The Best Man's Bride Page 8

Did every woman have a groper story? Celina wondered. Some man who wouldn’t take no for an answer, who thought it was somehow his right to touch and grab and take what should be a woman’s right to give?

  Certainly Hope and Ally and Flora had. It was how they had bonded. Well, Hope and Ally had been friends since school, but an incident in a car park when Ally was a teenager and some local jerk had come after her had cemented their relationship. Apparently Hope and Flora had taken care of him – making sure he wouldn’t do that sort of thing ever again.

  Listening to their stories, Celina hadn’t been able to ignore the memories of her own groper, and as they had shared with her, she found herself telling them about the night at the fraternity house – and how she’d met Jack.

  “He saved you!” Hope’s eyes had sparkled.

  “I could have saved myself,” Celina had said. At least she hoped she would have.

  But years and years of her parents’ admonitions to be polite and “don’t make a fuss” sometimes made her wonder if the lessons were so deeply ingrained that she would have politely let the groper have his way. Surely not!

  But she’d never had to find out because Jack had had no such scruples.

  He had been passing the upstairs room into which the guy had steered her, had heard her saying, “No. Please, no. I don’t want –” and had charged in and grabbed the guy off her, and broke his nose. Then he’d frog-marched him down the stairs, out the door, and pitched him into the hedge.

  All three of the other women had stared at her, eyes wide.

  Then, “He is a hero,” Flora agreed.

  “A good man.” Ally nodded.

  And then they had all looked at her again, curiosity piqued.

  “Isn’t ... wasn’t he your ... ex?” Hope asked at last. “Jonas said ...” Her voice trailed off, as if she worried that she shouldn’t have mentioned it.

  Celina was glad Jonas had finally shared the information. He so rarely did. But she supposed if he was talking to anyone, he was talking to Hope.

  Ally didn’t seem surprised at the news, but Flora did.

  “So he’s not a hero, then? I mean, if he’s your ex and all?” She looked ready to have her mind changed.

  But Celina couldn’t do it. She shook her head. “No, Jack is a good man.”

  The best, she would have said the day he’d stepped into her life. And she would have said he was the best for a long time after.

  “Then why did you ...” This time it was Ally’s voice that trailed off. She made a wry face and shrugged. “Sorry. None of my business.”

  “We just ... don’t want the same things,” Celina said.

  She didn’t mention the woman in Jack’s bed. What if it had been innocent? She hadn’t believed him then. She’d been too devastated to think straight, to try to imagine some other scenario than what was so obviously in front of her eyes. And yet ...

  Jack had done the right thing the night they’d met. He’d been her hero. Her champion.

  She couldn’t sleep for thinking about it. When she finally did doze off, the birds were singing, the sun was peeking through the curtains, and half an hour later her alarm clock rang.

  “Here she is now!” Maggie said cheerfully when the door to her suite opened almost on the stroke of eight o’clock. “Come in!” she called. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

  “We ...?” Celie appeared around the corner of the sitting room, took one look at him sitting on the brocade love seat, a cup of coffee in his hand, and her smile faded. “Jack.”

  As an enthusiastic acknowledgment of his presence, it left a lot to be desired.

  “Look who came to have breakfast with us!” At least Maggie was beaming enough for both of them.

  Jack couldn’t fault the dowager’s eager welcome when he’d turned up outside her door a few minutes ago bearing a carafe of coffee and a steaming pot of tea.

  “Breakfast will be coming shortly,” he’d said. “Do you mind my crashing your party?”

  “Not at all, dear boy. Not at all,” the dowager had said, ushering him in. “Come in.”

  As soon as he’d put down the coffee and tea, she’d enveloped him in a crushing hug. “I’m so glad to see you,” she’d murmured.

  Then she’d stepped back and held him out at arm’s length as if he were a schoolboy whose growth she was measuring. But that wasn’t what she was measuring, for a moment later she made a tsking sound. “You look like hell.”

