by Linda Engman
She watched as he chopped tomatoes and added them to the delicious-smelling sauce that bubbled in a sauté pan. “You know, Mr. Vasquez, if you cleaned and did laundry, you’d make a good house husband.”
A corner of his mouth raised in amusement. “Now there’s a thought. A man has to have some aspirations in life. I’ll keep your suggestion in mind.” He tossed a handful of oregano into his sauce. “So what will your family say when you tell them you married someone other than your ex-fiancé?”
“Do you think it’s necessary to inform anyone? I don’t really see the point. Can’t this just be between you and me?”
“No, it can’t,” he argued. “I’ll be informing my family soon after we marry.”
“I’m sure we could easily keep this a secret. Trust me—I have no intentions of spilling the beans. Even if I did no one would believe me. Or worse, they’d think I lost my mind.”
He raised a menacing brow at her. “You do know that couples meet and fall in love at first sight all the time and get hitched without telling anyone until afterward.”
“You believe in that?”
“What?”
“Romance—love at first sight. You actually think that happens?”
He looked uneasy and took a long drink of his beer before answering fully. “Yeah, I guess I do believe in it.”
“Has it ever happened to you?”
He looked painfully cornered now. “You think I’d admit that? I’m a guy. Guys never cave and admit to something like that unless they’re being tortured, or maybe two seconds from dying.”
“Then I’ll take it that only in theory does ‘love at first sight’ exist.”
“I never said that.”
“Then back up your grand idea with some proof.”
He flashed a smug grin. “Okay. Take my father and mother; they met and married in one week. A buddy of mine met his wife on an elevator in the Empire State building and they were in love by the time they reached the eighth floor. My doorman Thomas, he fell hard and fast in love and now he’s got five kids to prove it.”
“And my fiancé fell for someone else on a three-day business trip,” she murmured, the words out of her mouth before she could think twice.
“I never said love at first sight was perfect.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” she countered, thinking of a way to get off the subject. “So why exactly did your grandfather make that stipulation in his will about you being married before your thirty-fifth birthday? As your soon-to-be wife, I hope you don’t mind me asking?”
He eyed her and shrugged carelessly while he dumped a container of fresh pasta into the boiling water. “It was because my grandfather always had to be right. I told him as a teenager that I would never get tied down and married. He argued that it would be beyond my control someday, and when I met the right woman I would beg her to marry me. To insure that he was right, he put that damned clause in his will.”
“Oh,” was all she could say, shocked but not surprised that a Vasquez man had to be right even after death.
“So, do you have anyone who will want to know? Family members or friends?” he asked again, sounding curious about her private life as he sliced a fragrant, crusty loaf of French bread.
“Only my older sister. Although she’s on vacation with her husband in Mexico. They won’t be back for another week,” she told him, trying to think of who else would be shocked to find out she was marrying Roman Vasquez. “Oh, my gosh! What will Henry think?”
Roman looked up from the two plates of spicy pasta he was dishing up. “Your boss? Tell him I was using Justine to make you jealous and to get you to say yes. That we’ve been dating on and off in secret for the past few months and decided to make it official.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she murmured, knowing Henry would never buy her story. Neither would Emily. What in the world was she thinking when she signed those papers and agreed to this madness? She groaned inwardly, noticing he was watching her. “I guess I’ll think of something to tell everyone.”
“Marrying me is that bad?” he inquired, his tone serious as he handed her a steaming plate of pasta. He must have heard the disparaging tone in her voice, since he actually looked wounded for a split second.
A thread of guilt weaved through her, but she immediately pushed it away. “Like I said—anyone who knows me will think I’m out of my mind.”
“Thanks,” he grumbled. “You’re great for the ego.” He took his plate and bottle of beer and headed for the glass dining table.
She followed with her own plate and drink and thanked him as he graciously helped her with her chair before taking his. Closet romantic and gentleman too? This evening is just full of surprises. She added salad to her plate and forced a bite of her pasta, while trying to act like this was a normal evening meal. To distract from the fact she was having a home-cooked meal with her future husband, she took in the penthouse view of the neighboring buildings lit for the evening; the adjacent lofts and apartment windows displaying Christmas trees and seasonal decorations. At the same time, a delicate swirl of snowflakes glided by the window, making the table for two cozy and inviting. Eagerly she took another bite of her pasta. The Italian-inspired dish was unbelievably fantastic, and she wondered if he ever cooked for any of the other women in his life. She immediately stamped out the question.
“I noticed you cheated on dinner. The pasta was precooked, and I saw you put a can of something in the sauce,” she stated, liking the spicy combination he’d whipped up in five minutes.
“What? Your ex-fiancé could have done better?” he bantered back, watching her from across the table.
“Todd? You’ve got to be kidding.” She laughed; the image of her ex-fiancé cooking for her beyond ridiculous. “Ordering takeout was beneath him.”
“Sounds like a fun guy,” he grunted, digging into his food with gusto.
