“Ah,” she gasped. The atmosphere had become thick as a sauna. Bracing herself against him, she pressed a hand to one of the deltoids she’d fantasized about. Even through the crisp shirt, it felt as solid as a rock.
He released his hold on her neck.
She dragged out a ragged breath. “You keep kissing me,” she said on a whisper, nearly inaudible.
“Yeah.” He paused. “Maybe you should hit me.”
She shook her head after a few seconds’ consideration. “You’re so good at it, I don’t want to hit you.”
“Once.” When she refused, he took her fist, balled it up and placed it low over his ribs. “Clean shot. Right here. Just like I showed you. Remember?”
Her mouth was sealed but it spread into a wide, warm curve. Her hand splayed beneath his and she cradled the space above his liver. The smile drifted off slowly as his eyes reached for hers then dipped over her features, coming to rest on her mouth again. His lips parted. They were such good lips. Soft for a man’s yet sure. Definitely sure.
When they began to tilt toward hers again, her grip went from his deltoid to the collar of his shirt and she tensed, bringing him up just shy of the mark. “I...” She squeezed her eyes closed. A grimace worked through her.
She felt him give, shifting to his heels in retreat. “Say no more, duchess.”
“Richard,” she said anyway. She felt Byron stiffen at her ex’s name. “Richard’s coming home.” Opening her eyes, she watched the inflexible shield lock down his visage like a foxhole. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
His mouth didn’t look soft anymore. He dropped his hand from the small of her back and his fists clenched at his sides. “Richard.” He gave an acquiescing nod. Or was it one of defeat? Before she could gauge him properly, he walked toward the exit.
“Byron,” she said to his back. “I’m sorry.”
“Wanna know the first step to bringing the old Roxie back?” he asked. “Stop apologizing. That’s twice now I’ve crossed the line. I’m responsible. Both times I knew full well that you are not, never have been nor ever will be mine.”
She scrubbed her hand over the center of her chest. His intensity was palpable, startling, mesmerizing. A little heartbreaking. “What’s the second?” she asked.
His shoulders dropped, angling down. “There is no second. You put one foot in front of the other and, if you can’t find what makes you happy, you do what you can to get by until you do.”
“Like cooking?” she said with a nod to the mess around them. When he said nothing, she asked quietly, “What was it for you?”
When he’d talked of Dani before, she’d seen something grim take over. Then, it was only a matter of seconds before he blinked and there was Byron again. Now she saw the shadow come over him. It lingered as he reached back into the past. “I worked like a son of a bitch. When I wasn’t working, I threw myself into physical fitness. I worked on my great-uncle’s Camaro. I pounded music into the quiet. I binge-watched television. I dove headlong into books.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he shifted his feet, bracing them apart. “Quiet drove me crazy. Even when I read, I’d have noise in the background. Even when I slept. Especially when I slept.”
“And how long did it take you—to find what made you happy?”
“A while,” he said honestly. “It took a while to even want to be happy. Getting out of Atlanta helped, and so did starting from scratch. The town, the bay—they helped, too. Quitting law and becoming an accountant like I was supposed to from the start...that was the first thing I remember that made me happy.”
“The house,” she said with a small sigh and a glance at the interior, seeing him clearly through it. “It makes you happy, too.”
“Yeah,” he said, his eyes going dead as he jerked his shoulder in a shrug. “Just find what makes you happy, duchess. Stop listening to your family’s expectations and everybody else, and ask yourself what it’s going to take for you to make a new normal. If it’s not the same thing it was before, that’s fine. Sometimes finding that something new is all it takes to get you going in the right direction.”
Roxie soaked in the lesson that he’d come by the hard way. When he walked the rest of the way to the door, it struck her. “You said you needed something, when you came in.”
He muttered. Relinquishing his hold on the knob, he said, “It’s my family. They need the favor. My sister Vivi is getting married in two weeks and the wedding planner just dropped out. We’re down a coordinator and a venue, apparently. The family wanted me to ask you if there’s any way you can fit us into your schedule.”