  “Thanks a lot.” Jack said wryly. He should have been prepared. Maggie didn’t miss much, and her plainspokenness was legendary.

  “Oh, I don’t mean you’re not as handsome as ever,” the dowager went on briskly. “In fact,” she said, still considering him, “from a sheer good looks standpoint, misery suits you.”

  Jack didn’t bother to thank her for that.

  Maggie patted his arm. She poured him a cup of coffee and herself a cup of tea, then she settled down into the wingback chair by the window. It was upholstered in something that looked like the Bayeux tapestry. Very bloody and royal. “So,” she said. “You’re here to get her back.”

  If he’d had a hope of being subtle, the dowager had scotched it right there. But before he could say a word, there was a rap on the door.

  The dowager had glanced at her watch and smiled. “Celina,” she’d said. “Such a punctual girl. Come,” she’d called.

  And now Celina was looking at him as if he were something she’d found on the bottom of her shoe.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  She sounded as if she were trying to appear welcoming. He gave her credit for professionalism. The trouble was, he wanted more than that.

  He stood up. “Good morning to you.” He tried a smile.

  The one he got in return looked as if she were dredging it up from her toes.

  “Coffee?” Maggie asked her.

  “We should be going down to breakfast, don’t you think?” Celie asked her.

  “Jack’s arranged to have it sent up.”

  “Oh! Well ...” She was clearly at a loss. “Isn’t that ... kind?” The fake smile was back in place again. “I didn’t realize Jack was going to be here. I’m sure you’d enjoy catching up with him, so I’ll just –”

  Run away, Jack thought.

  “Sit down,” Maggie said. It cut off Celie’s sentence. It was also a command. And if Celie was in any doubt, Maggie’s gaze traveling from her to the space on the love seat next to Jack made it abundantly clear.

  Obligingly Jack moved over to give her room. Not that he thought she’d take it.

  She swallowed and hesitated, as if trying to decide how she should handle this so as not to annoy the dowager. He didn’t think she minded annoying him.

  Finally she nodded. “Just let me put down my bag.” She moved to place a large tote bag on the floor near the fireplace. Then – her lucky day – there was another knock on the door. Breakfast had arrived.

  The two girls who brought it in – covered dishes of bacon and sausage, scrambled eggs, baked beans, stewed tomatoes, mushrooms, and toast along with more coffee, tea, milk and sugar – batted their lashes at him as they laid it out on the table.

  “We’ll be happy to stay and serve,” the tall one said hopefully.

  “Not necessary,” Maggie said peremptorily. “But thank you for the offer.” And she waved the girls off with the ease of a woman who had spent much of her life dealing with staff.

  The girls looked disappointed, but they pushed the cart back out the door.

  “If you need anything – anything at all,” the tall one began, her gaze on Jack.

  But Maggie said, “We’ll be sure to ring. Good day.”

  Glumly, the girls left.

  There was no chance of sitting next to Celie on the love seat now, so Jack took the chair between the two of them at the table with Maggie on his right and Celie on his left.

  He’d had this experience before. Or one this recalled.

  “Remember the waffle place in Am
es,” he said with a grin, recalling the morning he and Celie had met Maggie for the first time. Jonas had had a seminar to attend, so he and Celie had taken the dowager out to breakfast.

  Never allowing herself more than yogurt and fruit and, on an extravagant day, a piece of dry toast, Jonas’s grandmother had looked askance at the waffles, strawberries, whipped cream and other American breakfast offerings. “I can’t possibly,” she’d protested.

  But Jack had tempted her. “It’s not as if we’re plying you with this daily. Give it a chance.”

  And after rolling her eyes and telling him he was a devil, Maggie had eaten her fill.

  Now she laughed and shook her head. “I remember, you scamp. You and Celina caused me to gain five pounds!”

  “Not me,” Celina protested. But she was laughing, too.

  It was the first time Jack had heard her laugh in two years. He wanted to hear more of it. He wanted her to remember the good times and forget all the weeks and months they were apart, forget the last fiasco in Barcelona and all the times he had probably let her down that he hadn’t even been aware of.

