London Tides: A Novel (The MacDonald Family Trilogy Book 2) (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

The guests began to fill in the chairs in the meadow, and Grace circled the hotel in search of the wedding party’s approach. Considering James’s high profile, it was a surprisingly low-key event, with under a hundred guests and none of the ostentatious touches that one would expect from a celebrity wedding. Of course, Andrea was shockingly down to earth, and it was pretty clear that James would give his fiancée anything she asked.

Grace found the staging area outside one of the three stone cottages that seemed to be serving as the preparation rooms for the wedding party. Serena stood in a blue gown that somehow managed to be the exact color of the island sky, two little girls in puffy, white dresses giggling excitedly beside her. Another dark-haired woman, her petite, pretty looks suggesting she must be Andrea’s sister, knelt beside a young boy who kept plucking at his clip-on bow tie.

Grace kept her distance, relying on the long lens to capture images without inserting herself into the scene. These would be the details James and Andrea would want to remember later—the ones lost in the nerves of the prewedding moments. She couldn’t help but admire Andrea’s bravery in having not one but five children as part of the wedding party.

Then the door to the middle cottage opened, and Andrea stepped out. Somehow Grace had known she wouldn’t choose a princess dress; instead she wore a sleeveless, white sheath with ruching that highlighted her figure, simple pleats in the back allowing her to walk. No train. No veil. Just a cluster of white flowers pinned into an elegant french knot at the back of her head. Grace shifted position to snap a few candids, knowing one of these would end up getting framed for James.

The prick of longing was so unfamiliar that it took Grace a few moments to recognize it. There was no fear in the eyes of the bride, only a smile that lit her entire face and seemed to illuminate the space around her. What would it be like to be so sure about her decisions? So in love and secure in that love that she could walk toward her future without a second thought?

They were sorting themselves into order for the processional, and Grace raised her camera again. At some point Serena noticed her presence and shot her a rueful smile as she muscled her unruly toddler into line again. Andrea was right. The MacDonald family had a warmth about them that defied all expectations.

From the meadow, the strains of a bagpipe indicated the beginning of the processional, and Grace found a point on the edge of the seating where she could capture some shots of their arrival without getting in the way of the official photographer. First came the twin girl and boy she assumed belonged to Becky, strewing flower petals along the carpeted path to the altar, followed by Em and an older boy who had to be Andrea’s other nephew. She noted Em’s pink flush as she held the boy’s arm—first crush in the making? Then came Max, toddling down the aisle with a pillow that held the ring. Grace held her breath as he tripped, but Serena set him on his feet again before he could hit the ground. Soft laughter rang out from the guests.

Everyone rose then as the bride appeared at the end of the aisle on her sister’s arm. Andrea looked radiant and happy and so excited that Grace sighed along with the rest of the guests who had been caught up in the romantic setting.

James watched his bride’s slow walk down the aisle from the altar, enthralled. Grace snapped a burst of shots and smiled to herself. One of these would surely be framed for Andrea’s gift. What woman wouldn’t want to remember the love in the face of her groom when he first saw her in her white dress? If there had been doubt in anyone’s mind that the former playboy had found his soul mate, that single expression would erase it completely.

When she focused on the rest of the wedding party, however, she realized that not everyone’s attention was on the bride. Ian was looking directly at her. Her breath caught. That single look held so much emotion, she wondered if he was picturing them in James and Andrea’s place.

Grace thrust herself into an empty seat before the strength went out of her legs completely. Even after the piper stopped and the officiant began the greeting to the guests, she heard very little of what was said. She loved Ian. She’d known that from the second she’d set foot on the cement embankment outside his club, but the commitment he wanted, the promise of forever, had seemed too impossible to think about.

But now, watching James and Andrea hold hands and exchange their vows with love shining in their eyes, she couldn’t suppress the wave of yearning. It took very little to imagine herself standing with Ian, exchanging their own vows. When she met his eyes again, he was still looking at her, a secretive smile on his lips.

She forced herself to listen to the rest of the ceremony, applauding with the other guests as James scooped Andrea into his arms for a tender and unhurried kiss, then escorted her back down the aisle with a foolish grin plastered on his face. Andrea was smiling and laughing, whispering things to her new husband as they went. Grace rose to get a picture of the recessional, both of the new Mr. and Mrs. MacDonald as well as Ian and Serena, who walked arm in arm behind them, his height dwarfing his petite sister beside him.

When he passed, she murmured in a voice just loud enough for him to hear, “Nice kilt, Scotsman.”

He said nothing, just winked at her and gave her that half smile. And like that, her last bit of doubt vanished.

There were more pictures after the wedding with the bride and her attendants, but Ian kept an eye on the blonde in the blue dress who wove in and out of guests and caterers, her camera in hand. She had a knack for being in the right place at the right time to capture the candids the wedding photographer couldn’t get to—her editorial skills at work. He had no doubt that by the end, she would have an album that told the alternate story of the wedding from a guest’s point of view; probably one that would be more treasured than the formal shots of the wedding party.

“So, Brother dear,” Serena said, “what do you plan to do about her?”

“What do you mean?”

