You Say It First--A Small-Town Wedding Romance

by Susan Mallery

  A few minutes on the internet had taught Mathias that while male giraffes were mostly solitary, female giraffes lived in a loose group. Mothers often took on babysitting duties so they could each go forage for food. Carol’s morning walks were her attempt to help Millie feel as if she had a herd.

  He watched them for nearly half an hour then went inside. Before heading to the studio, he went to his sunroom where he worked from home. Not with glass—that setup would require more equipment, not to mention a very understanding insurance agent—but with pencil and pad or even paint and canvas.

  He flipped through the drawings stacked on a shelf. Millie alone, Millie and Carol walking, Millie with the zebras. It was there, he thought, doing his best to ignore the ever-present frustration. He’d been close a couple of times, nearly capturing the image he wanted. It would come—he had to believe that. And when it did, he would create it out of glass. Assuming he still had what had once been his reason to live and breathe.

  * * *

  ULRICH SHERWOOD, Duke of Somerbrooke, stared out of the eighth-floor conference room window of the Century City high-rise. To the west was Santa Monica and the vast Pacific Ocean, to the east were haze-covered mountains...or maybe that was smog smudging the outline. He’d only been in Los Angeles twice before and hadn’t enjoyed himself either time. This visit was to meet with lawyers—something else he didn’t enjoy but which was in this case a necessary evil. A very well-financed TV producer wanted to set a modern-day Downton Abbey in England and Ulrich’s home of Battenberg Park had been chosen as the location. Not only did the use of the rambling estate mean a hefty fee, Battenberg Park would also receive a “spruce” as the lawyer had called it. For their purposes, that meant fresh paint and a significant upgrade in landscaping. Combined, the fee and the “spruce” had made a trip to Los Angeles more than worth the time and effort.

  Linda, the forty-something attorney, returned to the conference room and smiled at him. “Your Lordship.”

  “Ulrich, please,” he murmured, knowing there was no point in correcting her to use the more accurate “Your Grace.” Not only did he prefer to keep that sort of formality to a minimum, he was in the States. Here, true royalty came in the form of movie stars. What did anyone care about lineage, titles or peerage?

  “Here’s your copy of the contract,” Linda said. “Along with a receipt for the first payment. As you requested, we wired the money directly to your bank.”

  “Excellent.”

  Linda had the firm, slim body of a woman who took fitness seriously. She looked at least a decade younger than what he would guess to be her age and he was sure, when it came to playing the game, she was far more experienced than he. He’d married young, divorced only two years ago and since then had avoided entanglements. He supposed he should have been flattered and perhaps intrigued when she said, “Now that our business is complete, I’d love to take you out to dinner. I know a great little place not far from my condo.”

  Ulrich knew he could easily take advantage of what was being offered. He was single, out of the country and no one would ever know. He doubted Linda wanted or expected anything other than the one night. What could be more perfect?

  Only he couldn’t summon the interest. It wasn’t that she was nearly a decade older, it was...well, everything.

  “Thank you for the invitation,” he said, offering a polite smile and a tone of genuine regret. “I’m afraid I have pressing business in the eastern part of your state and I must get on the road right away.”

  “Where are you heading?”

  Ulrich did his best not to curl his lip in disdain. “To a town called Happily Inc.”

  She laughed. “I’ve been there. A friend had a destination wedding at a place called Weddings in a Box a couple of years ago. It’s cute. An interesting choice for a man like you. Are you getting married?” She sounded more intrigued than put off by the idea of his pending nuptials.

  “What? No. I have, ah, family business in the area.”

  An American shyster stealing from his grandmother, to be exact.

  Linda regarded him thoughtfully. “I’m sorry we won’t be able to spend the evening together.”

  “As am I,” he lied. “Truly.” He waved the folder. “Thank you for this.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Ulrich nodded and left. Twenty minutes later he was heading east on I-10. His rental car’s nav system promised him an arrival at his destination in less than four hours.

  On the seat next to him was his briefcase. Inside, along with the contract from Linda’s production firm, was a name and an address.

  For the past half dozen or so years his eighty-year-old grandmother had been sending packages to one Violet Lund. At first Ulrich hadn’t noticed or cared, until the head housekeeper had mentioned that items from the estate had gone missing. A pair of candlesticks here, a small painting there. Individually the items were of little consequence, but in the aggregate, they were significant.

  He’d found out about the packages, but when he’d questioned his grandmother, the dowager duchess had informed him it was none of his business.

  Ulrich had very little family left—Winifred, his grandmother, was his closest living relative. She’d helped raise him after his mother had died, they’d comforted each other when his father had passed a few years before, and he loved her deeply. There was no way he was going to confront her directly, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t go around her and find out about the disgusting human being who would prey on a helpless old lady.

  For a second Ulrich mentally paused to appreciate the six or seven thousand miles between him and his grandmother. Because if she ever knew he’d thought of her as helpless or old, she would grab him by the ear and give him a stern talking-to. She wouldn’t care that he was thirty and the Duke of Somerbrooke.

