The Unexpected Honeymoon (6 page)

“Of course,” Carlos replied. “We wouldn't give you anything less.”

“Okay,” she said, once Paul was out of reach. “He just became doubly sweet. Doing all this to make his wife happy.”

“I only hope he finds everything worth the trouble.”

“Why wouldn't he? You saw his wife's face. She's thrilled.”

“Tonight. What about tomorrow? Or the week after the ceremony? And if he has to go to this much bother for their first anniversary, what will he have to do for the second to make sure the smile stays on her face?”

“Wow, could you be any more cynical? The two of them obviously eloped, and now the guy wants to indulge his wife. What's wrong with that? You were married. Didn't you oblige your wife now and then?”

“Now and then,” he replied.

“See? I rest my case.”

“So you do.” An odd look crossed his face and Larissa couldn't help but wonder if his concession was more to avoid an argument than because of any point she might have made. There'd been a definite edge to his voice that suggested as much.

“I'm sorry,” he continued. “I'm afraid I'm not cut out to be an event coordinator. I was brought here to handle the financial issues, not plan weddings.”

There was more to his outburst than being uncomfortable with the job, Larissa was certain of that. She was beginning to think that, for some reason, he had a deep dislike for weddings in general. Rather than press the issue, however, she allowed him his excuse.

“Don't you have a catering manager who can handle these kinds of events for you?”

“You saw what kind of mistakes Maria left us to deal with. My catering manager is already overcommitted handling the events on the books. Asking him to plan a last-minute ceremony in addition to everything else he's doing might cause him to quit. Then where would I be? I will take care of planning Paul's and Linda's event myself.”

Larissa nodded at the manila folder that lay by his bread dish. “So is that the work you're bringing home? Their ceremony?”

“It is. I plan to write their proposal after supper.”

“What do you have planned?” Like Linda, Larissa found herself eager to hear his ideas. Probably not for the same reasons, but eager nonetheless.

“Does that include the moonlight cruise you sold them on a second ago?” Carlos asked.

“Yes.”

Her request had to wait, because the waiter chose that moment to bring out the next appetizer. Two bowls filled with a pale green broth.
“Sopa de lima,”
he announced. Larissa stirred the mixture with her spoon, letting the citrus smell wash over her. “Tom thought all these details were a waste of money, too.”

“I didn't say I thought it a waste of money.”

“But you don't think much of all the planning, either. And don't say that's not true,” she said, shaking her spoon, “because it's obvious you don't.”

She could tell he was choosing his argument by the way he hesitated. “So many people...they spend all this time and effort creating the perfect memory, and for what? So they can pick apart the event after the fact, and focus on the mistakes? Every day, my managers bring me complaints. The food wasn't what they expected. The temperature in the room was set incorrectly. The service wasn't discreet enough. The service was too discreet. The list is endless.

“Makes me wonder why people even bother,” he added, stabbing at his bowl with his spoon. “Especially when no matter what you do, you can't make them happy.”

Larissa refrained from comment. The acerbity accompanying his last comment suggested their conversation had crossed from theoretical to personal. Very personal, in fact. She thought of their other encounters. His exaggerated concern this morning, his shuttered expression. Didn't take a detective to realize her host carried some dark, heavy baggage.

Curiosity pushed her to find out what, but she held back. This vacation was about focusing on her own issues, not distracting herself with someone else's. No matter how much someone else's issues cried for her attention.

“Unfortunately for you, Paul and Linda
are
bothering,” she said, pointing out the obvious instead. “And from the sounds of things, Paul's looking for spectacular.”

“Unfortunately, yes, he is, and if you have any spectacular suggestions, I am more than willing to hear them.”

“I am the last person to ask for suggestions. Chloe and Delilah said I was a regular Bridezilla when it came to planning mine.”

“Pardon?”

“You know, a wedding monster.” One of those very people he'd just described.

