Wedding Date With Mr. Wrong

by Nicola Marsh

  But none brought him the peace of Winki Pop.

  He’d surfed at dawn, eager to escape the house and Callie’s all-seeing eyes.

  She’d got close last night, too damn close, homing in on areas of his personal life strictly off-limits.

  Hell, he could hardly go there himself.

  He didn’t get it. One minute he’d been coaxing her to come back to bed, the next she’d seen into his soul.

  The thing was, she’d been right about some of it. He knew his family wanted more from him than he was willing to give. He saw it every time he came home—which was why he rarely did.

  But this time he’d tried, damn it. Although he’d already made inroads with his brothers, his mum and Izzy, he’d finally done what he’d been yearning to do for years: tried to bridge the gap he’d created with his dad. But the way his dad had reacted at the surf school had demonstrated there was nothing he could say or do to mend metaphorical fences with him.

  Because of that he’d been edgy since, and Callie had noticed. She hadn’t pushed him and he’d appreciated it—until she’d blown up in his face last night.

  When she’d admitted to considering their relationship more than a fling—then and now—he’d wanted to say so much, to lay it on the line: how he was feeling, what he was thinking. But with his dad’s rejection fresh from the morning he hadn’t been able to do it. Hadn’t been able to take another chance with his jumbled, messed-up feelings.

  Until he sorted out his options for the future, what would that mean for Callie? A casual relationship with benefits whenever he happened to be in town?

  He doubted she’d put up with an arrangement like that, and he wouldn’t want her to. She deserved more. More than he could give.

  But for one infinitesimal moment, as he stared at the surfers bobbing like buoys on the ocean, he wondered what it would be like to have Callie on a permanent basis.

  A woman to come home to.

  A woman to love.

  Shrugging off the terrifying thought, he resumed his final inspection.

  As far as he could see the surf school was in tip top shape and ready for business.

  Which was more than he could say for himself.

  He was in lousy shape, and considering he not only had to face Christmas Eve but a Flett wedding too things could only go downhill.

  * * *

  Callie dressed with particular care.

  She wanted to make this a night to remember.

  She’d bought a knockout dress for the wedding from a local boutique expecting to show Archer what he was missing out on. Considering what they’d been up to the last few days, the strapless maroon chiffon cocktail dress with its flared skirt had become redundant.

  Archer hadn’t been missing out on anything.

  Except the one thing she could never give him.

  Her heart.

  The realisation that she loved him shouldn’t have come as any great surprise. She’d fallen hard during their week in Capri all those years ago—had only been saved from pining by her mum’s diagnosis. But this time around it had hit her harder, and the constant slightly breathless feeling she had when he was near was beyond annoying.

  She knew the score: there’d be no romantic proposals under the mistletoe for her this Christmas.

  They were leaving first thing in the morning, apparently. Considering how his family had shut him out during his father’s cancer battle she shouldn’t be surprised he didn’t want to spend Christmas Day with them.

  She understood what it felt like when family let you down. She’d put up with it from her dad for too long, until she’d wised up and learned to expect nothing from the selfish, self-absorbed guy who valued his carefree lifestyle more than his only kid.

  But from what she’d seen the Fletts were a close-knit, loving bunch. His parents had been married for yonks and still held hands, his youngest brother believed enough in romance to get married on Christmas Eve, and even Tom, who should be disillusioned after his wife had run off after less than twelve months of marriage, was keen to settle down again, according to Travis.

  But, despite professing a wish to build bridges with his folks, Archer was still refusing to commit to them.

  And her.

  Foolish to think that way. Once he’d crept under her guard again and they’d fallen into a physical relationship she’d gone into it with her eyes wide open. In it for a short, good time, not a long time. A self-indulgent fling filled with amazing memories to sustain her through the tough times ahead.

