“…and you’ll hand your flowers to your sister and face Dylan—”
“Vincent. I’ll be facing Vincent.”
He could hear her teeth grind.
“Of course.”
Alexis finally met his eyes and he knew he shouldn’t be looking at her the way he was. She blinked, and at that moment the late-afternoon sun just cleared the branches of the trees to filter through the gazebo and send beams of golden light over them.
Dylan stopped breathing. Everything he’d given up to pursue his career was standing before him bathed in a lush golden light. He took her hand, wishing he could take back the years. Just touching her hand made his heart beat harder.
He absolutely, positively, could not allow this woman to marry Vincent Cathardy.
“OH, NICE WORK.” Rosebud joined Sunshine at the doorway looking out at the gazebo.
“I just had to move the cloud the tiniest bit to get the sunlight in that spot. And isn’t that a gorgeous color?”
“It reminds me—”
“I know.”
They were silent for a moment.
“She’s never looked better, if I do say so myself. And the way he’s just staring at her…” Sunshine sighed.
“One little problem,” Rosebud said.
“What?”
“They’re not your bride and groom.”
“I know!” Sunshine frowned, a rare occurrence. “I can’t get the real groom out there! He is ignoring her to talk on that telephone contraption!”
“So cut him off. I taught you how.”
“Yes, but I’m not as good as you are, and he just calls again.”
“Do you want me to disconnect it for you?” Rosebud offered.
Sunshine hesitated. Having Rosebud help her might not mean a black mark in the Bedpost Book, but it sure wouldn’t earn her any gold stars. And she was so close. So close. “No. I’m going to keep my eye on these two for a little longer.”
DYALN LOOKED SO GOOD. And so not as old as Vincent. How shallow was that?
“And then you’ll repeat the vows. ‘I, Dylan—”’
“Vincent,” Alexis corrected through clenched teeth. And did he have to grip her hands so tightly? And rubbing her wrist with his thumb was completely out of line. She was going to ignore it.
“I, Dylan,” he said, ever contrary. “Take you, Alexis, to be my wife.”
She felt a pang in her heart—probably from one of the broken pieces. Well, her heart could just get over it. Her heart had had plenty of opportunities and look what had happened. Nothing. It was her brain’s turn and look how well her brain had done—a distinguished, wealthy man who was ready to take care of all her needs and a whole lot of wants besides.
Dylan was one of her heart’s former choices.
And what was the matter with him? Why was he looking at her that way? At first, she’d thought he was mocking her but now, she wasn’t so sure. There was something about the catch in his voice just before he’d said the word wife that she didn’t think he could fake.
But maybe he could.
As if it mattered. He’d had his chance and if he wasn’t faking it, then he had a lot of nerve.
“I, Alexis, take you, Dylan—Vincent. Vincent, Vincent, Vincent. I take Vincent to be my husband. To have and to hold, for richer—” Was that a snort from Dylan? It was! He was mocking her.
Alexis yanked her hands away from Dylan’s. “I think I can wing it from here,” she told the minister.
“I’m sure you can.” She closed the service book. “I’ll read a scripture passage, if you have no objections.”
Alexis shook her head.
“Then there will be the exchange of rings and the usual statement that you’re married and that’s it.”
“What about the ‘you-may-now-kiss-the-bride’ part?” Dylan asked.
Alexis glared at him.
“Of course.” Reverend Martin smiled. “And don’t forget to get your flowers from the maid of honor afterward. Think ‘kiss and turn.”’
“That’s not what I’d be thinking,” Dylan said.
“We all know what you’d be thinking,” Alexis snapped.
“I might surprise you.” And he drew her toward him and lowered his head.
Alexis was caught off guard. That was it. Really, a woman is rehearsing her wedding, and a man pretending to be the groom kisses her on cue, and, well, it’s understandable that in her confusion, she kisses him back.
That was her story and she was sticking to it.
