Aaron turned and leaned back against the railing. “She’s embarrassed.”
“I don’t give a shit.” He pivoted and strode toward rail again. “I love her, goddammit. I expect her to come to me when she needs help, not hide things from me like I’m an enemy. I’m on her side, and if I haven’t proved that much to her by now, then, damn it”—he banged a support post with the side of his fist, hard enough to feel the impact all the way up his arm—“I’m fucked.”
“She thinks of you as the enemy? Those were her words?”
“Her actions told me. All she said was that I wouldn’t understand.”
Aaron blew out a breath and took a step back. “I want to point out something, but before I do, keep this in mind. Kate will rip my balls off if either of us shows up to this wedding with a black eye.”
“Noted.”
“Good. What I want to point out is, she’s not entirely wrong.”
“I haven’t proved I’m on her side?” He dragged a hand through his hair to keep from smacking the post again. “That’s bullshit—”
“No, not the ‘on her side’ part.” He shook his head. “She’s not entirely wrong saying you don’t understand. Women are complex mysteries, mate. Like black holes or the plot of Fight Club. They defy understanding. Blokes are basic.”
Frustration propelled him across the patio again. “I’ve known her for a long time. I spent a lot of years trying to be in her corner, and protect her—from herself, half the time. I flat-out reject the notion I don’t understand her. I understand her better than she understands herself.”
“Uh-uh. You see her more objectively than she sees herself, but that’s entirely different.”
“You barely know her.” Bracing his shoulders against the stucco wall, he challenged his future brother-in-law. “And just so we’re clear, the accent doesn’t make you some kind of an authority on women.” Everything about this conversation set his teeth on edge. Especially the insinuation there was some gap between Lauralie and him that could never be bridged, no matter what he did. But haven’t you reached the same conclusion? Isn’t that why you left last night?
Aaron sank his hands into his pockets and looked down at the toes of his polished black shoes. After a moment of internal debate, his eyes landed on Booker. “My dear pop was a raging alcoholic, as well as a right bastard.”
Well shit. Now he felt like a prick, making his friend dredge up a painful past on his wedding day. “Okay. I get it. You have a perspective on shitty upbringings that I’ll never have. We don’t have to go there.”
The corner of Aaron’s mouth quirked up. “Grab a seat, Booker.” He nodded toward the round, wrought iron patio table surrounded by four matching chairs. “We’re going there. You’re family—will be in a few hours as I’ve survived all the hazing—so now you sit while I do my filial duty and pull your head out of your arse.”
“All right. Fine.” He dragged the closest chair out, wincing as metal scraped brick, and dropped into the seat. “Welcome to the family.”
“Cheers. Do you know if anyone had told me a year ago I’d be wedding Kate Booker on Saint Valentine’s Day with God as my witness, I would have laughed ‘til I pissed myself?”
“I’m sure she’d be flattered to hear that.”
“Don’t take me wrong. I wanted her the moment I saw her. I aimed to get a leg over—”
“Keep talking, and you’re going to end up with a black eye after all—”
“I was a bit of a lad,” Aaron went on, “and I liked it that way.”
Booker propped his forearms on his knees. This was starting to sound familiar. “But you changed. You met the right woman, and you changed.”
“I fell for her against my will, and it scared the shite out of me. Kate’s posh and polished, and I’m some git from Hackney. I pushed her back more than once because I couldn’t make sense of us. I knew happy relationships existed, in theory, but where I come from, they’re like unicorns—rare and magical—and I reckoned I didn’t have a hell of a lot of magic in me. Yeah, I was testing her, but mostly doubting me. I didn’t trust myself with something good.”
Lauralie’s words echoed in his ears. It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s me. “How did you get past the self-doubt?”
Aaron laughed. “Have you met the women in your brood? Kate’s got a lot of her mum in her. Once she sets her sights on something, game over. She didn’t give me ultimatums, but she saw right through my gobshite. Nothing short of me saying, ‘I don’t love you,’ was going to shake her. I couldn’t say those words, because I did love her, and she knew it.”
