Man of Fantasy

by Rochelle Alers

  Ivan couldn’t pull his gaze away from the short curls framing what he’d become to regard as the perfect face. The shorter style accentuated Nayo’s eyes, eyes to which she’d expertly applied makeup: dark shadow on her lids and a raspberry shade over the brow bone and mascara that spiked her long lashes. His gaze moved lower to the matching raspberry gloss on her full, lush mouth.

  “I’d kiss you, but I don’t want to smear your lipstick.”

  Nayo looped her arm through his over the sleeve of his all-weather raincoat. “I’ll let you slide if you promise to kiss me later.”

  Resting his free hand over the one in the crook of his elbow, Ivan led Nayo down the sidewalk to the block where Faith McMillan lived with her pilot husband. Faith, one-third owner of Signature Bridals, had set up her wedding-cake business on one floor of the brownstone.

  “Your legs look fabulous in those shoes.”

  Pinpoints of heat stole their way across Nayo’s face. It had taken her twenty minutes to decide what shoes to wear. She’d tried on more than six pairs until deciding on the silk-covered, midnight-blue stilettos. The additional four inches put the top of her head just above Ivan’s shoulder.

  “Thank you.”

  “What are you hiding under that coat?” Nayo wore a dark, fur, three-quarter-length swing coat over a dress ending at her knees.

  She made an attractive moue. “You’ll see.”

  “Is it something that will force me to act like a fool if another man looks at you?”

  “If you’re going to act like a fool, then you’re on your own. I will not bail you out if you get arrested.”

  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I doubt I’ll get arrested.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “If the dude I punch out isn’t related to the bride or groom, then I’ll slide. The bride’s husband is a U.S. Marshal, her brother-in-law is ex-NYPD and now a Kings County ADA, and don’t forget I have Kyle to plead my defense.”

  “And what would your defense be?”

  “Temporary insanity,” Ivan said, deadpan.

  “Who’s going to determine your mental state?”

  “Dr. Campbell.”

  “Dr. Campbell,” Nayo repeated. “That’s highly unethical, Ivan.”

  “Who’s going to dispute me, doll face? I’ve testified in court as an expert witness when either the attorneys for the plaintiff or defendant want a professional opinion.”

  Ivan slowed his pace as they reached the middle of the block of brownstones, leading her up the stairs to a designer glass door. The geometric motifs reminded Nayo of the work of George Elmslie and Frank Lloyd Wright.

  “I love the door,” she said aloud.

  Ivan rang the bell on a brass plate engraved with Signature Cakes. “Faith and Ethan have an incredible house.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “It’s different. They have the entire building for their personal use. Signature Cakes occupies the first floor, their personal living space is on the second, and they use the third floor for entertaining.” A dark-suited young man opened the door and Ivan handed him the invitation.

  “May I please have your names, sir?”

  “Ivan Campbell and Nayo Goddard.”

  The young man’s face was so smooth Nayo doubted he shaved. She glanced around the vestibule. Like Ivan, the McMillans hadn’t renovated, but rather restored their property.

  The greeter checked their names off on a printed list. He handed Nayo a red ticket. “I’ll check your coat for you, Miss Goddard.”

  She removed a tiny evening purse from her coat pocket before undoing the fastenings on the ranch-mink coat. Nayo shrugged it off and Ivan handed it to the man.

  “You can take the elevator directly to the third floor.”

  Ivan stared in shock when he saw what lay under Nayo’s coat: a strapless dark blue dress with a fitted bodice and revealing décolletage. If her legs were mind-boggling in the heels, then her petite body was mind-blowing in the dress.

  Nayo saw the direction of Ivan’s gaze. “If I hadn’t gotten sick and lost a few pounds, I never would’ve been able to fit in this dress.”

  Resting his outstretched hand in the small of her back, Ivan led her past the staircase to the elevator at the end of the hallway. He didn’t respond because he couldn’t respond. The impact of seeing her in the revealing dress rendered him completely mute. The elevator door opened and another dark-suited young man smiled at them.

  “Good afternoon, sir, miss.”

  “Good afternoon,” Nayo and Ivan said in unison.

