A pang of something both sweet and painful hit her in the chest. “Ask Liam.” She was already at the bottom of her pint glass. “Or Mark. He’s got lots of not-so-nice things to say about our father. It’ll be the opening you need to chat him up at the wedding and sign him on as a client.”
“Yes, because unearthing family trauma is always great networking.”
She laughed, for real this time. “I’d hire you. It would show you’ve got a heart and a brain. That you’re not just a bean counter spouting buzzwords.”
“Hey. I need my buzzwords.”
“Your rate on return for the process solutions in a disruptive ecosystem is…” She stumbled, unable to come up with more bullshit.
“Below expectations at this juncture. We need to diversify to achieve synergy,” he finished.
She bumped her shoulder against his. “You’re in the right field. It comes naturally to you.”
“Years of practice, actually. I worked in a big firm for a few years after I got my MBA. It’s taken years to weed out some of the language. I fall back into it like a drug habit sometimes.”
“You have a drug habit?” She looked him over. “You don’t even hold liquor very well. I can’t imagine you on the hard stuff.”
“I don’t hold my liquor? Excuse me?”
Maybe it was the booze in her own veins, but she felt reckless. “Every time you have something to drink, you end up doing something you regret.” She held his gaze. “With me, at least.”
He stared back at her for a few minutes. “You might be surprised about what I regret,” he said in a low voice. He drained his glass and stood up. “Let’s see if that pizza is ready.”
She had trouble taking her next breath.
* * *
Zack waited until after dinner to chat with Mark about his new tech start-up. April—who had taken off her sweater and now was driving him insane with a view of shapely bare shoulders as she played fetch in the living room with her dog—had made him paranoid about looking too obvious about his networking. Even if he wasn’t looking to snare Mark as a client, he was curious about the health website he’d founded, the apps he’d developed recently, how it was this quiet, geeky guy had a Midas touch Mark didn’t even want or admire in himself.
They talked about the huge cultural rift between the East and West Coasts, even within high tech, and the early burnout of some of the brightest talent.
“I’m a geezer at thirty,” Mark said, putting his feet on the coffee table.
Rose pinched his nose. “Thirty-one. And you are not.”
“I am,” Mark said. “I just want to be left alone. I’m like some grouchy old guy holed up in the basement, working on his model airplanes.”
April threw a tennis ball into Mark’s lap. “You’ve always been that way.”
The old dog wandered over on his three legs and sat at Mark’s feet, gazing up at him like a starving orphan.
“Are you sure you fed him, April?” Mark asked, placing the ball between Stool’s two front paws. “He looks hungry. I know he tried to eat the chicken, but maybe that wasn’t enough.”
April snorted, walking over to her dog. “He didn’t just try. He succeeded. And he had his full dinner, too. He’s just a big faker.” She bent over and scratched him behind the ears, cooing and kissing.
Zack watched her and forgot what he was talking about. Old age? Model airplanes?
How far gone was he if he was jealous of a dog?
“I’ll get you another coffee, Zack,” Trixie said.
He got to his feet. “Thank you, but no. I need to be going.”
“How about a cookie before you go?” Trixie asked.
“Mom,” April said. “He’s had a long day. Let him escape.”
“I’ll pack them up for the drive over the bridge,” Trixie said, walking to the kitchen.
“Watch out for that one,” Mark muttered. “She adopts people. Doesn’t care how old you are.”
“She’s wonderful,” Rose said. “I’m only marrying you because of her, actually. You’d better be nice to her.”
Mark’s voice lowered. “You don’t always like me to be nice.”
When they started making out on the sofa, Zack was glad he’d already started walking to the door. April and Stool followed him.
“You don’t have to wait for the cookies,” April said. “They’re only from Trader Joe’s.”
He put on his coat, zipped it up. He was having trouble leaving April’s company. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to pin her to the wall and slip the strap of her sundress off her shoulder, nibble his way down to her breasts. He wanted to hear her call his name, moan when he touched her, cry out when he made love to her. He wanted to feel her sweaty bare skin against his, lose himself in the taste and feel of her, wake up to her curled up against his side in the morning.
And then do it again.
He opened the door and stepped outside. When he got back to New York, he’d make a serious effort to find a woman without any contacts with his business life so that he could build a relationship that wouldn’t sabotage his career. One that wouldn’t make him feel like he was spiraling out of control. “I really have to go. Thank your mother for me, will you?”
She followed him out onto the porch—gently herding Europa and Luna, who were dancing around Zack’s ankles, back into the house—and closed the door behind her. Her gaze pinned him in place. “What did you mean earlier?”
“About what?” he asked, but he knew. He knew.
“About what you regret.”
Turning, he moved closer, his blood thickening. “And what I don’t,” he said.
Her tongue darted out, moistening her lips. “Ever tempted to not regret it again?”
Desire rushed through him. “Yes.”
“Is that why you’re here?” She was fiddling with a string at the neckline of her dress, tying and untying the bow.
He reached out and stilled her hands. The bones of her fingers were surprisingly delicate. Her pulse thrummed under the soft skin of her wrists.
