The Wedding Planner and the CEO

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‘It’s got some great firing points. Like that...’ Rafe’s hands prescribed an arc as the crescendo started. ‘And we can use the extended version to give us a good length of time. Fade it away to leave your names in the heart hanging over the lake.’

He wasn’t looking at Penelope. He didn’t even send a triumphant glance in her direction as Clarissa and Blake enthusiastically agreed to the song choice.

Which was probably just as well. Penelope had no idea what her expression might look like but it had to include an element of shock. Surely it had to be more than coincidence and she didn’t believe in telepathy but it was impossible not to feel some sort of weird connection happening here. How awful would it be if she looked like Clarissa had when he’d told her he could finish the show by putting their names in a love heart? As though she’d just fallen head over heels in love with the man?

Not that it really mattered. The pièce de résistance of the wedding that was going to launch her new career was starting to come together and the choice of song was perfect.

With a lot of hard work and a little bit more luck, this whole wedding was going to be perfect.

CHAPTER THREE (#u8b9ab2c1-b07b-5efb-bc16-5ef9fd85ccfa)

SO FAR, SO GOOD.

They couldn’t have wished for a better day weather-wise for what the local media was already billing the wedding of the year. The blue stretch of summer sky was broken only by innocent cotton-wool puffs of cloud and it was warm enough for the skimpy dresses most of the women seemed to be wearing. More importantly, the breeze was gentle enough not to ruin any elaborate hairdos or play havoc with a bridal veil.

The vintage champagne every guest had been offered on arrival was going down a treat and people were now beginning to drift towards the rows of chairs draped with white satin and tied with silver bows. Penelope saw someone open the small gauze bag she’d found on her seat and smile as she showed her partner the confetti that was made up of tiny, glittery silver stars.

How much bigger were those smiles going to be when they were watching the kind of stars that would explode across the sky as the finale to this event? Rafe had arrived as early as Penelope had, driving onto the estate in the chill mist of a breaking dawn. She’d seen him and the technicians he’d brought with him, in their fluorescent vests, working in the field on the far side of the lake at various times over the hectic hours since then. Just orange dots of humanity, really, at this distance, but she was sure it was Rafe who was directing the forklift manoeuvring the pallets from the back of a truck at one point and, much later, the towing of a flat barge to float on the lake.

Because that was the kind of job a boss would do, she told herself. It had nothing to do with that odd tingle of something she had no intention of trying to identify. A tingle that appeared along with that persistent image of the man in frayed jeans and a black singlet she had conjured up. An image that had insisted on haunting her dreams over the last week, leaving her to wake with the odd sensation that something was simply not fair...

Heading back inside the house, she popped into the kitchen to check that her team was on top of the catering. Judging by the numerous silver platters of hors d’oeuvres lined up ready for the lull while photographs would be taken after the ceremony, they were right on schedule.

‘Any worries, Jack?’

‘Apart from an eight-course sit-down dinner for two hundred and supper for six hundred? Nah...it’s all good.’ The older man’s smile was reassuring. ‘I’ve got this side of the gig covered. Go and play with your bride.’

‘I do need to do that. But I’ll be back later. Keep an apron for me.’

‘Are you kidding? That dress is far too fancy to get hidden by any apron.’

‘It’s not too much, is it?’ Penelope glanced down at the dark silver sheath dress she had chosen. A lot of effort had gone into what she hoped would be her signature outfit as she occupied an unusual space in a wedding party that was more than simply hired help but less than invited guest. The dress was demure with its long sleeves and scooped neckline that only showed a hint of cleavage. The skirt was ballet length and fell in soft swirls from thigh level but it did fit like a glove everywhere else and it had a soft sparkle that would probably intensify under artificial or candle light.

Jack grinned. ‘You look like the director of the nation’s most successful event managing company. Make sure they get some photos of you for one of those flash magazines. Now—stop distracting me. Get out of my kitchen and go and keep our first event ticking. Isn’t Princess Clarissa about due for another meltdown?’

‘Oh, God, I hope not.’ With a worried frown, Penelope headed for a ground-floor room in the west wing that had been set aside for the bride and bridesmaids to get dressed in. A room in the east wing was where the groom and his entourage were waiting. That would be the next stop, to make sure they were in position on time. Penelope checked her watch. Only twenty minutes away. The countdown was on.

She took a deep breath. At least she didn’t have to worry about the catering side of things. Jack—her head chef—had worked with her ever since she’d advertised for someone to come on board with a fledgling catering company nearly ten years ago. His own restaurant might have failed despite his talent with food but together they’d built a company to be proud of and it had been his idea for her to take the risky move of taking on event management.

