Bonfire Beach (10 page)

The last bridesmaid, the one who hadn’t been at the rehearsal the night before. Vivian Banks. She was pale beneath her glossy waves of black hair, smiling in a brittle way that looked as if it might shatter at any moment. More cracks appeared in her calm facade every second that Cooper stared at her, motionless.

It took a hissed word from Greta and a glower from Miles to knock Cooper out of his trance. He jerked as if he were coming awake after being in a coma for ten years, and even from the back of the room, Felicity could clearly see the shock and dawning anger on his face. She held her breath and prepared to step in—although she had no idea what she thought she’d do. Run around behind Cooper and push him up the aisle by force? But luckily it didn’t come to that. With a clench of his jaw and a thunderous brow, Cooper held out a rigid arm to Vivian Banks.

She laid her hand on his arm, barely touching him, and the two marched up the aisle in stony silence as the music crested and the crowd erupted into cheers for the bride and groom. Miles looked at Greta and, in an unrehearsed move, stepped close and swept her up into his arms. Then he carried her down the aisle while she threw her head back and laughed up at the swaying, dancing glass ornaments hanging like stars from the ceiling.

It was over. Felicity’s part was done, and it had gone off without a major hitch. Relief filtered through the haze of exhaustion and numb regret for the choices she’d made.

Moving on autopilot, Felicity hustled out of the yacht club to make sure the driftwood sign pointed the way down the makeshift boardwalk to the reception site. If she hurried, she could beat most of the guests to the beach. She’d find Zane and—well. Felicity’s throat closed. It would be hard to talk to him, knowing he could barely stand the sight of her, but she could offer her help with the reception, if he still needed any. It was the least she could do.

The hand-painted signpost she’d stuck in the ground was exactly where it should be, indicating which way to turn to get to the reception. The narrowness of the walkway meant they had to file along two or so at a time, which would give the wedding party, who’d gotten up the aisle first and fastest, a few moments to regroup before the rest of the guests arrived at the tents. But instead of following the well-lit walkway she’d had created, Felicity hurried up to the graveled road and took the back way into the reception. Crossing through the patch of gravel they were using as a parking lot and staging area, she passed black-jacketed servers running between the truck and the buffet tables set up in the tents down on the beach.

The clear-sided structure they’d agreed on was set in the sand like a diamond nestled in a jewel box, gleaming and beckoning with the promise of warmth against the cold wind. Felicity was so captivated by the radiant, magical effect of the glass tent, she almost missed the black touring bus parked off to the side, partially obscured by a tall sand dune. Moving closer and squinting through the gloom, she saw the words “Dash and the Danger Boys” scrawled across the side of the bus.

So he’d brought in his rock stars after all.

Felicity tried not to be disappointed since she’d expected nothing less when she’d walked out on the planning a week ago. But it was hard. It felt like the final nail in the coffin of her hopes that Zane might come to see that there was more to life than flash and fun.

There was love. But only if you were brave enough to try for it.

Mouth turning down in an unhappy curve, Felicity released a shuddering breath and told herself to get a grip. She still had a job to do. If nothing else, maybe she could salvage some career prospects from the mess she’d made of her personal life. She’d just head down to the reception, make sure Greta and Miles were fine and didn’t need anything, and maybe schmooze with a few potential clients among the guests.

She sighed. What once had lured her with the shiny potential of more work and higher profile events now seemed like an unbearably exhausting chore. All she wanted was to slink back to Greta’s old apartment, run a bath in the enormous cast-iron, claw-footed tub, and steam away her aches and pains.

But since the worst, most persistent ache was buried deep in her chest, where warm water couldn’t soothe it, Felicity pulled herself up and walked down the sandy hill to enter the glass tent.

The change from the moment when she opened the sturdy door and stepped from the frozen night and into the dazzling heat and twinkling light of the party tent was magical. Felicity’s heart stuttered as she gazed up and around, taking in the lavish crystal chandeliers throwing glittering sparks across the white walls and providing a soft ambient glow over the dance floor and banks of round tables.

