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Olivia looked touched. “Well. Don’t make my mascara run now, when it’s time for us to leave for the ceremony. I hope that Jamison hasn’t let Kevin lose the rings.” She turned to retrieve the orchid bouquets that had been delivered to Lisa’s suite earlier. “He’s so excited about being the ring bearer but I think a lot of it may have to do with getting to walk beside Chance’s stepdaughter, Annie. He’s fascinated with her red hair.”
Panic rippled through Lisa’s stomach, and it had nothing to do with either Kevin or little Annie. With Olivia’s attention elsewhere, she quickly swallowed down the last of her champagne. Courage, even in liquid form, seemed definitely called for.
Then she hefted up her trailing gown and took her bouquet from her sister. Like it or not, it was showtime.
Rourke pulled back his cuff and looked at his watch.
“Don’t worry.” Ted clapped him on the back. “The Plaza is only minutes away. She’ll be here.”
“I know. I just want to get it over with.”
Ted smiled. “And get on with the wedding night?”
Rourke didn’t deny it. He hadn’t told his old friend any of the details behind the sudden marriage; leaving intact Ted’s assumption that Rourke’s interest in Lisa had carried them away.
The pretense wasn’t entirely a pretense, anyway. Since that night with Lisa at her parents’ home, he hadn’t seen her again until the previous day when they’d both put their signatures on his prenup before joining the rest of their families and friends for the rehearsal and the dinner following.
Holding her in his arms, dropping kisses on her lips. None of it had been a hardship and if anything, he was more than a little preoccupied with thoughts of what was to come after the “I do’s” were said.
“Gentlemen?” The woman in charge of keeping them on time poked her head into the room where Ted and Rourke were waiting. “We’re ready for you.”
Ted grinned and gave him a thumbs-up before preceding him to the chapel. The organist was already playing when he and Ted lined up in front of the priest.
He was surprised to feel a jolt of nervousness when he turned to wait for his bride. It wasn’t a common sensation. His mother sat in the front pew, beaming her pleasure at him. Behind her were his sisters and their husbands and broods. Tanya was bouncing in her seat, alternating between pouts and smiles. She’d given him hell the evening before for stooping to marry someone else before she became available.
Young Kevin Jamison appeared, his focus much more squarely on the pillow he was carrying which bore the wedding rings, than it was on where he was walking. Fortunately, his sidekick, Annie Labeaux—who was practically preening in her ruffled yellow dress—knew her marks perfectly, and kept Kevin coming in a forward motion.
Then Lisa’s sister appeared, gliding up the aisle like the dancer he knew she’d once been. Tanya bounced again and, despite her mother’s grasping hands, managed to stand up on her pew to wave both hands at him.
He waved back, earning a soft chuckle from most of the guests. But he wasn’t really listening because Lisa had appeared at the rear of the chapel.
Rourke was vaguely aware of Gerald accompanying her in his wheelchair along the aisle toward him. Vaguely aware of the change in the organ music. Vaguely aware that he was still breathing.
She was beautiful.
Draped in some airy fabric that cinched her narrow waist in bits of lace, managing to look painfully innocent and wrenchingly sexy at the same time.
Her eyes didn’t meet his when she reached the end of the aisle. She kissed her father’s cheek and his motorized chair silently left her side.
Leaving Lisa to him.
He could see her pulse beating at the base of her slender neck. See a similar beat in the smooth flesh between the modest V of her neckline. And he could feel it beneath his fingers in her hands after she handed off her bouquet to her sister and placed them, cool and slightly shaking, in his.
Later, he knew they’d both repeated the vows. Knew he’d pushed his platinum band on her finger and had donned the wider version of it for himself. He knew that she’d lifted her lips for his brief kiss when the priest called for it, and knew that she’d tucked her hand through his arm as they’d walked back down the chapel aisle.