  In that respect getting involved with Archer again had exceeded her expectations. Every kiss, every touch, every whispered endearment had been imprinted on her brain to resurrect on a cold winter’s night, when she was huddled over her computer working at midnight with a cooling coffee and a bowl of chocolate almonds for company.

  Archer had been attentive, charming and altogether gorgeous over the last few days. Little wonder she’d fallen in love.

  Her diaphragm gave a little spasm and she dragged in a deep breath and rubbed under her ribs. It didn’t ease the stitch that grabbed her every time she associated the words ‘love’ and ‘Archer’ in the same thought.

  She might be a realist, but the thought of spending the evening at a romantic wedding, the night in his arms and waking up together on Christmas morning made her want to bawl.

  She had every intention to farewell him tomorrow, but it wouldn’t be easy. Now she finally understood why her mum had secretly pined for Bruno’s love all those years ago. ‘We always want what we can’t have,’ Nora had once said, in relation to Callie’s pony request one Christmas, but by the tears in Nora’s eyes Callie had known there was more to it.

  Nora had led a full life, the epitome of a single mum who was loving it, but as a child Callie remembered hearing muffled sobs late at night, and seeing the way Nora lit up when Bruno returned home for a rare visit.

  Callie empathised with her mum, but she didn’t want to be that person. She didn’t want to cry over lost love. She wanted to remember the good times and celebrate the second chance she’d had with Archer—even if it ended in tears like the first.

  Snatching a tissue from the dresser, she dabbed under her eyes, absorbing the seepage. No way would she cry. Archer would be knocking on her bedroom door any moment and she wanted to wow him—not send him back to the surf school where he’d hidden out all day.

  On the pretext of work, of course. A final inspection or some such guff. But she knew better.

  He’d opened up a little last night and then emotionally closed down a lot. To the point where, when she’d shut down the program she’d been working on and backed up her work, he’d been asleep when she’d returned to bed. Or pretended to be.

  She’d been too drained to care, but when she’d woken this morning to find a terse note and no Archer she’d had her answer to any silent questions she might have been contemplating.

  Questions like had the last few days meant anything to him beyond a fling?

  Did he feel their connection on a deeper level?

  Would he walk away again without a backward glance?

  Pointless questions, really, for even if he came up with the answers she wanted to hear it wouldn’t change a thing. Her life was in Melbourne for the foreseeable future; his was traipsing the world. The closest they’d be was in cyberspace, where she’d contact him on a need-to-know basis. End of story.

  A loud rap sounded on her door and she blinked rapidly, ensuring her eyes were sheen-free.

  ‘Be right there.’

  The incongruity of the situation struck her. They’d been intimate, this was his house, and yet he wouldn’t open the door to her room.

  Yeah, the barriers were already up, and the sooner she got used to it the better.

  Attending this wedding, pretending she was happy, would be tough. Then again, compared to what she had to face in the future, she could handle it.

  She could handle anything. It was what she did. Capable Callie. Canny
Callie. No one ever saw lonely, emotionally fragile Callie, a woman who craved love and affection and a foolproof guarantee that she wouldn’t end up like her mum.

  ‘Damn,’ she muttered, swiping a final slick of lip gloss across her lips and staring wide-eyed at the mirror so she wouldn’t cry.

  She didn’t like feeling edgy, as if she’d snivel at any moment. Considering their impending goodbye she’d have plenty of time for that tomorrow.

  Until then...time to put her game face on.

  * * *

  Archer held onto Callie’s hand through the ceremony, the congratulations, and most of the reception.

  He caught her wary glances several times and squeezed her hand in response, as if he never wanted to let go.

  The truth was he was absolutely freaking terrified.

  Weddings scared him.

  The Fletts en masse scared him.

  Combine the two? Guaranteed scare-fest.

  Thankfully, having Callie meet his family at the barbecue and on the beach guaranteed he was safe from his mum’s matchmaking for once. But holding onto her hand was more than a gesture, and only he knew it.

  She anchored him.

