When they reached Grace’s door, Ian asked, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be? I can’t blame anyone for being surprised you would marry someone like me.”
He placed his hands on her waist to keep her from turning away. “You mean a talented, beautiful, sexy, smart, and witty woman? Frankly, the idea I wouldn’t want you is an insult to my intelligence.”
“Good one.” She lifted her face for a kiss, which he was more than happy to supply. “Let me pack. I’ll knock when I’m finished.”
Ian had already hung his clothing from the day before in a garment bag, so now he folded his pajama bottoms and shaving kit into the suitcase and then sat on the edge of the bed to wait. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled out his mobile and texted Jamie.
Asked Grace to marry me. (She said yes.)
Anxiety churned in his stomach while he waited for the return text. And then came a handful of messages, one after another.
Congratulations! About time! We love Grace.
Well, not all of us. Was Mother furious?
Andrea says you need to text a picture of the ring.
Ian laughed softly at the last one. Mum knows I was going to ask and refuses to attend the wedding. Thanks for the support. Tell Andrea I’ll work on the pic.
When Grace knocked a few minutes later, he showed her the message thread, and she laughed too. “I adore your family. Even if Jamie and Andrea are so in love it hurts to be around them.”
“Very true. I guess we need to start working on obnoxious levels of happiness.”
“I’m getting there. Now let me have your mobile.”
He handed over the phone and she snapped a picture of her left hand, then sent it back to Jamie. A few seconds went by before the reply came in. Well done, man. Andrea says it’s perfect.
“It is,” Grace murmured. “Now let’s go before I feel the need to say it’s perfect because you had it designed for me or because you gave it to me or some such nonsense.”
“Nonsense?”
She stretched up and kissed him quickly. “Anything you gave me would be perfect. Just not this perfect.”
His laughter rang out in the hall. He picked up his bag and one of hers and followed her down to the lobby below.
“Are you sorry to be leaving Scotland?” she asked.
“No. It was good to be back, but my life is in London. Our life together is in London.”
A strange expression crossed her face. Then she smiled. “Let’s get to it, then.”
By silent agreement, they took a leisurely route home, even knowing it would get them back to the city in the wee hours of Monday morning. They stopped for lunch in Fort William, walking the cobblestone streets hand in hand, chatting about everything and nothing, kissing on a random street corner and getting asked if they were newlyweds.
“Newly engaged,” Ian replied. Grace knew she should have been embarrassed, but she laughed. Nothing could dampen her happiness at the moment, especially after all the teasing she’d done about his aversion to public displays of affection.
When they finally arrived in London and Ian parked in front of her building, dawn had broken over the buildings, the light giving a bright crown to tops of dusky gray-and-white stone. In her sleepless, bleary-eyed state, that somehow seemed significant.
“Sure you can climb the stairs?” he asked as he carried her bags to the top of the interior landing. “You look asleep on your feet.”
“My feet aren’t touching the ground, yada yada, insert overblown romantic sentiment here.” Grace grinned up at him. “I blame you for my newfound sappiness.”
“For that, I will gladly take the blame. Call me when you wake up?”
“You might need to wake me for supper.”
Outside the flat, he kissed her gently, and too briefly for her liking, then waited as she put her key into the lock. She whispered good-bye, then carefully tiptoed her way inside with her bags.
She needn’t have worried. The lights were already on and the kettle bubbled in the kitchen. She dropped her luggage with a thud. “Ash? I’m back!”
Asha emerged from the bathroom, toweling her dark hair dry. “What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t get in until later!”
“We ended up driving. How was your weekend?”
“Oh, no, don’t try to divert me. How was your weekend?”
Grace couldn’t help the grin that sprang to her face. “Good. The wedding was gorgeous, as you’d expect. Weather was surprisingly good for Scotland, which you wouldn’t expect.”
“And?”
“And this happened.” Grace held up her left hand.
