Their Wicked Wedding (3 page)

But I do have time to make a quick call to Lily and promise her I won’t be late.

“You promise?” she says after I’ve laid out my case. “Is everything okay down there?”

“I’m managing it,” I tell her. “And I promise I won’t be here much longer. I have plans for you later, and I have no intention of missing them.”

She laughs. “What sort of plans?”

“The sort where you’ll be screaming my name.”

That gets another laugh. “Calder, I told you—”

“And I’m very persistent. We’ll see how you feel later tonight.”

And with that promise shared, I get back to work. I only pause once during the afternoon—just long enough to chug down the cup of lukewarm coffee Nathan brings me—but though I don’t manage to fix our messy situation, by four o’clock I’ve managed to delegate the tasks that will enable us to begin deeper investigations into Edwards’ actions and to get damage control underway. Thankfully, Ronald responded as I hoped during our meeting, given the scale of the problem, and he’s taking the lead on things from here.

Good. I don’t want to be worried about this all week when I should be focused on marrying the love of my life.

I stumble out of the office by six, hungry and exhausted but feeling much better about the Edwards situation. I’m going to come back to a mountain of work, but I’ll deal with that then. Right now, I only have one job: to get back to Lily and spend the rest of the evening making things up to her. This week is about us, not my job, and I need her to know that she’s more important to me than any client accounts. Besides, I’m rather looking forward to fulfilling my promise of this afternoon.

I don’t notice the man until he’s right beside me.

“Mr. Cunningham,” he says. “I know you’re busy, but I need to speak with you about something.”

“No,” I say with a jerk of my head. “No questions.” After these past few years, I have little patience for reporters or people who stop to interrogate me on the street. This week, I have no tolerance whatsoever. Lily and I decided to keep our wedding small and private for a reason. We don’t want reporters anywhere near our nuptials.

But this one doesn’t get the hint.

“This’ll only take a couple of minutes,” he says. “It’s important, Calder. It’s about your father.”

Those words shock me enough to make me pause—or maybe it’s the informal, familiar way in which he’s just addressed me. Either way, I find myself stopping and looking over at him.

There’s something instantly familiar about this man, though I can’t put my finger on what. He’s my height, close to my age, and for the most part, unremarkable in looks. Brown eyes, brown hair, average build. He doesn’t look at me as if I’m a complete stranger to him—and this man is certainly a complete stranger to
me—
but that’s not unusual. When people see your face all over the internet, they think they know you.

“I’m sorry,” I say, not in the mood to play nice. “I’ve had a long day and I need to get going.” To get back to Lily.

I walk on, but he keeps stride with me.

“It’s important,” he repeats. “I tried to talk to you earlier, but your assistant sent me away. I’ve been waiting out here for you all day.”

That doesn’t make me any more inclined to stop. In fact, it makes me even more determined to be on my way. Your normal, run-of-the-mill reporters are bad enough. Persistent reporters who stalk my place of work? And on a Sunday, when I shouldn’t even be here? Even worse. I won’t suffer this man. Not this week. I thought the tabloids had moved on to other dramas. I don’t want anyone sniffing around my family anymore.

“I’m going to count to ten,” I tell him, my fingers curling into a fist. “If you aren’t gone by then, I’m calling the police. If you’re still here after I’ve made that call, then I won’t be held responsible for what I do. I’m done dealing with reporters.” My sister got arrested for punching an over-eager member of the press. I suppose it’s only suitable that I follow her example.

“Hey, wait—I’m not a reporter,” he says, and this time he goes as far as to grab my arm.

I jerk away from him, ready to swing a fist at his face, but something in his expression makes me pause. And I remember what he said:
It’s about your father.

“You have ten seconds to tell me why you’re here,” I say.

I expect him to launch right into the explanation, but instead, he just stares back at me. Really stares—like he’s trying to find some answer in my face.

I don’t have the time for this.
I have a long-ass drive and a fiancée waiting for me. A fiancée who should be squirming beneath me right now. I turn once more to go.

“Your father was Wentworth Cunningham,” he says after me.

Did he really wait outside all day to ask me that?

“Of course,” I reply. “And I’m sure you could have confirmed that on the internet in a matter of seconds.”

The man ignores my tone. “How much do you know about his relationship with Patricia Harker?”

That
makes me stop again. “I’m sorry—
what
? Who the hell are you and what the hell do you want?”

The man is still staring at me.

“I wanted to meet my family,” he says finally. “Wentworth Cunningham was your father. And, well, he was my father, too.”

CHAPTER THREE

LILY

I don’t know whether to be pissed at or worried about Calder.

Not because he
needs
to be here, but let’s be honest—
he
was the one who insisted on taking the whole week off, and
he
is the one who tells me time and again that he refuses to let his work come before his family. Yet there he goes, rushing back to the office after only a day. And then staying much later than he said he would. It’s a little infuriating.

