Ignoring the quizzical look from Sam, Rosie walked Claire to the door.
* * *
The lock had barely clicked into place, when Sam voiced the question foremost in his mind. “What did she mean by ‘again?’”
“Excuse me?”
“Claire said she didn’t want to see you get hurt—again.”
Rosie frowned and hugged her elbows tightly to her waist. “Did she?”
He resisted the urge to demand answers. “You said there was no guy in your life. Is that a recent development? Do I need to be concerned about some jealous ex-boyfriend showing up and changing your mind at the last minute?”
“No. Absolutely not. The relationship she was referring to ended a long time ago. I rarely see him anymore and prefer it that way. He’s engaged to someone else now.”
Relief flooded through him at her words. But her phrasing at the end struck him as significant. “Meaning he was engaged to you at one time?”
“Yes.” Her gaze darted around the room. “Where’s Lorelei? Shouldn’t you be putting her to bed?”
Sam smiled. Did she think he could be so easily distracted? “Don’t try to change the subject. She’s been asleep for an hour.”
Rosie gaze snapped to his, her eyes narrowed. “Let’s get one thing straight. Even if we’re technically going to be married, it doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do, what to say or how to say it. Ever. And just so you know, the wedding vows will not have the word ‘obey’ in them. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal.” But why the sudden outburst? He’d been teasing about changing the subject.
Rosie raised her chin defiantly. She was really something when riled, what with her eyes sparkling and the color heightened in her cheeks. He took another look, noting the slight trembling in her hands and the wariness that had crept over her features, as if expecting backlash. From him? Either she was afraid of something, or she was desperately trying to distract him.
She had nothing to fear from him and no reason to suspect she would that he could think of, so what didn’t Rosie want him to know?
Under his scrutiny, she worried her bottom lip between her teeth until it was swollen and pink. The action set off a gut-deep surge of desire so potent he became concerned she’d be able to see the reaction.
He’d rarely experienced this strong a physical reaction to a woman, but when he had, it had always been a fleeting thing—until now. That this increasing attraction was occurring with a woman he’d planned on linking himself to legally for a long period of celibacy was damned inconvenient. Thank goodness he hadn’t tucked in his T-shirt.
Keeping his movements deliberately casual, he lowered himself onto one end of her sofa. Though his body had other ideas, his mind raced with questions he couldn’t voice right now. She was too upset, too defensive.
“Were you expecting opposition?” He shrugged and propped his bare feet on a vintage trunk that doubled as a coffee table. “None here. I’m not a fan of Neanderthal.”
“I didn’t think you were.” She still sounded defensive. Didn’t she believe him? He’d meant it, never having been of the opinion that women were the weaker sex. Upper body strength aside, his experience had been that they had the emotional fortitude of Goliath.
Maybe Rosie harbored feelings for someone and didn’t want to tell him.
She’d certainly tried to distract him earlier and became upset when the subject of the past arose. Was it all a smoke screen to keep him from asking more questions?
“You’re sure about the ex-fiancé not being a problem? I don’t want the solution to my situation to create complications for you.”
“It won’t. Really. Dean’s moved on, and so have I. I wouldn’t have committed to do this if I wasn’t free.” Rosie’s shoulders softened slightly, but she still looked poised for flight.
Dean, huh? If her initial reaction was any indication, she still had strong feelings for Dean—whoever. Her being “free” didn’t necessarily mean she wanted to be. As long as he lived, he’d never understand women or what made them tick, but he could delve into the matter later. “What did Claire mean, she’d be at the wedding?”
“She was upset that she wouldn’t get to be my maid of honor, so I told her she still could.” She tossed the words at him in a rush. “And she’ll act as one of our witnesses, so you can choose a best man, if you want.”
“Hmm.” Sam murmured in response, hardly listening. He didn’t like the idea that Rosie might be sacrificing her own happiness for his. That she might be in love with this Dean guy chapped his hide, though there was no reason it should. This was a business deal. Nothing more.