Releasing her, he said, “Yes.” His voice was low and quiet, barely audible.
“Or maybe it was to see my brother Mark again?”
He shook his head slowly, silently telling her no at the same time he said aloud, “I admit it. I couldn’t resist the thought of seeing him again.”
“I thought so. He’s got a special charm all his own.”
Their gazes were locked on one another. “That he does.”
“Well, don’t let me keep you. You must be dying to go to bed.” Her fingers returned to playing with the bow at her throat. “You’ve had a long day.”
He could only nod. What insane impulse had led him to this house? This wasn’t a safe place for him to be, this charming old house with the dogs and the brothers and the warm-hearted mother…
And her.
“Good night,” he said, finally tearing himself away.
He didn’t take a steady breath until he was halfway to San Francisco, careening over the Bay Bridge, the cold, black water below as treacherous as his impulses.
Chapter 17
MARK AND ROSE’S WEDDING WAS the first Saturday in April, and although the morning was grim with a heavy fog that covered the West Coast from Eureka to San Diego, by early afternoon it was sunny, dry, and warm. Both the ceremony and reception would be held at the JSP Vineyard Inn, a winery up on a mountain ridge, where a sharp wind rustled the garlands of white roses and bouquets of blue and pink wildflowers strung between the seats and tables.
The ceremony was in thirty minutes, and Rose was still in her jeans. Nobody had been able to find her until April spotted her pretty blonde head near the Dumpster behind a storage building.
“I hope it’s not too cold,” Rose said, eyeing the hillside. Below them to the east was Silicon Valley and the south waters of the bay. To the west, where the wind came from, was the Pacific Ocean. And to the north, peeking out of tendrils of lingering morning fog, were the hills
and skyscrapers of San Francisco.
“Even the garbage has an incredible view,” April said. “You’re going to have the most beautiful wedding anyone has ever seen. Which, by the way, is in less than a half an hour.”
“But is it too cold?” Rose reached over and stroked April’s bare arms under the sleeveless lavender gown she’d chosen at the last minute. As much as she liked black, April didn’t want anyone to think she wasn’t happy about this wedding. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Not at all. It’s sunny, and it’s only going to get warmer,” April told her.
“There’s still time to move it inside. The great hall has a good view.”
April put her arm around Rose and guided her to the inn, a squat, beamed building next to the winery itself. “Everything’s fine. Go get your dress on before it’s too late and you have to walk down the aisle in your jeggings.”
Because Mark had more money than he knew what to do with, and an aversion to publicity and attention, he had reserved and paid for every room in the inn for their wedding guests, even though the entire guest list only filled it halfway, and many lived within an hour’s drive. He’d also booked it for the entire week so out-of-towners could enjoy a mini-vacation on his dime. Many of the guests had arrived the day before and were already walking around the grounds, mingling and enjoying themselves.
“I think we should move it inside,” Rose said. “Don’t you think?”
“I think there’s enough bubbly for you to start drinking it now,” April said.
“I can’t drink. I’d throw up.”
“Get it over with now before you put on the dress,” April said.
She shepherded Rose through a side door to a suite on the ground floor set up for the bride’s attendants to get dolled up. Rose’s best friend, Blair, sat on a chair letting—with some trepidation, judging by the tension in her jaw—a woman apply eyeliner to her lids with a long, sable brush.
April had already had hers done. She wasn’t convinced the professional makeup and hairstyling for the bridesmaids was necessary, but she was twenty-seven and had been through the paces several times already. She knew it was insane to argue. What the bride wanted, the bride got—even if that was friends who looked like drag queens.
“Where’s your mom?” April asked her.
“In my room with the dress.” Rose pulled away and looked out the window. “Is that rain? Those clouds look like rain.”
April squinted. Except for the fog over the city, the sky was as blue as a swimming pool from horizon to horizon. “What clouds?”
Rose walked over to Blair. “Don’t you think we should move it inside? My mom told me it would be too cold up here in April. I promised her it would be perfect.”
Blair, frozen with the makeup artist’s mascara wand near her eyeball, said, “Will you please find your mother and get dressed? I really, really don’t want to stand out there without you.”
“Serves you right, after you eloped with my boyfriend,” Rose said.
“Only because you dumped him first,” Blair said. “He still mumbles your name in his sleep.”
Rose stopped to stare at her old friend. “He does?”
Blair laughed. “You’ve really lost it, haven’t you? I’m so sad John couldn’t come. He would’ve loved to see you so nervous. April, can you get her to put on her dress?”
John, Bev’s cousin, had dated Rose but was now with Blair—after more than a little drama. April was too polite to point out Rose had come out way ahead by ending up with Mark.
“I’m trying,” April said. “She’s ignoring me.”
“I need to talk to Mark,” Rose said. “He’ll know if the weather will be okay. I bet he could write a program on his phone to forecast the odds of an adverse weather event. He’s like that, you know? I need to talk to him. Not for me, for my mother. So she doesn’t worry.”
April slipped her arm through hers. “I just saw him. Come with me.”
“But—” Blair moved to stand up. “It’s bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other before the ceremony.”
