Anna studied a picture of Doris, young and vibrant, holding a wispy-haired toddler dressed in a sailor suit. The man standing beside her looked very much like Chris, but tired and shrunken, as if he might be ill.
“That’s me.” Chris pointed unnecessarily at the boy.
“What happened?” Anna started to take Chris’ hand and then thought better of it. “I mean, to your dad?”
“Pneumonia. He’d been sick all winter. My parents were on the same health insurance as their employees, which wasn’t a lot back then, so he refused to get help until he could hardly breathe. He died of septic shock.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I blamed the Andersens for years. Despised them, really, until Ryan sneaked across from St. Thomas at age seven and informed me I was his new best friend.” Chris smiled. “Amazingly, my mother never resented Dad’s family. She says he lived and died on his own terms, which is all anyone can do.”
“Is it?” Anna had too much experience with stubborn fathers. “I kind of believe compromise is what family’s about.”
“Probably. I have to admit, it’s an issue I’m working on.”
Anna turned back to the photo, which showed an old-fashioned hotel lobby with papier-mâché seashells on the wall and stacks of Caribbean knickknacks and beach toys arranged on Chris’ father’s shelves. Beside that were several other photos of the resort. Somewhat shabbier than it looked today, with a much smaller pool, but the white sand beach was every bit as perfect, and the mid-century buildings had their own kitschy charm. “It’s almost a shame the resort got fixed up.”
“Fixed and fixed again,” Chris told her. “Between the salt air and summer storms, things go to pieces pretty fast. After my mom sold out, she convinced the owner to build this shed. I think she was more interested in protecting my dad’s shelves than their contents, but the shed’s been handy. We reuse decorations all the time for birthday parties, weddings….” His voice broke off.
The last wedding Chris had been to was theirs. “Anna….”
“Stop.” She drew a breath. “Wait, let me say something.” It took a moment to gather her courage. “Chris, I’m so sorry, about the show. I thought the microphone was off.” As if that made a difference. “I’d…I’d cut my tongue out if I could take it back.”
“It’s not your fault,” Chris said, and then seeing her unhappy look added, “It really isn’t. I had a long talk with Ryan yesterday. The contest’s been rigging microphones to turn back on. To catch people off guard and get more exciting stuff for the show.”
“They rig the microphones? You’re kidding!” Anna couldn’t believe it. “Is that legal?”
“It’s legal as long as we’re on Vacation Bride. Our contracts say they can record us anywhere, any time. It’s infuriating, sleazy, and makes me sorry I let them film at my resort. But it’s legal.”
“There wouldn’t have been anything to record if I’d kept my mouth shut.”
“We should have talked about it. I should have told you about my inheritance so we could come up with a plan.”
“You didn’t owe me anything.”
“You trusted me. You promised to put my happiness ahead of yours.” Chris clasped Anna’s hand, making her heart flutter. “I made the same promise and then ignored the pressure you were under. I ought to have been more honest. It’s just….” He looked away. “So many people have seen me as a ticket to the Andersen fortune, even when I was broke. It meant a lot to know you didn’t want anything.”
“That isn’t true.” He felt so warm and solid. “I wanted free vacations.”
“That was for your dad.” Chris squeezed her fingers. “You haven’t asked for one thing the whole time I’ve known you except to use the pavilion. And I can’t even do that.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Anna took back her hand. “We’ll think of something else. Let’s see what’s here.” She started reading box labels. “Cake Toppers, Candles, Christmas….” That had its own section of shelves. “Birthday wrap….” Anna opened a box of neatly folded colored paper. “Your mom saves everything!”
“An old island habit. We can’t just drive to a store.” Chris pulled down a box marked 1920s. “There was a great Prohibition party last New Year’s Eve.”
Anna peered in at feather boas and strings of plastic pearls. She took out a long beaded necklace and draped it around her neck. “Hey there, big boy!” She flicked the beads playfully against his chest. “Do you Charleston?”
“Traditional? Or Lindy-Hop?”
Anna had no idea what that meant.
Chris tapped the screen of his phone and set it on a shelf. “After all, we didn’t dance at our wedding.” A tinny tune began to play.