Booker rubbed the center of his chest, and the empty ache lodged there since yesterday evening. “She didn’t let you fuck things up.”
“Brilliant way of putting it.”
Chapter Seventeen
Laurie stepped out of her SUV, took a ticket from the red-vested valet, and smoothed a hand down the fitted skirt of her red dress. A Valentine’s Day wedding kind of demanded the color.
A path of rose petals in varying shades of red led guests to the entrance of the main house. The large, carved doors hung open, welcoming arrivals, and greeters hovered to lead guests through the house to the grounds beyond where the ceremony would take place. She paused by the door, waiting in the small line of guests backed up there, feeling a little like a roller coaster rider white-knuckling the restraining bar while the cart inched up to the first big drop.
Then again, she ought to be numb to the dread, considering the last twenty-four hours had been a nonstop roller coaster. At least this time she purposefully boarded the ride.
Part of the reason had to do with Rebecca’s words that morning. Booker knew what he wanted. The only thing she ought to be asking herself was whether she had the strength and courage to go after what she wanted.
Another part of the decision stemmed from meeting with Chelsea earlier in the afternoon. Seeing her friend, absorbing the love and support she offered simply by existing, and giving the same back, had gone a long way toward reminding her some relationships in her life actually worked. Chelsea believed in her, firmly enough to invest fifty thousand dollars of her hard-earned money in Babycakes. It had felt good—stabilizing—to stand together with her best friend in the empty Ocean Avenue unit they both liked for the new home of their business, and focus on the future. Even better when Chelsea had admitted the future involved her moving back to Montenido.
She’d worried she’d spoil the triumphant moment by crying all over her friend about Booker, but it had turned out to be Chelsea who’d needed the shoulder to cry on.
Laurie had fully supported Chelsea’s decision to start fresh in Maui after enduring the most fucked-up breakup in history with another undeserving asshole. She’d sent her friend off with the advice to guard her battered heart, banish her inner good girl, and concentrate on enjoying loads of five-star sex with Rafe St. Sebastian. She’d done exactly as Laurie instructed, except somewhere between the multiple orgasms, she’d fallen in love with the man, but was too scared of admitting it to herself—much less Rafe—and opening herself to the risk of rejection.
Instead of glowing with accomplishment, Chelsea had stood there blinking back tears.
The conversation replayed in her mind as she followed one of the greeters through the house. Chelsea had declared her fresh start a failure, because she hadn’t guarded her heart. Laurie had been compelled to tell her the whole guarded-heart thing didn’t really work. It was just a chickenshit way of trying not to get hurt.
Ultimately she’d convinced Chelsea to dig up some courage and tell Rafe how she felt. As she’d uttered the word, she’d realized courage—or lack thereof—had become a major theme in her life. Too many of her decisions had been motivated by fear and shame.
Some residual shame burned inside her now as she followed the greeter through the house. Booker deserved an explanation. Most importantly, he was entitled to three words, freely spoken. She loved him. After that, she honestly didn’t kn
ow what to expect. She had fucked things up—possibly beyond repair—but if he’d give her a second chance, she’d do whatever it took to show him her love was stronger than her fear.
The greeter led her to the back patio, and handed her off to a tuxedo-clad usher. He, in turn, steered her along the rose petal path that led down the center of an expansive, linen-draped tent encompassing two large banks of white chairs already crowded with guests, and directed her to an empty seat in a middle row.
At the end of the aisle, beyond a white pergola, the first peachy tinges of sunset decorated the blue horizon. The scent of roses sweetened the ocean breeze fluttering through the open-sided tent. The light wind caused an occasional shower of petals from the festoons of blossoms woven through the thousands of tiny lights strung overhead. A scattering of the velvety confetti drifted down, decorating the older couple occupying the chairs to her left, and the threesome of women in their early twenties who claimed the seats on her right. Their giggling conversation blended with the strains of a string quartet playing under an arbor positioned just beyond the groom-side seating, but she picked up enough to glean they worked for Rebecca.
