Brown-Eyed Girl

by Lisa Kleypas

  “God help me,” I burst out. “Do you think Sloane has no room for doubt? This wedding is an act of trust on her part too. It’s a risk for her too! But she’s willing to take a chance because she loves you. She’s going to show up at that altar. And you’re seriously telling me that you’re going to humiliate her in front of everyone you both know and make her a laughingstock? Do you understand what that’s going to do to her?”

  “You don’t know what this is like. You’ve never been married.” As Charlie saw my face, he paused and said uncertainly, “Have you?”

  My fury faded abruptly. In the process of planning and coordinating a wedding, especially one on this scale, it was easy to forget how terrifying the process was for the two people with the most at stake.

  Taking off my glasses, I shook my head. “No, I’ve never been married,” I said, cleaning the glasses with a tissue from my bag. “I was jilted on my wedding day. Which probably makes me the worst possible person to talk to you right now.”

  “Hell,” I heard him mutter. “I’m sorry, Avery.”

  I replaced the glasses and balled the tissue in my fist.

  Charlie was facing a life-altering decision, and he had the look of a five-month hog on butchering day. I had to make him aware of the consequences of what he was doing. For his sake, and especially for Sloane’s.

  I cast a longing glance at the empty glass in Charlie’s hands, wishing I could have a drink, too. Hunkering down on the ottoman, I said, “Calling off this wedding isn’t just canceling a social event, Charlie. It’s going to change everything. And it’s going to hurt Sloane in ways you haven’t considered.”

  He stared at me alertly, his brow furrowed. “Sure, she’ll be disappointed,” he began. “But —”

  “Disappointment is the least of what she’s going to feel,” I interrupted. “And even if she still loves you after this, she won’t trust you. Why should she, when you’ve broken your promises?”

  “I haven’t made any promises yet,” he said.

  “You asked her to marry you,” I said. “That means you promised to be there when she walks down the aisle.”

  As a heavy silence descended, I realized that I was going to have to tell Charlie Amspacher about the worst day of my life. The memory was a wound that had never fully healed, and I wasn’t exactly eager to rip it open for the sake of a young man I didn’t really know. However, I couldn’t think of any other way to make the situation clear to him.

  “My wedding was supposed to happen about three and a half years ago,” I said. “I was living in New York at the time, working in bridal fashion. My fiancé, Brian, did equity research on Wall Street. We’d gone out for two years, and then we lived together for another two, and at some point we started talking about getting married. I planned a small, beautiful wedding. I even flew my deadbeat dad up to New York, so he could walk me down the aisle. Everything was going to be perfect. But on the morning of the wedding, Brian left the apartment before I woke up, and called to tell me that he couldn’t go through with it. He’d made a mistake. He said he thought he’d loved me, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure he ever had.”

  “Damn,” Charlie said quietly.

  “People are wrong when they say that time will mend a broken heart. It doesn’t always. My heart stayed broken. I’ve had to learn to live with it that way. I’ll never be able to trust anyone who says he loves me.” I paused before forcing myself to say with stark honesty, “I’m so afraid of being dumped again that I’m always the first to leave. I’ve broken off potential relationships because I’d rather be lonely than hurt. I don’t like it, but that’s who I am now.”

  Charlie stared at me with concern and kindness. He looked like himself again, no longer spooked. “I’m surprised you stayed in the wedding business after being jilted.”

  “I thought about quitting,” I admitted. “But somewhere inside, I still believe in the fairy tale. Not for myself, but for other people.”

  “For me and Sloane?” he asked, unsmiling.

  “Yes. Why not?”

  Charlie turned the empty glass around in his hands. “My parents divorced when I was eight,” he said. “But they never stopped trying to use my brother and me against each other. Lying, backstabbing, arguing, ruining every birthday and holiday. That’s why my mom and stepdad weren’t on the guest list: I knew if they were here, they’d cause all kinds of problems. How am I supposed to have a good marriage when I’ve never seen it done right?” His gaze lifted to mine. “I’m not asking for a fairy tale. I just need to be sure that if I get married, it won’t turn into a nightmare someday.”

  “I can’t promise you’ll never get divorced,” I said. “Marriage doesn’t come with guarantees. It’s only going to work for as long as you and Sloane both want it to. For as long as you’re both willing to keep your promises.” I took a deep breath. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight, Charlie… You haven’t gotten cold feet because you don’t love Sloane… you have cold feet because you do love her. You want to call off the wedding because you don’t want the marriage to fail. Is that right?”

  Charlie’s face changed. “Yeah,” he said in a wondering tone. “That… kind of makes me sound like an idiot, doesn’t it?”

  “It makes you sound a little mixed up,” I said gently. “Let me ask you something… has Sloane given you any reason to doubt her? Is there something about the relationship that’s not working for you?”

  “Hell, no. She’s terrific. Sweet, smart… I’m the luckiest guy on earth.”

  I was quiet, letting him work it out for himself.