“Um.” Anna shied backward. “I’ve never danced.” Not with a guy she cared about. “That is, not proper ballroom dancing.”
“It’s easy.” Chris reached for her. “Two steps, back and forth.” He clasped her palm, slid one hand irresistibly around her waist, and began moving forward and back, adding a bounce between steps. Anna moved with him, instinctively matching his rhythm. Is this following? She’d always thought women who ballroom danced must have to scramble to keep up with their partners. But this felt natural and more than a little intimate.
Chris kicked his foot and Anna automatically made space. He shifted, supporting her, while she kicked up. All the while, his eyes were locked with hers. Anna had never stared at a man so long. Never experienced the sort of dizzying, focused attention Chris was giving her. He felt so right, so competent.
The music ended. Chris pulled Anna into an embrace. She felt his muscles bunching against her hips and thighs, and clasped his biceps. Like when we met. Like when he’d picked her up off the ground, that long-ago afternoon, and she’d almost…. His mouth met hers. Sensations bubbled like crisp champagne along her skin. He lifted her, setting her on…a box or shelf, she wasn’t sure…and kissed her deeply.
Anna clung tightly, kissing Chris back. This isn’t happening. Or did she mean it wasn’t happening fast enough? She wanted Chris, wanted him closer. The thought of even an inch of space or scrap of cloth between them made her ache.
“Anna….” Chris stopped kissing, breathing hard.
Anna pressed her cheek against his chest, savoring the flow of Chris’ breath over her ear. The scent of fresh linen drifted through the open door.
“I don’t suppose….” She kissed his neck. “I suppose it would be tacky to make love on your mother’s clean sheets?”
“In the laundry room?” Chris looked down, grinning. “A little tacky. Yeah.”
Anna considered the box she was sitting on. Or possibly the spotless concrete floor. “Well….” She slipped her hands under his shirt and touched his abs. Oh, my. “If you reach back and close the door….” Unless they both got naked fast, she thought she’d die.
“Anna.” Chris’ face glazed. “Stop.”
Stop? The word hit like a bucket of water. Had she misunderstood? A knot began to form in Anna’s stomach. “You don’t…?” Had she kissed Chris? Or had he kissed her first? “You don’t want to…?” The knot spread to her chest, squeezing her lungs.
“Of course I want to.” Chris kissed her hands, taking the sting away. “It’s all I’ve thought about since the minute we met.”
“Honest?”
“Well, not all, maybe.” He turned her palms up and nuzzled them. “Ninety percent.”
Anna shivered again, this time with pleasure. “Me too. So why?” Maybe the shed was too sleazy. Maybe he thought Anna was sleazy. Maybe he can’t forget I ruined his life.
“Anna, listen.” Some of the heat was leaving Chris’ expression.
She swallowed. “OK.”
“My Uncle Henrik—my lawyer—wants me to go away. He thinks I need time alone to sort things out.”
Alone. “Away from the resort?”
“Especially that. My life’s going to be pretty nuts for a while.”
“I know.” Her shoulders sagge
d. “Because of me.”
“Not totally.” Chris laced their fingers. “Not even mostly. Henrik claims I’ve played resort manager long enough.” Chris shrugged, embarrassed. “That I’ve ignored bigger responsibilities. And he’s right. I have.”
“What does that mean? Are you supposed to go play billionaire?”
“Hell no.” Chris smiled. “It means lots of meetings. A lot of time spent studying my holdings to decide what’s best.”
“You’re giving up the island? It seems so sad.”
“Not sad. And I’m not giving up. Not on the island, and not on you. But it’s a bad time to launch a long-term relationship, and that’s the only kind I want for us. So I’m going away. Alone. For six months, probably.” He gripped her hands. “Then if you’re still willing, I’d like the two of us to start again.”
“I see.” It sounded sensible. Why did she want to cry?
“Henrik’s arranged a trust for you. He paid your father’s mortgage and medical bills, and you’ll have a small annuity for life.”
“He what?” He paid her father’s bills? Anna stared, flabbergasted. “You what?”