For the first time since their conversation began, a small smile tugged at his mouth. “I know,” he said, sipping his soup. “I read your proposal.”

If she weren't so distracted by the way his lips covered the spoon, Larissa would have been insulted. Damn, but he turned eating sexy. “There's nothing wrong with wanting perfection.” She'd given the same argument to Tom and her friends dozens of times.

The smile tugged wider. “If you say so.”

“I wouldn't expect you to understand.” No one else did. Her ex certainly hadn't.

She turned to stare at the beach. The long silver-white path that stretched to the horizon. “Did you ever dream of something your whole life only to have it suddenly come true?” she asked. “When that moment does finally come, you want to create this perfect sliver of time. A memory that stands up to all the dreams and wishes. Because you only get one shot at making fantasy reality. If you don't go all out, you'll spend the rest of your life replaying the memory and wishing you'd had.”

Her cheeks grew warm realizing how much she'd rambled on. “Anyway,” she said, turning back, “that's why people get crazy about their weddings.”

Across the table, Carlos was studying her with an indistinguishable expression, his brown eyes sharper than she'd ever seen them. “Go ahead and tell me I'm over the top,” she said, tugging her shawl over her exposed shoulders. After all, Tom said that and worse when they broke up.
Over the top, superficial, caught up in the unimportant.
The can of worms she didn't want to open—the one in which Tom might have a point—threatened to raise its lid again.

Eyes yet to leave her, Carlos leaned back in his chair. His long fingers tapped at the file on the table. “So what would you do if you were planning the Stevases' ceremony?”

“Well, to begin with I would...” She stopped when she caught him looking down at the file. “Are you trying to pick my brain for ideas?”

“I merely asked a hypothetical question.”

Hypothetical, her foot. “You want me to help you plan the Stevases' recommitment ceremony, don't you?”

“You have to admit, you do have a knack for this sort of thing. First, the Steinbergs, then the Stevases with the moonlight cruise.”

“A few suggestions does not a knack make.” Although she had to give him credit. At least he didn't try and pretend he wasn't looking for input. “Isn't there a rule about making guests work?”

“A few suggestions does not work make,” he replied.

Damn him, for throwing her own retort back in her face.

“Plus,” he added “you've already done more work since your arrival than much of my staff.”

His tone turned gentle. “I listened to you describe our cruise to the Stevases. You painted exactly the kind of picture they needed to hear. They're looking for magic, and frankly, when it comes to creating magic, I'm...” He paused to study the orchid in the center of the table. “Empty.”

“Empty,” Larissa repeated. An odd choice of words. It implied that once upon a time he'd had magic. The notion he lost a part of himself made her heart ache.

“All I ask is that you give me a few ideas over dinner. Perhaps things you would have done yourself.”

“You want to use my defunct wedding ideas?”

“I want to hear your suggestions. Please. I would consider it a great favor.”

Aw, damn, did he have to lean forward so that the candlelight made his eyes sparkle? “What's in it for me?” she asked him.

“Pardon?”

If he was going to ask her to use her wedding to inspire someone else's happiness, she should at least get something out the arrangement. “Seems to me there should be some kind of compensation. Especially since I'm stuck paying for sixty percent of my own failed wedding.” The mention of which should be causing more heartache than it was. She truly didn't seem to be missing Tom at all. Again, she slammed the worm can.

Carlos shook his head. “You are asking for me to eat more of the cost.”

“Only fair, isn't it?”

He didn't answer. Probably because he had no argument. The business world survived on an unwritten
quid pro quo
of favors. Any good business man would realize that fact. Larissa sipped her sparkling water, and waited for his response.

“Very well,” he said, after a moment. “I will erase the wedding charges from your bill.”

“Great.” Finally, something on this trip was going her way.

“But,” he said, tilting his glass in her direction a warning if ever Larissa saw one, “any new expenses you wring up are completely non-negotiable.”

“Fair enough.” Getting a tan didn't cost much. What mattered was writing off the past.