  “The luckiest guy on earth,” he repeated slowly. “Holy shit – I’m about to screw up the best thing that ever happened to me. To hell with being scared. To hell with my parents’ sorry-ass marriage. I’m going to do this.”

  “Then… the wedding’s on?” I asked cautiously.

  “It’s on.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m positive.” Charlie met my gaze directly. “Thanks for telling me about what you went through. I know it wasn’t easy for you to talk about.”

  “If it helped, I’m glad.” As we both stood, I discovered that my legs were shaky.

  Charlie looked down at me with a slight grimace. “We don’t have to mention this to anyone… do we?”

  “I’m like a lawyer or doctor,” I assured him. “Our conversations are confidential.”

  He nodded and heaved a sigh of relief.

  “I’m going to go now,” I told him. “In the meantime, I think you should keep your distance from Wyatt and his nonsense. I know he’s your friend, but frankly, he’s the worst best man I’ve ever seen.”

  Charlie grinned crookedly. “I won’t argue with that.”

  As he walked me to the door, I reflected that it took courage for him to make the commitment he was most afraid of. A kind of courage I would never have. No man would ever again have the power to let me down the way Brian had… the way Charlie had nearly let Sloane down just now. Feeling relieved and wrung-out, I picked up my bag.

  “See you soon,” Charlie called after me as I left the room and went downstairs.

  I supposed it was somewhat hypocritical, having urged someone to take a chance on getting married when I had no intention of ever doing the same. But my instincts told me that Charlie and Sloane would be happy together, or at least they had as good a chance as anyone.

  Val was waiting downstairs by the front door. “Well?” she asked anxiously.

  “Full steam ahead,” I said.

  “Thank God.” She handed me the radio headset. “I figured you had everything under control when I saw Wyatt trying to hightail it out of here. Ray Kendrick caught him at the front doorstep. Literally gripped him by the back of the neck like a dog with a rat.”

  “And?”

  “Mr. Kendrick dragged him off somewhere, and no one’s seen hide nor hair of either of them since.”

  “What’s happening with the dove release?”

  “Ta
nk asked Steven to help him find some ABS pipe and a barbecue igniter, and he told me to rustle up a can of hair spray.” She paused. “And he sent Ree-Ann to fetch some tennis balls.”

  “Tennis balls? What is he —”

  I was interrupted by an earsplitting whistle followed by a violent blast. We both jumped and stared at each other with wide eyes. Another blast caused Val to cover her ears with her hands. Boom… boom… and in the distance I heard a masculine chorus of hoots and hollers.

  “Steven,” I said urgently into the headset, “what’s happening? Over.”

  “Tank says the hawk’s flown off. Over.”

  “What the hell was that noise? Over.”

  There was a distinct note of enjoyment in Steven’s voice. “Tank rigged up a grenade launcher and made some exploding tennis balls. He emptied out some black powder from a handful of bullet cartridges, and… I’ll tell you the rest later. We’re about to start seating. Over.”

  “Seating?” I echoed, looking down at my dusty, sweat-stained outfit. “Now?”

  Val practically shoved me outside. “You’ve got to change. Go straight to the main house. Don’t stop to talk to anyone!”

  I raced to the lodge and entered through a kitchen filled with busy caterers. As I proceeded to the nearby crafts room, I heard a strange musical bellow, fading into something like a moan. I saw Sofia standing at a large wooden table beside an elderly man dressed in a kilt. Both of them were looking at a tartan-covered bag bristling with black pipes.

  Sofia, wearing a pink fit-and-flare dress, gave me an appalled glance. “You haven’t changed yet?”

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “The bagpipes are broken,” she said. “Don’t worry. I can get a couple of musicians from the reception orchestra to play for the ceremony —”

  “What do you mean they’re broken?”

  “Bag’s leaking,” came the bagpiper’s glum reply. “I’ll refund your deposit like we agreed in the contract.”

  I shook my head wildly. Sloane’s mother, Judy, had set her heart on a bagpipe processional. She would be deeply disappointed with a substitution. “I don’t want a refund, I want bagpipes. Where are your backups?”

  “I don’t have backups. Not at two thousand dollars a set.”

  I pointed an unsteady finger at the plaid heap on the table. “Then fix that.”

  “There’s not enough time, and no supplies. The seam of the inner bag’s come loose. It has to be sealed with heat-sensitive tape, and cured with infrared light to – Lady, what are you doin’?”

  I had gone to the table, seized the bag, and pulled out the Gore-Tex lining with a determined tug. The pipes moaned like an eviscerated beast. Digging into my handbag, I found a role of silver duct tape, pulled it out, and tossed it to Sofia. She caught it in midair. “Patch it,” I said tersely. Ignoring the bagpiper’s howls of protest, I raced off to the housekeeper’s supply room, where I had hung a black top and midcalf skirt on a closet door. The top had slipped from the hanger to the dirty floor. Picking up the garment, I saw to my horror that a couple of ugly grease splotches had soaked into the front.

  Swearing, I searched through my bag for antibacterial wipes and a fabric-cleaning pen. I tried to remove the stains, but the more I worked on them, the worse the top looked.

