Love and Learn (Voretti Family Book 2) (18 page)

“Best of luck, darling.” She kissed him on both cheeks. “But…” She sighed again. “Remember, it’s only a dress. It can’t work miracles.”

He kissed her cheek. “I love you. But you worry too much. I’m about to marry the woman of my dreams. It’s smooth sailing from here.”

*

“I’m sorry, sir, but you’re going to have to check that bag.”

Ty gave the flight attendant—Candace, according to her name tag—his most charming smile. “I know it’s a little bulky. And I would check it. But the thing is, it’s my fiancee’s wedding dress. She’s a pretty practical woman, my fiancée, but she always dreamed of getting married in a Natashja dress. So I got one for her, but if I don’t show up with it tonight, she might call the wedding off. And that would break my heart. You don’t want my heart broken because this dress was accidentally rerouted to Tulsa or snagged in the bag return, do you, Candace?”

Candace’s eyes went big. Her gaze locked onto the garment bag like she was a Patriot missile and that was her target. “That’s really a Natashja?”

Ty pulled the zipper down far enough to show a few inches of the dress.

Candace gasped like she’d seen God. “It is! And it’s gorgeous.”
 

She scanned the empty jetway; Ty had arrived right before departure, and the other passengers had already boarded. “Okay. I’m not supposed to do this, but I’ll hang it in the first-class coat closet.”

“You’re the best, Candace. You’ve singlehandedly saved my marriage.”

Candace stowed the dress, and Ty whistled all the way down the cramped aisle to his seat in the back row of coach. In six hours, he’d be home with Annabelle, and two days after that they’d be married.
 

Shit!
They were getting married in two days and he hadn’t told anyone.

The plane doors hadn’t closed yet, so he dialed Sean’s number. Voicemail.
 

He hung up and dialed Keri. Voicemail again.

He didn’t think so. He had the best news of his life, and he was damn well going to share it with someone.

He dialed again.
 

“What?” Keri was breathing hard, like she’d run across half the city to get to the phone.

“And a very good morning to you too.”
 

“What are you so happy about?” She sounded about as pleased to hear his voice as when he’d woken her up before dawn the morning after her first kegger.

“What’s with the attitude?” he asked. “The S Man givin’ you a hard time?” Because she was the little sister he still had fond memories of torturing, he grinned as he imagined the verbal ass kicking she’d gotten when she’d tried to tell Sean he couldn’t go cliff diving.

“No. Not exactly.”

“I know you’re worried about him, but you’ve gotta let him figure this out on his own. You can’t solve his problems for him.”

“Uh huh.”

Keri didn’t sound the least bit interested in his lecture, and he wasn’t interested in giving it. Not right now. “Anyway, I called to give you guys a heads up. It’s time to get back to San Diego.”

“Oh yeah, funny man? Why is that?”
 

“Because.” He thought about making her guess, but the words were gonna explode from his throat if he didn’t let them out now. “The day after tomorrow, I’m getting married.”

Keri screamed. “Oh my God! I can’t believe it!”

“Neither can I. It’s been a crazy week.” He wanted to tell his sister about it, but he was consumed by the need to hear Annabelle’s voice. “I gotta get going. I’ll text you the details about the rehearsal dinner and wedding. And I’ll fill you in on everything else when you get back into town. Hey, can you do me a favor and fill Sean in too?”

“Uh, sure. No problem.”

He must’ve said goodbye—at least, he hoped so, because Keri wasn’t on the line anymore—but the only thing in his head was Annabelle.

He dialed her number, but she still wasn’t answering. Made sense. She probably had a zillion and one things to do to get ready for the wedding, which was definitely happening, because he’d gotten the dress.

He left her a voicemail, giving her his flight information, and telling her that he’d come by her house with the dress as soon as the plane landed.

An older man got onto the plane carrying a garment bag.

Ty had a moment of panic, but with a little reconfiguring, Candace managed to fit both bags into the closet. She gave him a thumbs up, and he grinned.