  Her ability to socialise with ease, to smile and laugh and be absorbed by his family’s mayhem, to make everyone around her feel at ease, was a gift.

  Maybe it was all the romantic claptrap in the air? Maybe it was Christmas working its magic? Whatever it was, he found himself strangely reluctant to let her go.

  And not just her hand.

  Even now, after she’d survived the Flett females’ incessant teasing when she caught the bouquet, after dancing with Izzy and the kids until she hobbled, after being ribbed by his brothers, she stood tall, surrounded by the bride, the bridesmaids and his mum, laughing and exuberant and glowing.

  She’d never looked so beautiful.

  It was more than her brown hair hanging in a sleek curtain down her back, her lush lips slicked in gloss the same colour as her dress, her bare shoulders glittering with a dust of bronze.

  It was her.

  When they’d met in Capri she’d blamed her spontaneity on her Italian heritage and he’d loved her impulsiveness. But it was more than that. She was alive in a way many people weren’t. People who dragged their bored butts to work every day, doing a job they hated to pay the bills, returning to equally dead-end relationships at the end of a day.

  By the way Callie glowed she’d never had a boring day in her life.

  What would it be like to be close to that vitality on a daily basis? Would it rub off?

  He loved his life, loved the constant travelling and challenges and business success, but he’d be kidding himself if he didn’t admit some of the gloss had worn off lately. Now that he wasn’t competing as much he felt jaded, as if his lifestyle wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  Having someone like Callie along for the ride would brighten his days, that was for sure. But with her mum terminally ill would she go for it?

  ‘That’s some young lady you’ve lucked in with.’

  His dad sidled up to him and Archer inadvertently braced for another confrontation.

  ‘No such thing as luck, Dad. It’s the legendary Flett charm.’

  Frank’s tentative guffaw sounded as if he had something stuck in his throat. Probably his conscience.

  ‘Whatever it is, she’s a keeper.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll take your advice into consideration.’

  Archer silently cursed his hint of sarcasm when Frank stiffened, hesitated as if weighing his words.

  ‘Don’t let her get away,’ he said.

  Archer swallowed his annoyance at being given relationship advice from a father who’d deliberately shut him out years ago.

  Frank cleared his throat. ‘We worry about you, son.’

  Yeah, right. His dad was so worried that despite the times he’d made tentative overtures these last few years he’d been brushed off or shut down every time.

  ‘Don’t. I’m having the time of my life.’ Archer made the shaka sign. ‘Living the dream.’

  Frank’s scrutiny almost made him squirm. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Hell, yeah.’ His response came too quickly, sounded too false. ‘I like what I do. It’s better than—’

  He bit back the rest of what he’d been going to say, on the verge of saying more than he should.

  ‘Better than what?’ Frank swept his arm wide. ‘Better than being stuck near your family?’

  Archer took a steadying breath. Another. ‘Do you really want to do this here? Now?’

  Frank shook his head, sorrow deepening the creases around his eyes. ‘I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for you.’

  Archer knew he should walk away now. Make a flippant remark to cover his profound anger and walk away.

  But he’d had a crappy day, he was confused about Callie, and he’d had a gutful of being on the outside with his dad for leading the life he did.

  ‘What’s best for me is staying true to myself. What about you, Dad? What’s best for you?’ Years of suppressed anger and pain bubbled up and he couldn’t have stopped the questions even if he’d wanted to. ‘Having your family around you while you battle a life-threatening illness? Being able to rely on your sons to take care of business while you’re juggling chemo? Trusting your family to support you no matter how ill you feel or how bad the diagnosis?’

  Frank recoiled as if he’d struck him, but Archer wasn’t finished.

  ‘I saw you, Dad, that day you finally told me about being given the all-clear.’ He sucked in a breath. The vision of that day was embedded deep, yet so clear. ‘Eighteen freaking months too late, you finally deemed me responsible enough to handle the truth about your prostate cancer. After I stormed out you sat at the piano, slid your sheet music into a folder, and you cried. You sobbed like you’d been given a death sentence rather than the all-clear. And right then I knew how big a battle you must’ve faced, and it acted like a kick in the guts all over again.’