  “Do you need help?” I heard Sofia ask in a couple of minutes.

  “Come in,” I said, my voice strung with frustration.

  Sofia entered the supply room and took in the scene with a disbelieving gaze. “This is bad,” she said.

  “The skirt is fine,” I said. “I’ll wear it with the top I’ve got on now.”

  “You can’t,” Sofia said flatly. “You’ve been out in the heat for hours. That top is filthy, and there are sweat stains halfway down your sides.”

  “What do you suggest I do?” I snapped.

  “Take the top I was wearing earlier. I’ve been in the air-conditioning for most of the day, and it still looks fine.”

  “That top won’t fit me,” I protested.

  “Yes, it will. We’re almost the same size, and it’s a wrap top. Hurry, Avery.”

  Clumsy with haste, I took off my dusty pants and top and scoured myself with a handful of antibacterial towelettes. With Sofia’s help, I changed into the black skirt and the borrowed top, a stretchy ivory blouse with three-quarter-length sleeves. Since my proportions were more generous than Sofia’s, the V neckline that had been relatively modest on her was a definite plunge on me.

  “I’m showing cleavage,” I said indignantly, tugging the sides of the top closer together.

  “Yes. And you look twenty pounds thinner.” Busily, she yanked the pins from my hair.

  “Hey, stop that —”

  “Your updo was a mess. There’s no time for a new one. Just leave it loose.”

  “I look like an alpaca in a lightning storm.” I tried to flatten the wild mass of curls with my hands. “And this top is too tight, I’m all bound up —”

  “You’re just not used to wearing something that fits. You look fine.”

  I gave her a tortured glance and picked up my headset. “Have you checked in with Steven?”

  “Yes. Everything’s under control. The ushers are seating the guests, and the dove handler is ready with the birds. And Sloane and the bridesmaids are all set. Go. I’ll bring the bagpiper as soon as you give me the okay.”

  By some miracle, the ceremony started on time. And the wedding unfolded more perfectly than Sofia or I could have imagined. Lavish arrangements of thistle, roses, and field flowers had been wrapped around every column of the pavilion. The bagpipe processional established a solemn but electrifying tone for the bridal party’s entrance.

  As Sloane proceeded along the flower-strewn aisle runner, she looked like a princess in her white lace gown. Charlie looked entirely happy as he stared at his bride. No one could have doubted that he was a man in love.

  I doubted anyone even noticed the sullen scowl on the best man’s face.

  After the vows were exchanged, a flock of white pigeons burst into flight and soared through the coral-glazed sky in a moment so picturesque that the entire congregation let out a collective breath.

  “Hallelujah,” I heard Sofia whisper in the earpiece, and I grinned.

  Much later, while the guests danced to orchestra music in the reception tent, I stood in a quiet corner and spoke to Steven on the headset. “I see a potential carry-off,” I said quietly. “Over.” On occasion, we had to perform a discreet assisted removal for guests who’d had too much to drink. The best way to avoid problems was to catch them early.

  “I see him,” Steven replied. “I’ll have Ree-Ann handle it. Over.”

  Aware of a woman approaching, I turned and smiled automatically. She was whippet-thin and elegant in a beaded panel-construction dress. Her blond bob was perfectly highlighted with a bar code of platinum streaks.

  “Can I help you?” I asked with a smile.

  “You’re the one who planned this wedding?”

  “Yes, along with my sister. I’m Avery Crosslin.”

  She sipped from a glass of champagne, her hand weighted with an emerald the size of an ashtray. Noticing that my gaze had flickered to the beveled square-cut gem, she said, “My husband gave it to me for my forty-fifth birthday. A carat for each year.”

  “It’s remarkable.”

  “They say emeralds bestow the power to predict the future.”

  “Does yours?” I asked.

  “Let’s say the future generally happens the way I want it to.” She took another dainty sip. “This turned out nice,” she murmured, surveying the scene. “Fancy, but not too formal. Imaginative. Most weddings I’ve been to this year have all looked the same.” She paused. “People are already saying this was the best wedding they’ve been to in years. But it’s only the second best.”

  “What’s the best wedding?” I asked.

  “The one you’re going to do for my daughter, Bethany. The wedding of
the decade. The governor and an ex-president will be attending.” Her lips curved in a slender, catlike smile. “I’m Hollis Warner. And your career’s just been made.”

  Four

  A

  s Hollis Warner sauntered away, Steven’s voice came through my earpiece.

  “Her husband is David Warner. He inherited a restaurant business and parlayed it into casino resorts. Their fortune is obscene even by Houston standards. Over.”

  “Do they —”

  “Later. You’ve got company. Over.”

  Blinking, I turned to see Joe Travis approaching. The sight of him kicked my heart into a drumfire rhythm. He was dazzling in a classic tux, wearing it with unself-conscious ease. The white edge of his collar formed a crisp contrast to an amber tan that seemed to go several layers deep, as if he’d been steeped in sun.