by Amy Olle
He angled toward her. “Inside pocket.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she slipped her hand beneath the lapel of his tuxedo. His gaze fixated on something over her head while her fingers danced over the hard plane of his abdomen, seeking.
“Breast pocket.”
“Oh.” She registered only warmth and his spicy scent.
“Other side.”
She found the pocket over his heart stuffed with hard candies.
“Unca Uke, let me down!”
Clutching a lemon drop in her fist, she risked one last peek at his dark expression before she retreated down the aisle.
With juice and candy, some of Mina’s color returned. As Emily helped pin a cream magnolia into her auburn hair, Isobel poked her head inside the door to let them know it was time to begin the ceremony.
A small crowd of forty people gathered in the pews, their necks craned to see the procession. Before the altar, Noah and three of his brothers stood shoulder to shoulder. Joyous music cued Emily to begin the walk down the aisle.
As she progressed to the front of the church, Luke’s cold green eyes bored into her. Her hands trembled when she took her place across the aisle from him. She kept her focus on Mina until her cousin came to stand beside her.
Father John, an uncle and father figure to the brothers, presided over the ceremony. It took Emily a moment to catch the rhythm of his thick Irish accent, but once she did, she enjoyed both his eloquence and calming presence.
From her place at Mina’s side, Emily watched Noah’s face throughout the service. Unable to take his eyes off his bride, love and affection poured from him. An unexpected pang struck Emily beneath her breastbone.
When the time came to declare their devotion to one another, Mina’s voice trembled and Noah’s choked with emotion. They cried, and so did Emily.
The ceremony ended with joyous music and a beaming couple, who led the partygoers out of the church and into the cool fall air.
Before she climbed into Noah’s car, Mina gripped Emily’s arm. “Can you grab my bag for me? I left it in the bridal room.”
Emily didn’t wait to see the couple off, but scurried up the porch stairs, eager to retrieve Mina’s belongings and stop on the way to the inn to pick up a bottle of nonalcoholic champagne.
But as she neared the doors, she slowed her steps.
Luke stood beneath the archway, blocking her path.
“Your hair is sparkling.” He made it sound like an accusation.
“Kate did it for me.” Emily watched for signs that it bothered him to know she’d spent time with Kate outside his presence, but saw none.
Instead, his gaze caressed her face, lingering on her mouth, before snapping back to her eyes. “What did she do to your face?”
Emily sucked in a sharp hiss of air. Then through clenched teeth, she said, “She fixed it.”
She sidestepped him and ducked inside the church. When she reappeared a few minutes later, he was gone.
Chapter Fourteen
Fires blazed in the twin marble fireplaces located at either end of the inn’s ballroom while soft light cascaded down from crystal chandeliers. A massive dining table with enough seating for forty or so people ran the length of the room. Flickering candles and white pumpkins stuffed with purple flowers decorated the tabletop.
When he’d first learned his brother planned to marry Mina on Halloween, he’d thought they were crazy. Now, if he weren’t so annoyed, the clever pumpkins and warm ambience would’ve brought a smile to his face.
His gaze combed the dimly lit ballroom until he spotted her, propping up the far wall. He circled the room, careful not to let her catch sight of him.
What the hell had Kate done to her? He hardly recognized her. She’d turned Emily into a mini-Kate. Overdone to the point of obscuring everything special and different about her. The makeup blotted out her freckles. There was no movement to her hair. The dress was all right, a nice change from the pajamas she usually wore, he supposed, but so unlike Emily, he resented it, too.
Her transformation was both striking and complete, and he hated everything about it.
Still, he’d been an unmitigated ass to her at the church. He couldn’t explain it, but the moment he saw her, a rage overcame him. Rage that a laid-back guy like him never experienced. Rage that the world wanted her changed.
He slipped along the wall to stand beside her. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She stiffened and snuck a glance at him from the corner of her eye. “The drinks are free.”
“I know. That’s why it’s funny.”
A frown tugged at the curves of her luscious mouth.
Her scent teased his nostrils and he frowned. She even smelled different. Perfume-y. Not at all like Emily.
“You know, some women would be flattered by that pickup line.”
She snorted. “That was a pickup line?”
“You didn’t like it?”
She tried to hide a smile.
He shrugged. “Okay, fine, I’ll admit it. I’m out of practice. I don’t pick up women at bars or weddings anymore.”
“Reformed, are you?”
“Disillusioned. At our age, women tend to be either desperately insecure or shamelessly overconfident.” He shuddered. “Not enticing.”
“Gee, thanks. Which am I? Old and desperate or old and ridiculous?”
“You?” He sipped from his glass. “You’re the exception.”
An attractive blush stained her cheeks. “Okay, now that’s a pickup line.”
He smiled, pleased with himself. An easy silence fell between them.
Until a tiny black-haired woman crashed into their clandestine space. “There you are. Come quick. It’s a disaster.”
Emily’s dark eyes filled with panic. “Wh-wh-what happened?”