“It’s not a fortune. I didn’t think you’d want that. Just a thank-you for helping me start to work out who I am.”
“I didn’t…that is, I’m not….” Anna was not sure what she’d done. “You didn’t need to give me money.”
“I know. Henrik insisted, so that’s the end of that. Our family’s caused you a lot of trouble. Also….” Chris looked embarrassed. “When I come back….”
When he comes back. Anna understood. When Chris came back, she wouldn’t need his money. That way he’d know she wanted him for himself.
“Besides,” Chris teased, “I might still give away my inheritance. You could end up supporting both of us.”
Anna couldn’t quite smile. “You’re right. It’s all too complicated.” She let Chris go. “We’d better put…um…everything on hold.”
“For now.”
“For now.” Anna slipped off her box. “And for six months?” She gazed regretfully at the man’s broad shoulders.
“Six months after the show. I’ve got to finish Vacation Bride.” He grimaced. “But you can quit now if you want. The show won’t stop you, and if they try, Henrik will fry the lot of them like Danish pancakes.”
Anna was starting to like this Uncle Henrik. “Aw, honey!” She giggled. “You say the nicest things!”
So, should she quit Vacation Bride? Walk away now with no cares, no bills, no Chris? She shook her head. “I’ll stick it out. Tiffany and I will hold our parties, and you can give her the prize.” Anna smiled wryly. “Can’t tuck my tail and flee.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Except….” The reason, the official reason they were in the shed came back to her. “Except I need to figure out what to do for my party.” She opened another box. “Cowboys: Adult.” Anna squinted inside. “Adults? Seriously?”
“You’d be surprised how popular that is with foreign tourists. We don’t dare tell them St. John has never had a cattle drive.”
“Or cattle train to drive the cattle to.” Anna examined the rows of wedding boxes that filled up half the shed. Bells, gauze, chair covers, artificial flowers, a crystal-decorated arch. She thought of the simple arrangements Captain Greta had provided on Chris’ yacht and how absolutely perfect that had been.
Chris found a box marked 1980s. “This one’s fun.” Inside were riots of powdery pinks and blues.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Anna took out a purple jelly bracelet. “Oh this is great! What else is in there?” They dug through fuzzy headbands, bright leg-warmers, and 1980s CDs. Another box held gold lamé tablecloths with dangling fringe.
Chris found a bag of white gloves and pulled one on. “Ryan and I used to wear these.” He bent his arms and moon-walked like Michael Jackson. “We knew all the dance steps to “Thriller.”
Anna unfolded a life-sized Ninja Turtle. “A 1980s party.” Her brain was hatching an idea. “Can we reserve the pool and snack bar? Monday, while Tiffany’s got the pavilion? All night?”
“Well, sure.” Chris looked skeptical. “But it’s a long way down from the pavilion. I’m not sure Ninja Turtles will attract too many guests.”
“Not your adult guests.” She laughed at Chris’ puzzled frown. “It’s for their kids.” This was perfect. A real thank-you for the resort. “What if I hold a 1980s children’s sleepover? Then their parents can have the night off and go to Tiffany’s party.”
“A sleepover? For two dozen kids?” Chris raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a lot of work.”
“So what? Lani and Kim will help. I run kids’ pool parties all the time at home.” Not sleepovers, but still. Anna tugged a bright pink headband onto Chris’ hair, making the ends stick up, and then she grabbed her phone and snapped his picture.
“I don’t know.” Chris made a face. “It’s kind of rotten, making you babysit while Tiffany gets all the fun.”
“Fun. Bah!” Anna laughed. “I’m getting an annuity.” A small annuity, he’d said. Anna tried virtuously not to wonder how much. “If I’m going to be the family breadwinner six months from now, you’re going to have to let me call the shots.”
Chris burst out laughing. “OK. You win.”
“Memorize those words. You’re going to say them all the time.” Except he wouldn’t. Because, after tomorrow, Chris would be gone. Six months. Anna’s good mood evaporated.