But before she came up with her story, there was the kiss. Dylan bending toward her was familiar. She forgot the fact that it hadn’t been familiar for some time. She tilted her chin automatically, and by the time she remembered where she was and what she was about to do and with whom she was about to do it, it would have been more awkward to stop than to turn this into a little thank-you kiss. Except her lips…kind of stuck. On his. And it became the little thank-you kiss that could.
It was chilly outside in spite of the waning sun and Dylan’s lips were cold at first—a little shock in addition to the great big shock of discovering that Dylan was kissing her not in a hey-I’ve-still-got-it way, but in a last-chance-to-change-your-mind way. In other words, he was putting a lot of emotion into this kiss. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was trying to send her a message.
This was a very pleasant way to communicate. He’d refined his technique a little, but so had she. The kiss went straight to her head. Well, and other parts, but primarily to her head with dizzying speed. Her hands, her cold hands, encircled his neck and she melted into him.
There shouldn’t have been any melting with Dylan and she’d already begun unmelting when there was a significant clearing of a pious throat.
With a mighty push, Alexis unglued her lips from Dylan’s. “Very funny, Dylan.” She took a wobbly step backward.
“It wasn’t meant to be funny.”
No one is laughing. “You’re going to give Tracy and Reverend Martin the wrong idea.” She turned to the two wide-eyed women. “We’re old friends.”
“Indeed,” said Reverend Martin. She stepped forward and handed Alexis her card. “In case you have any…questions.” She held Alexis’s gaze. “Or would like to talk.”
“Thank you.” Alexis managed a credible smile, which she held until the woman climbed the steps to the porch.
“Aren’t you the wicked one?” Tracy playfully swatted Dylan’s arm. She leaned toward him and lowered her voice, but not so much that Alexis couldn’t hear. “I’ve got a meeting with a couple planning a birthday party but I get off at seven?”
“That’s nice,” Dylan said.
“It can be.” And off she went, without acknowledging Alexis in any way.
Alexis lit into him. “How could you do that?” A best defense and all that.
Dylan smiled slightly as he looked down at Alexis. “I gave her no encouragement whatsoever.”
“I’m not talking about her, I’m talking about you kissing me!”
“I wasn’t the only one kissing.”
“But you started it.”
He gave her a look he had no business giving her. “Yes, I did.”
The cold seeped through her jacket. Alexis rubbed her arms and started for the side door. “Was that supposed to be some kind of fidelity test? Did Vincent put you up to it?”
“You’ve got issues with Vincent that have nothing to do with me. The kiss was all my idea.”
“It was a rotten idea!”
“I’m thinking it was a good idea,” he said. “Maybe one of the all-time great ideas. I learned a lot.”
So had Alexis. She’d learned that she’d missed him and hadn’t even known it.
They reached the door, which Dylan opened for her. Alexis stomped in, then turned to face him. Address the main issue head-on and dispose of it before it has a chance to gain strength. It was a strategy she’d used before and she was going to use it now. “You proved that I’m attracted to you.
So what? You already knew that. It changes nothing.”
He took a step toward her, his gaze searching hers. “It could.”
Alexis willed her face to go blank. “Not if I can help it.” On that note, she brushed past him and headed for the stairs and her room.
Just before she was out of earshot, she heard him murmur, “What if you can’t?”
4
ALTITUDE SICKNESS, that’s what it was. The signs were all there—dizziness, butterflies in the stomach, shortness of breath—nothing more than altitude sickness and not a visceral reaction to Dylan’s kiss.
He’d just had lack of oxygen on his side.
Instead of going to her room, Alexis changed her mind and tracked down Vincent. She needed a dose of oxygen-heavy Vincent. She found him in the hotel’s business office commandeering a printer.
He glanced up—maybe half a second. “Everything on track?”
Alexis felt the first stirrings of irritation. She’d been very understanding when he hadn’t made the rehearsal or met with the minister, not that he’d known about that, she reminded herself. But if he’d been there, then Dylan wouldn’t have been playing groom. “I met the minister. She—”
“She?” That got his attention.