He knew it, because the license was duly signed afterward, they blinked against the flash of a dozen cameras as they left the cathedral behind, and then they were inside his limousine, which was bearing them, right on schedule, back to his Park Avenue apartment. The rest of the wedding party and guests were following in a raft of identical stretches.
“So that’s it,” she said, as they left the cathedral behind. She was looking at her hands that were splayed flat on her lap, surrounded by the cloud of her long gown.
Probably looking at the wedding rings.
“That was just the start.”
He watched her fingers curl into the airy gown until neither her fingers nor the rings were visible. She looked straight ahead at the smoked privacy window separating them from the driver, then turned her head to look out the window. Her veil was pulled to one side, exposing her pale nape and the small, lone freckle that graced the tender skin.
He would kiss that freckle soon enough. And every inch of creamy flesh that stretched down her spine. He wondered how long it would take to undo the dozens of tiny diamondlike buttons that stretched down the back of her gown. Wondered, too, what she would be wearing beneath it.
She looked at him suddenly, her eyes narrowed, as if she’d been reading his mind. But she quickly disabused him of that notion. “There’s not going to be any photographers at your apartment, are there?”
“At the reception?” He shook his head. “No. Outside the building, though? Likely.” There had been a few camped out there for the past several days, clearly documenting the somewhat surprising fact that Rourke Devlin’s fiancée wasn’t yet in residence. “Don’t worry. You’re the picture of a princess bride. Just look up at me adoringly as we go inside and everyone’ll be happy.”
She grimaced and looked back out the window again. “Everyone but us,” she muttered. “Even my best friend doesn’t know what a lie this all is. I hope you’re planning on going to confession someday or that farce of a wedding ceremony will haunt us to hell.”
He touched his finger to her arm, feeling her start, before he dragged it slowly down to her wrist. “That’s how you saw it?”
She shifted, crossing her arms. “How could I not? It was a pretense. Love, honor and cherish?” She shook her head, the corner of her lips turned downward.
“You’ll be my wife with all the respect that deserves. I’ll honor you.” And he’d cherish her body the second he had the chance. No question.
The line of her jaw was like a finely chiseled masterpiece. “You won’t love me.”
Love had never gotten him anywhere. “And you won’t love me.”
She slid him an icy look. “That’s right. The sooner we get what we want out of this deal, the happier I’ll be.”
“Then we’re in agreement.” He held her gaze with his, even after the limo sighed to a stop in front of his building. “Now, are you ready to get on with this?” His driver opened the door next to him.
Lisa’s gaze slipped away. She picked up her bouquet that had been lying on the seat between them and nodded.
He stepped out of the car, and turned to help her out. She stuck out one slender foot, shod in delicate straps, and then the dress seemed to follow as she slid out of the vehicle.
It was like watching flower petals unfurl and he knew the photographers that—as predicted—were still camped out nearby would be snapping away.
The moment Lisa was standing beside him, he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close. His mouth covered hers.
Her lips parted; he could taste her quick word of protest, but he ignored it. And then he could taste the faint hint of champagne on her tongue and then deeper, the taste of her as she was kissing him back.
“Time enough for that later.” Ted’s laughing voice barely penetrated the fog that was gathering in Rourke’s head. The hand his friend clamped on his shoulder was more intrusive.
Rourke slowly pulled away.
Lisa’s eyes were wide. Her cheeks were flushed.
Sara Beth danced around next to Lisa, sliding a short little capelike thing around her shoulders that matched Lisa’s dress before scurrying her toward the building, chattering a mile a minute about God only knew what. Crushed orchids rained down from Lisa’s bouquet onto the sidewalk as they went.
He forced a smile for Ted and the others who were rapidly disgorging from the stream of limousines but the only thing he really saw was the panicked glance Lisa tossed back at him the moment before she disappeared into the building.
Yeah, he’d given the photographers their money shot, but just then he wasn’t certain who was paying the price.