  The doors closed as the car rose swiftly. The doors opened and they stepped out into a ballroom. Round tables, each with seating for six, a trio of strategically positioned chandeliers, a built-in bar and a dance floor created the perfect setting for formal or informal entertaining. A string quartet played softly in a corner while waiters balancing trays circulated among the small crowd, offering flutes of champagne and hot and cold hors d’oeuvres.

  “This is beautiful.”

  Nayo couldn’t disguise the awe in her voice. Teal-and-white-striped tablecloths and chairs covered in alternating colors of teal and white organza were pushed under the tables. A crystal vase of delicate white lily, muguet, narcissus and marigold served as a centerpiece for each table. The color scheme was repeated on the bridal table with its solid-teal tablecloth and chairs covered and tied back with white organza. A fire roared behind a decorative screen in a massive fireplace along one wall.

  “It’s incredible,” Ivan said reverently.

  She stared at her escort for the evening, frowning. His dark blue suit, white shirt, platinum-gray tie and Italian leather slip-ons were certain to make him a standout with the opposite sex, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to go ghetto on some woman who attempted to come on to him.

  Reaching for two flutes, Ivan handed one to Nayo. He leaned closer. “What are you frowning about?”

  “I was just thinking about some hoochie coming on to my man.”

  “Who’s your man?”

  “You are,” she said angrily.

  His eyebrows rose. “Oh. I had no idea I was your man.”

  “Don’t get it twisted, Ivan. I was under the impression we were a couple.”

  “Were or are, Nayo?” he asked, leaning closer.

  “We are, Ivan.”

  He touched flutes. “Let’s drink to that.”

  Peering over the rim of her flute, Nayo sipped the premium champagne, watching Ivan watching her. She missed him. Not because they hadn’t seen each other for several days or made love in two weeks. It was more than anything physical or tangible. She and Ivan were drifting apart emotionally.

  She’d tried analyzing all that had happened between them, but hadn’t been able to come up with any answers. At first she thought the spark between them had dimmed because she hadn’t taken the time to get to know Ivan before jumping into bed with him. But not sharing a bed for two weeks hadn’t changed them so dramatically, surely, that she would feel estranged from a man with whom she was falling in love.

  Wrapping her arm around his waist inside his jacket, Nayo melded her curves to his hard body. “I’ve missed you, darling.”

  Ivan angled his head, brushing his lips over hers. “I’ve missed you, too.” He glanced over Nayo’s head to see Kyle and Ava step off the elevator, followed by Duncan and Tamara. It appeared as if their women had called one another beforehand to ask what they would be wearing, because each woman had elected to wear a strapless dress. The two couples joined Nayo and Ivan. The three men bumped fists, the women exchanging air kisses.

  Nayo curbed the urge to cover her chest with her hand. Kyle and Duncan were staring at her as if they’d never seen her before. Both men were dressed to the nines in tailored suits, custom-made shirts and silk ties.

  “Is something wrong, gentlemen?” she asked.

  “You cut your hair,” Kyle said.

  “You look so…different,” Duncan said.

&nb
sp; “What she looks is amazing,” Ava added. Each time Nayo took a breath, a swell of breast rose and fell above the revealing neckline. “Excuse us, Ivan, but I want to introduce Nayo to Tessa and Faith.”

  Kyle winked at Duncan when he saw the direction of Ivan’s gaze. “Don’t look so worried, brother. They’re going to bring her back,” he teased Ivan.

  “I know that, Kyle.”

  Duncan slapped a hand on Ivan’s back. “Lighten up, brother. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you’re ready to put a ring on your little lady’s finger.”

  “That’s not going to happen, DG.”

  “Are you still running the love-them-and-leave-them game?” Kyle asked.

  Ivan shook his head. “This time it’s not about me.”

  Kyle took a flute from a passing waiter. “If it’s not you, then who is it about?”

  “It’s Nayo. She hasn’t made it a secret that she has no interest in settling down or starting a family. She claims it would interfere with her career.”

  Duncan’s arm settled over Ivan’s shoulders. “Has she said she didn’t want to get married, or that she’s just not ready?”

  Tilting his glass to his mouth, Ivan drained it. “Don’t want or not ready, they’re both the same.”