“You couldn’t take your eyes off her the entire time you were standing up there, and it was your brother’s wedding. Did you even hear any of the vows?”

“There were vows?” Something about the whole event was making him unusually punchy, and Serena’s raised-eyebrow look said she knew it. He nodded toward the kids playing on the lawn. “Look, there’s Em and Max. Go attend to your offspring. I’ll survive without your supervision.”

She stuck out her tongue before moving toward her two kids.

“It was a lovely wedding.”

Ian’s smile formed before he even turned. “It was, wasn’t it? They look truly happy.”

Grace inclined her head to where the newly married couple was presiding over a receiving line, speaking to the guests beneath the expansive tent. “They really do. Of course, it’s driving James absolutely mad not being able to oversee the food. Look.”

Sure enough, Jamie cast a glance over his shoulder to where hors d’oeuvres were being circulated among the waiting guests.

“He never changes,” Grace said with an affectionate smile.

“That’s the thing. He has changed, and for the better. When they met, I didn’t believe he could come to care for someone in such a short period of time. Or at all. But looking at them now—”

“Sometimes it takes the right person to bring out the best in another. Someone that makes you feel things you never thought possible.” There was a new emotion shining in her eyes, and something in his chest gave a little tug in answer, as if recognizing what she left unsaid.

He took her hand. “Come, let’s find our seats.”

She didn’t protest that she wasn’t part of the wedding party, just interlaced her fingers with his and followed him through the crowd. He introduced her over and over, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back, taking every chance he could to surreptitiously caress her exposed skin and thrilling to the occasional shiver that shot through her body.

“We’re at my brother’s wedding, and all I can think about is pulling you into a secluded corner and kissing you senseless,” he murmured when they finally took their seats at the long head table beneath the tent. “Is that wrong?”

“Yes, it’s completely wrong,” she said, but the answering heat in her green eyes said something else entirely. That was all it took to ruin his concentration for the evening.

The food was impeccable. If this was any indication of Chef Davis’s talent, it was no wonder that Jamie had decided to invest in the man’s restaurant. Different from Jamie’s elegant take on comfort food—more avant-garde, more international—it still had the care and precision Ian would expect from his brother’s protégé. Still, he was glad when they progressed to the wedding cake, and then at last to dancing on the wooden floor set up in the meadow beneath the swiftly setting sun. It was a legitimate excuse to get Grace in his arms again.

“They really do look great together,” she murmured. Jamie and Andrea swayed on the dance floor, wrapped in each other’s arms, blissfully unaware of the existence of the other guests dancing around them. “They make me want to believe in happily-ever-afters.”

“You make me want to believe in happily-ever-afters,” he murmured. “You also make me wish I were a better dancer. I didn’t know you could dance.”

“I’m multitalented.” She grinned up at him with a naughty smile that made his heart seize again.

“Did I already say you’ll be the death of me?”

“No, but you told me I had a cruel streak.”

“The death part was implied.”

She laughed, and then a few moments later, she sobered. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For this. For making me feel like I belong. For making it clear to everyone that I’m with you.”

It was so out of character for her that he stopped dancing and just held her in the middle of the other couples. “Grace, you do belong with me. And I promise you, no one will ever be allowed to make you feel otherwise when I’m around.” Despite the fact that they were on display, or maybe because of it, he kissed her, long and slow and deliberately. Let them think what they wanted. Let them whisper about the shameful display—though he suspected he and Grace weren’t the only ones affected by the romantic setting. Let his mother be horrified that he was kissing the woman he loved, who was not English, overeducated, or proper. She would have to get used to it, because in that moment Ian realized he could no longer imagine a future without Grace.

“There’s something I want to do,” he said suddenly, “but I have to go back to my room first. Will you come with me?”

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” And in a few moments, he hoped it would be better than fine.

Ian took the stairs two at a time, then unlocked his room. It took only a moment to find what he was looking for in his suitcase—the gray velvet box he had picked up before they left London—and tuck it into the sporran at his waist. When he emerged back into the front foyer, however, movement in the dimly lit reception room caught his eye. His mother stood at the mantel with a glass of wine in her hand. From the look of her, it was not the first drink of the evening.

“Mum, what are you doing in here?”

“Looking for you.” She turned slowly, taking in the renovated room. “They did a lovely job with this old place. I always did like this room.”

Something in her voice told him this wasn’t idle conversation. He moved closer and saw that her eyes were bleary, but not from alcohol. “Mum?”

“I haven’t been back here since your father and I—well, you’re aware of that. I thought it would be easier after all these years.”

Not for the first time, Ian wondered if the divorce and the move back to England had been harder than she’d let on. She’d never remarried or, until recently, even had gentlemen friends. But after the way she’d treated Grace, he wasn’t inclined to feel sympathy for her.

“What’s this all about, Mum?”

“You know very well what this is about. You had the audacity to bring her to a family affair—”

“No, that’s not it. I had the audacity to love her. I don’t understand. Do you refuse to accept her because she’s Irish? Because of her tattoos? Or do you think she’s beneath me?” He stared at his mother, willing a straight answer from her for once.