If his gut was churning, it was over an unwanted wedding coming awfully fast and guilt over a friend putting her future on hold for him, that’s all.
* * *
The following week became a whirlwind of appointments sandwiched between work. Rosie searched her desk for the planner she knew had to be there, while going over her own wedding checklist.
The prenup arrived early Tuesday, and Sam insisted on paying her lawyer fees. She took it to the same man who’d guided her through the purchase of her aunt’s floral shop years ago and obtained his approval for a hefty amount.
Throughout the week, she ignored the questioning looks and sly glances Sara sent her way after several outside meetings. Thankfully, her sister-in-law didn’t comment, but Rosie got the distinct impression Sara thought the time spent away from the shop was of a romantic nature.
Though they met at the courthouse on Wednesday to apply for the license, avoiding Sam was surprisingly easy. He hired a part-time sitter for Lorelei and disappeared into his office at every opportunity, burying himself in converting one of his books into a screenplay and writing a proposal for another.
Her mother called, subtly fishing for information. News of their Sunday brunch date and Wednesday’s lunch sans Lorelei at the Wok-In’s buffet after their courthouse appointment now hummed along the gossip grapevine. Bless the Busy Biddy Brigade, they hadn’t disappointed.
Though sweet and short, Sam’s kiss as they’d parted in the parking lot Wednesday had fueled more than talk, leaving her yearning for a repeat of their first kiss and something more she hadn’t yet defined.
Spying her planner sitting on the fax machine, Rosie snagged it on her way out.
Sassy Bing and her daughter, Cassandra, were already involved in a discussion of which type of aisle markers to use at Cass’s upcoming nuptials when Rosie joined them at the small table. She set aside thoughts of Sam and her own upcoming nuptials and braced herself for a long and tedious consultation.
After several discussions regarding such intricacies as whether to clip, pin or magnet the corsages for the mothers of the bride and groom, her patience wore thin. Most people left such things to the florist. Most people didn’t even know they had that many choices. Mrs. Bing spent way too much time surfing the Internet.
“Mo-ther!” Cass protested. “Rosie’s the best judge of those things. Can’t we leave the smaller details to her?”
“Honey, I want you to have the wedding of your dreams,” Sassy replied huffily. “With the wedding a mere four months away, we need to make some quick decisions.”
“Then let’s decide on the type of flowers to use, and let Rosie get on with her day.”
“Don’t you think Cass should have some stephanotis in the bridal bouquet, Rosie?”
“Mother, please!”
Enough. Rosie clapped her hands to get their attention. “Ladies, let me make a few suggestions to speed things along.”
She took advantage of the startled silence. “At the rate we’re going this Christmas wedding won’t take place until next spring. Cass, why don’t you tell me what colors you prefer and explain to me what your overall concept, or look, is for the wedding. Sassy, you give me a budget amount and we’ll meet again next week. By that time, I’ll have several suggestions and picture examples for your approval.”
“But .
. .” Sassy protested.
“I really do have quite a bit of experience in these matters, Mrs. Bing. I assure you, your daughter’s wedding is in good hands,” she continued in a no-nonsense tone. She’d dealt with difficult mothers of the bride before. “I may encounter questions along the way, so if you’ll both leave numbers where you can be reached, that’ll be a big help.”
“Perfect.” Sassy jumped up and hugged Rosie about the shoulders, as if the whole thing had been her idea and Rosie had agreed. She scribbled an amount above Rosie’s notes, then breezed toward the exit. “I need to go talk to the caterer, anyway.”
With her hand on her hip, she paused and turned. “Oh. One last thing . . .”
The uncertain smile and bobbing index finger didn’t fool Rosie. The woman was desperately trying to appear casual.
“Yes?”
“On the invitations? No one’s called me by my given name in years. Just leave it at Sassy.” Another overly bright smile accompanied her exit.