  So he did his best to charm her and Maggie, too. He recounted every funny story he could about the times Maggie had visited Jonas in Ames. And Maggie, bless her heart, joined in with the reminiscing. Gradually Celie did, too, and every once in a while he would catch her looking his way. He dared, once they had finished eating and had adjourned to the sitting area again, to bring up the days he and Celie had spent in San Michele.

  He didn’t talk about the night they’d spent in a mountain hideaway. He didn’t focus on the two of them together at all. It was always there in the back of his mind. But he wasn’t going to hit her over the head with it. He just wanted her to think about those days, remember the good times.

  Maggie talked about their visit there as well. Between the two of them, they kept the conversational ball rolling along pretty smoothly. And if Celie didn’t participate much, she did seem more relaxed than she had yesterday. She didn’t direct any comments at him, but she didn’t withdraw from the conversation, either. At least she spoke to Maggie, saying things that he could then pick up on. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t nearly enough.

  But Jack was doing his best to practice patience. Crossing his fingers. Hoping.

  Baby steps, his mother used to tell him. Sometimes you need to take baby steps to get where you want to go. But Jack had never been a baby steps sort of guy, so it was all he could do not to say, “Come on, Celie. Talk to me. Tell me what we can do to get things back on track.”

  He was, even doing his damnedest to be patient, within a hair’s breadth of doing just that when, during the nearly two hours they spent together, she spoke maybe a dozen sentences – not one of which was aimed at him.

  Then finally she said, “Oh, dear! Look at the time! We need to get you to your appointment with the dressmaker for your final fitting,” she said to Maggie. She didn’t sound as if she regretted it at all.

  Maggie seemed to, though. She made a face, then sighed. “Duty calls,” she said apologetically and finished the tea in her cup. “Needs must,” she said to Jack wryly. “I am sorry. You’ll come talk to me again, though, won’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you’ll come see me in San Michele.”

  “Or you can come on tour with me,” he suggested with a grin.

  Maggie laughed delightedly. “Ah, yes, the royal tour. We should do that,” she added conspiratorially.

  “Name the day,” Jack said. He halfway meant it. He’d like a tour a lot better if Maggie were on it. And Celie. He glanced at her, and had the feeling that, until he’d looked her way, she had been looking at him. Now she stood up and gave him a deliberately expectant look, one that said he needed to take the hint and be gone.

  Reluctantly Jack got to his feet and turned to Maggie. “Thanks for letting me crash your breakfast.”

  “My pleasure,” Maggie assured him. She reached out and took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Not good enough.” And Jack bent down and kissed her cheek.

  She looked up at him with a smile. “I shall never wash my face again.”

  He laughed. “You’re good for my heart, Maggie,” he told her.

  She hung on to his hand and gave it another harder squeeze. “Come back, Jack,” she said softly, so softly that he didn’t think Celina, standing by the door and drilling him in the back with her impatience, could hear her.

  “I’m trying,” he said.

  She nodded. “Keep it up.”

  “I will,” he promised. “But right now, Celie’s right,” he said, consulting his watch. “I’ve got to go, too. Jonas has plans,” he added grimly.

  “Plans?” Maggie perked up, all ears.

  Jack grunted. “Golf. Or a cricket match.”

  “Jonas hates golf,” Maggie said, surprised. “And he doesn’t play cricket.”

  “The golf is for his dad. Jonas is mending fences.” Jack smiled wryly, betting that as far as mending fences went, Jonas was having better luck than he was. Hell, he hated golf, too, but he’d play with Celie if he thought it would win her heart.

  “Not a bad idea,” Jonas’s grandmother allowed. “I love that boy dearly, but he does rub Benedict the wrong way. A nice round of golf ... oh, well done, Jonas,” she reflected aloud. “Are you playing, too?”

  He shook his head. “Not me.”

  Suddenly Celie said, “So, you’re playing cricket?”

