“Ah, here it is.” She turned the book toward him. “Jamilyn is having five attendants, not including our beautiful flower girl.” She pointed to photos of long-stemmed bouquets. “What do you think of these?”
“Which one?”
“All of them.”
He leaned in and suddenly they were shoulder-to-shoulder. And their knees did brush, lightly.
He didn’t pull back. He didn’t respond. But the silence only seemed to amplify their closeness. “I’m not seeing uniformity with our wedding party,” she said in a rush to distract herself. “I’m seeing a varied color scheme for the flowers. Organic soft shades with more vibrant colors that pop. Violet. Crimson. Blush. Cream. I’ll have the florist use different fabrics to drape the bouquets. I can come up with some possibilities for the attendants’ dresses after Jamilyn chooses her dress. I’m thinking similar styles but not the same. Variations of a dusty purple, maybe. Nothing extreme like eggplant or lilac. Midrange shades in between.”
“Purple was on Jamilyn’s list of colors, right?”
Lily nodded and kept up with the babbling. “No orange. No yellow. No fuchsia. She was willing to entertain anything else.”
“Do your clients supply these photos for you?” he asked, flipping ahead a few pages.
“I have a photographer on staff.”
“This is so impressive, Lily Susan. These photos are art in themselves. You really do have quite an operation.” Suddenly Max sat back and loosened his tie. He cracked open the bottled water and took a swig, leaving her grateful for the space between them even while her insides fluttered beneath his praise.
Silly, silly fool she was.
With renewed determination, she proceeded to the caterers. They combed through menu after menu, leaning over the coffee table until she could feel her back start to ache.
Their shoulders pressed together.
Their fingers brushed as each of them reached to turn a page at the same time.
Their laughter rang out in the quiet as they sprang apart.
They discussed table arrangements again. “Your mother provided the schematics for how best the caterers could work in the kitchen since it’s in the basement.”
“Did you know that in the gilded days of my great-grandfather, the staff sent up meals by dumbwaiter?”
Lily shook her head, mesmerized by his striking eyes, even though she remembered hearing that tidbit somewhere before. Why on earth couldn’t she seem to get a grip on herself around him?
They discussed the merits of the various local caterers Mara had faxed in. With the Culinary Institute of America located in Hyde Park, she never lacked for innovative menus.
But Lily struggled to keep her head on the details. Instead her concentration focused on the intense physical reaction to a man to whom she had no business reacting, a man of fantasies from a long-ago past that had no place in the here and now.
She couldn’t seem to rein herself in, though, and finally resorted to diversionary tactics. “Max, it’s time. Will you please get our bride and groom online? Both, if you can. Preferably the bride if you can’t.”
For a moment, Max stared at her, as if some part of him was sorry to see her get up.
Then, to her surprise, he sent a text message on his cell phone. Almost immediately, he told her, “Jamilyn needs to get to a computer. Should only take a few minutes.”
Finally, abandoning all pretense of propriety, she sat on the floor with her legs curled underneath her. She couldn’t sit close to him anymore. She didn’t even care if he knew it.
“Bring your computer over here,” she said. “That’ll save me from having to relocate all this paperwork. I am truly not used to working with so little organization.”
That striking gaze swept over her. “You’re impressing the hell out of me.”
Her insides melted at his praise. He leaned in to log onto Skype, to test the webcam function. She was trapped again in his nearness, a new position from where she could see the stubbled line of his jaw, the strong cords of his neck where he’d popped his top button.
The moment passed. Jamilyn logged on. Max’s cell phone vibrated, a muted sound in the quiet. Sliding it from the case at his waist, he glanced at the display then got to his feet in a burst. “I’ve got to take this call.”
Lily waved him off, glad for a reprieve to take a deep breath before the image of a lovely woman with a cloud of soft brown hair appeared on screen, a woman who looked nothing like Lily had imagined a second lieutenant would look like.
Back to business. Thankfully.
