by Sabrina York
I barely grabbed Wren in time when she followed.
“Perhaps we should get some champagne ready,” I suggested which sent them all running for the Baccarat. In my head I yelled, No running with the Baccarat! But I thought it really loud. I think they must have heard me, because they slowed down. A little.
Someone warm and yummy-smelling sidled up behind me, and I eased back into him.
How did I know it was him? His scent? His energy? Our chemistry? I don’t know. Maybe all of it. Or maybe I was just drawn to him like filings to a magnet. This is where I belong, my soul sang when I was near him. This is where I can be me.
He felt like home.
“So. Do you think they’re ready for marriage?” he whispered into my ear.
I glanced back at Farley and Jamison, surrounded as they were by well-wishers and sycophants. “They look happy.” It was…an answer.
“But do you think they stand a chance? Honestly?”
“Nope,” I said. “No way.”
“Really?” He wrapped his arms around my waist. “Why?”
“Look at them. They’re too young. Too immature. Why? Do you think they have a chance?”
“You never know,” he said with a kiss to my hair. “You never do. If things had been just a little different for us we might have made it.”
“Just a little different?” That was implausible at best.
“If I hadn’t left. If you hadn’t told me to go…who knows what might have happened?”
“But it’s a moot point. The past is the past. What’s done is done.”
“What happened to the woman who believes in second chances?”
“I believe you’re talking about Farley.”
His hold tightened, just incrementally. “Don’t you believe in second chances?” The poignancy in his tone struck me.
I turned around and found myself in his hold. “I suppose I do.” Untrue. I only hoped. And it was the hope that usually undid me. Hope was a scary thing sometimes.
I was saved from further exploratory probing when Farley cried, “Oh yes. Yes!” from amidst her knot of admirers. Then she looked over at me and my heart dropped like an anchor. Because I knew that look. She was about to ask for something impossible.
“Could you do that?”
As this question was definitely directed at me, I smiled and said, “Do what?” because—call me crazy—I prefer specifics in situations like this before I say yes.
Farley’s eyes shone. “Can we have the wedding here? Tomorrow?”
Oh. A wedding tomorrow? Is that all?
“Of course, we can do that for you.”
Olivia did faint then, but fortunately, she was next to Jed and he caught her.
Teamwork. Yay!
All right. Today was Christmas day. They wanted a wedding tomorrow. Tomorrow.
My smile kind of froze on my face. How on earth was I going to pull this off?
First of all, I needed to get out of here. I asked my staff to cover for me and headed back to the servants’ quarters to panic in private.
Coop followed me back to our kitchen. When I dropped into a chair with my head in hands, he was right there with me.
“They want a pastor and a string quartet. Where am I going to get a string quartet on Christmas Day?”
“Be glad they didn’t ask for doves,” he said, nodding at the mounds of snow on the windowsills.
I glared at him. “Be nice. And let me think.”
“Mungo’s an ordained minister.”
I gaped at him for a second. “What?”
“Yeah. He was ordained online, but it’s legal.”
“Coop, I don’t even know if they have a license.”
“Do you care?”
Of their own accord, my lips curled. “If they don’t, they’ll have to do all this again.”
He chuckled. “And that would be a problem for these people…why?” His expression was wicked and delicious and, okay, that got me. I laughed out loud and, magically, all my stress melted away.
This, I decided, was going to be the fanciest, most fantabulous wedding ever, whether it was legal or not.
He kissed me and headed out to check on the snowmobiles that had been delivered for tomorrow. Because tomorrow was now a wedding, he decided to shift snow play to today to give us a chance to breathe.
While Coop and his team took the more adventurous guests out on snowmobiles, I started making calls. I was able to reach a local church that had a string quartet (of high school students) willing to come out and perform the day after Christmas. I nearly kissed my cell phone at that. Then Ken and I put our heads together over the decorations, but I’ll be honest and say he did most of the work. He’s kind of a genius that way.
We couldn’t start actually decorating until the guests vacated the living room, and Wren regularly reported that some were still drinking coffee, opening presents, and chatting, so that meant more time for me to get my head together.
Had it been this crazy when I was a kid? I didn’t remember it being this insane. Had I not noticed because I hadn’t cared as much? Or had my instincts heightened over the years, providing me with an almost superhuman ability to predict disasters?
Or, maybe—and humor me on this one—these people brought the cray-cray with them in one of their enormous suitcases.
At any rate, I locked myself in my room—didn’t even let Mason and Lola in—and just. Got. Centered.
I took several slow, deep breaths in and out, because I’d read somewhere that it helps calm the mind. It didn’t work, but it felt nice, so I did it again.
All right. I need a wedding in twelve hours. I pictured the wedding in my head, the way I would want it done, and started scribbling notes. Dress, rings, flowers, veil, cake, tiara. Was anything else required?
The cake was no problem for Noel, and I was pretty sure Farley and her posse could cover all the rest. I knew for a fact they had at least two tiaras, not counting Lola’s. So beyond that, we needed decorations—Ken was on that—music, which was coming and…a wedding breakfast.
I made a face. Noel was going to shit a brique when I informed him.
