The Best Man & The Wedding Planner

by Teresa Carpenter

  Face washed, teeth brushed, changed into yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, she glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes had passed. That should be enough time. She gathered her clothes and toiletries and tucked them neatly into her tote before making her way quietly back to her seat.

  Zach lay sprawled on his bed. He was so tall he barely fit; in fact, one leg was off the bed braced against the floor. No doubt he had a restless night ahead of him. For once she’d sleep. Or pretend to. Because engaging in middle-of-the-night intimacies with Zach Sullivan could only result in trouble. Trouble she couldn’t afford.

  Climbing into her bed, she pulled the covers around her shoulders and determinedly closed her eyes.

  She had this under control. She’d just ignore the man. If she needed something from the groom, she’d get it from the palace representative or Christina. There was no need for her to deal with Zach Sullivan at all. That suited her fine. She’d learned her lesson.

  No more falling into the trap of self-delusion because a man paid a little attention to her. But more important—work and play did not go together.

  * * *

  “There must be some mistake.” Lindsay advised the car-rental clerk. “I made my reservation over two months ago.”

  “Scusa. No mistake. My records show the reservation was canceled.”

  “That’s impossible,” Lindsay protested. Exhaustion tugged at her frayed nerves. This couldn’t be happening. With everything she needed to do for the wedding, she absolutely required a vehicle to get around. “I had my assistant confirm all my reservations a week ago.”

  The clerk, a harried young man, glanced at the line behind her before asking with exaggerated patience, “Perhaps it is under a different name?”

  “No, it is under my name.” She gritted her teeth. “Please look again.”

  “Of course.” He hit a few keys. “It says here the reservation was canceled last night.”

  “Last night? That doesn’t make any sense at all. I was in the middle of a transatlantic flight.” Enough. Arguing did her no good. She just wanted a car and to get on the road. “You know it doesn’t matter. Let’s just start over.”

  “Scusa, Ms. Reeves. We have no other vehicles available. Usually we would, but many have started to arrive for the royal wedding. The press especially. And they are keeping the vehicles. We have requested more autos from other sites but they won’t be here for several days.”

  “There you are.” A deep male voice sounded from behind her.

  She glanced over her shoulder to find Zach towering over her. Dang, so much for losing him at the luggage carousel. Assuming her professional demeanor, she sent him a polite smile. “Have a good trip to Monte Calanetti. I’ll keep you posted with updates on the arrangements. I’m going to be here for a bit.” She smiled even brighter. “They’ve lost my car reservation.”

  “They didn’t lose it. I canceled it.”

  “What?” All pretense of politeness dropped away. “Why would you do that?”

  He held up a set of keys. “Because we’re going to drive to Monte Calanetti together. Don’t you remember? We talked about this during the movie last night.”

  She shook her head. She remembered him asking her what car-rental company she’d used and comparing their accommodation plans; he’d rented a villa while she had a room at a boutique hotel. Nowhere in her memory lurked a discussion about driving to Monte Calanetti together. There was no way she would have agreed to that. Not only did it go against her new decree to avoid him whenever possible, but she needed a vehicle to properly do her job.

  “No,” she declared, “I don’t remember.”

  “Hmm. Must be champagne brain. No problem. I’ve got a Land Rover. Plenty of room for you, me and the dress.” He grabbed up the garment bag, caught the handle of her larger suitcase and headed off. “Let’s roll.”

  “Wait. No.” Feeling panicked as the dress got further out of her reach, she glared at the clerk. “I want my reservation reinstated and as soon as a car is available, I want it delivered.” She snatched up a card. “I’ll call you with the address.”

  Dragging her smaller suitcase, Lindsay weaved her way through the crowd, following in Zach’s wake. Luckily his height made him easy to spot. She was right on his heels when he exited the airport.

  Humidity smacked her in the face as soon as she stepped outside; making her happy she’d paired her beige linen pants with a navy-and-beige asymmetrical short-sleeved tunic.