Lisa leaned back against the elevator wall and stared at her hands. She hadn’t even had time to get used to the weight of the engagement ring during the past week, and now there was another band there to add to the unsettling unfamiliarity.
“Some kiss.”
She glanced up at Sara Beth, who was not doing even a credible job of sounding, or looking, casual.
Lisa pressed her lips together for a moment. She could still taste him. “Yes.” She kept her voice low. The elevator doors were still open. There was no point in pushing the button for Rourke’s floor, because that particular one required a key.
Sara Beth’s voice was just as low. “Considering the steam radiating off the two of you, I would’ve expected you to look a little more…glowing.” She plucked Lisa’s somewhat smashed bouquet out of her hands and gently stroked her hand over the blooms. “Rourke’s obviously crazy about you. But are you really okay with this marriage thing? It’s awfully sudden.”
“I told you back at the hotel that I was.”
“Yes, and you were two glasses into a bottle of champagne before you managed to say that.” Sara Beth lifted her chin and smiled a little stiffly when Emily and Ramona stepped onto the elevator followed soon by Gerald, whose chair was being pushed by Paul.
“I still don’t know why Derek wasn’t at the ceremony,” Emily was complaining. “I’ve left him a half-dozen messages but he hasn’t called me back.”
“Maybe he had something else he couldn’t get out of,” Paul said, his voice even.
“Not even for his sister’s wedding?” Emily shook her head, looking upset.
“It was short notice for everyone, Mother,” Lisa reminded, hoping that would be the end of it.
She had made it a point not to invite Derek and, considering the number of phone messages he’d been leaving for her, had been half afraid he’d show up anyway. Unless he was living under a rock, he couldn’t fail to have read or heard that she was marrying the handsome billionaire.
Then Ted arrived, holding up a key that he used to unlock the button for the penthouse floor. “Rourke’s talking to security. They were supposed to have the elevators unlocked by the time we got here.”
“No detail left unturned,” Lisa muttered.
Her mother leaned over to pinch Lisa’s cheeks and she jerked back. “Hey.”
“You need some color in your cheeks,” Emily defended. “You’re almost as white as your dress.”
“I think she looks perfect,” Ramona inserted, giving Lisa a quick wink when Emily turned to fuss over Gerald.
The elevator let them off in a spacious, marble-floored hallway that possessed two grand doors at opposite ends. The door belonging to Rourke was obvious; it was opened and a sedately uniformed beauty stood beside it, bearing a silver tray of crystal champagne flutes.
It took only a moment for Lisa to recognize the girl as the hostess from Raoul’s restaurant. “For the new Mrs. Devlin,” she greeted her, holding out her tray.
Mrs. Devlin.
Lisa’s hand shook as she took one of the exquisitely cut stems. “Thank you.”
“For heaven’s sake, Lisa, we’re not going to stand out here.” Emily glided past, taking a glass of champagne for herself and Gerald, and entered the apartment with none of the reluctance that Lisa was trying to hide.
The second elevator arrived with a soft chime and, half afraid it would be bearing Rourke, she gathered her dress and went inside.
Even though she had been prepped by Sara Beth, who had seen the place when Ted had brought her here for a romantic getaway, Lisa still wasn’t prepared for her first sight of Rourke’s city home.
In its way it was as grand as his Greenwich estate. But where that mansion looked to have been steeped in tradition, his penthouse dripped modernism from its bank of unadorned windows to the gleaming dark wood floor, and minimalist ivory-colored furnishings.
The only color of note came exclusively from the chest-high glass vases flanking every window that were filled with immense bouquets of purple irises that seemed to reach for the high, coffered ceiling. The flowers were repeated in squat glass bowls all around the spacious living area.
She didn’t know what surprised her more. The sleek, urban decor, or the profusion of flowers that he’d clearly arranged just for the purpose of their so-called reception.