  It was the first time she’d addressed him directly all morning. Jack blinked. Celie looked as if she wished she hadn’t spoken. But he was delighted. “Not a chance. Purely spectating. You could come.” He couldn’t help offering that.

  “No, thank you,” she said quickly. “We’ve got the fitting and –”

  “I can get a dress fitted by myself,” Maggie pointed out.

  “Of course, you can. But then I have correspondence to do. And this afternoon, I told Anna I would help with anything she needed.”

  Jack wondered if he could talk Anna into needing Celie to spend time with him. Probably not. He scowled.

  Maggie made a clicking sound of disapproval with her tongue against her teeth. But she didn’t say anything.

  “We should go,” Celie nudged.

  Okay, he’d pushed as far as he could. But that didn’t mean he was giving up.

  “Later,” he promised Maggie. He couldn’t help it if he murmured, “Chicken,” just loud enough for Celie to hear as he walked out.

  The minute the door closed behind him, Maggie turned to her. “I’ve never known you to be rude.” Her expression wasn’t entirely one of disapproval. It was more like concern that Celina saw in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Celina muttered. And she was because she didn’t want to disappoint Maggie. But she couldn’t seem to find her balance when it came to dealing with Jack. She shook her head. “I just ... can’t deal with him.”

  “Because you’re still in love with him.”

  Celina couldn’t tell if Maggie was making a comment or asking a question. But quickly she shook her head. “I’m not.”

  “You feel something,” Maggie said. She settled back into her chair again and lifted her tea to her lips.

  Celina couldn’t sit down. She needed to move. To pace. “I was married to him. Of course I feel something.”

  “So does he.”

  “Jack likes his own way.”

  “It’s more than that.”

  Celie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Maggie sighed. “Oh, my dear, you’ve only got to see the way he looks at you. He can’t stop looking at you.”

  “He’s probably just wondering what he ever saw in me.”

  “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.” Her voice was firm, her tone brooking no argument.

  “Fine. I won’t say a word,” Celina said, her words conciliatory, but her tone was defiant. “I don’t want to talk about it – about him – at all.”

  “
I shan’t say another word.” Maggie made a zipping motion with her fingers across her lips.

  That’ll be the day, Celina thought.

  But as Maggie preceded her out the door, she turned back to say, “You need to date other men, then.”

  Celina sighed. “Can we please just go?”

  “We are going,” Maggie said in her best long-suffering tone. “We are simply having a conversation while we go.” She swept out into the hallway with all the regal demeanor of which she was capable. Which was a lot.

  “We’re not having a conversation,” Celina pointed out. “You’re pontificating.”

  “I?” Maggie looked askance at her. “Never! I am many things, my dear. But I am not the Pope.”

  Celina rolled her eyes and let Maggie take her elbow as they went down the hallway.

  “There are plenty of eligible men here for the wedding,” the dowager mused.

  “I’ve dated other men,” Celina said.

  Maggie lifted her brows. “Have you? Whom?” The look she gave Celina said she was going to expect a complete accounting.

  “That CEO, something to do with the lumber industry. Jonas brought him home, remember? And that baron with the curly hair. And the guy with the mutton-chop sideburns.”

  “And don’t forget the bald tennis player.” Maggie shook her head, despairingly. “You don’t even remember their names, dear girl.”

  “I remember Fredrik. And Nico,” Celina said defensively.

  “Then perhaps you should give them another chance.”

  “Will it end this conversation if I say I will?”

  Maggie smiled a beneficent smile. “Of course.” She paused with her hand on the stair railing. “I’m glad to hear you’re going to be pro-active. That is the term, isn’t it?”

  Celina sighed. “Yes.”

  “Brilliant.” They proceeded slowly down the stairs. At the bottom, the dowager paused again and turned, patted Celina’s cheek. “You might want to stop doing your best to avoid or ignore Jack, though.”

  “Maggie,” Celina warned through her teeth.

  “Just mentioning, my dear. It just seems to me that where Jack is concerned you’re being just the tiniest bit cowardly.”

  Cricket.