  Champagne brain, her tush. What possible motive could he have for canceling her reservation if she hadn’t agreed?

  This just proved his potent appeal spelled danger.

  Okay, no harm done. She handed him her smaller case and watched as he carefully placed the garment bag across the backseat. It should only take a couple of hours to reach Monte Calanetti. Then she could cut ties with the guy and concentrate on doing her job.

  “How long to Monte Calanetti from here?” she asked as he held the door while she slid into the passenger seat.

  “I’ve never driven it, but I can’t imagine it’s more than a few hours.” He closed her in, rounded the front of the Land Rover and climbed into the driver’s seat. A few minutes later they were in the thick of Florence traffic.

  The old world elegance of the city charmed her, but the stop and go of the early evening traffic proclaimed work-force congestion was the same worldwide. She could admit, if only to herself, that she was glad not to be driving in it.

  “Have you’ve been to Tuscany before?” she asked Zach.

  “I’ve been several times. A couple of times with Antonio and once with my parents when I was twelve.”

  “So you know your way around?” She smothered a yawn.

  “I do.” He shot her an amused glance. “Enough to get us where we’re going.”

  “I was just going to offer to navigate if you needed me to.”

  He stopped at a traffic light, taking the time to study her. “Thanks.” He reached out and swept a thumb under her left eye in a soft caress. “You’re tired. I guess relaxing didn’t help you sleep.”

  She turned her head away from his touch. “I slept a little, off and on.”

  “Disrupted sleep can be less restful than staying awake.” He sympathized. “Are you better at sleeping in a car?”

  “Who can’t sleep in a car? But I’m fine. I don’t want to miss the sights. The city is so beautiful.”

  He drove with confidence and skill and a patience she lacked. He’d shaved on the plane; his sexy scruff gone when she woke this morning. The hard, square lines of his clean-cut jaw were just as compelling as the wicked shadow. The man couldn’t look bad in a bag, not with a body like that.

  Unlike her, he hadn’t changed clothes, he still wore his black suit pants and white long-sleeved shirt, but the top two buttons were open and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. The suit jacket had been tossed onto the backseat.

  “Florence is beautiful. The depth of history just draws me in. Halencia is the same. Since I’ll be here for a month, I’m really hoping to get a chance to play tourist.”

  “Oh, absolutely. They have some really fantastic tours. I plan to stay after the wedding and take one. I’m torn between a chef and wine-tasting tour or a hiking tour.”

  “Wow, there’s quite a difference there.”

  “I’m not going to lie to you. I’m leaning toward the pasta and wine tour. It goes to Venice. I’ve always wanted to go to Venice.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he mocked, “it’s all about Venice and nothing about the walking.”

  “Hey, I’m a walker. I love to hike. I’ll share some of my brochures with you. There are some really great tours. If you like history, there’s a Tuscan Renaissance tour that sounds wonderful.”

  “Sounds interesting. I’d like to see the brochur
es.”

  “Since technology is your thing, I’m surprised you’re so into history.”

  “I minored in history. What can I say? I’m from New England. You can’t throw a rock without hitting a historical marker. In my studies I was always amazed at how progressive our founding fathers were. Benjamin Franklin truly inspired me.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not.” He sent her a chiding sidelong look. “I did my thesis on the sustainability of Franklin’s inventions and observations in today’s world. He was a brilliant man.”

  “And a great politician,” she pointed out.

  “I can’t deny that, but he didn’t let his political views define or confine him. I respect him for that. For him it wasn’t about power but about proper representation.”

  “I feel that way about most of our founding fathers. So tell me something I probably don’t know about big Ben.”

  “He was an avid swimmer.”

  “Like you and Antonio. Aha. No wonder you like him—” A huge yawn distorted the last word. “Oh.” She smothered it behind a hand. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t feel you have to keep me company. Rest if you can. Jet lag can be a killer.”