Asha’s expression turned from surprise to shock to joy. She let out a squeal and launched herself at Grace. “Oh my, congratulations, Grace! That’s amazing! Let me see it again.” She grabbed Grace’s hand and twisted it for a better view of each side of the ring. “Well. That is impressive. You’re wearing the crown jewels on your ring finger.”
Grace blushed. “It’s rather showy, isn’t it?”
“Oh, it’s stunning. What a gorgeous setting. I never would have imagined you wearing a diamond that big, but somehow, it feels like you. He had it made, didn’t he?”
“From my first engagement ring,” Grace said.
“That may be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.” Asha dragged her over to the sofa and pulled Grace down, tucking one leg up beneath herself like a little girl. “So how did he do it? When? Did he get down on one knee?”
“He did. He took me for a drive, but it was already getting rather dark. Proposed overlooking the sound. And then I laughed at him.”
“You did what?” Asha screeched. “Why do you do these things to the man?”
“I didn’t mean to! He took me by surprise. He was telling me how much I meant to him, and then he got down on one knee, and I kind of panicked. I didn’t take him for a down-on-one-knee sort of man.”
“Oh, he is. Even I could tell you that. Grace, he’s waited for you for ten years. He had your old engagement ring remade. You don’t think he’s going to make a statement of some sort?”
“Well, after I apologized for laughing at him, I said yes, and the rest is history.”
Asha sighed happily. “Best story ever, with the exception of the fact it didn’t happen to me. So, have you talked about a date?”
“Not yet.”
“Didn’t do a lot of talking after that, hmm?”
Grace laughed, but the heat returned to her cheeks. “Not really. I’m pretty sure he wants to get married as soon as we can. There are details to work out.”
“Like what?”
“Like my job in London, wedding guests . . .”
Asha fell silent. “Do you think your parents would come?”
“I doubt it. The last time I called, they didn’t pick up the phone and didn’t return the message. It was never Mum, you know, but she’ll go along with what Dad wants. She has no choice, really.”
“I don’t understand your dad. It wasn’t enough to lose one child, so he had to drive the other away.” Asha grimaced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
“No, it’s okay. That’s exactly what he did. He’s never really gotten over the fact I ignored his ultimatum and ran off with my boyfriend, let alone followed in Aidan’s footsteps. Stubborn Irish pride.”
Asha grabbed Grace’s hand and squeezed. “None of that now. Don’t let them spoil your happiness.”
Asha was right, but the doubt and the heaviness had crept in, stealing a little of her joy. She knew exactly what her father would say, if he bothered to talk to her. There were standards of behavior in the Brennan family, and she had never lived up to them. She’d always been too wild, too independent, too . . . unchristian. He’d say her current problems were the results of her rebelliousness. And he certainly wouldn’t believe that she was settling down now.
He was wrong. Her father might never forgive her, but God was giving her a second
chance of which she had barely dared to dream. She wouldn’t start that second chance with negativity. She held tight to Asha’s hand. “Of course this means you have to be my maid of honor.”
“Well, of course I will. Who else would it be? I’m already picking out shoes in my head.” Asha laughed and pulled her into a tight hug. The words she whispered into her ear were serious, though. “I love you, Grace. I’m so proud of you. You deserve your happiness. Now, go take it.”
“I don’t know what I would do without you, Ash.” She hugged her one more time. “So now he and I need to set a date. Autumn or winter, I’d think. I get the impression neither of us are up for anything elaborate.”
Asha’s expression shifted. “I didn’t mean to bring this up now, but I don’t want you to be disappointed later. I certainly don’t want you to change your plans for me.”
“What is it, Ash?” Grace’s stomach was getting more nervous by the second.
“I just got my leave approved. I’m going back to India in six weeks.”
“What? That’s great! So you’ll be able to go for the opening of the Pune TB clinic at the end of September, yeah?” Asha had been invited by CAF months ago, but she’d almost given up on getting the requisite time away from work.