Rosie turned to Cass, her what-was-that-all-about expression turning to a wince when her hand was grasped enthusiastically.
“Thank you. Thank you! Mother is driving me crazy with her opinions on my wedding. I wish I could stand up to her like that.”
She eased her hand from Cass’s. Could she do this wedding—Dean’s wedding? Already she saw red flags in the younger woman’s behavior. Granted, it took courage to defy a mother as brash and opinionated as Mrs. Bing. But if Cass couldn’t manage that, Rosie didn’t even want to consider what her relationship with Dean must be like.
And there was another issue they had yet to address.
“Cass, is Dean aware you’re hiring me to do your wedding?”
For the first time, the light dimmed in Cass’s eyes. “Of course. It was his idea. He said you guys were yesterday’s news, and as the best florist around, you’d have no problem doing the job.”
“And he’s right.”
Jeezus Pete, she never thought she’d hear herself say those words in connection with her ex-fiancé. Controlling and manipulative to the extreme, he had a knack for twisting logic around until your head ached. “But for the record, are you comfortable with the situation?”
Cass shot Rosie a conspiratorial smile. “Well, don’t tell Dean, but I wanted to hire you all along.”
Rosie nodded, pleased. “Good. Now that we’ve cleared the air, why don’t you tell me what it is you want and I’ll take it from there. That way, the suggestions will come from me, and your mother won’t be so apt to dismiss them.”
Rosie soon discovered Cass had some very definite ideas regarding her wedding. She scribbled notes, growing concerned at the number of times she heard “Dean thinks we should” or “Dean wants.” She glanced up occasionally to see Cass’s face glowing with the inner vision of her dream wedding.
When the chatter halted, Rosie looked up, hand poised to continue her note taking.
Cass smiled softly as she studied her engagement ring and sighed. “All this doesn’t really matter in the end, does it? I’d marry Dean in a barn with a handful of wildflowers, or elope if I needed to. All that really matters is that we love each other and want to spend the rest of our lives together.”
Her love for Dean was palpable. Maybe he’d changed and they’d simply talked about the ceremony enough that Cass knew his preferences. It was none of Rosie’s business. Obviously, Cass wouldn’t appreciate or heed any warning at this point.
“Rosie, if you have enough information from me, I think I’ll drop by the bank and see my fiancé.”
“Oh, sure. I have plenty to go on. How about we meet again next week, same time?” Rosie suggested.
Cass agreed and practically floated through the door. Rosie jotted the appointment in her book as the droning hum of the refrigerated units filled the silence.
The Bing-Lassiter nuptials, while tasteful and small, would put her own wedding to shame. A business loan and a quick divorce when she wanted it wasn’t exactly the stuff romantic dreams were made of.
How could she even think of marrying Sam under the circumstances he’d offered? On the other hand, how could she not help him keep his daughter?
Just once, she wanted a piece of the dream her clients experienced. The thought clicked firmly into place in her brain and in her heart.
Jeezus Pete! Here she was repeating old behavior, accepting Sam’s dictates without a protest, while all along the loss of yet another dream nagged at her.
She might never experience a real marriage and most likely wouldn’t ever know the joy of being a mother, but she could experience a little bit of what it must be like to have a real wedding.
The doormat syndrome stopped right here, right now. The thing she had to figure out was how to get Sam to agree to a slight adjustment in their plans.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rosie stood on the back porch of her parents’ home, enjoying the cool breeze from an overhead fan, her mind focused on how to tell Sam she wanted to make adjustments to their bare-bones wedding plans.
Things were shaping up. Ernie’s delivery van was back on the road, and she needed to return her rental. She and Claire had managed a whirlwind trip into Little Rock the evening before, killing two birds with one stone. They’d purchased several items, including the dress that Rosie now worried was too much, too formal, and blatantly advertised her growing need to turn this imitation wedding into something she could remember fondly.
She had no problem being assertive where her business was concerned. Why should this be any different?