  “Thanks.” He’d just given her the perfect out from having to make conversation for the next hour. She’d snap the offer up if she weren’t wide-eyed over the sights. Nothing in California rivaled the history and grandeur of the buildings still standing tall on virtually every street.

  Zach turned a corner and the breath caught in the back of Lindsay’s throat. Brunelleschi’s Dome filled the skyline in all its Gothic glory. She truly was in Italy. Oh, she wanted to play tourist. But it would have to wait. Work first.

  Riding across a beautiful, sculpted old bridge, she imagined the people who once crossed on foot. Soon rural views replaced urban views and in the distance clouds darkened the sky, creating a false twilight.

  Lindsay shivered. She hoped they reached Monte Calanetti before the storm hit. She didn’t care for storms, certainly didn’t want to get caught out in one. The turbulence reminded her of anger, the thunder of shouting. As a kid, she’d hated them.

  She didn’t bury her head under the covers anymore. But there were times she wanted to.

  Lightning flickered in the distance. Rather than watch the storm escalate, she closed her eyes as sleep claimed her. Her last thoughts were of Zach.

  * * *

  Lack of motion woke Lindsay. She opened her eyes to a dark car and an eerie silence. Zach was nowhere in view. Stretching, she turned around, looking for him. No sign. She squinted out the front windshield.

  Good gracious, was the hood open?

  She pushed her door open and stepped out, her feet crunching on gravel as a cool wind whipped around her. Hugging herself she walked to the front of the Land Rover. Zach was bent over the engine using a flashlight to ineffectually examine the vehicle innards. “What’s going on?”

  “A broken belt is my best guess.” He straightened and directed the light toward the ground between them. “I’ve already called the rental company. They’re sending a service truck.”

  She glanced around at the unrelenting darkness. Not a single light sparkled to show a sign of civilization. “Sending a truck where? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “They’ll find us. The vehicle has a GPS.”

  Relief rushed through her. “Oh. That’s good.” She’d had visions of spending the night on the side of the road in a storm-tossed tin can. “Did they say how long before they got here? Eee!” She started and yelped when thunder boomed overhead. The accompanying flash of lightening had her biting back a whimper to the metallic taste of blood.

  “As soon as they can.” He took her elbow and escorted her to the passenger’s-side door. “Let’s stay in the car. The storm looks like it’s about to break.”

  His big body blocked the wind, his closeness bringing warmth and rock-solid strength. For a moment she wanted to throw herself into his arms. Before she could give in to the urge, he helped her into her seat and slammed the door. A moment later he slid in next to her. He immediately turned the light off. She swallowed hard in a mouth suddenly dry.

  “Can we keep the light on?” The question came out in a harsh rasp.

  “I think we should conserve it, just in case.”

  “Just in case what?” It took a huge effort to keep any squeak out of her voice. “The truck doesn’t come?”

  “Just in case. Here—” He reached across the center console and took her hand, warming it in his. “You’re shaking. Are you cold?” He dropped her hand to reach behind him. “Take my jacket.”

  She leaned forward and the heavy weight of his suit jacket wrapped around her shoulders. The satin lining slid coolly over her skin but quickly heated up. The scent of Zach clung to the material and she found it oddly comforting.

  “Thank you. You won’t be cold?”

  She heard the rustle of movement and pictured him shrugging. “I’m okay right now. Hopefully the tow truck will get here before the cold seeps in. Worst case, we can move into the backseat and cuddle together under the jacket.”

  Okay, that option was way too tempting.

  “Or you could get another one out of your luggage.”

  His chuckle preceded another crash of thunder. “Pixie girl, I don’t know if my ego can survive you.”

  Maybe the dark wasn’t so bad since he hadn’t seen her flinch. Then his words struck her. “Pixie girl? That’s the second time you called me that.”

  “Yes. Short and feisty. You remind me of a pixie.”