Chris closed the 1980s box. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s really over after we leave this shed,” Anna said slowly. “I mean, I’ll throw my party and go.” What if Chris met another woman? Someone smarter, richer, and more deserving than she was. What if he lost interest in Anna after he started living like a billionaire?
“You’re right.” Chris touched her cheek. “We’ll have to cool things off after we leave the shed.”
“No more fun.” She clasped his fingers.
“No private talks.” His arm circled her waist.
“No kissing.” Anna’s pulse pounded. She lifted her face.
Chris murmured, “Good thing we’re both still here.”
Chapter Fifteen
Chris had to admit that the lights Bobbie had installed in the pavilion were dramatic. Historically, the stone structure was part of the sugar mill, used for balls and outdoor entertaining as far back as colonial times. During the brief years they owned the resort, Chris’ parents had added a much-needed parking lot, and the recent installation of a service elevator made the pavilion a perfect venue for weddings and parties. A perfect venue, draped in bougainvillea, with stunning views across Pillsbury Sound to St. Thomas, but still a little bare.
Now, under carefully-tuned lighting that showcased the eighteenth-century rockwork and massive beams, the pavilion positively oozed romance. Combined with free babysitting, an open bar, and the energetic sax and conga-drum band led by Chris’ friend Roy, Tiffany’s party was turning out to be a huge success. It didn’t hurt that Lars was in attendance, doing his stony bodyguard routine, attracting ladies the way a six-foot-three scratching-post attracted cats.
Chris took a break from mingling and found a quiet spot overlooking the resort, carefully disconnecting his microphone. He should be happy. The crew from Vacation Bride were behaving themselves, the photos from tonight’s party would be a terrific marketing tool, and the resort guests seemed to be having fun. Ordinarily, Chris would have enjoyed this sort of gathering. Right now, all he could think about was Anna.
He looked downhill through waving palms toward glimpses of sparkling pool water, running kids, balloons. Chris was supposed to split his time between Tiffany’s and Anna’s parties—in theory, so he could propose to one of the women. Soon he and the camera crew would go down to the pool. Tomorrow, he’d award the prize money to Tiffany, and then Vacation Bride would pack its bags and go.
And so will Anna. Chris didn’t doubt the wisdom of sparing Anna the next f
ew months, of starting over as a couple after he’d figured out how to be an Andersen in fortune as well as name. The wisdom was obvious. He just couldn’t stand the thought of letting her go.
Bobbie Burke sashayed across the pavilion to Chris’ wall. Her husband was noticeably absent from the festivities. Chris wondered if Ryan had gone into hiding.
“So.” Bobbie had emphasized her mid-century look with a strapless, pinch-waist black dress and vintage fox stole. “What do you think?” She placed her fingertips on his. “Were all those lights you put in worth the trouble?”
“The lights are fine.” Chris moved his hand.
“I’ve left instructions on how to set the panel for different effects. It’s complicated, but your bar manager seems to get it.”
“Jason’s a good guy.”
“I know. I tried to steal him to take over our catering, but he wouldn’t budge.”
Chris frowned. “His wife’s family lives in Tortola. We locals tend to stay put.”
“So I’ve noticed. Even when you have other options, even when you could travel the world. It kind of makes a girl wonder.” Bobbie glanced sideways. “I mean, it’s nice here, sure. But you could live anywhere. Do anything you please.”
“What’s this, an interview? A little personal color for your show?”
“Off the record. Scout’s honor.” She crossed her heart. “I’m just curious. What are you doing here?”
“St. John’s my home.”
“My home’s Rockland, Indiana, but if I had billions, I wouldn’t sink them into that burg.” She tipped her head. “OK, I might buy the place and bulldoze it. But if I did, I’d hire a demolition crew. I wouldn’t waste my life swinging a sledgehammer.”
Was Chris wasting his life? “I like managing the resort.”
“Do you? Really? Because according to Ryan, the last two years have been a nightmare. Hundred-hour work weeks. Back-breaking labor. Endless stress about bills. When all that while you could have solved your problems simply by writing a check. So, I repeat my question. Why?”
Vacation Bride: A Billionaire Marriage of Convenience (Brides of Paradise Book 1) Page 11