  Fortunately he didn’t plan to tell her. Instead he would confront the con artist and sever the contact. Then he would fly back to England and retreat to his beautiful if slightly needy home and brace himself for the Hollywood invasion.

  Nothing about his mission was pleasant, but that didn’t matter. For centuries, his ancestors had been riding or sailing or in his case, driving into battle. Not for glory or personal gain, but because it was expected. He had been raised to do the right thing—damn the inconvenience or short-term consequences. Or in this case, the thieving ways of the mysterious Violet Lund.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MATHIAS HELD THE form in position. Ronan focused intently as he heated the glass to a molten state. Timing was everything. The material had to be hot enough to shape, but not heated too much or it would become a blob and he would lose all the work he’d already done.

  A sketch of the completed piece was pinned up on the wall of the brothers’ giant studio. The finished installation would be nearly thirty feet across and ten feet high. On the left was a perfect green dragon—on the right was an elegant white swan. In between the two were morphing shapes as one became the other.

  Ronan had just started the piece. He had a year to complete it and then he would oversee the installation of it in an upscale hotel in Japan. While these days he mostly worked in the privacy of his studio at home, aided by assistants and interns, he often started a project at the studio they and their brother Nick shared. Mathias liked to think Ronan wanted the comradery and the shared energy, but maybe he was fooling himself. He and his brother had once been close. A few years ago, all that had changed.

  Ronan pulled the glass out of the oven. Mathias stepped into place and held the form as Ronan spun the rod. Nick applied pressure with a sharp edge. The glass yielded.

  The heat was intense, as was their concentration. Success or failure was measured in seconds as the material hardened in the breathable air. Ronan studied what they’d done, then returned the piece to the oven, only to pull it out again and watch i
t cool and harden.

  The commission would be done in hundreds of sections all carefully joined together, like a giant glass puzzle. It would consume him for weeks at a time. Mathias had seen it happen before. The start was slow, then the project picked up momentum. Usually Mathias had been a part of that. This time, he was less sure.

  In his head, Mathias understood why. Everything was different now. They were no longer two of the five Mitchell brothers. He dropped the form back into the bin and walked to his work area, then shook his head. Okay, that wasn’t true. They were still the Mitchell brothers, but he and Ronan, well, that was gone forever.

  He studied his own morning’s work. Two serving bowls in a dozen shades of amber, moss green and yellow. Unlike Ronan’s creation, Mathias’s was practical rather than esoteric. He made light pendants and giant vessels that were used as bathroom sinks. He created vases and platters and dishes. The latter were done in various colors to reflect the seasons. White, blue and silver for winter, pale green, pink and peach for spring, red, orange and purple for summer and amber, moss green, chestnut and yellow for fall.

  There had been a time when he, too, had created art, but he’d figured out this was his path. He liked what he did—he brought beauty to people’s everyday lives. If every now and then he yearned for something more, well, what was the point? Yes, he had some of their father’s talent, but Ronan and Nick were the artists. He was just a guy who worked with glass.

  He studied the bowls, pleased with the outcome. Every year he tried to do something to challenge himself. For this year, he’d decided to add a shape to the serving pieces. The fall bowls had the outline of a leaf. Summer had been a strawberry and spring, a daisy. For winter, he would take on a snowflake—something he still had no idea how he was going to create. Every attempt had been a disaster, but that was half the fun.

  His phone chirped. He glanced at the screen and saw he had a text from his mother.

  “Incoming,” he said aloud, then glanced at his brothers to see if either of them had heard from her.

  Nick reached for his phone while Ronan ignored him.

  “Nothing,” Nick said. “Guess it’s your lucky day.”

  “Sure it is,” Mathias grumbled as he read the short message.

  I’m coming to see you.

  An interesting statement that would have made him uncomfortable if his mother hadn’t been over four hundred miles away.

  When?

  What he expected was for her to say sometime next week or at the end of the month, when his brother Del was getting married.

  In about ten minutes. I’m in town.

  Mathias swore. His first thought was “Why me?” followed by “Hell, no” followed by “Run!” Instead of following his instincts, he reminded himself that he loved his mother, even if he found her difficult, and that not dealing with her wasn’t an option.

  Great, he texted back, telling himself it wasn’t an actual lie. More of a hedge.

  “What?” Nick demanded.

  “She’s on her way.”

  His brother relaxed. “That gives us about eight hours. Why is she coming here?”

  “I have no idea.” He swung his attention to Ronan. “She’s ten minutes away.”

  Mathias watched the play of emotion on Ronan’s face. They were easy to read. Shock, annoyance, the need to disappear. Not all that different from his own reaction.

  Five years ago he would have said the similarity was because they were twins. Fraternal, but still. They shared a bond that time and space couldn’t break. Only they’d discovered they weren’t twins at all—they never had been. It had all been a lie and nothing had been the same since they’d had that particular truth thrust upon them.

  Ronan set the still-cooling glass on the heatproof bench, grabbed his keys and bolted.

  “We’re not going to see him for three days,” Nick grumbled. “He’s got to face her sooner or later.”

  “You’re telling the wrong guy.”