Jamilyn would be a beautiful bride. And the anxiety that felt like a pent-up breath inside eased some as Lily presented her suggestions and received more ideas about how Jamilyn envisioned her special day.
Instincts counted for a lot in Lily’s line of work and she finally felt as if she was on solid ground. She could translate and create and generally work her magic when she had something to work with. God bless Skype.
She held up photos for Jamilyn to take a look at, attached others to email messages when there was more detail to be seen. They discussed ideas and Lily found Jamilyn delightful to brainstorm with. She was decisive and practical and very appreciative that Lily was willing to fill in the blanks because she couldn’t be there to oversee the process herself.
“I trust you with the details, Lily,” she said.
Six months ago so much confidence might not have meant as much to Lily, but given the way her luck had been running lately, she found herself appreciating the faith as much as Jamilyn seemed to appreciate Lily’s effort.
“I can’t believe the Wedding Angel is planning my wedding.” Jamilyn giggled, a sound decidedly in contrast with the uniform. “I can’t believe I get to sail in and enjoy the party without doing all the work. I’ve got mixed feelings about that. I should feel like I’m missing out, shouldn’t I?”
“You’ll be a guest at your wedding, which is exactly what you should be,” Lily said, remembering the wording from Max’s article. “That’s why you hire a wedding planner. But you’ve got to promise me there won’t be any delay with your arrival. You have to come in on Monday because we have licensing to deal with on Tuesday. I can have everything else ready—venue, catering, entertainment, costuming, press—but I can’t apply for the marriage license. No power of attorney. No notarized affidavits. You and Raymond must appear before the clerk and then there’s a twenty-four-hour waiting period. The end.”
“We’ve cleared everything on our ends, so there shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Okay. We’ll stay in touch. Now if you’ll email me the contact information for your attendants, I’ll get with them to see when they can get here for final fittings. I’ll post you with a recap so you have everything in print. Sound good?”
“Perfect.” Jamilyn saluted with a smile. “And you’ll send photos of gowns, too?”
“Hopefully I’ll have them to you in the morning. If not look for them by the evening.”
Lily signed off, rested her head against the couch and closed her eyes. Okay, they were moving along. She felt nominally more in control. Now, she had to get Denise—who had insisted on turning her bed into an office—to make some phone calls and start transcribing these plans. Then Lily had to check in with Carlisle at her Manhattan office to find out what was going on in Brussels. They hadn’t spoken since this morning. Deep breath.
“We’re not done yet, are we?” Max’s deep voice jerked her back to the moment.
She cracked an eyelid—only one so she didn’t have to withstand a full assault on her senses—to see him walking toward her with those brisk, no-nonsense strides.
“I wish. You wish, too, I’ll bet.”
“No, actually.” To her surprise, he dropped to the floor beside her and leaned back against the sofa. Then he smiled that dashing smile that started up the crazy flip-flopping inside all over again. “Wedding planning is more fun than running the Herald. Who knew?”
Lily certainly ha
dn’t because it wasn’t until this very moment that she realized she was in over her head with this man.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
All About Angel—October 24
The Devil Always Gets His Due
Today a photo surfaced on the internet—check it out at CELEButante—that raises an interesting question. Has the Brazilian runway model (whom we shall refer to from here on out as Demonico—suits her well, doesn’t it?) who busted up the fairy-tale romance between the Wedding Angel and her faithless ex-fiancé, followed the disturbing trend among talentless females to use their eggs to attach themselves to wealthy, powerful men and gain notoriety? (Reference articles: Angry Veteran Actor and Russian Sidepiece and Shifty Presidential Hopeful and Brainless Sidepiece.)
The All About Angel blog assumed—along with most wedding watchers on the internet—that the clock had simply run out on Demonico’s fifteen seconds of fame. (Bad publicity isn’t always better than no publicity, as the saying goes. Particularly to designer fashion houses, where reputation is everything.)