All was right with the universe.

*

Ty was in such an epic mood, it didn’t matter that no one on his flight knew a thing about airplane etiquette. He let a businessman and a harried mother take their time blocking the aisle while they chatted on their cell phones and made halfhearted attempts to pull huge roller bags from the overhead compartment. Businessman got his, and Ty set Mom’s bag down for her. Then, finally, the aisle was clear.

Ty’s leg was stiff from sitting in one position for so long, but with every step toward the dress, he felt better.
 

The small closet was open, his garment bag the only thing left inside. He grabbed it—

—and the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

It was too light. And the hanger was different.
 

Someone had taken the dress. The Suit with the other garment bag had grabbed the wrong one on his way out.

Shit.
Shit
.

He slashed through the empty hangers, as if that would make the dress reappear.

“Is something wrong, sir?” Candace smiled at him.

He took a deep breath. Not a big deal. Only a temporary setback. “That guy with the other garment bag. He must’ve taken mine by accident.”
 

Candace sucked in a huge breath, like it was her Natashja original that had been lost. “Oh no!”

She kept talking—something about calling her supervisor and filing a report—every longwinded syllable taking the dress farther away.

“That’s okay. I’ll catch him at baggage claim.” Ty took off down the jetway, Candace still babbling about reports.

With his leg slowing him down, by the time he made the hike across the airport, there were only a dozen bags left on the carousel.

He scanned the room. The Suit was gone. Along with Annabelle’s dress.

“There you are.” Candace again. “If you’ll follow me, we can get that report filed. I can’t make any promises, of course, but most lost luggage is found within three days.”

“I don’t
have
three days!”
 

Candace jerked back like she’d taken a bullet to the chest, and he realized he was shouting.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down.”

“I’m sorry. I just…I’m getting married in two days.” He fought down the panic, giving Candace that the-universe-loves-me-and-so-do-you smile that had never failed to put a woman on his side. “Maybe you could give me the guy’s contact information, and I could take care of this myself.”

“I can’t give out another traveler’s personal information.”

“Right. But maybe
you
could call him.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have access to that information.”

“Your supervisor, then. Someone must—”

She folded her arms tight across her chest. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear. It’s against airline policy to access passenger information.”

Panic detonated inside his head like a bomb, taking out everything in its path. He couldn’t remember how to smile anymore. He could barely remember how to speak.
 
“Can’t you…I don’t know. Make an exception?”

“No.”

“But—”

“Why is it that every passenger who loses a bag thinks we should move the earth to find it? Newsflash—you’re not special. You have to follow the established protocols like everyone else.” Candace strode away, each click of her heels against the tiled floor a clear message.
I don’t care about you. No one does.

He couldn’t breathe. The buzz of other travelers’ conversations faded in and out, and his legs decided to stop working. Good thing there was a bench, because no one would’ve caught him, that was for sure. He was all alone.

The universe had abandoned him. Betrayed him.

Or maybe it was his own fault for misreading the signals. He’d convinced himself that his injury, his discharge, his breakup with Bri, were part of some divine plan to bring him back to Annabelle. Had that been nothing more than wishful thinking?

He dropped his head into his hands, face hot and chest tight. He’d wanted Annabelle so bad that he’d ignored the copious signs they weren’t meant to be together and clung to every coincidence that might’ve indicated a green light from the universe. But even wishful thinking couldn’t turn this one around. The universe was telling him, loud and clear, that he couldn’t be with Annabelle.

He levered himself off the bench, leaving the useless garment bag where it lay. Pain shot through his leg the second he put weight on it. He’d gotten up too fast.

He wandered aimlessly through the crowd, his leg throbbing with every step. That damn IED—that’s when his life had first started to go to hell.
 

Anger surged through him. He took a deep breath, but he couldn’t stop the heat building inside his chest. It raged through his body like a wildfire—fast and hot and unstoppable.
 

“Screw signs,” he growled. “Screw the universe. Screw fate.”