The prelude changed to Pachelbel’s Canon, and the officiant made his way down the aisle. The hum of conversation subsided. Next came Booker’s mom, looking stunning in a sheer-sleeved claret gown. Then the groom strode down the aisle, followed by the groomsmen. Restless nerves migrated from her stomach to her chest as her eyes landed on Booker. He focused ahead, and didn’t see her, which left her free to drink in the sight of him looking handsome, and remote, and completely out of her league.
The blonde three seats over sighed. “Groomsmen on parade…best part of every wedding, and look, not a ring in the bunch. They’re all bachelors.”
“I’ll take bachelor number three,” the other blonde whispered, and Laurie realized she meant Booker.
“Choose again,” the redhead said. “That’s Ethan Booker, and Rebecca told me he’s off the market.”
“Really? Since when?”
Red shrugged. “Earlier today. Said she could cross finding the perfect woman for Booker off her to-do list, because he’d done the job himself—the woman just didn’t quite know it yet.”
“Damn. I’d be willing to let him convince me. He wouldn’t even have to work very hard.”
Laurie bit her tongue to keep from breaking into the conversation and telling the blonde to back off. No, she wasn’t perfect—far from it—but if he gave her the chance, she’d show him she was the perfect woman for him.
The other blonde laughed. “That’s part of your charm, Bridget. You’re easy.”
“Hey, now—”
“Shh!”
The quartet transitioned into Mendelssohn and everyone stood and turned to watch the bride and her father walk down the aisle through a lazy rain of rose petals.
Kate looked beautiful in a slim, white column of silk. Beside her, Richard beamed. A subdued chorus of sighs and some sniffles sounded as they passed.
When they reached the altar, the guests sat. Richard kissed his daughter, hugged Aaron, and took his seat in the first row next to Rebecca. The officiant welcomed everyone. Laurie did her best to focus on the ceremony, but her gaze kept drifting to the right like a swimmer caught in a riptide. The words of the ceremony faded as she concentrated on fighting the pull. After a few moments she gave in to the inevitable and let her attention slide to Booker, only to get a hard little jolt when she found his dark eyes staring back at her.
Her heart stumbled, and then raced. She searched his face for some clue of his emotions, but his expression gave nothing away. Nor did it waver.
From what seemed like a thousand miles away, the officiant intoned, “We’ve reached the ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ point in the ceremony, but I’m not a stickler for tradition, and, well….Kate and Aaron aren’t particularly interested in hearing any reasons they shouldn’t be married.”
He paused while the guests chuckled, then added, “Instead, they’d like to invite you to share your words of wisdom and love with them.”
A few hands went up. The officiant nodded at a silver-haired man near the front. A young woman in a red dress brought a microphone over. The man stood and said, “I’ll start by laying out my credentials. Elise”—he gestured at the sweet little old woman beside him—“and I will celebrate forty-three years of wedded bliss next month.” He paused to accept applause before continuing. “So, you know, we might have learned a lesson or two about how to make a relationship last. I think it comes down to three things. Listen to each other, always find a compromise, and—”
“Lots of sex!” Elise interjected.
Everyone laughed and clapped. When the officiant recovered, he motioned to a woman a few rows ahead on the groom’s side. She stood, holding a blanket-wrapped newborn, and waited until Miss Microphone tilted the mic at her before greeting the room.
“Hey, Kate. Hey, Aaron. Congratulations. We’re all so happy for you.” The comment brought a quick round of endorsing applause. “I wanted to tell you never to give up on each other, or the dreams you share. Even when the odds seem stacked against you.” She lifted the baby a little higher in her arms, and smiled. “Love can make dreams come true.”
While onlookers applauded, she sat. The sandy-haired man beside the new mom wrapped his arm around her shoulder, kissed her, and then the baby.