  “I am average,” she stated with great dignity. “You’re a giant.”

  “You barely reach my shoulder.”

  “Again, I refer you to the term ‘giant.’” She checked her phone, welcoming the flare of light, but they were in the Italian version of Timbuktu so of course there was no service.

  “Uh-huh. Feisty, pretty and short. Pixie it is.”

  Pretty? He’d called her that before, too. Pleasure bolstered her drooping spirits. She almost didn’t care when the light faded again. Not that his admission changed her feelings toward him. He was a dangerous, charming man but she didn’t have to like him just because he thought she was pretty. He was still off limits.

  Hopefully he took her silence as disdain.

  Right. On the positive side, the bit of vanity served to distract her for a few minutes. Long enough for headlights to appear on the horizon. No other vehicles had passed them in the twenty minutes she’d been awake so she said a little prayer that the approaching headlights belonged to their repair truck.

  “Is the repair service coming from Monte Calanetti? How far away do you think we are?” She feared the thought of walking, but she didn’t want to stay in the car all night, either.

  “We’re nowhere near Monte Calanetti,” Zach announced. “By my guess we’re about ten miles outside Caprese.”

  “Caprese?” Lindsay yelped in outrage. Caprese was the small village where the artist Michelangelo was born. “That’s the other direction from Monte Calanetti from Florence. What are we doing here?”

  “I told you last night. I have an errand to run for Antonio before I go to Monte Calanetti. It’s just a quick stop to check on his groomsmen gifts and do a fitting.”

  “You so did not tell me.”

  “I’m pretty sure I did. You really can’t hold your champagne, can you?”

  “Stop saying ‘champagne brain.’ When did we have this conversation? Did I actually participate or was I sleeping?”

  “You were talking, but I suppose you might have dozed off. You got quiet toward the end. I thought you were just involved in the movie. And then I fell asleep.”

  “Well, I don’t remember half of wh
at you’ve told me. You should have reminded me of the plans we supposedly made this morning. I need to get to Monte Calanetti and I need my own car. I know you’re trying to be helpful but...”

  “But I got you stuck out in the middle of nowhere. And you’re already tired from the flight. I’m sorry.”

  Lindsay clenched her teeth in frustration watching as the headlights slowly moved closer. Sorry didn’t fix the situation. She appreciated the apology—many men wouldn’t have bothered—but it didn’t get her closer to Monte Calanetti. She had planned to hit the road running tomorrow with a visit to the wedding venue, the Palazzo di Comparino and restored chapel, before meeting with Christina in the afternoon.

  Now she’d have to reschedule, move the interview back.

  “Lindsay?” Zach prompted. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m trying to rearrange my schedule in my head.” She glanced at her watch, which she’d already adjusted to local time. Seven-fifteen. It felt much later. “What do you think our chances are of getting to Monte Calanetti tonight?”

  “Slim. I doubt we’ll find a mechanic willing to work on the Land Rover tonight. We’ll probably have to stay over and head out tomorrow after it’s fixed.”

  “If they have the necessary part.”

  “That will be a factor, yes. Here’s our help.” A small pickup honked as it drove past them then made a big U-turn and pulled up in front of them.

  Zach hopped out to meet the driver.

  Lindsay slid her arms into Zach’s jacket and went to join them.

  “Think it’s the timing belt.” Zach aimed his flashlight at the engine as he explained the problem to the man next to him. Their savior had gray-streaked black hair and wore blue coveralls. The name on his pocket read Luigi.

  “Ciao, signora,” the man greeted her.

  She didn’t bother to correct him, more eager to have him locate the problem than worried about his assumption that she and Zach were married.

  The driver carried a much bigger flashlight. The power of it allowed the men a much better view of the internal workings of the Land Rover. The man spoke pretty good English and he and Zach discussed the timing belt and a few other engine parts, none of which Lindsay followed but she understood clearly when he said he’d have to tow them into Caprese.