At the Billionaire’s Wedding (54 page)

Jane and Roxanna reclined on chaise lounges, sunglasses on and giant glasses of water in hand. Kimberly was nearby, making an effort to ensure that the maximum amount of skin was exposed so she’d have as few tan lines as possible. No one complained—especially the male guests. Cassidy was in the shade reading
War and Peace
.

“Do you think he’s a stripper, Jane?” Roxanna asked. It was clear to whom she was referring: the hot hunk of man in very small, fitted shorts tending to the swimming pool.

“Shut up,” Jane mumbled. “Just shut up.”

All the girls lowered their sunglasses and gazed at the pool boy. Or, more to the point, at all the tan, exposed, muscles of the pool boy. Oh, and his gorgeous smile and that dimple on his left cheek. He was totally aware that all the girls in bikinis were ogling him and he was totally okay with it.

“Is it his chiseled abs that make you think so?” Roxanna asked. “Or his amazing ass?”

“Or that sexy, smoldering look he’s giving me?” Kimberly added.

Jane reluctantly pulled down her sunglasses and gave the pool boy a glance. Then she pushed her glasses back up and said, “He doesn’t compare to Duke.”

“Doesn’t compare to Damien,” Roxanna murmured to herself. “And speak of the devil.”

Roxanna took a turn ogling him as he walked toward her. He was tall, dark, and fucking gorgeous. He could have been a model, but he was too smart for that, which only made him sexier.

He stopped before her, blocking the sun. Then he grinned and said, “I know you were pining away for me and now here I am, making all your dreams come true.”

“Your modesty is what I find sexiest about you,” she retorted.

“That’s what all the girls say,” he said with a grin. He turned to address Jane. “Ms. Sparks, I’m wondering if you would spare your maid of honor for the day.”

“What for?” they both asked at the same time.

“It’s a surprise,” he said.

“A romantic one?” Jane asked suspiciously.

“I hate surprises,” Roxanna interjected.

“Ignore her,” Jane said.

“As if I could. Yes, it’s romantic. I think. Or a disaster that will be the end of our relationship.”

“You may take her,” Jane said, waving her hand dismissively. “But I want to hear
everything
at the end of the day.”

After Roxanna had showered and dressed, she followed Damien to his Aston Martin convertible parked in front of the house. Damien went ahead and opened the door for her as if chivalry wasn’t dead.

“I can’t believe you just negotiated my release with the bride,” she said, sliding into the seat and buckling up. “I’m free!”

“You make yourself sound like a convicted felon serving a life sentence,” he said, slipping on his sunglasses and starting the engine. The car roared to life, then started purring.

“You’ve obviously never been in a bridal party,” Roxanna informed him.

“I have not had the pleasure.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“Are you so desperate for Internet access that you’re driving us into London?”

“No.” Was that the faintest of smiles on his lips? She thought yes. He was up to something and it would drive her crazy not knowing.

“One thing you should know about me is that I hate surprises,” Roxanna said.

“I know,” he replied.

She glanced out the window at the lush countryside as they sped by. Were they a thing or were they not a thing? Why was she suddenly dying/terrified to know? Everything had been so chill and easy in NYC and now… It must be the wedding. She had wedding brain. Ugh.

“We’re going to see a house,” he said, which shocked her into momentary speechlessness.

“One with Internet, I presume?”

“Of course,” he murmured. She got the sense that wasn’t it at all, but why else would they go see a house? He didn’t seem like the sort who enjoyed touring National Trust properties—or was he, and she was too sex-addled to discover other facets of his personality? Did she not know him at all? Funny, that, when she thought she was falling in lo—finding herself increasingly emotionally invested in him.

He obviously wasn’t going to show her a house for sale. But OMG what if he was? She sunk into her seat, overwhelmed by all the ridiculous thoughts in her brain, which had clearly been warped by the wedding.

Damien drove his sporty little car along tiny, windy country roads. It was all beautiful. Eventually he pulled into one of those discreetly fabulous driveways. The entryway itself wasn’t very remarkable, but then there was a long gravel drive flanked by ancient, gnarled trees forming a canopy over the road. Up ahead loomed the very definition of a Stately Ancestral Home.

He parked the car in front of the house. Which was massive.

“This is my home,” Damien said, turning the car off. They both remained in their seats, staring at the ancient mansion.

“Did you grow up at the National Trust?”

“Unlike most ancestral homes owned by members of the peerage, we’ve never had to open the place up to the public,” Damien said. “Thanks to the profitability of our media holdings.”

“Does anyone actually live here?” As far as Roxanna was concerned, people didn’t actually live in houses like this. They were places where history buffs toured with notebooks and cameras or that children were dragged to on school field trips. They were Days of Yore houses, not anyone’s actual home. She couldn’t imagine coming home to a place like this.

“My mother lives here.”

Roxanna made the sound of an explosion.

“Am I about to meet your mother? Is that the romantic, possibly relationship-ending surprise?”

“I’m afraid so,” he said softly. She glanced over and couldn’t read him.

Roxanna leaned back against the seat and exhaled.

“This just got real. Really real.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” Damien said. Because she heard the faintest bit of nervousness in his usually very posh and self-assured voice, she was totally, utterly, plainly honest.

“I’m just … scared.”

For a moment he was silent. Then he laced his fingers with hers and said, “Me too.”

“So we are both scared. But we’re both into this. Can we pretend we never had this conversation?” Roxanna asked.

“Please,” he said. They sealed it with a kiss.

“Oh, and best not to mention that stupid business with
The London Weekly
. My mother will kill me.”

It turned out Roxanna was going to meet his mother immediately. A tall woman with blond hair strolled out of the house and up to them as they exited the car.