For the first time in months April found herself glad to be rid of Todd and his self-indulgent behavior. The sadness she’d carried around with her seemed to vanish into thin air. Like a dead weight lifted off her chest.
“Thank you for cooking dinner. It’s wonderful,” she murmured, feeling somewhat self-conscious as he continued to stare at her from across the table.
“You’re welcome,” he said quietly. “But we should get back to planning the details of the wedding. My birthday is on Sunday, New Year’s Day. That means tomorrow on Friday we’ll have to get a license and all the other things needed. We’ll be married on Saturday, New Year’s Eve.”
She shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, at least I know I’ll have a guaranteed date to ring in the New Year.”
Chapter Five
April snuggled under the covers, a man’s deep laughter ringing in her ears, as she fought against waking. Ultimately she knew it was useless to avoid what was ahead and pried her eyes open with a moan, only to pull the comforter up and over her aching head.
Dull morning light from a gray sky filtered through the sheer drapes into her bedroom. Reluctantly she tossed off the covers and sat up. From her bed she could see snowflakes still floating silently past the window as they had the night before. She released a long yawn. For some reason she seemed depleted of energy. Through hazy slits she peered at her bedside clock, already having guessed the hour. As usual she woke early from habit, wishing this one time she could have slept in and avoided, even a little bit longer, what the day was to bring.
She pulled herself out of bed and made her way to her small kitchen. She flipped on the radio to the station playing continuous holiday tunes. The jolly disposition of the DJ, announcing Michael Bublé’s version of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” as the next tune, thankfully put her in a better mood while she started the coffeemaker. She watched the kitchen appliance mindlessly, her thoughts drifting back to the night before. After going over all the details and plans, included her taking today off from work so they could obtain a marriage license and she would have time to look for a “rom
antic” wedding dress, Roman had driven her back to her apartment. He’d even walked her to her door and waited until she was safely inside before he left.
But not before he badgered and ordered and demanded through every last detail that was to be their wedding.
She poured herself a cup of fragrant hazelnut coffee, adding a ton of cream and sugar, and padded in her pajamas over to switch on the twinkle lights across the mantel and the Christmas tree; along with the gas fireplace. Comforting gold flames leapt and danced over fake logs. She shuffled over to her new sofa, sinking down onto it in a heap and pulled a cozy throw over her lap. She now wished she’d protested a little more when Roman insisted on getting his way on everything. At least she’d stood her ground on the subject of a wedding gown. Not that she cared one bit what kind of mock wedding they were going to have. But still, a woman had to have some say when it came to what kind of dress she was going to wear to her own wedding.
A blanket of toasty air wrapped around her as the fireplace wafted heat into the living room of her tiny apartment. She took a long drink of her coffee and smiled wickedly over the rim of her china cup, remembering the look of agony on his face when she informed him she would be picking out her own wedding dress. She’d sweetly reassured him it wouldn’t be too fluffy and the train would be less than twenty feet long.
Somehow he managed to keep from voicing his opinion. She had to give him credit for that at least, even if he was a bossy monster about everything else.
Eyeing the phone, she knew she would have to call Henry soon and explain she needed a personal day. She hoped he would buy her flimsy excuse. Then she’d have to shower, head out to find suitable wedding attire, and get back before he came to collect her to go for the wedding license. Tomorrow they would marry, and afterward she would be staying at his apartment Saturday evening in order to make everything look convincing.
Her thoughts strayed back to the night before in his loft. Back to the sexy kiss they’d shared. For her it had been sensual, exciting, and evocative. On the other hand, for him, it’d been another kiss in a long line of forgotten ones.
Especially given that the man had been the perfect host the rest of the night, never once acting like he wanted a repeat of what happened between them earlier. Half of her was overly relieved with that fact—the other half disparagingly disappointed. But what did she expect? That he was going to throw her down and have wild sex after she signed the contract?
Okay, so maybe I would have been kind of “into” it if he had.
Right. More like all over the man. And c’mon, you have to admit the old-fashioned guy stuff he did last night like holding chairs, opening doors, and walking a girl to her apartment building was really sweet too.
Disappointed she was succumbing to his charming side, she headed to the shower, where she used the peppermint candy cane body wash she’d received from her secret Santa at work. Within the steamy shower it smelled like Christmas at its best. At the same time, she couldn’t help but go over the plus and minuses regarding the situation. Only instead of deciding if she should marry him, she was considering—like some sex-deprived old maid—the hookup factor between them.
Plus: He’s totally hot.
Minus: The man is used to stunning females who know how to play the game. I don’t have a clue how to get into the game—let alone play it. Would I even know what to do with a man like that if I ended up naked with him?
Plus: I can’t forget how he looked at me before kissing me. A definite look of hot desire—
Minus:—mixed with anguished regret, like the guy couldn’t make up his mind if he was into me or not.
Double Minus: Leave it to me to find the only hot guy in a towel willing to take time to weigh his options first before kissing a woman. What is it with me and men?