  Hating how his voice had clogged, he lowered his tone. ‘You should’ve told me earlier, Dad. I should’ve been here!’

  ‘You’re wrong.’ Frank stared at him as if he were a stranger. ‘I cried because I knew I’d done the right thing in not telling you, despite how damn furious you were. Even though seeing you hurting almost killed me more than the bloody cancer.’

  Stunned at his dad’s words, Archer pinched the bridge of his nose. It didn’t help ease the headache building behind his eyes.

  ‘You still think you did the right thing in not telling me—?’

  ‘Son, you were a world champion when I finally told you. You’d done it. Followed your dream. Achieved the ultimate. I was so proud of you.’

  Frank blinked, and the sight of possible tears tempered Archer’s disbelief like nothing else.

  ‘That’s what I wanted for you. Success. It kept me going all through the illness: watching your competitions, charting your stats, following every mention on the internet. It gave me focus even when I felt like giving up.’

  Frank gripped his arm and gave it a little shake.

  ‘You did that. You helped me in ways you can’t possibly imagine. And no way in hell would that have happened if you’d known about the cancer.’

  Shock peppered every preconception about his dad Archer had ever had, and he couldn’t formulate a word in response.

  Frank gestured towards the family. ‘As much as I love those guys, and the support they gave me, their constant hovering became smothering.’ His rueful grin eased the lines bracketing his mouth. ‘Some days I’d fake fatigue just so I could get into bed with my laptop and check out what you’d been up to.’

  ‘Hell, Dad.’ Archer dragged a hand through his hair, wanting to say so much but still floundering.

  ‘Did you know I could’ve toured with the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra?’

  Whiplashed by the change of topic, all Archer could do was shake his head.

  ‘I would’ve liked performing to la
rge crowds, living on the road.’ Frank squared his shoulders and gazed fondly at his wife. ‘But I met your mother and my dreams changed. I ended up teaching local kids and looking forward to your mother’s slow-cooked lamb and apple pie and long walks along the beach every night.’

  His dad rested his hand on his shoulder.

  ‘While I don’t regret staying in Torquay and giving up on my dream, I didn’t want you to give up yours, son. I wanted you to have the chance I never had.’

  Stunned, Archer stared at his dad—really looked at him for the first time in years. ‘That’s the real reason you didn’t tell me?’

  Bashful, Frank nodded. ‘I’m sorry for being a jerk at the surf school yesterday. The distance between us over the years has been rough. We both have too much pride for our own good. And the bigger the divide between us the guiltier I felt about what I’d done, and the harder to breach the gap became. Then I saw you re-bonding with everyone and I wanted to do the same, but things were so damn awkward between us all the time. I just didn’t know how to express half of what I was thinking.’

  ‘Honestly, Dad, I don’t know what to say.’ Archer blew out a long breath, knowing he had to exorcise the past and move forward. ‘I tried a few times but you always shut me down, pretended nothing was wrong. Now you tell me all this stuff and I’m having a hard time dealing with it.’

  ‘Deal with it. Move on. Life’s too short.’ Frank nodded towards the dance floor, where the mayor was treading on his mum’s toes for the umpteenth time. ‘I’m happy with the life choices I’ve made.’

  What about you?

  Though his dad didn’t say it, the question was there, lurking in his shrewd stare.

  Archer had led a charmed life. No regrets.

  A peal of laughter floated on the air and he turned, seeing Callie as if in slow motion, with her head thrown back, her hair streaming behind her. Her laughter was loud and boisterous and genuine, and he could have sworn his heart turned over.

  He’d lied. He did have one regret in his life. Walking away from this incredibly striking woman.

  The real question was, would he make the same mistake twice?