“I told you it was beautiful,” Sara Beth whispered beside her. She tucked her arm through Lisa’s and drew her through the living area that was long enough to encompass Lisa’s entire town house, toward the terrace beyond the windows where the flowers were even more resplendent.
Stunned, Lisa slowly stepped outside. There were several tables set there arranged end to end and looking as if they’d come straight out of a photo shoot from a high-end wedding. Situated in the corner, there was even a harpist whose dulcet sounds trickled in the air. “Amazing,” she murmured.
“Thanks.” Rourke’s sister Tricia crossed to the nearest table and needlessly adjusted the position of a gleaming silver dessert fork against the pristine white linen cloth covering the table. “I’m afraid my brother didn’t give me much time to pull things together.”
Lisa started. “You did all of this?” She assumed that Rourke had simply thrown enough money at the situation to make things turn around on his dime-size schedule.
Tricia nodded. “Do you like? I wasn’t sure about the color, but Rourkey said you were wearing purple the first night he saw you.”
Lisa’s capacity for speech deserted her. Whether because of hearing him called Rourkey, or that he’d remembered what she was wearing that night in Shots all those months ago.
Seeming to notice her muteness, Sara Beth squeezed her hand. “It’s all so beautiful,” she answered into the silence.
Tricia smiled, obviously pleased. “Wait until you see the cake that Raoul’s wife made. It’s a thing of beauty.” She leaned forward suddenly and gave Lisa a quick hug. “And before everything gets too crazy, welcome to the family.”
Thoroughly discomfited, Lisa hugged her back. “Thank you.” But as she straightened, she spotted Rourke, who’d arrived, seeming to bring up the tail end of their modest gathering of guests.
Fortunately for Lisa, Tricia immediately slid into general mode at the sight of her brother, and she simply went where she was directed—namely to one of the chairs at the center of the long tables.
It was easier than having to think, particularly when she was already consumed with the effort of maintaining a smiling facade in the face of all the good wishes that heaped upon her head.
Hardest, though, was when Nina Devlin—clearly fighting tears—was the last to offer a toast to their marriage. “It just took falling for the right girl to get my son properly down the aisle. I couldn’t be happier to have such a beautiful girl as a new daughter.” She sniffed and lifted her glass, her damp eyes looking right into Lisa’s. “To you and my son. Take care of the love you have found. Take care of each other.” She grinned suddenly. “And take care of the grandbabies I’m hoping you’re not going to wait too long to give me!”
Laughter rounded the table as glasses softly clinked yet again and the breeze whispered around their heads, making the purple flowers marching down the centers of the tables dance.
It would all have been perfect.
If it had been real.
Rourke leaned close to her, his lips grazing her cheek. “Drink, for God’s sake.” His voice was soft, for her ears alone.
She smiled brightly and drank.
She turned her lips toward him for a glancing kiss whenever one of his sister’s mischievous kids tapped their water glasses with a spoon. She pushed a few bites of Raoul’s excellent food into her mouth when it seemed expected. She stood in front of the beautiful confection of a cake that Raoul wheeled out to cut the first slice to share with Rourke. She went through the motions with a smile on her face until she wanted to scream. But she didn’t drop that smile until hours later, when the last guest had finally departed and even Raoul and his son, Tonio, and daughter, Maria, had left through a separate entrance off the kitchen that Lisa had yet to even see.
Only then, when it was just Rourke and Lisa left in that high-ceilinged living room scented by irises and filled with the soft sounds of a low guitar, did she finally, finally let the smile fade.
Her cheeks actually hurt.
She pulled off the fine shrug that matched her gown and dropped it on the end of one of the couches before sitting down to peel her feet out of the strappy designer torture devices otherwise known as sandals and wriggled her toes.
“Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.” Rourke slid off his jacket and tossed it next to her.
She automatically reached for it, her fingers smoothing out the finely pinstriped charcoal over the back of the couch so it wouldn’t wrinkle. “Everyone but us.”