Her irritation grew. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“Never thought about it.” He shrugged and went back to plucking paper out of the printer tray and reading it nearly as fast as it was printed.
Alexis had been going to ask Vincent what religion he practiced or didn’t practice as the case might be, but having seen him in work mode before, she knew this wasn’t a good time for a theological discussion.
“Everything is fine.” If you don’t count me kissing my former lover, who just happens to be your lawyer, and liking it quite a lot. “We’re meeting the chef tonight, though the menu is pretty much set.”
“Hmm.”
“So I’ll see you at dinner, then?”
“Uh…” Vincent stared at his watch. “I might have time for a quick—damn!”
A clunking crunch announced a paper jam. Judging by the evidence in the trash, this wasn’t the first time. Vincent yanked open the printer top.
“I can barely get a cell connection,” he complained. “The faxes are unreadable. The computer is antiquated and all the files I need had to be converted to an ancient form of MS Word and this hotel has a dial-up Internet connection so downloads are taking forever.”
“It’s a sign.” Alexis tried a little prewifely rub on Vincent’s arm. She’d never touched him in any way but a few social cheek pecks. “You’re just fated to take the weekend off for your wedding.”
“Come on, Alexis.” He stopped just short of shrugging off her hands. She pulled them away immediately. “Don’t go all sentimental on me now.”
Right. No sentiment. She backed out of the room. “See you at dinner.”
ALEXIS SAT IN THE GOLDEN RULE, the hotel dining room, which was decorated in a kind of brothel-lite style. Some red velvet, a little gilt and dark wood. She wished Vincent was there to see it. They could snicker and feel superior together.
“I like for the bride and groom to sample their wedding supper.” The chef stood over her after personally delivering paâté in the shape of a wedding bell. But that was nothing. The butter was sculpted in the shape of doves. “At the wedding, they remember very little. They usually eat even less.”
Alexis smiled and refrained from telling the chef that it wasn’t that sort of wedding and she, personally, would be ravenous.
“Also, I understand that you wish to select wines to go with the meal? I might be able to make some slight adjustments to the menu, since the meal isn’t for so many people. The Inn has an excellent cellar.”
Alexis gave him a genuine smile. Vincent was a bit of a foodie and he did love his wines. They’d have a good time exploring the wine cellar tomorrow.
The chef clasped his hands together and looked around. “I had hoped to meet the groom, but I must return to the kitchen. Please send word when you’re ready to begin. In the meantime, you have your champagne.”
Alexis held it up, though she’d sipped none of it.
He gestured. “And some salmon mousse to start. Such a lovely color for weddings.”
Pink. Salmon pink, but pink just the same.
The chef seemed to be waiting for her to taste it, so Alexis did so even though she hated to spoil the bell shape. “It’s yummy.” At the chef’s stiff smile, she realized she should have said something more sophisticated, but she’d been more concerned about starting to eat and not being able to stop. The altitude was making her so hungry.
Only the bow that had been on top of the bell and one slice of crusty bread was left when Dylan loomed over her thirty minutes later. She’d actually drunk one glass of champagne, then refilled the glass herself so it would look as though she’d waited for Vincent.
Now, she looked up at Dylan. “Are you the messenger of doom once more?”
“No.” He sat down, though she hadn’t invited him. “I was about to eat dinner. I’d asked Margaret to dine with me, actually, but she, too, has the phone glued to her ear. She’s not staying at the hotel, you know.”
“There wasn’t room,” Alexis said tightly. She didn’t want him sitting here, eyeing the champagne. Eyeing her.
“She said it was a good thing since Vincent is hogging the computer and printer.”
“This hotel doesn’t have business facilities as such.”
His fingers crept toward the champagne flute. “I suppose they figure most people have other priorities on their honeymoon.”
“I was the one who wanted to get married here.” Alexis responded to his implication that Vincent was shirking his groomly duties. “We only had a week’s notice. I had to choose between getting married this weekend and waiting months.”
