,” Roxanna said with a wink at him.
“Hey, I thought those books were about me,” Duke interjected.
No, she’s talking about me, Damien thought.
“So I’d like to propose a toast, because after being so publicly emotional I’m just dying for a drink. Here’s to Jane, and Duke, and romance when we least expect it, and being smart enough and openhearted enough to realize a good thing when it’s announced on Facebook. Or … whatever. Wherever. To Jane, Duke, and happily ever after!”
Chapter Nine
That moment when you declare your love.
Damien found her at the bar outside on the terrace shortly after the speeches concluded. She was sipping champagne and looking impossibly gorgeous. But now he saw the vulnerability there. She kept it hidden behind a mass of red hair, a bold stare, and a willingness to say anything—so long as she didn’t have to talk
about her innermost feelings.
“Nice speech,” he said, leaning against the bar next to her.
“Nice speech?” she echoed. “That’s all?”
“Are you asking me to talk about my feelings?”
“I know. I met your mother this afternoon. One shouldn’t ask for too much in one day.”
She said it flippantly. But he was feeling honest and straightforward and like speaking from—he cringed, but couldn’t deny the truth—his heart.
“Roxanna, if anyone else said that, I would think that it was a nervous way of not wanting to ask for too much. But with you, I think you get me. Us. We are not Hallmark people. We cannot meet one another’s parents and engage in a heart-to-heart conversation all in one day.”
“It’d be too much.”
“For the record, I think your speech might top an introduction to my mother,” he said. He still wasn’t sure he had processed all the feelings—yes, feelings—he had experienced watching her, listening to her be so emotional and honest in front of a room full of strangers.
“Are we competing over who can demonstrate their feelings the most?” Her eyes lit up. His girl did love competition.
“Some would say that’s a bad thing,” he murmured. “But perhaps not for us.”
“Us,” she echoed softly. And then, with a coy smile, she added, “So we’re a thing?”
“We are definitely something,” Damien confirmed, gazing down at her. He’d never meant words more.
To that they clinked their champagne glasses together and took a small sip.
“Let’s get out of here?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she said. A moment later, she added, “I’ve always wanted to say that, BTW.”
He laughed and what he said next came easily. “I love you.”
“Well, you sure know how to make a girl feel special,” she replied in her Roxanna way. But then she stood on her tiptoes and whispered into his ear, “I love you too.”
Hand in hand, they left the dining room and strolled out to the gardens, away from the party. After a while, they slowly began making their way back to the house. They took the long way, enjoying the warm summer night, and holding hands, and the fact that they were A Thing now and it hadn’t taken a long, awkward and emotional conversation. It hadn’t been a big deal at all. It just was.