“The salmon is too dry and the asparagus is undercooked and, oh my goodness, they want to serve a red wine. I don’t know what we’re going to do…”
Emily scurried after the miniature pit bull, and for the next half hour, Luke remained in her clever hiding place. Honestly, no one noticed him in the shadows, and he had a prime view of all the action. Though he didn’t bother with most of it.
Instead, he tracked her movements as she played intermediary between the pit bull and the waitstaff, fussed with each and every stuffed-pumpkin flower arrangement, and tinkered with the overhead lighting until he suspected she would wear out the wall switches.
He might’ve laughed at her comical meticulousness, except he couldn’t find the humor in her search for perfection. Around her, guests mingled, laughing and talking and soaking up the ambience she obsessively tended.
No one noticed her efforts, which only seemed to spur her on. She worked faster, harder, pursuing perfection where it already existed. As though, if she missed some irrelevant detail or overlooked some miniscule nicety, if she tripped up, or stuttered, they’d deem her unworthy.
Worthless.
His heart gave a sharp pinch.
When guests began to search out their seats, he strolled up one side of the table and located his place card between Jack and Isobel. Waitstaff appeared to deliver champagne flutes while across the room, Emily and Father John engaged in conversation.
Her arm swung out to motion toward the chair at the head of the table. She started to turn away, but John stopped her and, leaning close, made a brief comment before moving to take his seat.
Luke stilled. He’d never seen someone not in shock turn so ghostly pale as Emily did just then.
Noah and Mina took their seats in the center of the table across from Luke while Shea, as best man, filled the chair beside Noah. The seat next to Mina remained empty.
Emily hovered near the ballroom doors, as though she’d devised an escape plan and only awaited the exact right moment to execute it. More staff appeared, their trays overflowing with plates of food.
She was the last to sit, approaching that empty seat like a prisoner to the gallows.
With everyone settled, Father John stood and clanked his fork gently against the side of his crystal water glass. “Thank ye all for being here. My nephew and his bride are grateful to have ye here to celebrate the start o’ their lives together as a married couple.”
Luke appraised the contents of his plate, curious what was done about the dry salmon.
“You’ve heard enough from me today and so now I’d like to turn things over to the rest of you,” Father John was saying. “First up, our gracious host and lovely maid of honor would like to say a few words. Emily, take it away, me dear.”
Luke’s head snapped up. She was going to speak? Had she requested to do so?
One look at her stricken features told him she most certainly had not. Her throat worked with a series of not-quite swallows, and then she lurched to her feet.
Her dark eyes darted back and forth in full panic. An apparent afterthought, she plucked her champagne flute off the table.
The palm of her hand landed hard on the tabletop.
“I w-w-w-want to w-w-w-w–”
His heart, lodged somewhere near his throat, suffered a gash at the tortuous stammer.
With a hard swallow, she began again. “To w-w-w-welcome y-y-y-you—”
A ripple of unease ran around the table.
“To the W-W-Winslow H-H-House and to—” Her voice broke.
The leg of his chair scraped on the floor when Luke stood abruptly. “And to introduce you to the groom’s brother.” He delivered a well-practiced, sheepish smile. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Noah’s younger, more handsome brother, Luke.”
Soft laughter trickled around the table.
“And earlier this evening, I pulled our beautiful hostess aside and bullied her until she agreed to allow me to give this speech in her place.”
Emily sank silently into her chair.
“You see, my brother, Noah, has spent the majority of our adult lives living overseas, and I wanted to take this opportunity to publically welcome him home and back into our lives.”
A murmur of approval ran around the table.
“As you can see by his choice of a wife, Noah is an extremely bright man, and with his return, our family is made whole again. But not only do we have our brother back, he brought Mina into our lives as well. Mina, if your patience and compassion are half as true as your smile, I daresay my brother is the luckiest bastard on this island.”
Amidst soft laughter and contented murmurs, Luke raised his champagne glass. “To Noah and Mina. May your love be the light to guide you when the twists and turns of fate darken your path.”
“To Noah and Mina,” the crowd enthused.
Luke drank and eased back down in his chair. With a smart-ass comment, Jack smacked him on the back. He risked a glance at Emily.
A small smile playing over her lips, she watched Noah and Mina. Then, as though she felt his gaze, she turned her head and soulful brown eyes tugged at his insides.
Her mouth moved. Thank you.
He inclined his head, and then turned aside when Isobel leaned close to speak in his ear.
The party lingered over dinner, only breaking up once the plates had been cleared away and two of Shea’s bartenders started the free alcohol flowing at a makeshift bar set up in a corner of the room. In the opposite corner, a DJ increased the volume of the music.
Luke made his way to the bar.
“Hey, Matt,” he greeted Shea’s head bartender. “How’s the new place?”
“It rocks. The boys love the yard.” He held up a bottle of Guinness. “Are you looking for one of these?”
Just then, loud music kicked on and a corny song, at least three decades old, blared from the speakers.
“You know, I think I’m going to need something stronger,” Luke said.
Matt laughed and held up pints of rum and whiskey.
“I’ll take the rum. Mind if I steal the bottle and two glasses?”
Turning away from the bar, Luke spotted her immediately, sitting alone at one of the tall pub tables situated before the fireplace.
