Here Comes the Bride (15 page)

She smiled and gave him a quick peck on his leathery cheek, then went off in search of a chore that needed doing.

Nick had promised to come by Winnie’s this morning, but he hadn’t shown up. And Fiona knew why. He still felt the same way about this wedding, but he loved his aunt too much to rain on her parade, so he was keeping his distance until the last minute.

Over the past few days Fiona and Nick had spent every spare moment they could together. Nick’s caseload had been heavy, but they still managed to steal away for private interludes. Fiona had refused to think about the time when she’d have to leave and return to Boston. Leave Nick and the wonder of their lovemaking.

The antiques that were her life, the shop that was her fledgling baby, paled in comparison to the thought of staying. But very soon she would need that shop and its challenges to help her forget Nick and how he could make her body sing from just his touch, his kiss.

Somehow she’d have to relegate him to memory, a memory so bittersweet that just recalling it would cause her pain. A memory that would be stirred up again each time there was a family gathering.

For her sanity she hoped the distance across the country would keep those inevitable gatherings to a minimum.

“Oh, Fiona darling, there you are,” Winnie called to her. She was dressed in a brightly colored caftan, her hair in curlers, but she had that radiant glow, common to all brides on their wedding day. “I want us to talk.”

“Talk?”

“Yes. Let’s find a quiet corner.”

Winnie ushered her away from the commotion with the caterers and florists and into her bedroom, the bedroom Fiona’s father would soon be sharing with his new bride.

Fiona tried not to glance around the room too much. Winnie had come into her father’s affections like a small desert tornado. And Fiona thought she had resigned herself to that, and to the wedding that would take place in a few short hours.

But suddenly she didn’t know what to do with her memories of the past, those quick, fragile images she had of her parents together, laughing, touching hands, kissing each other good night.

Where did she tuck them away?

Winnie patted a spot on the bed. “Sit, Fiona,” she said.

Fiona hesitated for a moment, then took the place Winnie indicated beside her.

“I thought we might have a little talk,
Fiona,” Winnie began. “Just the two of us. A sort of … mother-daughter talk.”

A mother-daughter talk? Fiona hoped Winnie wasn’t about to ask her to call her mother. She’d grown fond of Winnie, very fond. She was going to be her father’s new wife, and Fiona approved of that. Her mother was gone, and life marched on, Fiona knew. But the woman who’d given her birth, who’d loved her through braces, her first date, and school proms, was special. Fiona wasn’t sure she could ever share the title.

“Yes, Winnie?” She knew she’d stressed the name as if to ward off the other possible appellation.

Winnie took Fiona’s hands in hers. “Walter has told me how close you and your mother were, and dear, I just want you to know that I’ll never intrude on those memories. Or those of your father’s with her. Those are precious to you. And to him.”

Fiona felt quick tears glisten in her eyes, threatening to spill over—not at the mention of her mother, but at the understanding and gentle sensitivity she’d found in Winnie.

“I have my memories of Gray, the same way your father does of Elise,” she went on when Fiona couldn’t find her voice around the lump that had begun to swell in her throat. “Walter and I agreed we would respect each other’s past marriages and we prayed our children
would be accepting of our new relationship.”

Fiona was near breaking.

“I won’t try to replace your mother, Fiona, but I hope you’ll let me into your heart—just one small corner of it.”

“Oh, Winnie.” Fiona couldn’t say more; she only embraced this woman who was making such big changes in everyone’s life.

Any last niggling doubt for her father’s future happiness with this woman melted away. Winnie was just the woman her father needed in his golden years. Maybe Fiona would never be able to call her mother, but there was definitely a special place for her in her heart.

When her tears abated, Fiona glanced up into Winnie’s wonderful, wise face. “It’s easy to see why my father loves you,” she said. “And, yes, I very much approve of your relationship, and your wedding. I wish you both the very best. Forever.”

The two women hugged again.

The guests had begun to arrive for the ceremony, dressed in their garden-party finery, filling the white wooden folding chairs set up on the lawn near the flower-festooned gazebo. Winnie had learned her lesson about climbing on stepladders and had left that decorating detail to a bevy of florists.

Camille was helping Winnie dress. Fiona was trying to calm her father with his inevitable bridegroom jitters. And Nick was nowhere in sight.

Fiona’s stomach clenched. She could hardly believe Nick would be so unreasonable that he wouldn’t come to the wedding. But he wasn’t here.

“How’s Win?” her father asked for the third time in the past hour.

“I told you she’s fine, Dad. She’s dressing.”

“Well, I don’t know who thought of this silly rule that a man can’t see his bride in her wedding dress until the ceremony.”

Fiona hid a smile. “Probably the same one who said the bridegroom was supposed to be nervous.”

“Yeah, well …” He didn’t have a comeback this time. Instead he turned all serious on her. “Fiona, are you okay with this wedding thing? I mean, your mother and I … well, we had a good life together, a wonderful life together, and I …” He paused, clearly struggling. “Oh, Fiona, I’m not very good at talking about this feeling stuff. What I’m saying is …”

She reached up and kissed his cheek. “I’m fine with this wedding stuff, Dad. Winnie and I had a little talk earlier. I think she’s one very
special lady. And you’re one lucky guy to have found her.”

“You and Win had a talk, huh?” He beamed. “You women know how to do that sort of thing.” He looked pleased that he could retreat back into his comfortable, old-fashioned image of a man’s duties in life.

But Fiona loved him despite it.

Just then there was a flurry of activity. The music started and last-minute arrivals hurried to take their seats. Winnie stood poised at the patio door, ready to make her entrance.

Fiona took one last frantic glance around for Nick. He still wasn’t there. A myriad of emotions ripped through her, disappointment that he could be so unfeeling being the major one. This would devastate Winnie.