“Two weeks?” she asked, stunned.
“Yeah,” he said. His jaw tensed. “We’re desperate.”
“I’ve got several events lined up,” she contemplated, trying to remember what her calendar looked like exactly. “And my sister Georgiana is getting married, too, in a month. To say she and my mother aren’t stalking me with details is an understatement.”
“All right,” he accepted. “I’ll tell them.”
“I didn’t say no.”
“Vivi wouldn’t want to overburden you,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Byron, I’ll help,” she told him. “But...only under one condition.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
She thought about it quickly. “I’ll waive the last-minute fees because I need a favor, too.” Swallowing, she didn’t choose her next words lightly. She needed to be careful here, in light of what had happened between them. “Richard might be coming home, but I don’t have a definite as to when. It could be before Georgiana’s wedding or after. And even if he does come back, there’s no guarantee he and I will be on the same page. I might still be out a plus one when the wedding rolls around and I can’t show up alone.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a masked ball,” she pointed out. “And... Well, there might be a waltz.”
He frowned. “Who does that?”
“It’s a Mardi Gras wedding,” she told him. “And it’s Georgiana. We’re lucky she’s not making everyone wear hoop skirts.”
“Just cummerbunds?” he asked condescendingly. “I don’t dance.”
“But you go to weddings all the time,” she recalled.
“Have you ever seen me dance?”
Come to think of it, she hadn’t. “So you won’t dance with your own sister at her wedding?”
What little life there was left in his eyes fizzled completely as he retreated behind that curt shell once more. “No.”
“Is it a family thing?”
“Please give me an answer,” Byron requested. “Ever seen lionesses hunt baby elephants on the nature channel?”
“Okay,” she said with a half laugh. She thought of him. Of Vera and Constantine and how generous they had been. “I’ll do it.”
“Even if I don’t dance?”
“We’ll see,” she replied.
He shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m behooved to say thank-you.”
“I’ll tell the lionesses you did,” she assured him. Then she felt humor finally blinking back. “Was the kissing part of this?”
“No,” he said, seriously. “Kissing was a mistake. Clearly a mistake.”
“I got it,” she said quickly, sorry she’d asked. The humor fled her in an instant and she felt empty in the absence of warmth, his and hers. Absolutely empty.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ARMED WITH HER planner and a pie tin, Roxie rushed into Hanna’s Inn, where she had arranged for the evening’s consultation. As the entry door closed behind her, Briar breezed into the foyer, a tray of canapés balanced on one hand. “Oh, good. You’re here.”
“I’m late, I know,” Roxie said as she shrugged out of her coat. One-handed, Briar hung it on the peg by the
door. “Are they—”
“Yes, but don’t worry. I gave them some refreshments and seated them in the sunroom.”
“Great,” Roxie said, moving down the hall past the stairway that led up to the guest suites. The den was empty. Roxie and her guests had the inn to themselves for a few hours. “Just in time for sunset.” Roxie handed the pie to Briar and fidgeted with her blouse’s jabot, slowing her steps as she heard the chatter from the sunroom.
Briar stopped and stared at her. “Roxie. You’re nervous.”
Roxie blinked. “Nuh-uh.”
“Yes, you are.” Briar smiled, straightening the edge of Roxie’s stand collar herself. “I know your schedule’s tight, but we can pull this off without a glitch. Especially if they go with the Bridal Suite.”
Roxie wasn’t worried about pulling off Vivienne Strong’s wedding. But she was nervous. Her stomach was in knots and her breathing wasn’t right. She hadn’t felt this fretful since signing divorce papers. “I’m fine.” Hearing communal laughter, she asked Briar in an undertone, “How do they seem to you? Byron’s sisters? Are they—”
“Lovely. Just like Vera and Constantine. And Byron, of course.”
Byron, lovely. Roxie pressed the heel of her hand against her stomach. Those were not butterflies. “Right.” She nodded toward the pie. “I brought that for you and Cole.”