“It is great, but I won’t be back until late January. Which means if you have an autumn wedding, I won’t be there.”
“I see.” Grace thought through the possibilities. There wasn’t any need to rush things. She’d only thought autumn because the weather was still nice . . .
Asha pushed herself off the sofa and wagged a finger. “Don’t overthink this, Grace. And don’t let me affect your decisions. You love him; he loves you. If you’re sure you want to marry him, just do it. Don’t give yourself the time to talk yourself out of what you really want.”
Asha went to finish getting ready for work, leaving Grace alone with her swirling thoughts. Did Asha have so little faith in her that she thought she would run from the altar a second time? She’d made her decision. She loved Ian. She’d reconciled herself to leaving her other life behind, finding a new passion here in London. There was nothing that would make her throw that away.
Was there?
Asha came back from the bedroom, fastening tiny gold earrings into her earlobes. “I really hate the fact I have to work this morning. We should be shopping for wedding dresses or having a celebratory high tea.”
“We can do that on your next day off. Besides, I need to head over to the gallery this afternoon to check on Melvin’s progress.” And keep her mind off all the ways she might manage to muck this up.
But Melvin wouldn’t be in the gallery for hours, and the enormous yawn that ripped from her convinced her she’d be asleep the minute she sat down on the train. Instead, Grace waited until Asha left, then took a long, hot bath—longer than necessary considering the time she spent admiring the sparkle of the diamonds in the bathroom’s halogen lights. Then she put on her pajamas and curled up beneath a blanket on the sofa, too tired to bother pulling out the bed.
She woke to a shrill ring minutes or hours later and fumbled for her mobile phone while she wiped a trail of drool from her cheek. Had she actually slept through dinner? She answered and mumbled a sleepy “Hello?” into the handset.
It wasn’t Ian’s voice that came through. “Grace? It’s Henry Symon.”
Adrenaline flooded her system, instantly sweeping away the last cobwebs of sleep. “Hello, Henry. How are you?” It was an inane thing to say, but her synapses weren’t firing as quickly as her pulse.
“Well, thanks. I wanted to let you know that our monthly board meeting has been moved to this Friday. Would you be available to speak at ten o’clock?”
“Of course. Do I need to prepare a presentation?” Her words were finally coming out semicoherently.
“I would. This is your chance to show them your vision and your passion. I’m confident you’re the right person for the job. Now we just need to show them why.”
And prove that a woman without a university degree could do the job.
Grace sat on the edge of the sofa, taming her stomach’s backflips. It was all coming together so fast—first the engagement, now the job. Good things, but ones that drove home the truth: her career as a war photographer was well and truly over.
“Don’t talk yourself out of what you really want.”
Asha was right. What she really wanted was Ian, London, a second chance at life. It was right in front of her—all she had to do was reach out and grab it.
Second chances didn’t come easy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
FOR THE FIRST TIME IN LONGER than he could remember, Ian woke up nervous.
It didn’t make sense that he should be nervous when it was Grace’s job that would be decided today, but in a sense it was also their future being decided. Settling into a desk job versus continuing to travel as a photographer. A new start together versus making their existing lives bend around their togetherness, their marriage.
Fortunately, he had his morning outing to take his mind off it, though which one was diverting him from the other was somewhat in question. Chris slanted him a curious look when they climbed the stairs to the locker room.
“What’s going on with you? I haven’t seen you this distracted in the boat since Grace showed up. Everything all right?”
Ian smiled. He’d taken out his scull on Wednesday, so he hadn’t had a chance to share his news. “Grace and I are getting married.”
Chris ground to a stop. “Whoa. Really? That’s . . . quick.”
“You don’t approve?”
“I didn’t say that. Given everything she’s dealing with, I didn’t expect you to jump into things so fast. Not giving her a chance to get away again?”
“We’ve been over this already,” Ian said, his tone nearly a growl.