With an ache in her heart, she kissed her father one last time, wished him luck, and sent him to his post at the front of the gazebo to await his bride.

She turned to find her place as the music segued into the “Wedding March.” Again she searched for Nick, wishing she were some kind of genie who could conjure him up at will.

And then she saw him.

Fiona knew at that moment that all eyes were supposed to be on the bride, but hers were on Nick. He stood at the edge of the
patio, tall and square-shouldered in his white tux, stunning and elegant and all male.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Briefly he scanned the group, then finding her, he paused. Their gazes locked and held. She tried to read his face, but his expression was inscrutable.

The music swelled and he turned away to offer his arm to Winnie for her walk down the aisle.

Fiona’s heart thudded. Shaky, she slid into her chair.

Nick’s escorting of Winnie had not been part of the rehearsal. The woman, with her feisty independence, had insisted she could make it under her own steam quite nicely. But Nick apparently had other ideas, Fiona thought with a smile.

She knew he had not changed his mind about this wedding, but if Winnie was determined to go through with it, he, Nick, would do the honors.

Winnie had her face turned upward to his, her eyes widening for a moment, but she accepted his arm. When they reached the gazebo, Nick placed Winnie’s hand in Walter’s, then stepped aside.

His face remained unreadable as he took his seat beside Fiona and Camille, but Fiona knew what this had cost him emotionally.

The wedding was called a success by everyone—with the possible exception of Nick.

Fiona was happy for the couple, who hadn’t taken their eyes off each other since the
I do
’s. She and Camille had dabbed at their eyes throughout the ceremony, snuffling back tears, while Nick remained dry-eyed and silent beside them.

The patio reception hummed around her as she searched out Nick. Only a few moments before she’d seen him listening distractedly to a lady in a turquoise-plumed hat. Fiona saw the feather bob through the crowd as the lady made her way to the champagne table, but Nick was nowhere in sight.

She scanned the group again. Then she spotted him, standing alone and aloof, near a leg of the striped canopy that draped the patio as if he were personally responsible for holding it up.

In all the excitement of the wedding, they hadn’t had a moment to exchange a word. He was troubled, and she wanted to chase away his demons, but she wasn’t sure how to do it, how to make him believe in a world of happiness, that such a world was possible for Walter and Winnie, that it was possible for
them
.

With a deep sigh she made her way toward him.

Nick took another swallow of his champagne, but the bubbly had failed to put him in a festive mood. Then he spotted Fiona as she made her way through the crowded reception, clearly headed in his direction.

Her flame-red hair tumbled over the shoulders of her sleek linen suit and down her back. The day he’d first seen her in the airport, he’d thought she looked stunning in white, but pink came a damned close second. Whoever said redheads couldn’t wear the color had never seen Fiona Ames.

He ached with his need for her. All through the ceremony he’d wanted to snatch her away from the place, wanted to drown himself in the taunting, flowery scent of her.

He wanted her to make him believe love existed. Somewhere. For some people.

For Fiona and him
.

“Care to buy a lady a drink?”

Fiona’s green eyes smiled up at him. His heart turned over. Her lips were moist and sultry pink. And he wanted to kiss them, savor them, feel them dance over his body as they had the past few nights.

But the lady had asked for a drink—not a trip to the bedroom.

“Right this way.” He took her hand and led her toward the champagne table.

Her fingers, so delicate and slender, felt lost in his grasp. His hand closed tighter
around them as he drew her through the gathering. Occasionally someone stopped them to speak or say hello. Nick wasn’t in the mood to share her with anyone. He suspected they had very little time left together, but that was a fact he wasn’t capable of facing yet.

They’d reached the table. The cascading champagne fountain gave off a fine mist in the light, outdoor breeze. Nick filled a flute for her, then his own near-empty one. “Let’s get away from the jostle of the crowd,” he said.

She agreed and allowed him to guide her out onto the lawn. Here the air was pleasant, musky and cool, as the evening gave way to night. Nick still had Fiona’s hand in his and he brought it to his lips. Her dark lashes fluttered in reaction and he liked it that he could affect her so.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured. “Soft, like a fresh, pink flower.”

She smiled, then fingered a pearl stud on the front of his shirt, first one, then another, making her way slowly down. “You look pretty nice yourself,” she returned.

He caught her hand before she went lower. Didn’t she know how she set him on fire?

He took a swallow of champagne.

Fiona sipped hers, then she glanced up. “That was a nice gesture before, Nick. Walking Winnie down the aisle.”

He lowered his gaze. “Yeah, well …”

“Well, what?”

He turned and paced a short distance across the lawn, crushing the thick carpet of grass beneath his shoes. “Do we have to talk about it? The deed is done.”

Fiona heard the pain in his voice. His emotions ran deep. She’d thought—
hoped
—that after the ceremony he’d be more accepting of the marriage. That obviously hadn’t happened.

And wouldn’t.

She took a step toward him and touched his arm, hating the way the brooding moment seemed to separate them.

He turned toward her and gazed at her for a long moment. Raising his hand, he stroked her cheek. “I—I was married once, Fiona,” he said quietly. His voice was low, a bare whisper in the night. “Everyone toasted us, the bride was beautiful, and I thought life would finally be complete for me. But like other things in my life, it didn’t happen.”

Fiona heard the pain that throbbed in his voice. “What other things in your life, Nick? Your mother’s death? Your father abandoning you?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Who told you about my father? Camille?”

“Yes.”

Nick never spoke of the man, tried never
to think of him, but he was always there, hovering just at the frayed edges of his memory, he and the hurt he’d caused. “That was a long time ago, Fiona.”