When it comes down to it, though my worry wins out over my annoyance. Both Calder and I are trying hard to balance careers we love with our home life, but Calder takes it a step further. I’ve seen it in his eyes—the fear, the determination. He’s afraid that
this
—me, his sister, his
family
—could slip away from him again at any moment, and I know he’d quit his job before he allowed anything to jeopardize it. If he had to race back to work, it was because something serious happened, and I don’t want him dealing with that sort of stress this week. I want him to have the best damn week of his life.

I’ve spent most of the day with our wedding coordinator, working out some last-minute details. We spent most of the afternoon out in the gardens, deciding on the layout for the ceremony. We’ll be getting married in a small garden just behind the house that features some gorgeous evergreen shrubs and a number of early spring blossoms. The crocuses have already erupted into their beautiful purple and yellow blooms.

The reception, on the other hand, will be held in the house’s former gallery, which is where I stand now. The coordinator pointed out to me where all of the tables should go, but I found myself continually distracted by the walls, which look so strange and empty these days, even with the rich wallpaper installed during the house’s brief stint as Huntington Manor. Once, there were hundreds of paintings on these walls, and I wandered through them with such wonder. I hardly knew Calder then, and yet I accepted his challenge to find his favorite piece in the collection.

I shiver at the memory of what happened when I lost that bet. It was one of the earliest of our many games.

The coordinator is gone now, and I’m alone in the gallery. I step up to the nearest wall and brush a finger against the wallpaper, trying to remember what once hung in this spot. There’s no denying the room is still beautiful. And it’s not completely unadorned—there are still a number of paintings and decorative sconces at intervals along the walls. I’m not sure whether Lou and Ward purchased these pieces or whether they’re leftovers from Huntington Manor, but it doesn’t matter. This place still feels different.

We have to reclaim it. Fill it with our memories again.

I wander down the length of the room and back again, my eyes drifting over the walls, my brain trying to recall the pieces I once knew. There—on the eastern wall, not far from the door—was where the Ludlam painting hung. Even when Calder had to sell every other bit of this place piece by piece, he saved that painting and gave it to me. And there—farther down the other side—was where there sat a glass case with a piece of carved ivory that Calder had loved when he was a child. I wonder…

A small sound behind me makes me turn. Lou is standing in the doorway.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you,” she says. “Just wanted to tell you that dinner is ready.” She’s looking past me, right at the place on the wall where I was just staring. Probably wondering why I’m so fascinated by the wallpaper.

But then she smiles wistfully.

“I always hated this room,” she says. “When I was little, I mean. It was so… scary.”

“Scary?”

“You know, one of those rooms where you aren’t allowed to touch anything. Which of course meant that every time I was in here, I had the overwhelming urge to touch
everything
.” Her smile widens briefly, and then she grows serious again as her eyes drift past me once more. I know she’s imagining it as it once looked, just as I’ve done.

“This room was always so stiff, so formal,” she continues. “All these faces staring down at me. All these abstract paintings that were supposedly ‘high art’ but never made any sense to me. My father loved everything in this room. So did Calder. But I never understood any of it. This gallery meant so much to my family, but all it did was remind me of everything I wasn’t and everything I’d never be.”

Her hand comes up and settles against her stomach, but I’m not sure she’s even aware she’s moved.

“Now I don’t know what to think of this room,” she says. The corner of her mouth curls up, and for a flash she looks just like her brother. “I’d like to change the wallpaper, but that doesn’t exactly have top priority on the list of projects around here.”

It’s still a little strange to me that Ward Brannon—and by extension, Lou—now own this place. In my head, it’s always been
Calder’s house.
I find myself wondering again how he is taking all of this, whether he’s actually happy to be back here or whether he feels the same
strangeness
that I do. When Lou and Ward first invited us to have our wedding here, he seemed pleased by the idea, but being here, coming face-to-face with all of these changes, is another thing completely.

Lou is still gazing at the wall, and I take the chance to study her out of the corner of my eye. Even in the brief time I’ve known her, I’ve watched her come into her own. She isn’t the same girl who tore back into our lives on the night Calder and I got engaged. She’s not the girl who lied her way into a position at Huntington Manor, or the girl who went on the run to avoid the consequences of her actions. She survived, and she’s stronger for it.

I remember how terrified Calder was when he found out she was pregnant. He put on a brave face in front of her, of course—he wouldn’t risk driving her away again—but I got his true reaction later. He paced back and forth for an hour in our apartment, ranting about how she should have known better and threatening to call up Ward and have a “man-to-man” chat. It took me three glasses of wine to calm him down, and then he spent the rest of the night at his computer, drawing up a list of resources for expectant parents and working up a budget for Lou and Ward. He would have given them money, too, but they refused to accept it.

I’m not sure they would have needed it anyway, given that Ward inherited this place. Apparently Edward Carolson’s financial affairs were in good order on his death, and it was about as simple as one could hope to transition the property—which is to say that it wasn’t simple at all, but half a year later, Huntington Manor is a thing of memories, and Lou and Ward are making this place their home.

I’ve only had a chance to see a little of the work they’ve done. They were able to sell off huge portions of furniture, building supplies, and other resources to help fund the repairs they needed to make, as well as Ward’s restoration projects. That means, of course, that a good three-quarters of the house is completely unfurnished, but that doesn’t really matter in a place this size. It also left them with more than enough money to let them live comfortably for some time—which, considering they have a baby on the way, is something of a blessing.