Laurie snuck a glance at Booker. He caught her looking. After a suspended second one brow cocked up in a silent challenge. The officiant asked if anyone else would like to speak. Laurie raised her hand before her mind realized her body had gone rogue.
Wait. This isn’t your best idea…
He pointed to her and nodded.
Okay. Fuck it. Let’s do this.
She stood on wobbling legs and cleared her throat while every eye in the crowd turned to her. In the second row of the bride’s side, Miranda McQueen scowled and muttered something to the equally dour woman sitting beside her.
Simmer down, bitches. I’m here until Booker tells me to go.
The attendant handed her the microphone. She wrapped her sweaty palm around the grip and did her best to hold it steady. “Hi. I’m Laurie and, um, I don’t have forty-three years of marriage as a credential, or a baby, but I recently learned an important lesson about love. It…uh…” God, why was it so hot in February? She wiped her forehead and cleared her throat. “It takes courage. Courage you obviously have, since you’re standing up there ready to pledge yourselves to each other.”
The observation brought a smattering of applause. She used the moment to catch her breath, but then her eyes reconnected with Booker’s and the intensity of his gaze left her winded again. “Not everyone has the courage. I didn’t. I guarded my heart. Pretty much from everyone, but especially from a certain man who always seemed to be there when I needed someone. He always had my back. I took his help—not graciously, I’m ashamed to admit, but I took it—and I relied on his strength, but when it came to love, I pushed him away. I told him he didn’t understand me. I told him he couldn’t understand me. But it was a lie. He understands me better than anyone.”
Silence met her confession. The trickle of a fountain in the distance became unnaturally loud. She swallowed, and gave voice to the question silently thrown at her from every direction. “What kind of self-sabotaging idiot does that?”
The salty sting of tears blurred her vision, but not before she saw Booker step out of line and make his way down the aisle toward her. Heads turned to watch him close the distance.
She licked her lips, and started talking faster. “One who lets fear rule her life. I thought, deep down, I really didn’t have as much to offer him as he offered me, and certainly not everything he deserved, but I was wrong, because…because…” She trailed off as Booker drew even with her row.
He extended a hand to her. “I’ve waited a long time to hear this, Jailbait. Get over here and say it to my face.”
Her feet refused to move. Th
e blonde beside her stood, gave her a small shove, and stage-whispered, “I swear to God, if you don’t get your butt over there and tell the man you love him, I’m going to hurdle you and say it myself.”
That put her into motion, even as a tension-relieving laugh rippled through the onlookers. She squeezed past the older couple, stumbling a little as she reached for Booker. And then he had her in his arms, holding her tight enough she could count the rock-steady beats of his heart. She looked up at him, blinked the tears away, and pulled his face into focus. “I love you, Booker. It’s always been you. From the first time you stood up for my scared, reckless, and secretly grateful ass, I knew you were the one. If you give me another chance, I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life proving it to y—”
His kiss cut her off—the warm, certain press of his lips like a vow against hers. The last of her anxiety disintegrated into a thunder of relief and need. It wasn’t until he raised his head and smiled down at her that she realized the thunder wasn’t just in her head. All around them, guests applauded. He gave her another kiss—short but just as potent—and then his mouth found her ear. “I love you, Lauralie, and I’ll give you as many chances as it takes. Promise you’ll do the same for me. Neither one of us will let the other fuck this up, okay?”
She drew back and nodded. “I promise.”
“Good.” He tipped his head toward the altar. “I better get back up there.”
“Duty calls.”
“Yeah. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I want forty-three years. I want shared dreams, I want—”
“Lots of sex?” The corner of his mouth and one eyebrow shot up in a look guaranteed to get him all the sex he could handle.
“I hear it’s the secret to a lasting relationship.”
He hauled her into his arms for another long, slow kiss. A few catcalls and whistles sounded when he finally raised his head. His voice vibrated in her ear.
Hard Compromise (Compromise Me) Page 19
