It was so large that she actually found herself counting chairs, just from curiosity alone.
Thirty-six.
Four of which were set with diamond-bright crystal and china at one end of the gleaming wood behemoth of a table.
“Your sister’s condition must be very difficult for you, as well,” Cornelia commented. “Are you two very close?”
Amelia nodded, looking away from the table and focusing on her nearly empty wineglass. “Daphne and the children are all I have.”
“Not anymore, dear. You’ll have all of us now, too.”
Who needed an inquisition when the woman’s gracious kindness was far more devastating? “Mrs. Fairchild—”
“Cornelia. Or Corny.”
Amelia swallowed. “C-Cornelia. You’re very welcoming, and I—”
The older woman’s head tilted slightly, her soft blond hair waving against her cheek. “Yes?”
“I hope I don’t disappoint you. Any of you,” she finished. It was the truth, in more ways than one.
“Gray chose you for a reason, Amelia.”
The guilt sweeping through her had her fingers tightening around the wineglass stem so forcefully it was a miracle the delicate crystal didn’t snap in half. “I—”
“He admires you a great deal. I have no reason to doubt his judgment. But I would like to know one thing.”
Amelia braced herself. The only thing Gray admired was her supposed ability in carrying off a lie. “Yes?”
“Do you have any doubts about marrying Gray?”
There was nothing alarming in Cornelia’s expression. But Amelia still wondered just how much the older woman knew. How much she saw. Suspected. “Only about a hundred million,” she admitted.
Cornelia gave a silent half laugh at Amelia’s not so oblique reference to Gray’s significant wealth. “Are those reasons enough to keep you from it?”
“No,” she admitted huskily.
Footsteps fell softly behind them and Amelia turned to find Harrison and Gray standing behind her. Gray’s gaze captured hers.
But it was Harry who spoke. “Everything all right here?”
Amelia swallowed. Moistened her lips. She should be worried about the impression she’d made on Gray’s honorary aunt. But the only thing consuming her mind just then was the memory of the way Gray tasted. Of the feel of his lips—surprisingly soft—on hers.
“Everything is fine, Harrison,” Cornelia answered without hesitation. “Absolutely perfect.”
Chapter Ten
Exactly eleven days after meeting Grayson Hunt, Amelia stood in a quaintly furnished bride’s room, staring at herself in the floor-length mirror.
“It’s not quite perfect, is it?” Amy, one of Amelia’s soon-to-be sisters-in-law stared at the wedding gown that had been chosen for Amelia, her mouth turning down in dismay. She was more petite than all of them, with soft brown hair and eyes. Her expression was mirrored also by P.J. and Lily. They, like Amy, had all been wed in the past year to one of Harrison Hunt’s sons. Amy to J.T., who was the closest brother to Gray. Lily to Justin, the youngest of the brothers, and P.J. to Alex, the one that Amelia privately believed Gray most admired.
Unlike Amelia, however, all three of them were utterly adored by their equally adored spouses. She’d seen that for herself the previous evening when they’d all met in town for drinks and introductions in lieu of a wedding rehearsal.
“It’s definitely not perfect on me,” Amelia said miserably, looking down at herself. “I look like an idiot.”
“No,” Loretta assured hurriedly. She was the one who’d delivered the gown to the church where Amelia was dressing. “You just…well, the gown doesn’t quite suit you.”
P.J. was nodding her head, her red curls bouncing slightly. She was an heiress in her own right but, according to Gray, felt much the same as Alex about their wealth—which was pretty much to give it away until it felt good. “Being comfortable in the gown you’re wearing matters and, well—”
“I’m not comfortable,” Amelia finished, plucking out the sides of the unbearably heavy satin gown. “Once Gray sees me in this, he’ll know there is no way I can ever appear with him in public. I’ll be an embarrassment to him.” And when, exactly, had she begun caring about that? She’d seen the man exactly three times since they’d met with his father and Cornelia and apparently passed their muster.