Dreaming about something and even making endless lists of the things that she’d have to keep on top of hadn’t really prepared her for the reality of it, though. The catering was only one aspect. Had the celebrant arrived yet? Were the photographers behaving themselves? How were the band going in setting themselves up? She’d seen the truck parked around the back an hour or more ago and people unloading a drum kit and amplifiers but what if they couldn’t find enough power points? There was a lighting expert who was coming to supervise the safe positioning and lighting of all those candles and would then be in charge for any spotlighting of key people. He hadn’t arrived as far as she knew but they weren’t due to meet until after the actual ceremony.

At some point, she would have to find Rafe, too, and make sure that he was happy with his set-up. The fireworks were scheduled to go off at one a.m. to mark the end of the party and there was plenty of security personnel discreetly in place to make sure nobody went into forbidden areas and that everybody left Loxbury Hall when they were supposed to.

It was possible that this was the moment when the tension was at its highest. The moment before the carefully timed show that was going to be the wedding of the year kicked off. With her heart in her mouth, Penelope opened the door of the bride’s dressing room. Clarissa—in a froth of white—was standing serenely in the centre of the room with a champagne flute in her hand. She was surrounded by her six bridesmaids who were in same shade of orange as one of the colours of Blake’s football club. One of the girls sent another champagne cork hurtling towards the ceiling with a loud pop and the shriek of happy giggles was deafening. The flash of the camera from the official photographer showed he was capturing every joyous moment.

The hairdresser and make-up artists and their teams were packing up an enormous amount of gear. Hair straighteners, heated rollers and cans of spray went into one set of suitcases. Pots of foundation, dozens of brushes and cards of false eyelashes were heading for another. Penelope smiled at the women.

‘I think you deserve to join the celebration. They all look fabulous.’ She stepped closer and lowered her voice, although it was hardly necessary as the chatter and laughter as the glasses were being refilled were enough to make any conversation private. ‘Any problems?’

Cheryl’s smile said it all. ‘Bit of a mission to get every one of Clarissa’s curls sitting just right but we got there in the end. Thank goodness for industrial-strength hairspray.’

The spirals of platinum blonde hair hung to the bride’s waist at the back, easily visible through the sheer mist of an exquisitely embroidered veil. Tresses at the front had been twisted and clipped into a soft frame that supported the tiara holding the veil, as well as offering an anchor for a dozen or more small silver stars. A star made of diamonds sparkled on the perfect spray tan of Clarissa’s décolletage—a gift from Blake that had inspired one of the themes for the wedding. Beneath that, the heavily beaded corset bodice of the dress made the most of what had to be close to the top of the bride’s assets.

‘What d’ya think, Penelope?’

‘I think you couldn’t look more perfect, Clarrie. It’s just as well Blake’s got all those groomsmen to hold him up when he sees you walking down the aisle.’ She took another quick glance at her watch. ‘Five minutes and we’ll need you all in position in the reception hall. I’m just going to make sure the boys are out of the building and that those photographs as you come out will be the first glimpse of your dress that the world gets.’

It was Penelope who waited with Clarissa in the main entrance, signalling each pair of bridesmaids when it was their turn to walk out of the huge doorway, down the sweep of wide steps and start the journey along the carpet that led to the raised gazebo where the celebrant was waiting, flanked by the males of the wedding party. Clarissa’s song choice of Whitney Houston that had been rejected for the fireworks show was perfect for this entrance but it needed careful timing to make sure the bride arrived beside her groom before the song finished.

Penelope waited until all the heads turned to watch Clarissa take her final position, facing Blake and holding both his hands. Nobody saw her as she quietly made her way to the shade of an ancient oak tree, well away from the audience but close enough to hear the ceremony, thanks to the lapel microphone the celebrant was wearing.

A brief respite from the tension of the day was more than welcome. A private moment to collect her thoughts and remember to breathe.

Except it didn’t stay private for long. A figure materialised beside her in the shade. A dark figure. And Penelope forgot to breathe for rather too long.

Had Rafe dressed up for the occasion? He was wearing black jeans today, and a black T-shirt that had a faded image of what was probably an album cover from a forgotten era. The cowboy boots were the same, though, and they were in harmony with a battered, wide-brimmed leather hat that any cowboy would have treasured.

He was dressed for his work and clearly comfortable with being on the hired-help side of the boundary Penelope was balancing on but right now her position in this gathering was unimportant. This short period of time was a limbo where nothing mattered other than the vows the wedding couple were exchanging. This tiny patch of the famous Loxbury Hall gardens was a kind of limbo as well. An island that only she and Rafe were inhabiting.

He was as dark as she was pale. As scruffy as she was groomed. As relaxed as she was tense. Black and white. Total opposites.