But judging by CELEButante’s photo, there could be another explanation. The world of haute couture has no place for a runway model with a designer belly. And pregnancy certainly explains why Demonico hasn’t been spotted at industry events in any of the four fashion capitals since news of her affair broke. Just when the Wedding Angel thought the dust had settled, she learns selling one’s soul to the devil is never a good idea.
Look at the photo and decide for yourself. That belly—a real baby or a food baby? Cast your vote.
LILY FINISHED READING the latest post from the All About Angel blog. The BlackBerry display went dark.
Pregnant?
God, Lily hoped not.
For the sake of the baby. Babies deserved parents who loved them, not to have the circumstances of their conception plastered all over the internet. Lucas and his gross lapse in judgment were both adults who had made their choices. But any baby who resulted from their fling would be saddled with one parent who had no interest in children and another who would selfishly use a child to her own ends. And both who lacked moral fiber.
What kind of life would that be for a child?
She depressed the speed dial.
“Good morning,” Mara said. “Did you read it?”
“I did.”
“At least the blogger is trashing people who deserve to be trashed. Demonico. I’ll bet you-know-who is swooning, which makes my vengeful heart happy. Yours, too. Admit it.”
Demonico was a play on words for Catalina Delmonico, aka you-know-who’s—Lucas’s—Brazilian runway model/gross lapse in judgment. Lily’s heart was not vengeful or happy.
“Well, there goes our theory that she’s the blogger,” Lily said.
“My money was on her, too. You don’t think she’s so desperate for attention that she’d hint at a pregnancy herself, do you? What about your ex-fiancé?”
Lily rubbed the sleep from her eyes, the thought coming at her the wrong way. Lucas hadn’t been interested in having children. Lily hadn’t been willing to say never, but her lifestyle certainly hadn’t lent itself to kids. She loved kids but had been content to put the idea aside because kids deserved parents who loved them and whose lives revolved around family. Not parents who were not even in the same country two months running.
And definitely not parents who had no interest in being a couple—with each other, anyway.
“But why would Lucas invite this sordid sort of publicity?” Lily asked. “He’s the one who cheated.”
“He was interested in merging with you. Maybe he’s trying to force you out so he can take over your end of things?”
Could she have been that wrong about Lucas’s character? “But he’s trashing his own reputation as much as he’s trashing mine.”
“Lily, even if he only picked over your connections like a vulture, he’d make out in the deal.”
Her sight was adjusting to the darkness, and she could remember being a young girl lying in this very bed, waiting for the moon to come out, willing herself to sleep on the nights when she knew it wouldn’t. She wasn’t sure why the dark had always made her feel so alone, especially since Mike’s room had been on the other side of the wall.
Then she remembered… “Hang on, Mara.”
Flipping back the comforter, Lily stepped into her slippers and crossed the short distance to the dresser. And it was still there, inside the top drawer. A filigreed nightlight in the shape of a bride. Lily wasn’t surprised that her mother hadn’t gotten rid of it. She’d been so thrilled to find it at a craft fair all those years ago.
“It was made for you, Lily Susan,” she had said. “I knew you’d love it.”
And Lily had. She couldn’t remember why she hadn’t taken it with her when she’d moved out of this house, all she could remember was being so eager to leave.
Now she couldn’t even remember why.
Using her BlackBerry as a flashlight, Lily plugged in the light and chased the shadows away. She felt better.
Going to stand at the window, she yawned widely. God, she was tired. More tired than when she’d gotten here if that was even possible. “I don’t see Lucas pulling something like this.”
“You didn’t see him cheating, either.”
No argument there.
“Whether you-know-who is pregnant or not, my name shouldn’t be linked to hers.” Lily’s annoyance gained steam. “Today is the Pingel/Bauer event in Brussels. My bride doesn’t need this sort of nonsense on her wedding day.”
“I don’t think she’ll be surfing the web before she walks down the aisle, so we’re good.”