April shot her a quelling look over her shoulder and asked silently, What room?
Blair settled back into her seat. Seven, she mouthed back.
April led Rose out of the room and down the hall.
“You saw him down here?” Rose asked.
“Yeah, talking to Zack.”
“Zack’s cute,” Rose said. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Mm,” April said.
“Definitely has a Clark Kent thing going on. Take it from me—nerdy guys have hidden depths,” Rose said. She lowered her voice. “Definitely worth uncovering them.”
Since the nerdy uncovered guy Rose was alluding to was her brother, April smiled tightly and walked faster. When they reached the door at the end of the hall, April rapped her knuckles against it as if the building were on fire. “Here we are.”
Rose patted her hair. It was already braided in an elaborate updo. “He’s in here? But—”
The door flew open. There stood a large, middle-aged blonde woman in a flowing dark pink dress—Rose’s mother, Kim. She and April had met at the rehearsal dinner the night before.
“Rose! Where the hell have you been?” Two strong arms flung around the bride and hauled her inside.
“No, wait.” Rose craned her neck around to look out into the hallway. “I need to talk to Mark. I think we need to move the wedding inside. It’s cold, don’t you think? Not now, but it might—”
The door slammed shut between them.
“See you soon!” April called out.
The door opened a crack. Kim peeked out. “Sorry. Thank you.”
April grinned. “My pleasure. Good luck.”
The door shut again. She heard the deadbolt engage, then the chain.
Letting out a relieved breath, April returned to the main dressing room, feeling silly as she wobbled along the hallway in the unfamiliar heels. She’d found a vintage dress in a dusty lilac silk with lace trim that seemed to look pretty good, but the delicate fabric clinging to her breasts and hips made her feel out of character, artificial, exposed.
Blair was already finished, and stood by the large rear window admiring the view. The two of them were the bride’s only honor attendants, while the groom had Liam and Sylly Minguez, Mark’s old friend and business partner.
Given the size of the facility and the unlimited budget, they could’ve had a dozen in the wedding party on each side and hundreds more on the guest list, but Mark was a reserved, introverted guy, and Rose had a small family.
April joined Blair at the window. “You look nice. I wouldn’t let her put the false eyelashes on me.”
Blair turned, smiling, and put a hand on her chest. “You look gorgeous. I wanted to tell you earlier. I’ve never seen you… you know…”
“In a dress?”
Blair laughed. “I know, right? I never wear dresses either. Look at me. I made her pick it out. Most bridesmaids would kill to be able to wear whatever they wanted, but I didn’t want the responsibility. I took her to the store and made her pick it out.”
April admired the elegant blue dress that flattered Blair’s petite figure. “Whoever picked it out, it looks great. You look great.”
“We sort of match,” Blair said, moving her hip next to hers and comparing. “Shades of blue and purple. Right?”
“It’s not a Broadway show. We don’t have to match.”
“That’s what Rose said. But it’s hard to break tradition, don’t you think?” Blair asked.
“Not really,” April said. “I usually have a harder time trying to follow it.”
Just then Rose burst into the room finally wearing her wedding dress but holding the sling-back silver heels in her left hand. “Don’t tell her I’m here!” She slammed the door behind her and ran past the table and chairs to the attached bedroom.
Kim flung open the door. “Where is she?”
April and Blair looked at each other. T
hen they both looked at Rose’s mother and said in unison, “The bedroom.”
“She’s not herself,” Blair said. “She needs her mother right now.”
“Totally agree,” April said.
Blair looked at her watch. “Oh my God. We were supposed to be out there five minutes ago.”
“Doesn’t matter,” April said. “They’ll wait.”
“I hope I don’t faint,” Blair said.
“I hope you do. Spice it up a little bit.”
“Thanks,” Blair said, laughing.
“I never listen to the vows,” April said. “I’m so busy looking at people in the audience, trying to figure out if they’re happy these two people are getting hitched, how the bride is swaying from side to side because her feet hurt, how the best man is kind of green because he’s hungover and worried about the ring in his pocket. By the time the lucky couple is married and kissing, I’ve missed the important bits and I can’t wait to get that glass of champagne.”
Rose appeared in the doorway. Her mother held her shoulders with both hands.
“It’s time,” Kim said simply.
They all walked out of the building to the corner of the garden near a stone fountain where the wedding party had practiced the night before. The guests were already sitting in their chairs. Three men in tuxedos stood by the minister under an arch overflowing with tiny pink roses.
“Oh my fucking God,” Rose whispered. “I’m getting married.”
“Now those are vows,” April said, waving at the crowd with her bouquet as she walked down the aisle into bright sunshine.
* * *
Struck between the eyes.
Arrow to the heart.
Smacked upside the head.
Zack sipped his third glass of champagne and watched April dance with the ugliest guy he’d ever seen. She didn’t seem to notice how repulsive the stranger was, which annoyed him.
Over the deep end.
He tried to tell himself it was just the pretty dress, the pretty hair, the pretty setting. But his heart was beating too fast for pretty. Or even gorgeous. This was something else, something darker and faster and burning, smoking hot.
Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) Page 16