A mother pulled her two children to the other side of the walkway.

The anger felt good. Cleansing.

If this was how the universe thought his future should look, he was done with destiny. Done floating through life, going where the current took him. Been there, done that, and he didn’t like where he’d ended up. It was time to fucking swim.

He needed Annabelle. And he was going to fight until his dying breath to get her.

The garment bag was lying where he’d left it, next to the bench. He’d already checked the outside for a luggage tag, but now he examined every square inch of the inside as well. Nothing.

He fought down the frustration. It didn’t matter. He’d trace The Suit by his DNA if he had to.

A hint of white caught his eye. There was something on the inside of the jacket collar.

He nearly ripped the jacket in half trying to get a better look, and when he saw it was an embroidered name, he almost cried.

J. Harrington
.
 

The online directory listed sixty Harringtons with a first name starting with J in the greater San Diego area, but he didn’t get impatient or angry or take it as a sign from the universe that he should give up and go home.
 

He started dialing.

*

An hour later, Ty had eliminated forty-nine names. That still left eleven no answers, but only one of them had an address in the exclusive beachside community of Mount Soledad.
 

That seemed like the kind of place where a guy with custom suits would live, so Ty retrieved his truck and started driving. The trip up the freeway was quick, but then he had to drive through a maze of streets, finally ending up on a private drive that wound higher up the mountain. And higher. And higher.

Finally, it dead-ended into a locked, wrought iron gate.

Ty pulled over and dialed The Suit’s number one more time. Still no answer.

There was no call box on the gate. Ty peered through the iron scrollwork, finding a late-model Bentley at the top of the circular drive, in front of what had to be a reproduction of some famous European castle.
 

The Suit was home. All Ty had to do was get inside.

No problem. Though the gate itself was twenty feet tall and topped with sharp spikes, the stone wall it connected to was only ten feet. Even better, the cement between the stones provided convenient footholds.

With The Suit’s garment bag in one hand, Ty stretched his other arm up, jumped, and caught the top of the wall. He was up and over so fast, he didn’t see it until his feet were planted solidly on the ground, well past the No Trespassing sign.
 

Separating him from the house was a moat. A goddamn moat.

The voice of logic in Ty’s head decided to speak up, reminding him that he had no idea if The Suit even lived in San Diego. For all he knew, the guy was here on business, holed up in some fancy hotel downtown. Which would mean that Ty had just broken into some random guy’s estate because he happened to have the same first initial and last name as he’d found on the inside of a suit.

But don’t worry
. Sometime in the past couple of days, the voice inside his head had learned sarcasm.
I’m sure when you call Annabelle to bail your ass out of jail, that’ll really bring the two of you together.

He told the voice to shut up. No way was he going to jail. He was gonna ring the bell and politely inquire if anyone inside had happened to take the wrong garment bag off flight 954.

Except there was no way to get to the doorbell because of that goddamn moat. The bridge that led across was only accessible from the gate he’d had to bypass. The moat wasn’t a decorative trickle of water, either. This thing had to be ten feet wide and who knows how deep—more than he could jump with his bum leg.

Nice day for a swim
, said the Everything-will-work-out voice.

“Fuck you,” Ty muttered, under his breath.
 

And now he was arguing with himself.
That
was a great sign.

He zipped his phone, keys, and wallet into the garment bag, hoisted the whole load over his head, and waded into the moat.

The water smelled like rotten eggs and sewer rats. You’d think someone with a goddamn moat would at least change the water once in a while. Was the guy trying to breed some kind of super mosquito to take out the commoners?

The opening chords to
Satisfy M
e sounded from inside the garment bag. Annabelle was calling.

Ty stopped, chest deep in the rancid water.
Shit
. He’d forgotten to let her know he was running late.

He wrestled with the bag, almost dropping it, but finally managed to extract his phone. He took a deep breath and prayed for something that used to come as second nature—calm. “Hey, sweetheart.”