It should be making her feel very uncomfortable but it wasn’t.

There was a curl of something pleasant stealing through Penelope’s body. Try as she might to deny it, the surprise of his company was sprinkled with a condiment that could—quite disturbingly—be delight.

* * *

He’d had something on the tip of his tongue to justify the choice of joining Ms Collins in the shade of this tree. Had it been something about it being the best vantage point to observe the ceremony and that he had the time because everything else that could be a distraction in the background had to be put on hold for the duration? Not that his team had much else to do. Everything was in place and all that was needed between now and about midnight was a rehearsal to check that all the electronic components were in functioning order.

Or maybe it had been something about how well the event was going so far. That it was everything the perfect wedding should be.

No wonder the ability to produce words seemed to have failed him for the moment. This was everything the perfect wedding shouldn’t be. The epitome of the circus that represented conforming to one of society’s expected rules of declaring commitment and faithfulness. A rule that was rarely kept, so why bother with the circus in the first place?

Or perhaps the loss of a conversational opening had something to do with being this close to Penelope?

He’d spotted her discreet position from the edge of the lake where he’d initially positioned himself to be out of sight of the guests. That silvery dress she was wearing shone like a new moon in the dense shade of this ancient tree and...and it was possibly the most stunning dress he’d ever seen. Weird, considering there was no more cleavage to be seen than a tiny, teasing line just where that sun-kissed skin began to swell.

Rafe dragged his gaze away, hopefully before she was aware of his appreciation because the glance had been so swift. Her hair looked different today, too. Softer. She still had those braids shaping the sides of her head but the length of it was loose at the back, falling in a thick ringlet instead of another braid. It was longer than he remembered, almost touching the small of her back in that second, silver skin. What would happen, he found himself wondering, if he buried his fingers in that perfect silky spiral and pulled it apart? Would her whole back get covered with golden waves?

What was more likely to happen was that he would infuriate this would-be queen of event management by messing up her hair. She might not be holding a clipboard right now but the tension was still palpable. She was in control. On top of every moment and ready to troubleshoot any problem with the efficiency of a nuclear blast.

Clarissa’s breathlessly excited whisper was being amplified by strategically placed microphones. ‘I, Clarissa Grace Bingham, take thee, Blake Robert Summers, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold...’

Finally, he found something to say.

‘Sounds like she’s the happiest girl on earth right now.’

‘Of course she is. This is her wedding day. Every girl’s dream.’

‘Really?’ Rafe couldn’t help the note of scepticism. ‘Does anyone really believe that those vows mean anything these days?’

Uh-oh... Maybe he should have ruffled the spiral of hair down her back instead of dropping some kind of verbal bomb. The look he received made him feel like he’d just told a kid that Santa Claus didn’t really exist.

‘I believe it,’ Penelope said.

She did. He could see it in her eyes. A fierce belief that it meant something. Something important. He couldn’t look away. He even found himself leaning a little closer as a soft word of query escaped his lips.

‘Why?’

* * *

Oh, help... His eyes weren’t really as black as sin, were they? The mottled light sifting down through the leaves of the tree was enough to reveal that they were a dark brown, with flecks of gold that made them more like a very deep hazel. And the way he was looking at her...

The eye contact had gone on far too long to be polite but Penelope couldn’t break the gaze. It felt physical—almost as though he was holding her in his arms. No...it went deeper than that. He was holding something that wasn’t physical. Touching something that was deep inside. The part of her that couldn’t be seen.

But Rafe was seeing it and it made her feel...vulnerable?

Nobody had ever looked at her like this. As if they could see that dark, secret part of her. As if the world wouldn’t end if the door got opened and light flooded in.

And he wanted to know why she believed in something he clearly had no time for. Marriage. Could he see that she had to believe in it? Because there was something about it that held the key to putting things right?

The exchange of vows had been completed on the stage of the gazebo and the applause and raucous whistling told her that the first kiss was happening. The flash of cameras going off was there, like stars in the periphery of her vision, but Penelope still couldn’t look away from Rafe’s gaze.

‘It’s about the promise,’ she found herself saying softly. ‘It’s not about the dress or the flowers or...or even the fireworks.’

He raised an eyebrow.

‘I don’t mean they’re not important. That’s what weddings are all about. Celebrating the promise.’ Penelope drew in a breath. She’d said enough and she should be using the time to make sure the photographers had everything they needed for the next part of the programme. And that Jack was ready to keep the guests entertained with food and wine for as long as it took. ‘I can’t wait to see the show,’ she added with a placating smile. ‘I know it’ll be fabulous.’

‘Oh, it will.’ Rafe nodded. ‘I’ll make sure you get the best spot to watch it, shall I?’