“Okay, okay, I didn’t mean anything by it. Congratulations, mate.”
Chris held out a hand, and Ian shook it, his irritation abating a degree. He couldn’t blame Chris for his surprise. He’d already expressed his concern over Grace’s mental state, and he’d seen what her leaving had done to Ian the first time. He didn’t want to see him go through the same thing again.
“This time when she leaves, it will break you.”
Ian shook off his mother’s voice in his head. Grace was coping well; she was happy with him in London, making the effort to put down roots.
Except Grace had seemed happy with him the first time, right up until she left.
Curse his mother for putting the thought into his head. This time, it would be different. He knew that as surely as he knew anything. And today’s board meeting would prove it.
The meeting had been scheduled at CAF’s office to begin at half past nine, which meant he would be cutting his arrival close. He showered, shaved, and dressed in a dark suit—with a tie—and shoved his kit bag into his locker. Exactly forty-eight minutes later, he punched the up button on the lift in the posh Canada Square building and checked his watch. Three minutes to spare. At least no one could complain about his punctuality.
The office’s efficient assistant, Alice, smiled at him warmly and held up a finger while she transferred a call. “Good morning, Mr. MacDonald. You can go straight through to the conference room. You’re the last to arrive.”
“Thank you, Alice.” Maybe they wouldn’t be as impressed by his punctuality as he’d thought.
At the end of the hallway on the exterior side of the office was the conference room, a small space with an oval-shaped table and an expansive view of the square below. Philip Vogel was engaged in an animated discussion with one of the other board members, but he gave Ian a nod of acknowledgment as he took his seat. In the corner, Vogel’s assistant, Cecile, set up her laptop in preparation for recording the meeting minutes.
If Ian was asked later, he knew he wouldn’t be able to recite any of the decisions made. Most of them had little to do with him anyway; while he kept generally informed of CAF’s
endeavors, the big topic of conversation had to do with donation shortfalls from the American branch of the charity, which had apparently taken a hit in the wake of a scandal. Americans tended to be far more critical of those involved in the organizations to which they donated than the English, so having a megachurch pastor step down from leadership because of accusations of impropriety had heavily impacted the bottom line.
Finally, Vogel tapped his pen against the page. “The matter of the new creative director. Cecile?”
Cecile leaned over to the intercom beside her and pushed a button. “Alice, has Ms. Brennan arrived?”
“Yes. Shall I send her in?”
“Please do. And send Henry down as well.” Cecile clicked off and then rose to wait for them by the door.
Several minutes later, Ian glimpsed Henry Symon and Grace through the glass wall. Henry gestured for Grace to take a chair to the side while he pulled up a seat at the table and greeted the board.
“The position of creative director has been open for several months now,” Henry said by way of introduction. “We’ve narrowed the position down to two candidates. I’ve asked my first choice, Grace Brennan, here to speak to you directly because I feel her vision for CAF’s publications is best expressed in her own words. Even if you don’t know her, you probably know her work. She’s a renowned photojournalist who has worked for Time and Newsweek among others—including us. She has won numerous photography awards over the last ten years, and two years ago she was named NPPA’s Photojournalist of the Year.”
Henry took a stack of papers out of a folder and passed them around. When they circled to Ian, he saw it was her CV along with a selection of her more iconic photographs. His heart pricked with pride.
“Ms. Brennan, would you like to address the board?”
Grace rose smoothly and moved to the head of the table beside the whiteboard. Ian could tell from her slightly stiff expression that she was nervous, but anyone who didn’t know her well would think she was merely serious.
“Gentlemen, thank you for the privilege of addressing you today. As you know, I’ve worked as a photographer for the past fifteen years. I’ve had the opportunity to visit some of CAF’s missions in the field, from wholly sponsored feeding centers and medical missions to refugee camps where CAF was just one of many international aid organizations. I have seen firsthand the good this organization does. It is one of the few that puts the money on the ground where it is most needed.
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