I headed directly for his quarters. Now that the big brunch was over, he’d retreated into his room. After he responded to my knock with a blasé, “Entre,” I poked my head inside and grinned.
“Hey Noel,” I said in a super-cheerful voice. “Farley and Jamison want to get married tomorrow! Can you make a wedding cake? They also want a wedding breakfast buffet before they leave.”
Were they really leaving tomorrow? Oh, glory hallelujah.
Noel did not share my enthusiasm…about any of it. His eyes, and nostrils, flared. “Tomorrow? Merde!”
As I had suspected, the highly-strung chef did not take the news well. He had a hissy fit at the very least. Again, it was in French, and far beyond my schoolgirl vocabulary, so I ignored it. He calmed down a little after Whit informed me that all the guests would be going out for dinner tonight to celebrate at a fancy-schmancy restaurant. I didn’t mention the fancy-schmancy part to Noel, because I didn’t want him to have apoplexy. Fancier than moi? I could practically hear him gesticulate.
However, when he realized that he could take the rest of the night off, once he finished the cake, he was all smiles.
The guests actually left early for their dinner. Judging from their body language, they were getting cabin fever—my favorite kind of fever, because everybody wants to leave the house. Heck, I was at the front of the line waving them good bye.
As soon as they disappeared from sight, everyone sprang into action. I’d already had a meeting with my team, so they all knew what needed to be done and in which priority. Not that I have OCD.
Decorations for the wedding were first and foremost. We could not wait until tomorrow to do something this big and we wanted to have the heavy lifting done before the guests came back.
Coop, Wren, and Ben went to the storage shed to see if they could find anything useful, while the res
t of us started hanging draperies. We moved quickly, because there was a lot to do. Ken’s plan had us re-arranging his precious Fairy Ball decorations into a Fairy Princess Wedding. It had the same feel of the Fairy Ball, without all the colored scarves—although he did artfully place the white ones.
The result was amazing.
If you ask me, I don’t think we make enough money.
At one point in this frenzy, I stepped back to see if the drapes were symmetrical, and I backed into someone. Someone who “ooofed”.
Naturally, I whirled around and—
You know how it is when you see someone you’re not expecting to see, in a place you’re not expecting to see them? Yeah. My first thought was, who is this man and why is he invading my space?
It took a second to click, that this person was familiar. And smiling.
And also…he was my boyfriend.
* * *
“Dirk! What are you doing here?” And yes, I blurted it. I didn’t mean to. It just emerged. He was supposed to be in Switzerland.
He hugged me in response. He’d never been much of a talker.
Or a question answerer.
I endured the embrace, which went on for a while—ostensibly to illustrate to me how much I’d been missed. Eventually, he let go.
Had he come to break up? Or propose? Or just say, hey?
And how like him to pick the most inconvenient time to pop by!
“I’m sorry, Dirk. I’m working right now. We’re pretty busy.”
“Sure. Sure. I won’t take a minute.”
He took my arm, though, and led me through to the foyer, where we could speak more privately. “So,” I asked in an I-really-don’t-have-time-to-listen-but-I’m-listening-because-you’re-making-me tone. “What is it?”
“What is it?” He put his hands on my shoulder. “I missed you, Victoria.”
Had he? I grinned. “I bet you weren’t alone though.”
His responding smile was crooked, but not guilty in the least.
I looked him straight in the eye. “You should know, I haven’t been either.” I cleared my throat. “Alone, that is.”
“Good for you,” he said, offering me a high-five.
Sigh.
You know how sometimes really small things can trigger a thought, or a memory, or an epiphany?
It was that high-five for me. I knew. I just knew in that split-second.
I was completely, totally, and utterly head-over-heels in love with Cooper. It was Coop and it always had been Coop, since the day we’d met and he’d stepped on my shoe. It would never ever, ever never be anyone else. Never. Ever.
Not that I didn’t love Dirk. I did. But I loved him the way I loved Olivia, or Ben, or Jed with his murdery movies and probably-stoned haircut, the goofball.
So had Dirk come to break up? Or propose? Or just say, hey?
It didn’t matter to me, because I knew what I wanted. It sure-as-wee-Willie-Winkie-wanks wasn’t him.
But I did love him. So I hugged him again. “I can’t believe you’re here. It’s great to see you. But we are in the middle of setting up an event. Maybe there will be time to chat later. Do you want to stay the night? There’s an empty bunk in the loft.”
He put out a lip. “What about your bed?”
“Coop’s in my bed. It’s his bunk you’re taking.” I patted him on the chest. “Lucky you. I hear Christie’s single.”
“So, wait.” His adorable brow ruffled. I closed my fist on the urge to brush back his boyish forelock, gelled to perfectly seduce a woman’s touch. “Are you choosing him?”
He always had been quick to catch on.
I held his gaze. “Yeah. I think so. Are you okay with that?”
He nodded. “I’ll miss you.”
“Yeah. I’ll miss you too.” But we’d just been placeholders for each other, and we both knew it. Placeholder is no way to live your life. You need someone who puts you first. Even if it’s just you putting yourself first. And let’s be honest. When you’re in a placeholder relationship, you cede nearly as much of your autonomy as you do in a love match. I deserved better than placeholder, and so did Dirk. I looped my arm in his. “You’re still welcome to stay. Christie is single. And I hear she hardly snores at all.”