“Or getting married somewhere else. Say, Houston? Where you and your friends and business associates live?” He frowned. “Not too many of them could make it, could they?”
The groom could barely make it. Alexis stared at the pink salmon bow on the plate. “My friend Marisa was married here. She said it was magical. She said…” Alexis swallowed, surprised to find herself choking up. Horrified that she was doing so in front of Dylan. “She said afterward she was more in love with her husband than she ever dreamed she could be. They try to get away at least once a year and come back here. But it’s hard to get bookings. So, when I was told about the cancellation…” Why did she tell him all that? She’d just revealed herself to have a weakness for sentimentality.
“Hey.” Dylan picked up the flute. “Here’s to weddings and honeymoons.” He gave her a buck-up-old-girl smile.
Rather than scold him for drinking Vincent’s champagne, Alexis picked up her own glass and clinked against his.
“Hmm.” Dylan grimaced. “Warm and flat. Hope that’s not a sign of things to come. Or not, as the case may be.”
“Just when I think you have a modicum of class…” Alexis signaled the hovering waiter. She meant for him to bring a fresh glass for Dylan, but the man scampered off to the kitchen no doubt to mistakenly alert the chef. Alexis groaned.
Dylan misunderstood. “No problem. I’ll just have some of yours.” Before she thought to protest, Dylan picked up her glass and drained it. “Nice stuff.”
“Dylan!”
“Hey. If Vincent shows up, I’ll buy you another bottle.”
“When Vincent shows up, I’ll let you.”
There was a look on Dylan’s face that meant bad news for Alexis.
“Just tell me,” she said.
“I was waiting for a fax.” Dylan looked into the bottom of the champagne flute. “I saw him in the office. He was eating a sandwich.”
“Vincent doesn’t eat sandwiches.”
“Okay, it was an open-faced focaccia with provolone and grilled portabello. They’re great. I had one for lunch.”
“I didn’t have lunch,” Alexis mumbled.
/> “In that case, drink up.” He refilled her glass. “Maybe I can get you drunk and have my wicked way with you.”
Alexis picked up her champagne and eyed it. “You do have a wicked way about you.”
As Alexis drank, the waiter brought the salad, as she’d suspected would happen.
“The ever-popular mesclun. Good for splattering and getting dark green bits stuck in your teeth.” Dylan unfolded the napkin and put it in his lap.
Alexis didn’t object to him joining her. What would be the point? “It’s nutritious.”
“This is a wedding supper. It’s not supposed to be nutritious.”
“The other bride chose the menu.” Nice raspberry vinaigrette dressing on the salad. Alexis would have chosen the same thing.
“Doesn’t it bother you to use someone else’s wedding?”
“Not at all. It saved a lot of time and effort.”
“Are you wearing her dress, too?”
Must maintain serenity. “No.”
“Did you even buy a wedding dress?”
“Yes.” To forestall any more questions, she added, “It’s a lovely strapless crepe and tulle with a re-embroidered beaded and sequined Schiffli-lace sheath with a demitrain. Would you like me to describe the veil?”
“Let me be surprised.” Dylan’s eyes had begun to glaze over at the word tulle. He tilted his head to one side. “Am I annoying you yet?”
Alexis responded with a cool, serene little smile. “No.”
“I’ll have to try harder then.”
Alexis’s fork clattered to the plate. “Why do you wish to annoy me, Dylan?”
“To see if I can.” He spoke with unnerving intensity. “To see if you’re still capable of feeling anything.”
“You know what I feel?” She leaned forward. “Relief. Relief that the whole dating thing is behind me. Relief that I don’t have to try to meet anyone else, get to know him without wasting too much time ferreting out his shortcomings and then deciding if I can live with them or not. It’s been ‘or not’ every time.”
“Maybe you’re too picky.”
“Maybe I am. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Maybe it should.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer, but his eyes softened.
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