Briar took a peek under the foil’s edge. “Smells fantastic. You outdid yourself for a first timer.”
“That’s my sixth attempt. Didn’t sleep a wink last night. Couldn’t rest until I got it right.”
“I’ll serve coffee next,” Briar said knowingly. “Go on in. Give the word and we’ll start the tour.”
Roxie veered into the sunroom, appropriately named with floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows, potted plants of a tropical variety and a row of cushioned lounges. The view was spectacular: Cole’s trim green lawn, Briar’s gardens overflowing with perennial greenery, and the bay. Today it was moody brown. The winter sun was hanging low in the west over Mobile. As the waves rolled lazily into shore, they caught the light, burning amber for a stolen moment before bubbling and foaming into shore.
Briar had given Vera, Priscilla and Vivienne the settee on the far side of the room. They drank the famous inn tea from tall glasses and were passing Briar’s madeleines from one to the next as they admired the baker’s touch and the seascape outside by turn. Roxie took a second to size up the company.
Priscilla had a striking resemblance to her mother but was taller, much taller. Amazonian almost. She was also hugely pregnant. Her eyes were dark. Roxie detected some of Byron’s shrewdness there.
Vivienne was the flip side of the coin. Where everyone else in the Strong family seemed to be dark haired, she was vividly blonde. Her eyes were blue, bluer than Byron’s, and they shared a nose, though Vivienne’s face was more Greek. She held her shoulders high and had the distinctive glow of a prospective bride with more than a dash of added vitality.
Stifling what remained of her nerves, Roxie approached them, apologizing when they stopped speaking as one. Vera rose to greet her, introducing her daughters. Roxie shook each of their hands as Vera explained, “Roxie’s one of the best wedding planners in the state, I’ve heard. And it’s lucky for us she’s living in the same house as Byron. Though she’s not sleeping with him.”
Roxie laughed lightly. “No, I’m not,” she said as she sat in a wicker chair.
“Well, why not?” Vivienne asked, bright eyes latching on.
“Yeah, we hear he’s pretty good in the sack,” Priscilla contemplated, polishing off a madeleine.
“No teasing, girls,” Vera warned them. “We need this one.”
“But, Ma, it’s okay,” Priscilla said lightly. “Byron likes her.”
“He does?” Vivienne asked, complicit.
“Athena said so.”
“Athena said?” Vivienne looked at Roxie in a new light. “You could be my new sister!”
“I—” Roxie fumbled.
Vera took pity on her. “I’m sorry. These two do whatever they can to make their brother cringe, even when he isn’t present and accounted for.”
Vivienne gave a good-natured laugh. “It’s true. But you have to understand, Roxie. The first time Athena met Ma—”
Vera rolled her eyes heavenward. “Here we go.”
“—she told our father, and I quote—”
Priscilla intervened smoothly. “‘Nephew, she’ll give you three golden children and you’ll spend the rest of your life in worship of her.’”
“And when she met Toby...” Vivienne continued.
“My husband, Tobias,” Priscilla explained quickly.
“...she said, ‘Priscilla, that man is going to ask you to marry him and you’d be a fool to resist,’” Vivienne regaled. “And when she met Byron’s college girlfriend Dani...you do remember what she said about Dani, don’t you, Ma?”
Vera sighed a little as Priscilla sobered. “‘You’ll love this one so much it’ll break your heart...’”
“‘...but you’ll never be whole without her,’” Priscilla finished. She hid the sad lines around her mouth by taking an extended gulp of tea.
Vivienne leaned forward to grasp Roxie’s hand. “Athena’s coming to the wedding. You simply have to meet her. I’m anxious to see what she says about you.”
Roxie could hardly catch her breath. She hadn’t expected the familiar greeting. Nor had she expected the open emotions. Though Priscilla was watching her intently for a response and Vivienne was still smiling, Roxie couldn’t give them what she should have—an automatic denial over anything romantic with their brother. “Your aunt sounds like a remarkable woman.”