  “No, they aren’t, and you of all people should know that, Dr. Campbell,” Kyle drawled sarcastically. “You have answers for everyone else, but not for yourself. I think it’s time you looked into diagnosing your own issues, brother.”

  Ivan knew his friends wanted the best for him. They’d always wanted the best for one another. Whether it was personal tragedy, advancing their education, career or a relationship with a woman, the three were supportive of one another regardless of the outcome.

  What Ivan had come to respect about Kyle and DG was their ability not to be judgmental. There were women he’d dated that Kyle and Duncan had never taken a liking to. The guys told him, kept their distance, and when it ended, never said I told you so.

  He hadn’t realized how much he’d tired of dating a different woman every two or three months. If the liaison lasted beyond the three-month limit, then he had to deal with extricating himself from the relationship with a minimum of drama.

  “You guys are right.” He extended his fist and he wasn’t disappointed when Duncan grasped it, then Kyle placed his hand on Duncan’s. The three held the position for several seconds before breaking.

  * * *

  Nayo followed Ava through a door that opened out to a hallway with restrooms for men and women, and a large, bustling kitchen from which wafted the most tantalizing aromas.

  Ava stopped at a door marked Private, knocking lightly. “It’s Ava,” she said, identifying herself when a muffled voice called out behind the door.

  The door opened and a tall, utterly beautiful woman with dark skin and short, black hair stood in the doorway. A pair of large Tahitian-pearl earrings suspended from a drop clasp of bezel-set diamonds shimmered in her pierced ears. A rose-pink, empire-waisted dress, with yards of silk making up the skirt, artfully concealed her advancing pregnancy.

  “Come in, Ava. Tessa’s helping Simone get into her gown.”

  “Faith, this is Nayo Goddard. She’s going to photograph my wedding. Nayo, Faith Whitfield-McMillan, wedding-cake designer extraordinaire.”

  Faith rested a hand on her burgeoning belly. “It’s nice meeting you, Nayo. Unfortunately I won’t be able to go to Puerto Rico to watch you do your thing, because I’m due to give birth early January.”

  “Do you know what you’re having?” Nayo asked her.

  “No. Ethan and I decided we didn’t want to know. Oh, here’s Tessa.”

  Nayo turned to find Signature Bridals’ wedding planner float into the room in an off-the-shoulder dress of chiffon and organza in a becoming teal blue. White feathers were pinned into the neat knot at the back of her head. Her earrings were a match for the pair in Faith’s ears.

  The skin around her catlike eyes crinkled when she smiled. “You must be Nayo Goddard.” She offered her hand. “Tessa Whitfield-Sanborn. I know it’s a mouthful, but I didn’t want to drop the Whitfield.”

  Nayo shook her hand. “Professionally I’m known as Nayo.”

  Tessa sat in an armchair with a matching footstool as Faith and Ava left the room. She gestured to the love seat. “Please sit. We have a few minutes before the ceremony begins. Ava told me she saw samples of your work. She said they’re extraordinary.”

  “They’re good.”

  “Just good?” Tessa asked.

  Nayo crossed one leg over the other. “Good enough to sell ninety-two of the 120 photos at my first exhibition.”

  Tessa whistled softly. “You are good. I work exclusively with two photographers, but both are booked for other weddings the same weekend as Ava and Kyle’s. If you are available to travel to San Juan, then I’d like you to come along as a Signature Bridals’ photographer.”

  “Will I have to sign a contract with you?”

  “No. What I’ll do is send you a list of events, their dates and locations, and you can let me know the dates of the events that appeal to you.”

  “What criteria do you use to select a photographer for a particular event?” Nayo asked.

  “Only one—that you’re a Signature Bridals photographer. Under normal circumstances I would ask you for a sample of your work and I’d send it to Peter Demetrious, who—”

  “You know Peter Demetrious?” Nayo owned a book of photographs taken by the celebrated photographer to the stars.

  Tessa smiled. “Yes. Are you familiar with his work?”

  Nayo told the wedding planner about her cross-country trek. She’d been in L.A. at the time a museum hosted a Demetrious retrospective, and she was fortunate enough to be at the museum the afternoon the brilliant photographer was in attendance. Then she and Tessa discussed the controversy surrounding celebrity-stalking paparazzi, until Faith returned to inform them that the wedding was starting.