“No, we’re not good. Maybe she’ll update her Facebook status or tweet after the ceremony. And even if our bride doesn’t get online, one of her guests is bound to. And with the media paying attention to this idiot blogger, they’ll probably give this post mileage. It’s not fair.”
“But what can you do?”
The inability to fix a problem rubbed wrong. “Someone knows who this person is. I’m going to call my attorney and have her advise me. Someone had to sign up for that account, and I don’t care what privacy protection they have.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?”
Lily rubbed her temples. Sun wasn’t up yet, but the headache was. She needed caffeine. “No, I’m sure I don’t want to do that, but I have to do something.”
“If the media gets a hold of it…” Mara exhaled hard. “Lily, they’ll be all over it.”
“I keep stalling for that exact reason, but I’m tired of being kept emotional hostage. And the media is already all over this. If Elaine tells me I have to go to the police so they can find out who’s responsible—” Lily leaned her forehead against the wall, resisted the urge to beat her brains out. “The police. I’m not thinking straight. I’m planning a wedding for my sister-in-law and she’s marrying a policeman.”
“Think he can help?”
“At the very least he’ll help me figure out what my options are without getting the press involved.”
“Sounds like a plan. Get ’em, Lily.”
But Lily didn’t so much feel encouraged as she did tired. Not when she realized why she hadn’t thought about calling for advice before now. Not so long ago, she wouldn’t have had to think. She would have simply picked up the phone and called. Mike.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“ARE WE ALMOST THERE, Daddy?” Madeleine asked, eager to try on her flower-girl dress.
“Almost, I told you Madame Lily Susan’s office was in town, near the Herald.”
“It never takes this long to get there.”
That made Max smile. He could hear the sulk and one glimpse in the rearview mirror revealed the mutinous expression his daughter wore. “There’s the bridge. We’re almost there.”
The Poughkeepsie Railway Bridge spanned the Hudson River. It had been built in the mid-1800s, an engineering marvel during an era when people relied on ferries to cross the river. The bridge had rem
ained in service until a few decades ago, when a fire had ended its long and illustrious career.
But like much of downtown Poughkeepsie, the bridge had been given new life recently when it had been refurbished into a pedestrian walkway with a majestic view of the river and the cities on both sides.
Madeleine wasn’t interested, and not even a discussion of the day’s happenings at school could distract her, and by the time he pulled in front of Lily Susan’s office, his daughter was sliding out of her seat belt and readying to hop out.
He managed to keep a grip on her as they crossed the street. Max wasn’t sure whether it was the dress itself, knowing Camille would be having her dress for Riley’s wedding fitted or the mystique of visiting Madame Lily Susan, but his daughter’s enthusiasm was barely contained.
In contrast, he was bracing himself to see Lily Susan. To feel the gut-wrenching awareness the minute he laid eyes on her. To watch her blush beneath his gaze and try to keep distance between them as they reviewed musicians’ demo CDs and tasted wedding cakes and sampled champagne and wines to complement the menu.
To wreck his whole day because he couldn’t think about a damned thing except how much he wanted to end this torture, pull her into his arms and kiss her. Finally kiss her.
He was attracted to her. She was attracted to him. But she wasn’t ready. He wasn’t wrong about this, and if he made a move too soon, it could have long-term repercussions. Not only wouldn’t he stand a chance with her, but family affairs would also be agony. He’d only been kidding himself that they might enjoy a few stolen moments together before she left. No way would that be possible. They’d be tripping over each other for the rest of their lives. Even though she didn’t come home often, those ties between their families ran deep. He couldn’t stand the idea of a future of being thrown together and having to pretend she didn’t matter.
Between him and Lily Susan a kiss would not be just a kiss. It would be so much more. He knew it deep down, couldn’t pretend otherwise. He had no clue what the future might hold—nothing seemed possible, or practical, given their situations—but he knew how he felt. Knew he wanted a chance. No matter how much he burned for her, his timing had to be spot on.
No Groom Like Him Page 11