Every table sported luxurious ocean blue brocade tablecloths, gleaming gold plates and silver cutlery, and a gorgeous centerpiece of shells, sand dollars, starfish interspersed with sweet forget-me-nots and spiky fringed sea lilies. Felicity turned a slow circle, feeling a smile spread across her face as she realized she would never have to be ashamed or embarrassed to have her name associated with this wedding.

No matter how crazy Zane’s rock band or possible circus performers turned out to be, everything looked lovely. Every single detail lifted Felicity’s spirits, from the polished parquet dance floor to the complete lack of disco balls, to the incredible view of the sun about to slip below the horizon so the guests could enjoy the sunset during cocktail hour. She spied a passing waitress with a tray full of classic martini glasses brimming with what looked like chocolate liqueur drizzled with something white and creamy.

“Excuse me, what are those?” Felicity asked, unable to restrain her curiosity.

“The wedding’s signature cocktail,” the waitress replied, offering Felicity the tray. “The Winter Beach, a dark chocolate and peppermint martini with sea salt foam. Would you like one?”

“No thanks.” Felicity smiled as she waved the waitress away. She didn’t need alcohol to rev her up right now. Buzzing with a sudden surge of energy, she looked around the tent for someplace to pitch in, but everything looked extremely well organized.

Her gaze landed on the knot of bridesmaids and family members by the entrance, and Felicity squared her shoulders. Here was something she could do—corral the wedding party into a receiving line to say hello to each guest and welcome them to the reception.

Heart beginning to thump, Felicity set off across the tent, her eyes seeking through the small group of laughing, hugging, twirling people for that one, certain tall figure—a man with dark brown hair, killer cheekbones, and eyes the color of the deepest part of the ocean.

“What do you think of my party?”

Zane’s deep, velvety voice stopped her in her tracks just as she reached the center of the dance floor. Whirling to face him, Felicity teetered in her sensible wedges and instinctively reached out to Zane in the instant before she realized how awkward it would be if he stepped back.

But he didn’t. With one smooth step forward, he caught her arm and steadied her, his blue eyes intent and focused on her face.

Tingles of sensation coursed up her arm from their single point of contact, and Felicity could only be glad she was wearing a dove gray pantsuit, complete with long-sleeved jacket. If he’d touched her bare forearm, she might well have swooned—and then she’d have to retire forever from public life to escape the humiliation.

“Okay there?” No amusement curled his lips or lightened his serious expression.

Felicity nodded and made herself stand up straight. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

She hadn’t slept well since she’d walked out on Zane, a few hours of light dozing every night, if she was lucky.

Gaze sharpening, Zane said, “Me too.”

For a giddy moment, Felicity thought he was telling her that he, also, had been having trouble sleeping without her. She shook her head to try and snap herself back into reality. “Right, of course. You must be exhausted, after pulling all of this together. It looks beautiful, Zane.”

“You like it.” It didn’t sound like a question, but Zane’s grave gaze scanned her face as if searching for an answer.

Felicity nodded. “It’s amazing. You did a wonderful job, and I know Miles is going to be so touched at all the work you put in. You’re a really good friend.”

A slight frown gathered Zane’s straight dark brows, as if that wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for. “Let me show you around.”

Every inch of her skin yearned toward him. It was all Felicity could do not to sway into his arms. But this was exactly what she’d wanted to avoid when she walked away the first time. Except that had been a mistake. Hadn’t it?

Confused and heartsore, she fell back on what she knew. “I should really check in with Miles and Greta, make sure they’re all set up for the receiving line.”

“Miles and Greta are fine,” Zane said firmly, taking her elbow and steering her off the dance floor toward the back of the tent. “They’re solidly encased in an ecstatically happy bubble that nothing is going to pop, since we gave Greta the beach wedding of her dreams…and ensured that Miles didn’t have to wait until summer to have her. I promise, they can handle the receiving line on their own. What do you think of the chandeliers?”

Distracted from her instinctive protest, Felicity glanced up again. The two large fixtures hung suspended from the slim white beam that peaked at the top of the glass roof, curving gracefully out and sending beams of warm light over the whole enclosed space. “They’re lovely. Really nice choice. Better than a disco ball.”