Behind her, the screen door slammed, jolting Rosie from her reverie and back into her birthday celebration. As the guest of honor, she wasn’t allowed to help with the meal. Today of all days, she could have used the distraction.
And where was Sam? He’d been beside her a moment ago.
Panic held Rosie in its grip. She blocked the noise of J.T.’s boys playing, the sizzle coming from her dad’s grill, and her mama hollering for someone to shut the back door so they didn’t have to cool the great outdoors.
In a few minutes, the wedding plans would be public knowledge and there would be no turning back. She glanced around the backyard. Lorelei was nowhere in sight.
“Sam?” she called.
“In here, Rosie.”
She stepped into the house, following the sound of his voice. Remembering her mama’s shouted request, she shut the door behind her and clamped her hand tightly across Sam’s forearm. He relinquished his hold on a tray of tinfoil covered rolls. His eyes flared briefly at the panic she knew existed in her own.
“Hey, Travis,” he called to her brother over his shoulder. “Could you take this outside? I, uh . . . need to talk to Rosie for a minute.”
Without waiting for an answer, Sam hustled her through the kitchen and into her father’s study at the far end of the hall.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, shutting the door behind them.
“Is Lorelei in the house? I didn’t see her.” Chicken. Just tell him what you want.
“Sara took her wading down by the river.” He propped his hands on his hips. “What’s going on?”
Tell him. Now. “I don’t know. I panicked there for a minute, trying to imagine us pulling this off successfully.” In the familiar surroundings of her childhood home, their plans felt impossibly wrong.
She envied her future husband standing there, feet apart, looking so self-assured. Could it be that easy? You believe everything will be fine and it will?
She moved away, stopping in front of her dad’s desk. Its orderly, almost bare surface and the books slotted alphabetically in neat rows were indicative of the way her parents lived their lives.
No artful arrangement. Nothing for show or aesthetics. Straightforward. Honest.
They’d never understand Sam’s insistence on subterfuge and secrecy.
“What are you worried about?” His kept his voice low. “People see what they want to, remember? They’ll be looking for a couple in love
and we’ll give it to them.”
She turned, surprised to find him so close. He usually maintained a healthy amount of personal space between them, another thing that would look odd to her affectionate family.
“How, Sam? We haven’t . . . practiced much. What if we look awkward? People in love naturally gravitate toward each other because they’re used to touching and kissing.”
Sam’s lips twitched in amusement. “So, you want to practice before we—”
“No.” Jeezus Pete, she didn’t want him to think she was hot for him! How embarrassing. “Well, yes, but not because I want to. Maybe we need to, you know? So our act looks convincing, natural.”
Sam nodded as she continued to babble. “Being reserved in public is one thing, but my family is a little more, uh, relaxed about such things.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“They might expect—”
“Me to do something like this?” Sam slid his palms down her biceps, cupped her elbows, and drew her closer.
“Uhh . . .” The breathy sound whispered from her suddenly dry throat. The placket of his cream golf shirt came into focus, the middle button twisted. Half-in, half-out of the little thread-reinforced opening, it mirrored her indecision. Open herself to temptation and risk revealing her attraction, or remain buttoned up and risk exposure of their scheme?
“Sam?”
“Yeah?” His voice sounded funny, kinda strained. She’d put him in an awkward position.
“You’re sure we need to keep the true nature of our relationship from my folks?”
“I wish it weren’t necessary, but yeah. I’m sure no one here would do leak anything intentionally, but the more people who know, the more risk we incur.”
She nodded.
“It’ll be okay.” In one fluid motion, Sam embraced her fully and settled his lips over hers in a soft, sweet kiss. Just as quickly, he released her and stepped back.
“See how easy that was?” his voice now held a satiny growl, stoking the flame his kiss had lit low in her abdomen.
Soft and sweet wasn’t enough. Not when they’d already experienced more. Rosie nodded again, keeping her eyes downcast.
A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel Page 8