With perfect timing, Briar arrived with the carafe. She passed around china cups and dessert plates. “Vera, you have to try this pie Roxie made. You’ll never believe it’s one of her first.” Briar looked to Roxie. “Vera owned her own bakery in Atlanta.”
“Oh,” Roxie said and her eyes widened as Vera didn’t hesitate to take up the dessert fork Briar offered on a napkin and cut the corner off a slice. “Goodness, I hope it’s edible.”
“Mm.” Vera’s eyes widened as she savored a bite on her tongue. “Oh, this is fine! Better than my grandmother’s apple pie. ’Cilla, try some.”
Priscilla took a bite and Vivienne did, too. Roxie tried not to agonize over the potential of food poisoning.
“They should serve this at the wedding,” Priscilla decided, going back for another bite. “Not that flaming flan business you discovered in Antigua.”
“It was Argentina,” Vivienne informed her, “and it’s Sid’s favorite. But maybe we could put this on the dessert table, too. Mini apple pies.” She giggled over the idea. “We have cultural flavors from everywhere Sid and I have traveled. This could be our something American. What’s your secret, Roxie?”
Sin. Roxie shook her head, trying not to think of Byron kissing her over the Galas. It was a lost cause. Sinny sin sin. “Luck,” she said instead. “My kitchen experiments have mostly turned foul, but the baking thing... There might be something to it. It makes me feel accomplished in some way.”
“You’re more than accomplished.” Priscilla lifted her half-finished plate in indication. “You’ve perfected apple pie and you’ve managed to make my dill weed brother silly over you.”
Vivienne grinned around a bite. “At last.”
“Enough about Byron,” Vera said. “Vivi, do you have the folder? We put together a comprehensive list of everything that was planned so far for the ceremony at the club.”
“It’s in my chair,” Vivienne said, pointing toward something in the corner.
It was then Roxie realized why Vivienne hadn’t risen to greet her. She’d thought it was due to Priscilla’s pregnancy.
In truth, it was the other wa
y around—Priscilla hadn’t risen because Vivienne couldn’t. Roxie leapt quickly to her feet and went to the folded wheelchair. She found the binder in the bag hanging from the handle. Handing the binder to Vivienne, she noted that Vivienne’s smile had lost some its luster.
Vivienne was handicapped. Roxie never would have guessed. She wore a maxi dress with an exotic print so Roxie couldn’t see her legs, but her feet laid flat against the floor in flip-flops. They were tan, the nails pristinely tipped, one graced with a toe ring.
Byron hadn’t mentioned a disability or an accident that would prevent the bride from walking down the aisle...
But he’d told her something else, hadn’t he? She’d asked him if he would dance with his sister at her wedding. No, he’d said and the light had gone out in him.
Feeling foolish, Roxie did her best to fan over her shock as Vivienne showed her pictures of the gown, a charming Grecian design she’d picked up on a weekend jaunt to Corfu. Priscilla told her how her own gown had had to be changed after they found out she was pregnant two months after Vivienne and Sidney set a date. “She wouldn’t let me change it,” Vivienne noted. Vera explained that they wanted to keep it outdoors, if possible. The club had had an open conservatory. “But I suppose that’s out the window now,” she added.
“I have some news there,” Roxie said, glancing over the printouts from the club’s website on the tabletop. “I spoke to the manager of the club. After some cajoling, they offered back the deposit, but they’ve already booked the conservatory.”
Vivienne lifted a shoulder. “Just as well. It was too perfect, wasn’t it? I don’t believe in complete perfection, not even on my wedding day. Though Ma’s right. I have always wanted an outdoor ceremony.”
“Well,” Roxie said, “I might have a solution. How would you feel about the ceremony and reception taking place at Hanna’s Inn?”
Vivienne gazed out the windows, seeing the grounds from a new perspective. “They do that here?”
Wooing the Wedding Planner Page 12