She moved her soup to her left and learned forward. “Now, what do you say, we get to work.”

* * *

“Then, we wrap up everything that evening by sending them on the moonlight dinner cruise I told them about. What do you think?”

“I will have to check on cruise availability,” Carlos said, “but other than that, I'd say it sounds terrific. You're a natural at this.”

The compliment warmed Larissa more than it should. “Making sure I earn my percentage is all.”

“You have and then some. Are you sure you haven't planned events before?”

“Just my wedding,” Larissa replied. “Told you, I did a lot of research.” Not to mention that, when you spend most of your life fantasizing about something, planning became second nature.

During dinner, Carlos had shifted his chair to the side of the table so they could share the paperwork. He'd shed his jacket, as well.

You'd think the rolled-up sleeves would soften the edge she found so attractive earlier, but a relaxed Carlos was even more alluring. She couldn't blame alcohol or sleep deprivation this time, either. Beneath the table, his knee rested a hair's breadth from hers. Every shift of his body sent the seam of his slacks brushing across her skin. Good thing she had a shawl. Clutching it kept her from breakout in goose bumps.

“Well, your research has paid off for me three times this week,” he said, stealing a sip of water. “I don't suppose you want to stay and replace Maria?”

“Why not? I'll chuck my life in New York and move into the Presidential Villa.” Talk about the ultimate running away from your troubles. She smirked, waiting for his comeback to her pretend acceptance. What she got was a return grin that made her stomach somersault.

A soft cough broke the conversation. Their waiter hovered by Carlos's elbow, his face a combination of nerves and expectancy. “I'm sorry to interrupt, Señor Chavez, but the rest of the staff wants to know if they could break down the rest of the room.”

To her surprise, she and Carlos were the only two people left in the restaurant, the other tables long vacant. So engrossed was she in planning the Stevases' ceremony, she didn't notice the diners coming and going.

“Of course they can, Miguel,” Carlos replied. “We'll be out of their way shortly.”

“I didn't realize we were keeping your staff from doing their jobs,” she said after the server disappeared. “Good thing I decided against having a third piece of cake or they'd still be waiting.”

“Would you like—” He had his hand half up, ready to flag Miguel, when she grabbed his forearm.

“Thanks, but I've already had two pieces too many. As it is, I'll have to starve myself tomorrow to make up for the calories.”

“Ah, but surely you've heard calories don't count in paradise.”

“Tell that to my hips.”

“Your hips have nothing to complain about.” Her flush must have made him realize how his compliment sounded because she caught a tinge of pink creeping across his cheekbones. His gaze swept downward, to his forearm where her hand continued to rest. She knew she should move, but she couldn't. Like when you touch a hot stove and are unable to pull back quickly despite the sizzle.

Finally, he broke contact with her, sliding his arm free so he could straighten the paperwork. “Thank you again for all your assistance.”

“Um, my pleasure.” Larissa grabbed her water, hoping to hide her embarrassment. “What else was I going to do tonight? Take myself for a moonlit stroll?”

What Larissa didn't want to tell him was how much she enjoyed his company. Once you got past the stiffness, she discovered he had a very easy way about him. They worked surprisingly well together, too. Carlos was genuinely open to her suggestions, limiting his challenges to budgets and logistics. He contributed a few ideas of his own as well, which surprised her. Not that he had ideas, but the kind of ideas he put forth. For a man who claimed to be “empty” he had a knack for suggesting small, romantic gestures to complement her big picture ideas. More than once, Larissa wondered if his suggestions came from professional or personal experience. Did he, for example, leave orchids on his wife's pillow? If so she'd been a lucky woman, Larissa decided, with a pang in her stomach.

“I'm afraid you may have to take that stroll anyway,” Carlos told her. He pointed to his watch. “The last launch departed ten minutes ago.”

“It did?” She'd truly lost track of time. “And here I swore tonight I'd get a better night's sleep.”