She looked at him with dark eyes shimmering in the firelight as he approached. He plunked down the bottle and slid onto the stool next to her.
“Is this my free drink?” She didn’t quite manage to hide the chaos in her eyes.
“Impressed?” he asked, pouring two fingers of golden liquid into each glass.
“Only if your plan is to knock me out cold.”
“Nah, I like the challenge of a conscious date.” He lifted his glass. “Cheers.”
They drank. A sharp hiss escaped her as the liquid burned a path down her throat.
“Feel better?”
“Not even a little.” Though some of the color returned to her cheeks.
She licked a droplet of moisture from the corner of her mouth, and only the lost look in her eyes quelled the surge of lust.
He refilled their glasses. “I can’t read your face in the dark. You okay?”
“Uh-uh, no. No confiding. I haven’t had nearly enough alcohol yet.”
“In that case.” He tipped his glass at her and tossed back the contents. She joined him and they returned the tumblers to the table with simultaneous thuds.
She chewed her bottom lip while he feigned interest in the people embarrassing themselves on the dance floor.
“I, um… I’m… I…” She heaved a sigh of defeat. “Thank you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her expression softened. “You do, but I’m willing to pretend if you are.”
Heat from the fire in the fireplace warmed his back. “The truth is, I wanted to hear what you had to say.”
Toffee-colored eyes searched his face.
“No, I’m not teasing you, Emily.”
She snagged the bottle and poured a healthy splash of buttery liquid into both glasses. “I didn’t have anything to say.”
“Now I know that’s not true.”
Her gaze darted between him and her glass. “Nothing I wo-would’ve been able to get out.” Her sigh held a lifetime of heartache. “I’ve tried everything. Breathing techniques, word avoidance, speech therapy, antidepressants. Nothing ever fixes m-m-me.”
She tilted her head back and drank. He lifted his glass to his lips, a sliver of anger curling through him. He wanted to argue with her, but what the hell did he know about it? He had no idea what it’d been like for her.
He returned his tumbler to the tabletop. “I don’t think you sound as bad as you think you sound. And I know having trouble coming up with the right words, on the spot, in a public setting, no less, does not mean you’re broken or somehow need fixing.”
“That’s it. That’s the problem, right there.” Her face grew animated. “It’s not that I can’t find the words. It’s that there’s so much I want to say and I can’t possibly say it all and-and-and the words jam and-and everything starts to pile up and-and—” She sagged back. “It’s so… frustrating.”
“You know, now that you mention it, I’ve noticed you sure have a lot to say.”
She smiled and his heart lifted.
“You know what my favorite word is?”
“It’s Luke, isn’t it?”
She shook her head, laughing.
“Tell me,” he said softly.
“Fuck.”
The force of his laughter surprised him.
“It’s the best word ever,” she said. “I never stutter when I say it.”
“Filth flows fluidly, does it?”
God, she was pretty when she laughed. He liked talking to her like this. It felt good to feel something other than bruised and weary when talking to a woman.
“Okay, I got it.” He shifted on his stool. “The next time you’re struggling to get the words out, pretend you’re talking to me and I’ve just pissed you off again. You don’t have any trouble giving me a piece of your mind.”
She brushed away his idea with a wave of her hand. “You’re easy to ta
lk to.”
Warmth broke like the sun over the horizon in the center of his chest.
She mistook his smile. “But don’t go thinking I’ve joined the ranks of your admirers. I am not, nor will I ever be, a Luke Nolan groupie.”
A grimace pulled at his features. “I do not have groupies.”
With a giggle, she laughed and slid her empty glass across the table until it knocked into his. “You really do.”
Rum flowed as he refilled both glasses.
“Why don’t you have an accent?” At his confusion, she pressed on. “It’s just, I noticed Noah and Shea have accents and you and Jack don’t have much of one, and I was curious why.”
“We left Ireland when I was seven, and after living here for a few years, it sort of faded. Maybe because they were older when we moved, Noah and Shea never lost theirs.” He dropped the timbre of his voice and with a thick brogue said, “Of course, I can turn it back on if ye’d like.”
“Oh my, don’t do that. Whew. That made me a little light-headed.”
A chuckle shook his shoulders. They sipped their drinks in silence for a time.
“Do you miss it?”
“Miss what?” he asked. “Ireland or my accent?”
Amusement flickered in her eyes. “Ireland.”
“I don’t remember it all that much.” A wish from childhood came flooding back. “I think about going back for a visit.”
“You should.”
“I will. Someday.”
With the silence, they sipped.
“Wh-why did you leave?”
“My mom died and—”
Her soft gasp broke in. “You lost your mom when you were seven?”
“That’s right.” His voice sounded rough and he reached for the bottle. “My dad… he couldn’t take care of us, so they sent us here, to live with John.”
“Father John is your uncle, right?”
“Right. He’s my mom’s brother.” He swallowed a healthy gulp.
“H-how did she die?”
“She had cancer.”
“Luke, I’m so sorry.” Her voice soft, she looked at him with softer eyes, filled with acknowledged pain.
One orphan to another.