  Mathias walked to the entrance to the studio and waited. Ronan was already backing out of the parking space. He turned right on the street and headed for the hills. Or in his case, the mountains. Nick was right—they wouldn’t see him for days.

  The October afternoon was warm and clear. Rain rarely came to the desert and this wasn’t the season. From now through the holidays there wouldn’t even be a cloud in the sky. Come spring, the weather got a little iffy, but not often and not for long.

  Happily Inc sat in the middle of the California desert, with Arizona to the east and Mexico to the south. An underground aquifer provided more than enough water for residents and visitors alike. There were mountains for those who preferred that topography, as well as an odd convergence of energy that made Happily Inc a special and magical place for those who believed in that kind of thing. More significant to daily life was the fact that the town was a destination wedding location with most of the local businesses focused on all things nuptial and tourist. The only large-scale exceptions were the sleep center north of town and Carol’s animal preserve to the southwest.

  An unfamiliar car pulled into the parking lot and took Ronan’s spot. It was a nondescript sedan, a rental. His mother was behind the wheel and his father was nowhere to be seen. Unless Ceallach was hiding in the back seat, maybe this visit wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

  “Hey, Mom,” he said as Elaine Mitchell got out of the car and hugged him.

  “What an adorable little town. And so easy to navigate. I wasn’t sure I could find my way from the airport, but it all went just fine.” She turned back to the car. “Come on, sweetie.”

  Mathias had a second of panic, thinking his joke about his father hiding had tempted the fates just a little too much, only instead of the family patriarch stepping out onto the pavement, a brown-and-white beagle jumped down and immediately raced over to him, her ears flapping and her long tail wagging happily.

  “Hey, Sophie,” he said as he crouched down to greet the dog.

  She ran in circles around him before jumping up to put her paws on his shoulders and thoroughly kiss his face. He laughed, then stood to get out of the wet zone.

  Nick stepped out of the studio. He looked at Mathias, who shook his head. His brother relaxed as he approached their mother.

  “Mom,” he said warmly. “You’re a surprise.” He bent over to greet Sophie.

  “I know. I should have called, but I didn’t.”

  Mathias had the uncomfortable thought that she’d deliberately not given them much warning because she’d known they would scatter if given the chance. Which sure didn’t say much about them as sons.

  The problem wasn’t her, he thought grimly. It was their father. The man they wouldn’t have to ask about because Elaine would happily tell them everything and more.

  The three of them walked into the studio, Sophie bringing up the rear. At the last second, Mathias thought about all the tools, glass and ovens in the room and grabbed Sophie’s trailing leash. Elaine glanced around, as if looking for someone, then her happy smile faded a little.

  Mathias silently called Ronan five kinds of bastard for hurting the woman who had always loved him. But his brother wouldn’t see it that way and no one had been able to get through to him, despite how they’d all tried.

  “This is nice,” she said with false enthusiasm. “Big and open. You all work here?”

  Nick and Mathias exchanged a glance, as if hoping the other would speak first.

  “Ronan has his own studio at his place,” Mathias finally said. “He works there a lot.”

  “I see. And the gallery is close?”

  “Across the parking lot. You should meet Atsuko before you go. She’s the one selling our work.”

  “I will next time. I’m on my way back to the airport to catch a flight.”

  Be
fore Mathias could ask why she’d bothered to come by, she continued, “Your father and I are heading out on tour. He’s going to be lecturing and giving demonstrations. It’s all very exciting to see him get the attention he deserves.”

  Mathias did his best not to roll his eyes. The last thing Ceallach Mitchell was lacking was attention. In his universe, he was the sun and everyone else revolved around his greatness and light.

  “We’ll be gone about a month and then come back here in time for Del and Maya’s wedding.”

  “That’s great, Mom,” Nick said. “So, ah, why did you stop by?”

  Elaine turned to Mathias as if it was obvious. “Someone has to look after Sophie while we’re gone.”

  Mathias dropped the leash he was holding. The dog immediately took off exploring. “No. No way. I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. She’s adorable and you love her.”

  Love was strong. He liked the dog...from a distance. It wasn’t that she was a bad dog—not exactly. It was more that she had an adventurous spirit and only listened when it suited her purposes. If there was trouble within a five-mile radius, Sophie found it, rolled in it, then brought it home as a prize.

  His mother’s gaze sharpened. “Nick can’t take her. He and Pallas are newly in love and Sophie would only get in the way.”

  Nick’s expression turned smug. “That’s true.”

  “You have that big house,” his mother went on. “With a yard. Sophie will be fine with you and it’s only for a month. Besides, taking care of her would be good for—”

  The sound of glass shattering cut through the afternoon. They all turned to stare as Sophie yelped and raced away from the rack filled with finished plates, bowls and glasses. Mathias hadn’t seen what had happened but he would guess Sophie’s ever-wagging tail had been the culprit.

  Elaine hurried toward her dog. Mathias swore and followed. They had to keep Sophie away from the glass so she didn’t hurt herself. But as they approached, the happy beagle decided this was some kind of glorious game and darted away.