First, when he’d taken her and the children out to meet Harry, after which he’d left her in the hands of André, the French-accented man charged with handling all of the wedding details that were crammed into their excruciatingly short time frame. The second when they’d met just yesterday with Dr. Jackson to discuss Daphne’s course of care. He’d left from the doctor’s office after the meeting without showing any interest in accompanying Amelia to Daphne’s room, claiming he needed to return to the office and he’d send Peter back to pick her up and drop her at Brandlebury, where she finally turned in her resignation.
So Amelia had sat beside her sister’s bedside muddling her way through an explanation of what was happening to their lives, while Daphne stared blindly into space.
When the car had arrived for Amelia, she’d spent the drive to Brandlebury wondering just how much Daphne had understood, and tormenting herself with guilt over having to work hard at remembering that the entire situation was merely a business transaction. Particularly when Gray had picked her up again that evening to meet his brothers and their wives.
It was that kiss that was causing the problem.
Since then, the only thing Amelia had concluded was that Gray kissing her had been as calculated as everything else he ever did. He’d probably known they’d be seen. Just as he’d probably known his accompanying her to Daphne’s new care facility would be caught and cataloged for the public: Grayson Hunt’s adoration for his unexpected fiancée was so great it naturally extended to her poor sister.
Everyone seemed to eat up the story. A fourth Cinderella Bride for one of the famed Hunt men.
Now, Amelia was ensconced in the bride’s room of this century-old church, playing the blushing bride in just a few hours for an estimated guest list of one hundred of Gray’s closest friends and relations. Later that evening, that guest list would swell to about five hundred, for the formal reception. It was a testament to Gray’s status that so many people would even be available on a few days’ notice.
On the other hand, Amelia’s guest list had consisted of Paula and, of course, the children. Her friend was watching the children right now, in fact, back at her apartment until the car Gray had arranged brought them all to the church. If Amelia had plenty of reservations about what she was doing, Paula didn’t seem to share them. She was the only one, other than Gray and Amelia, who knew the truth behind the marriage, but Amelia implicitly trusted the other woman to keep the confidence.
Loretta was rolling her eyes, drawing Amelia’s scattered panic back, front and center. “Of course he will be proud to have you on his arm. Why else would he be marrying you?”
The other three women were nodding their heads, clearly in agreement. Just as Gray had planned, they, like everyone else in his family, believed he’d swept Amelia right off her feet.
So Amelia swallowed down the reasons that answered exactly “why else.”
“It’s not that it doesn’t fit you,” Lily murmured, walking around Amelia, studying. She ought to know plenty about appropriate fit, since the lovely, green-eyed woman designed women’s lingerie. “You’ve got the right curves in the right places, though personally I think you could use a few more pounds.”
Amelia crossed her arms over her chest. The dress had straps of stone-encrusted lace that cupped the points of her shoulders, worked its way—barely—over her breasts, and ended in a deep V almost at her navel. It was beautiful lace, but there needed to be another yard of it on the bodice, rather than creeping up from the sweeping hem in heavy, ornate swirls that reached as high as her knees.
“I don’t know if it would
be better if I were flat chested or not.” She tugged at the bodice, hoping to cover a little more cleavage. But it was useless. “I feel like I need to tape this stuff in place so that, well—”
“—things don’t pop out when they shouldn’t?” Lily quipped humorously.
“I feel naked!”
“A fact that doesn’t bother most of the women Gray has dated, which is probably why the man picked the dress,” Loretta said briskly. “Pure habit. What can I say? Gray’s a good man, but he’s still a man and sometimes they don’t have a shred of fashion sense. Don’t be ashamed of possessing some modesty.”
“Well, there’s no point wishing that there’d been a chance for Amelia to try on the gown before today. But what are our options?” P.J. asked sensibly.
“Well…” Loretta considered for a moment. “The gowns that were sent over for Gray to choose from last night are still at his apartment downtown. They’re all Amelia’s size.”