  * * *

  Ivan reached for Nayo’s hand, finding it cold to the touch. Simone Whitfield-Madison and her husband stood facing each other as bride and groom for the second time in less than six months.

  Nayo felt the heat from Ivan’s gaze, but refused to look at him as she listened to the couple repeating their vows. The bride wore an ivory, peau-de-soie gown with an Alençon-lace bodice, scalloped waist and A-line skirt with a lace hem. She’d tied a teal, silk-taffeta sash around her narrow waist. Light from the chandelier caught the sparkle of canary diamonds in her ears.

  Rafael Madison’s voice bore a lingering trace of his Midwest roots when he promised to love and protect his bride. Nayo hadn’t realized she was holding her breath when the tall, blond lawman walked down the red carpet to wait for his bride to join him. The photographer caught the look on his deeply tanned face and the depth of love in his dark blue eyes when Simone walked into the room on her father’s arm. His silk tie and vest was the same teal blue as the sash around Simone’s waist.

  Simone handed her bouquet of white mini calla lilies cradled in hosta leaves and tied with teal satin ribbon to her sister, who was her matron of honor. Tessa was Simone’s only attendant, and Micah Sanborn stood in as Rafael’s best man.

  There was the exchange of rings, the kiss, and then it was over. Simone Whitfield, floral designer and owner of Wildflowers and Other Treasures, was wed again, to Rafael Madison. This time the couple had their family and friends on hand to witness the union.

  CHAPTER 16

  The string quartet played through the many courses of the meal, prepared by the father and uncle of the bride. Seventy-two guests dined on minted pea soup, papaya-and-arugula salad with ginger-lemongrass vinaigrette. These were followed by lobster with vanilla-mint curry sauce, bamboo rice and baby bok choy.

  For the guests who preferred organic cuisine, Harry and Malcolm Whitfield offered grass-fed, all-natural Angus beef filet, farm-raised salmon and coconut-almond Texas Gulf Coast wild shrimp served with a pineapple
tartar sauce. The waitstaff took drink orders, and no wine or water glass went empty.

  Nayo, who shared a table with Ivan, Kyle, Ava, Tamara and Duncan, pressed her shoulder to Ivan’s. “If I eat another morsel, I’m going to come out of this dress,” she whispered for his ears only.

  Ivan’s gaze was drawn to her chest. “You’re already coming out of it.”

  She swiped at him with her napkin. “I’m not talking about my breasts.”

  Resting his hand on her back, he rubbed it in a comforting gesture. “Once dinner is over, I’d like you to save a dance for me.”

  “Only one dance?”

  He smiled. “I’ll take one here, and one at home.”

  “Your place or mine?”

  Ivan’s hand moved lower. “My place.”

  “If you stay at my place, I’ll make breakfast.”

  “And if you stay at my place, I’ll take you out for a gospel brunch,” Ivan promised.

  She smiled. “That settles it. I’ll stay at your place.”

  A light tapping garnered everyone’s attention when Micah Sanborn stood up to offer a toast to the newlyweds. The sprinkling of gray in his cropped hair added an air of elegance to the gorgeous assistant DA.

  He held up a glass of champagne. “I’d like to say a few words to—”

  “Since when can a lawyer say only a few words?” someone called out. Laughter followed.

  Micah glared at his wife’s brother. “He doesn’t have to say anything when he hands you an invoice for billable hours.” Hoots and catcalls followed Micah’s comeback. He held up his free hand for quiet. The laughter and twitters faded, then stopped altogether. “On a more serious note,” he continued, “I’d like to offer Rafe some free advice from the inimitable Ogden Nash, and I quote, ‘To keep your marriage brimming, with love in the loving cup, whenever you’re wrong, admit it. Whenever you’re right, shut up!’”

  Malcolm Whitfield stood, smiling at his daughter and son-in-law. Simone had inherited her father’s khaki coloring, curly hair and hazel eyes. “I raise my glass in a toast to the newlyweds—may you have more anniversaries than weddings.”