She tried to smile, to make a joke out of it, but Zane never cracked a grin. “Would you say they’re romantic?” he demanded.

Floundering, unsure of what was going on with him—she’d never seen Zane go this long without laughing—Felicity stammered, “Uh, sure. Yes, of course. Classic romance.”

Zane relaxed a little, satisfaction settling around his shoulders like a cape. “That’s just for during cocktail hour and dinner, though. Wait till you see what I have planned for the beach outside, once the sun goes down and the party really gets started.”

“Fireworks?” Felicity guessed, bracing herself for a rousing round of did-you-get-the-right-permits and did-you-check-the-sound-ordinances.

“Nope.” Zane lifted one mysterious brow as he steered her toward a door in the clear tent wall facing the waterfront. But before Felicity could be ask if she needed to run back to the yacht club to grab the coat she’d forgotten in her hurry to find him, a quick drum lick and screech of guitar behind them announced that Dash and the Danger Boys had taken the stage.

“You got your band down here,” Felicity observed, glancing over her shoulder to where the four hot rockstars who currently topped the Billboard chart were setting up, checking their amps and slinging the straps of their instruments over their brawny shoulders. They weren’t dressed as provocatively as Felicity expected—yeah, tight leather pants and dark denim prevailed, but they were all wearing silky blue button-down shirts over them.

The color matched the table linens perfectly, and Felicity shot Zane a surprised glance just as the front man stepped forward, tapped the mic, and flicked a lock of his long hair out of his lean, handsome face.

“We’re going to warm up,” he said quietly in the faint Cockney accent that had conquered a nation of squealing teenage girls. “This one is a special request from our boss, who brung us out here to play for you all. Oh, and cheers to the happy couple.”

With no further showmanship, the lead singer struck a low, sweet chord on his guitar and leaned in to croon “At last….my love has come along.”

The rest of the band picked up the lyrical melody, lifting the strains of music up to a glorious crescendo. The lyrics filled Felicity’s head, every note plucking an answering string deep in her body, and she gasped as the lead singer went on to belt out how glad he was that his lonely days were over.

“Dash and the guys are going to play jazz standards all night long,” Zane murmured into her ear. “They were excited about it, actually. I made sure they’ve got some Sinatra in their play list.”

***

Zane’s heart was kicking harder than the drum beat from the stage. He couldn’t tell what Felicity was thinking from the wide, shocked look on her fine-featured face. And she wasn’t giving him much to work with verbally either. Apparently, the shock of Zane Bishop being romantic had struck her dumb.

“Come on,” he urged, deciding if he was going in, he might as well go all in. “I’ve got one more thing to show you.”

“Out in the cold? As you pointed out, it’s kind of nuts to throw an outdoor party on a beach in the wintertime, much less to walk down to the shoreline.”

But Felicity didn’t resist the tug on her hand, her cold fingers barely twitching in Zane’s grasp. He clasped the slender digits tighter and brought their joined hands to his mouth, breathing on them to warm them up. His mind raced ahead, down the beach to his last big surprise. That would chase away the chill of the night air.

He led her away from the heated tent and across the sand to a mammoth pile of driftwood a few safe feet back from the high tide mark. The line of luminarias along the boardwalk flickered in the distance, lighting the path from the yacht club to the glass-sided reception hall, but all the guests had already found their way to the party. It was only the two of them shivering out in the gusty salt breeze off the waves.

Keeping tight hold of Felicity, Zane reached his free hand into his pocket and withdrew his favorite silver Zippo lighter. “This was my brother’s,” he told her, not even trying to hide the husk of emotion in his voice. “I thought it was so cool, the way he’d flip it open. He showed me how to light it one-handed, by catching the lid on my pants leg and striking the flint at the same time. Let’s see if I still have the touch.”

“Zane, what is all this?” Felicity sounded overwhelmed, near tears herself, and Zane’s heart swelled until it felt as if it would burst out of his chest.

Flipping the Zippo down in one swift move, he breathed a sigh of relief when the spark struck on the first try. A tiny flame flickered up from the lighter, dancing in the wind, and Zane bent to hold it to one of the tinder sticks he’d placed strategically around the bottom of the driftwood pile.