“Wait a minute.” Amelia reached out and caught Loretta’s filmy blue sleeve. She, like the others were already dressed for the ceremony. “Gray chose my dress?” He’d led her to believe that someone from the design house that Loretta had consulted had done that.
Loretta tilted her salt-and-pepper curls. “Surprised me, too, I must say. Just an indication that the man is crazy about you.” She smiled happily at the belief and patted Amelia’s hand. “Anyway, I can send Peter for the dresses. There’s got to be something you’ll feel more comfortable wearing.”
“Is there time?” Amy looked at the small clock sitting on the dressing table. “The hairdresser will be here soon.”
Amelia looked at herself in the mirror. She was perfectly capable of fixing her own hair into a knot—she did it most every day. But evidently, when one was marrying into the Hunt family, certain proprieties had to be observed.
As Loretta went over options with Amy and the others, Amelia longed for the brief hours when she’d thought that they could get through this wedding with only her, Gray, the children and a couple of witnesses.
That was, of course, before Harry had stuck his thoroughly interfering nose into things. Amelia couldn’t deny the man’s oddball charm; he had seemed to take a genuine interest in the children when they’d met. If Amelia let herself, his interest in them would be alarming.
But now, the wedding had become a well-orchestrated circus and she knew the only reason it was going as smoothly as it was—despite the gown—was because of the significant amounts of money that greased the wheels.
“She has plenty of time,” Loretta was assuring. “Peter’s a maniac behind the wheel. If everyone in Seattle has a tendency to drive like a bat out of hell, Peter drives five times worse. Or better, as the case may be. He’ll be here with time to spare.”
“So, the gown will probably be your something new,” Lily said, obviously satisfied with the solution. “What about borrowed and blue?”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Amelia admitted.
The other women tsked. “Never fear,” P.J. assured, practically. “We’ll come up with something before the ceremony.”
Amelia smiled, playing her part as best she could. The truth was, she instinctively liked all of Gray’s sisters-in-law, and felt guilty for pretending to feel the kind of happiness they truly had experienced. “Thank you.”
“We Hunt wives have to stick together,” Amy told her, giving her a swift hug. P.J. and Lily followed suit, and then they headed out to deal with their tasks.
“There are still some things Gray needs me to go over with André,” Loretta said after the others had departed. “Will you be all right here by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Loretta smiled, her eyes crinkling. She began gathering up the tissue that had been wrapped around the dress, shoes and lingerie that had been delivered to the church in several gilded boxes. “I never thought I’d see the day when Gray would let himself focus on his personal life again.”
“Again?”
“Well, after Gwen died…” Loretta hesitated. Looked at Amelia. “Oh, dear. I assumed he told you about her.” She crumpled the tissue into a ball. “They were engaged back when they were in college together.”
Amelia pressed her lips together. None of her research about Gray had uncovered information about a fiancée. And he had no reason to tell her.
For some reason, the omission still stung, which was ridiculous. Emotions weren’t supposed to be involved in this marriage of convenience. Only the appearance of emotion.
“It was a long time ago,” Loretta dismissed quickly. “And certainly nothing to be thinking about on your wedding day.” She pushed the crumpled tissue into the smallest box—the one that had contained the narrow, delicate strappy shoes lying on their sides in front of the cheval glass—as if she were pushing away the mention of Gray’s fiancée along with the tissue.
Had he loved her? Did he still? The question hovered inside Amelia like some threatening plague. “What happened?”
But Loretta just shook her head and continued making her way for the door. “Gray will skin me if he thinks I’ve put more concerns into your head. It’s all in the past. The distant past.” She grabbed up her purse and pulled out a bound organizer, flipping it open. She’d already laughed with Amelia about her insistence on the paper method of tracking herself, considering she worked for the king of information technology. “Once your hair and makeup are done, the photographer will want a few shots. You’ll want to be in the gown you prefer for them, so I’ll put him off while we get that all worked out.”
What did it matter that the gown was too much for Amelia? It wasn’t as if any of this farce were real.