In self-defeat she stepped out of the shower and dried off. After blow-drying her hair and leaving it loose and cascading, she applied light makeup to her even features. She’d only pulled on a pair of lacy panties and matching bra in a soft lavender color when her cell phone rang. She answered it happily, expecting Emily. Her heart stalled when she heard the deep male voice on the other end.
“This is Roman Vasquez.”
“Oh…ah…hi,” she squeaked, feeling her heart restart and then pound uncontrollably as her body temperature rose.
“You’re not shopping yet, are you?” His voice was raspy and very husky sounding.
“No. Actually, I’m home and just got out of the shower. I’m not even dressed yet,” she admitted, glancing down at her lacy bra and matching panties.
“Oh…well…good then,” he stammered, his voice oddly tight. “There’s been a change in plans. So for the wedding dress, get something light, and pack a bag for tropical and warm. We’re leaving town. I’ll see you later. ”
Abrupt, he hung up without any goodbye, which left her sitting dumbfounded on the bed, staring down at her cell phone clasped in her shaking hand. With no recourse, she did as ordered and scanned her tiny walk-in closet for her best summer items. She decided on two dresses, one for day and one for night, and a pair of cute flare jeans with two tops: one halter and the other a tight pink tank. She included an assortment of bras and panties and also grabbed a few pairs of sexy heels. She tossed everything onto her antique iron bed and suddenly remembered his description—tropical and warm. Without delay she added two swimsuits with cover-ups to the pile, and threw in the book she was reading from her bedside table. She smirked at the thought of marrying him and then sitting poolside with her book and fashion magazines—totally ignoring him for the rest of their trip. It would serve him right. She smiled smugly again and wished the big lug would have given her more clues as to where they were going.
Some place warm? Marriage? Las Vegas. Although not tropical, it would be the typical place one would go to get married on the spur of the moment.
She pulled on a black fitted v-neck cashmere sweater and a pair of dark blue jeans as she thought of traveling to Las Vegas. She’d never been there. Actually, she’d never been anywhere. During her childhood, her single mom hadn’t the funds for expensive trips for her and her sister June. After working her way through college, she’d accepted a position with Bressler and Bressler upon graduation. Her vacations afterward, the typical local sightseeing trips to Boston or Washington D.C. Even her vacations with Todd had been limited to the Hamptons. Both of them too busy working to travel much—with the exception of Todd’s illfated trip to Paris.
Refusing to waste her day thinking of her ex, she instead called work, explaining to Henry that she desperately needed the day off for personal reasons. Strangely enough, he was more than enthusiastic about the idea, even reassuring her profusely that he would survive without her before he wished her a happy New Year.
Extreme guilt followed.
She pushed it away and called for a taxi, dreading the thought of also pushing her way through the multitudes of after-Christmas shoppers who would be jamming the stores for post-holiday sales. In ten minutes a taxi pulled up in front of her building and whisked her off through the steady morning snowfall. Since she’d refused Roman’s offer of buying a wedding dress, she automatically bypassed the pricier designer wedding boutiques and instead instructed the driver to take her directly to 34th street and Macy’s department store.
April entered through the building’s main glass and wrought-iron doors. The iconic Herald Square store was busy and bustling as usual, shoppers hurrying to complete their appointed errands, while others milled about the makeup and jewelry counters festooned with full holiday trim. The long-famous flagship store was decked out with swags of holiday greens crisscrossing overhead, laced brightly with merry lights and shiny red ornaments, easily meant to send seasonal joy throughout even the most hardened consumer. Classic Christmas music still echoed overhead, and April felt the excitement of the holidays lingering in the perfumed scented air. With a giddy rush of energy, she rode the escalator to the appropriate floor of the bridal depart
ment and within minutes found herself standing in front of an impressive array of wedding finery.
As the morning progressed she found everything she needed: dress, shoes and accessories for the wedding. She even found herself wondering what Roman Vasquez would think of the dress she’d picked out. It wasn’t the conventional wedding garb by a long shot. The Amy Kuschel bridal gown was modern in design, light and airy, and according to the two very knowledgeable sales attendants and the staff bridal consultant—all of whom happily guided her through the process—the dress looked downright stunning on her.
By the time she got back to her apartment, she had only minutes to spare before he was scheduled to pick her up. With haste she packed one travel bag with her clothes and makeup, heels included: a small feat in itself. She was tucking her book and a fashion magazine into her oversized black patent handbag when the buzzer sounded from downstairs.
With her heart pounding, she walked to the entry, pushed the button to let him in and waited nervously. A knock sounded on her door and she reluctantly opened it. A heated shiver of awareness raced down her spine, and her breath stilled as she looked at the tall, handsome man waiting on the other side of the threshold. It had been less than twenty-four hours since she’d last seen him. Still, she couldn’t help but feel like she was meeting him for the very first time: awkward, intense, and mind shattering all over again.
“Morning,” he drawled, his gaze blatantly raking over her.
She did the same, taking in his faded blue jeans and black suede jacket. His hair was wet and gleaming from the snowfall, his expression unreadable—and he looked absolutely overpowering. So much so that she had to catch her breath before answering him.