Lou is absently rubbing her belly as she stares at the wallpaper, and I suspect she’s thinking similar. But then her eyes jump back to me.

“I made mac and cheese,” she says. “Come on, or it’ll get cold.”

My stomach rumbles in response, drawing a laugh out of her.

“Don’t worry, I made a lot,” she says.

I smile. “I just hope your cooking is better than Calder’s.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve been practicing. I can only make simple things, but I’m getting better. Hopefully I’ll know my way around the kitchen by the time this little one is ready for solid food.” She pats her belly.

My smile deepens. Calder might have been worried when he found out his little sister was expecting, but she’s risen to the occasion. She’s going to make a wonderful mother.

She must guess my thoughts, because she adds, “It’s funny what having a baby does to you. I suddenly feel so…
domestic.
And not only that, but I’m actually kind of enjoying it.” Earlier this morning, she showed me the garden she’s been tending. She and Ward have hired a crew to maintain the grounds, but she has her own little patch of garden where she’s been planting herbs and vegetables. Apparently she had a small vegetable patch when she was younger, but I can see that all of these things have new meaning for her.

We head to the small chamber off of the kitchens that she and Ward have adapted into a casual dining room. When we get there, Ward’s already at the table, and he’s halfway through his bowl of mac and cheese.

Lou shakes her head. “You couldn’t have waited five minutes?”

He stuffs another bite in his mouth and grins. “It smelled so good. I didn’t want it to get cold.”

Lou starts to roll her eyes, but Ward’s already out of his seat, coming over to us. When he reaches Lou, he pulls her toward him and kisses her. His hand drops down to her belly.

“Actually,” he says when he pulls away, “there’s some work I still want to do tonight. I just needed a quick refuel.” He glances up at me. “Not to be rude.”

“Not at all,” I say, returning his smile. “I’m sure Lou and I can entertain ourselves.”

He flashes another grin before grabbing his bowl and quickly shoveling the rest in his mouth.

I steal glances at him as I serve myself some cheesy noodles from the big bowl in the center of the table. I haven’t seen much of Ward since Calder and I arrived here, and frankly, I’ve been a little worried that he’s been avoiding us. For all that he invited us to have our wedding here, he and Calder aren’t exactly friends yet. They tolerate each other, of course, but with the mutual politeness and wariness of two men who know they
should
get along but don’t know quite what to make of each other. Their awkwardness and subtle power battles would be amusing if Lou and I weren’t caught in the middle.

I look over at Lou. She’s gazing at Ward with such affection and adoration that it warms me from the inside out. They truly love each other, these two. And it’s more than just infatuation. They look at each other as if they’ve been through hell and back together.

I think of everything Calder and I have weathered with each other. Do we look at each other like that, too?

My eyes go back to Ward, who’s shoving the last couple of bites in his mouth. He’s so different from Calder. He’s wearing dirty jeans and a T-shirt—necessary for his work, of course, but so unlike anything Calder would ever wear—and his auburn hair hangs loose and disheveled around his ears. He’s bulkier than Calder, but not quite as tall. But the biggest difference between them is no one single thing, but each of them as a whole—Calder is dark and serious and intense, while there’s a brightness around Ward. I might even call it a
goofiness
, when he grins like that. And he seems to be exactly what Lou needs, just as Calder is exactly what
I
need.

I glance at my watch. It’s half past seven. Calder should have been home long ago.

Ward has finished his mac and cheese, and he pops into the kitchen to drop the bowl in the sink before coming back to Lou.

“I won’t be working late,” he promises, leaning down to kiss her again. This kiss is longer than the one he gave her when we entered, and his hand comes up and cups the side of her face, holding her to him. I’m sitting across the table, and I can still feel the crackle of energy between them—so much so that a blush rises to my cheeks and I find myself wondering exactly
what
these two get up to at dinner when they have this house to themselves.

I push the thought away and look quickly down at my bowl, giving the two what privacy I can. I know what sort of passion this house can awaken in people. I know all too well.

And now I’m thinking of Calder again, and of last night…

But that makes me flush even harder, and I do
not
want to be reliving those sensual moments in my mind in front of other people. I’m probably already bright red.

And so I stuff my face with noodles and do everything I can to think of
anything
but the wicked promise in Calder’s voice on the phone this afternoon, or the way he gasped my name last night when he spent himself in his hand.

* * *

Calder doesn’t get back until almost nine.

I’m in my room, trying to bury myself in a book, but I hear his steps come down the hallway. I wait for the knock at my door, but there isn’t one. He doesn’t even pause outside my room.

I jump up and go out to the hall. He’s almost to the door of his own room.

“Hey,” I call after him.

He jumps slightly, as if he’s startled to see me.

“Hey,” he says. He looks exhausted, and I can see the tension around his eyes. It must have been a rough day.

I walk toward him. The closer I get, the worse he looks. It must have been a really,
really
rough day.

“You okay?” I ask. “Want me to go grab you some wine?”