She needed to keep remembering that. Marrying Gray was for appearances only. That. Was. All.
“I don’t want to cause any trouble.” She plucked at the gown’s sweeping skirt again. “Maybe I—”
“—should just get that look off your face,” Loretta said firmly. “This is your wedding, honey. You don’t want this thing—” she waved her hand, encompassing the ostentation that was The Gown “—and there is no earthly reason why you shouldn’t wear one that you love.” She smiled gently. “After all, you’ll only be doing this once, right?”
Fortunately, Amelia was saved from answering by the arrival of Sondra, the hairdresser, and her partner, Mike, the makeup artist.
By the time Peter arrived with Loretta again in tow as they bore a half-dozen enormous garment bags between them, Amelia’s hair had been curled and teased and combed and her face had been buffed and polished and painted until she hardly recognized her own reflection in the mirror.
She looked…like somebody who could actually be married to a man like Grayson Hunt. Too bad the butterflies inside her couldn’t see the mirror.
“Okay, honey. We’ve got forty-five minutes to pick another gown.” Loretta carefully began unloading her burden and Peter followed suit.
Amelia rose from the pretty, padded chair and tightened the sash of her robe. “I hope I didn’t put you out, Peter.”
He waved away the very notion of it. “I’m going off to pick up your friend and the young ’uns.” He grinned and winked. “Next time we talk, you’ll be Mrs. Hunt.”
The butterflies went into free fall.
“Go on, now.” Loretta shooed him as she busily unzipped bags and began pulling out gowns, flipping them over the backs of the peach-and-white striped chairs that furnished the utterly feminine room. “Out.”
With another wink, Peter closed the door behind him as he left.
“Take a look, hon. No time to waste now.” Loretta turned to the next stack of garment bags.
The bride’s room was beginning to look as if a bridal magazine had exploded inside it. She hesitantly approached one of the gowns. It was shocking how nervous she felt, touching the assortment of silks and satins and chiffons. Each gown seemed more elaborate than the last. “Loretta, maybe I should just stick with the one Gray picked.” It seemed impossible, but
perhaps he had picked the least inappropriate dress after all.
“Fiddle,” Loretta said, shaking her head. “You’ve got all these to check out, too.” She unzipped the final bag and drew out a bundle of floating off-white fabric. “Here.” She shook out the gown, and long folds of finely pleated silk organza billowed to the floor, ending in a waterfall of lengths that floated with a ruffled look, without being ruffled at all. “What about this?”
There seemed yards and yards of fabric—no less than the first gown. Only the cut of this one was considerably simpler and much more modest, despite its strapless style. “Oh.” Amelia sighed a little, looking at the beautiful, ethereal creation. The tightly smocked bodice had tiny crystals outlining the empire waist and she knew that the gown would suit her.
Loretta smiled triumphantly. “Ha! I knew there’d be at least one.” She hurriedly began undoing the pearl buttons on the back of the dress. “Step into it, sweetie. Don’t be shy.”
Amelia shucked her robe. The merry widow she wore had been selected to go with the other gown, but it would do for this one, as well. She carefully maneuvered herself into the gown and faced the mirror while Loretta began doing up the back.
“You’re beautiful.”
Amelia gasped, grabbing the bodice against her nearly bare breasts.
“Gray,” Loretta chided. “There will be plenty of time to catch Amelia half-dressed once the I do’s are finished.”
He looked unapologetic as he entered the room. He wore a severe black suit with a blinding white shirt that was unfastened at his tanned throat, and his hair was darker than usual—still damp and brushed back from the hard lines of his face.
He looked as though he’d stepped off the cover of a magazine, right down to the finely striped silvery tie that hung loose over his lapels.
Amelia sucked in her lower lip, aware that she was probably defiling the makeup artist’s efforts, and forced herself to look away from his overwhelmingly masculine appeal. “You’re bringing on bad luck.”
The Bride and the Bargain Page 13