“Darling! I wasn’t expecting you! Why didn’t you call?” she asked in a very fancy accent. Air kisses ensued.

Roxanna did not come from an air-kissing family. Her father would gruffly say something resembling a hello, hold out a big burly paw and go back to watching the game. Her mom would be all nervous and talk about making a casserole or something awful. In short, her family was not oh-so-glamorous like Damien and his mother, who would probably be played by Meryl Streep in a movie.

“There’s no phone reception where we’re staying.”

“You can’t expect me to believe such rubbish. Why didn’t you call from the road? Send a text?”

“I believe most mothers admonish their children
not
to text and drive.”

“Yes … yes,” she said, patting his cheek and turning to Roxanna. “And who is this?”

“This is Roxanna Lane. Roxanna, my mother.”

“Call me Cassandra,” she said. Then, turning back to her obviously beloved and favored son, she said, “So is she a friend? Or a girlfriend?” Then, quickly, she turned back to Roxanna. “Apologies, darling. He’s just never brought a woman home before.”

“And now I am reminded exactly why,” Damien said.

Never brought another woman home? Roxanna caught his eye and lifted one brow. He just grinned and shrugged. She reached out and clasped his hand in hers.

Okay, this had definitely got real. This was a bigger deal than the talk because this visit spoke volumes. He was inviting her into his life, his childhood home. Or maybe his brain was addled by the wedding too. But she didn’t think so. Roxanna exhaled, trying to still the tingling nerves and the fluttering in her belly.

“Do come in. Let’s have some tea and a chat,” Cassandra said breezily. As they entered the house and passed the butler, she said, “Some tea, please, Jeffries.”

“Do you actually have a butler?” Roxanna whispered.

“Of course.”

“Even Jane couldn’t make you up,” she replied.

The three of them took tea in a sundrenched parlor looking out over extensive rolling lawns dotted with sheep.

“Purely decorative,” Cassandra explained.

“Pet sheep. We don’t have that in New York.”

Cassandra laughed and asked them about the wedding, their visit, how they met…

Meeting the parents was supposed to be a super awkward occasion. But they bantered easily and Roxanna found that she could just be herself. Damien also seemed more at ease as the visit progressed and everything was fine. Weird.

After tea, Damien gave her a tour of the house, but one that wasn’t at all like the boring school field trip tours. She was shown the room where they celebrated Christmas, the room where the dog had been sick after eating all the Christmas chocolates, the formal dining room, the less formal dining room, the dining room they actually used, the butler’s pantry, and the servants’ quarters in the attics, which were a good place for sneaking a smoke when at home on school holidays.

In the upstairs corridor he showed her the collection of framed front pages of early editions of
The London Weekly
.

“We keep a complete collection in the family archives and there is another collection at the Colindale branch of the British Library.”

“How fancy,” she murmured as she peered at the very first issue—all yellowed with age. There were a few other framed pages of a column called “Dear Annabelle.”

“What’s this?”

“The love story between the first Lord and Lady Northbourne started in the pages of the paper. She wrote an advice column for him in the 1820s. He was just mere Mr. Knightly then, and was later awarded the title based on the success of his publishing empire.”

“Oh, wow.”

“So you see, it’s not just a newspaper.”

“It’s your family history,” she said. “How could you wager this?”

“I had lost sight of what really matters,” he said softly. “But now I know.”

She turned to face him. In the darkened corridor, their gazes locked. And she knew. This was really real. And it was good. Really good.

Next he showed her his childhood bedroom. She barely noticed anything before he shut the door behind them and pushed her up against the door. She laughed, and said, “Hey!”

He kissed her. She kissed him back. Then she had to stop and ask, “What’s so funny?”

“I have a girl in my bedroom.”

“You are supposed to be this debonair gentleman. You are a mysterious millionaire CEO. And you are laughing about having a girl in your childhood bedroom.”

“Oh, like the chic, clever, stylish Roxanna Lane won’t feel a little bit thrilled to have a hot, successful businessman with a sexy accent in her childhood bedroom when she brings me to her home in New Jersey.”

“So we’re meeting the parents? Is that what we’re doing now?”

“I’ve only ever driven through New Jersey. Never stopped.”

“For a reason. It’s the most boring place on the planet.”

“Not if you’re there,” he said softly.

There was only one response to that. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

She kissed him like she was a schoolgirl again, with her heart unabashedly bursting with feelings.
The cute boy liked her!
Her crush returned the sentiments. Some feelings never got old. And some feelings made a girl feel downright new again.

His lips on hers were firm, then yielding, as if he, too, couldn’t help but surrender to the simple joy of a good kiss with the girl who liked him back. This knowing that they had romantic feelings for each other made her soften … but it didn’t dull her spark at all. Oh no. This was a just a kiss, a sweet, innocent, in-his-childhood-bedroom kiss…

… and damn she could feel the sparks starting, then catching, and the fire in her belly starting to smolder.

They were interrupted by a text message from Arwen, the wedding planner. Followed by a text from Jane.

Arwen Kilpatrick: We could use your advice, if you have a minute.

Jane Sparks: OMG come back ASAP. Disaster!

“We have to get back for the rehearsal,” Roxanna said reluctantly. She pressed one more kiss on his lips. “And, crap, I have to write a speech.”

“You haven’t written it yet?”

“I’m an impulsive, last-minute kind of girl,” she said with a grin.

“We don’t want to upset the bride any more than we have already,” he said. They said their good-byes to his mum, got in the car, and buckled up. But Damien didn’t start the car. He just looked at her. She just looked at him.

God, she lo—had the feelings for this man. For the first time she realized that if they stopped having this thing, she’d be devastated.