“Right.” He chuckled as he pulled away. “I don’t think I will. But…” He paused. Held my gaze. “Be happy, Vic.”
“You too, Dirk. Be happy.”
After a quick hug, and a salute at the door, he was gone.
I felt sorry and sad if I’d hurt him, but it didn’t seem as though I had. Not really. Regardless, the fullness of my feelings for Coop could no longer be denied. They erupted from my chest like the alien in, well, Alien. No more keeping it in. No more denial. No more stupid fear. I was all in with Coop because my heart told me so.
And, this time, I believed it.
Chapter Eleven
That night we had another cozy staff dinner around the table, made possible by the people who suggested that the guests go out to dinner. Bless them, wherever they are. It was a fun meal. Coop and I made the Christmas Casserole which, perforce, included anything interesting in the pantry. I did not think olives were interesting, but he overruled me. However, in the true spirit of compromise, and in response to my whining, in the end, he only added olives to half of it. Everyone pitched in, even Jed, who made really great garlic bread. Did I mention it was an Italian Christmas dinner? We all had a great time singing carols with Italian accentos.
Even Mason had a little party, because Farley had decided to leave Lola with us. I guess we were…dog sitters? Anyway, they were having a mutual lick-fest that really doesn’t bear detailing.
Anyway, it was another great memory with people who had somehow become my friends. No. It was more than that. They were dear to me.
How on earth had that happened? How on earth had they wormed their ways into my stony heart? Living together did that, I supposed. Sped everything up a bit. Admit it, you either loved everyone you’ve lived with, or hated them.
These guys were all the best, and I was starting to regret that all this…camaraderie would soon be over. Like tomorrow.
Gosh, I would miss this.
Beyond that, where would Coop and I be? What would we be?
I decided he and I needed to have a serious conversation so, after dinner, I sent Olivia to cover the guest house, because Wren had covered the night before, and I grabbed Coop and towed him into our room.
And yeah, it was our room now.
How had that happened?
“What’s up?” he asked as I closed the door. I totally understood his curiosity. Dragging men into my private boudoir at random isn’t exactly my modus operandi. Generally speaking.
“We need to talk.”
He paled. “Talk?” He said the word like it tasted bad. The fact that I didn’t allow Mason into the room seemed to concern him even more.
“Wanna sit?”
He made a pained face, but did so. “What do you want to talk about, Vic?”
I sat next to him on the bed. “Dirk.”
His expression tightened. “Okay.”
“He came by today.”
Oh, this shocked him. His eyes went wide. A muscle in his cheek flexed. “Did he?”
“Yeah. And…I sent him away.”
He visibly relaxed. Even blew out a gust of a sigh. “Really?”
“Really.” I took his hand. “I realized I had no real feelings for him. I mean, he’s great and all that, but there’s no reason for us to keep…marking time together.”
“Isn’t there?” He couldn’t hold back his smile.
“I think you know why.”
“Are you saying you want to explore this thing with me?”
I drew in a deep, centering breath, because this next part was hard. “Yes.”
I meant to continue the conversation, to talk about what this meant and where we were and what we might do about this insistent attraction…but he kissed me and that was pret
ty much the end of the conversation. As far as words went. Or brain function.
That guy could really kiss the thoughts out of a girl’s head, that’s for sure.
What happened between us in that itty bitty bed was, again, mind-blowing.
I could really get used to this, I thought to myself, between bouts, and there wasn’t a lick of fear or panic in my heart.
* * *
Apparently, when the guests came home, they oohed and ahhed over the wedding decorations in the great room. And then, they decided they wanted a little something sweet. Olivia radioed me in a panic. Fortunately, I’d taken the radio with me into the bathroom, which was where I was when she called. Coop and I had had our fun and I was getting ready to turn in, so I might have been a little short when I said, “I swear to God, if you tell me the chef is on fire one more time—”
“No. No. But you better come.”
“All right. Where?” I came out of the bathroom and scowled at Coop. He flopped back and covered his face with a pillow.
“Noel’s room.”
“Okay. Be right there.” I dropped the radio and reached for my blouse. Thank God we hadn’t completely undressed. “Hey. I gotta go,” I said.
His response was muffled by the pillow.
I stepped over Mason—who was lolling on the floor, and, frankly, didn’t seem to care if I left or not—and headed out.
Noel was in his room, sitting on the chair. Kind of. Okay, parts of him were on the chair. Parts of him were also on the floor with the rest of him leaning that way. In short, he looked as though he had melted all over the furniture.
“’Allo, Victoria!” he said when he saw me. He attempted to raise a bottle in my honor. It appeared to be far too heavy.
“Noel, are you drunk?” I asked, though the answer was there, right under my nose.
He lurched toward me. “Drunk? Moi? Non. Non, mon chéri.” I grabbed hold of his chin when he got too close and all kissy.
Drunk Frenchman? Merci, mais non.
All righty then. First things first.
Rearrange the horny chef on his bed with a bottle of water and a nice big bowl within barfing distance.
