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Celebration's Bride
Nancy Robards Thompson
She rubbed her palms on her pants, then fisted her hands so that her nails dug into her flesh. The sensation was a touchstone to help get her mind off the absurd possibility that there had been a double meaning in what Miles had said.
You know there was. It was as palpable as her rapid heartbeat.
It was the way he’d said it, and despite the little voice inside her head that warned that she was playing with fire, that now of all times was not the time to get distracted by physical attraction. Because she was already preoccupied with the possibility of moving back to St. Michel—and she’d told him her secret even before she’d told her best friends and co-workers …
Still, despite good sense and propriety, she heard herself saying to him, “You want to see more of me? Is that strictly professional … or personal?”
“Both,” he said.
Celebration’s Bride
Nancy Robards Thompson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Award-winning author NANCY ROBARDS THOMPSON is a sister, wife and mother who has lived the majority of her life south of the Mason-Dixon line. As the oldest sibling, she reveled in her ability to make her brother laugh at inappropriate moments, and she soon learned she could get away with it by proclaiming, “What? I wasn’t doing anything.” It’s no wonder that upon graduating from college with a degree in journalism, she discovered that reporting “just the facts” bored her silly. Since she hung up her press pass to write novels full-time, critics have deemed her books “funny, smart and observant.” She loves chocolate, champagne, cats and art (though not necessarily in that order). When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, reading, hiking and doing yoga.
This book is dedicated to Gail Chasan for all you do.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT:
Special thanks to Caroline Phipps for her continued help with all things army-related.
Contents
Prologue (#uaef62466-edb0-5edc-ad0f-11ba80036c03)
Chapter One (#u338fc2a2-513e-5e32-a761-50b2094e149f)
Chapter Two (#u0615f1c4-cd9b-5499-a95d-38418dbe1641)
Chapter Three (#u134c9554-66dc-5691-aca3-33bc7ada7287)
Chapter Four (#u41f0144c-0947-5ab5-a9ef-32421052df66)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
“Did you tell anyone you were coming to St. Michel?” Maya LeBlanc asked.
As she watched Sydney James shake her head, she wondered how such a smart, capable, beautiful woman could be so clueless about everything that was good and right for herself.
“Nobody in Celebration, Texas, knows I’m here,” Sydney said. Her British accent sounded so crisp and proper. “I don’t want to say anything until I know whether or not I have the position. There is no sense in getting everyone up in arms if I’m not chosen for the job.”
Sydney shrugged.
Maya sensed hesitancy in the usually self-possessed woman.
“So this is not what you want, then?” Maya asked as she stirred the pot of drinking chocolate she was preparing for the two of them.
Sydney did a double take. Her narrowed gaze flitted from Maya’s face to the copper pot of chocolate, then back to Maya.
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” she said. “Of course I would love a cup of chocolate, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Maya put her free hand on her hip and studied Sydney. “I’m talking about the job interview. You’ve made the process so clandestine. I don’t understand why you’re keeping it from everyone who cares about you. If moving back to St. Michel will truly make you happy, then it shouldn’t be such a secret.”
Maya watched Sydney’s body language intently as the woman studied her hands, shifting from one Ferragamo-clad foot to the other. She swallowed hard before she cleared her throat.
“It’s time for me to leave Texas,” she said. “It’s time to move on. That’s all.”
Right. Maya’s friend sounded as excited as a woman who was marching to her death.
“Why couldn’t you tell A.J., Pepper and Caroline?” Maya asked. “Your friends would be happy for you. They wouldn’t hold you back if this were truly your path. Unless you don’t really want to leave?”
Sydney didn’t answer.
Maya averted her gaze to the bubbles in the chocolate and quickened the pace with which she stirred. She grabbed a pinch of cinnamon and dropped it into the pot. Its coppery, sienna color stood out against the dark, rich brown of the chocolate, forming a rough design that made Maya do a double take.
Interesting…
She watched the image shift as the liquid boiled. She never knew when or how the sign would present itself. Sometimes the message came on the wind, other times—like now—it registered itself randomly, as it seemed to be doing in the chocolate. There was no way to predict it. But when it turned up it was unmistakable.
Maya’s breath caught and her heartbeat quickened as she stole a glance at Sydney, whose sad eyes revealed more than Maya was sure Sydney wanted to tell.
Maya just needed to be sure this was indeed the sign. So she added a small pinch of cayenne pepper to the pot.
And there it was. As plain as if someone had handed her an engraved note.
Sydney was next. She was the intended.
The realization sent shivers of delight skittering through Maya. In addition to being a third-generation chocolatier, Maya was un marieur. A matchmaker. It was an avocation of sorts…. She would confess it really was her passion. Making and selling chocolate put food on her table, but bringing soul mates together fed her soul.
“Why is your heart set on leaving Texas?” Maya asked as she removed the pot from the flame.
“I get this way every so often,” Sydney said. “I must have a bit of gypsy in me because sometimes the urge to move on to somewhere new is consuming.”
Sydney sounded more sure of herself than she had before, but Maya still detected the false bravado hiding beneath the polished veneer. “It’s the same restlessness that drew me away from St. Michel to Texas.”
“And now you want to come back to St. Michel?” Maya raised a brow at her friend as she carefully poured the thick liquid from the shiny copper pot into two demitasse cups. “As I recall, there was a man involved when you moved last time. Is that the case now?”
“No. All I’ve done since I’ve been in Celebration is work. I haven’t had time for a man. That’s part of the reason I want to move on.”
Maya studied the jars of special herbal mixtures on the shelf above her head. She sensed that all-work-and-no-play Sydney just might need a little something to wake her up. Something to help her recognize that opportunity might not necessarily come calling in the form of a job offer from the Royal House of Founteneau.
Maya had a gut feeling the opportunity that the sign foretold would present itself in a much sexier manifestation. But Sydney needed to slow down, to light in one place long enough to give her future time to take root.
Maya didn’t make this stuff up. She was simply the messenger. And it was clear to this courier that she had a life-changing message to deliver.
She pushed the small cup across the marble counter to Sydney, who accepted it with a grateful smile.
“Mon amie,” Maya said, her cup poised midair just before her first sip. “What are you running from?”
Sydney sampled the drink. Maya glimpsed a thoughtful look in her friend’s green eyes a split second before she closed them to savor the treat. When Sydney opened her eyes, she said, “I’m not running from anything.”
She smiled and tilted her head ever so slightly to the right. If Maya didn’t know better, she might’ve been fooled by her friend’s resolute facade. She wasn’t about to let her get away with this charade.
“Then what are you running to?” Maya asked.
A little laugh escaped Sydney and her fingers fluttered to her lips. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Maya took down a glass plate from a shelf behind the counter. “So you answer my question with a question?” She filled the plate with several truffles and chocolate-dipped Madeleines, specialties of the house. “If you’re not running from something, that must mean you are running to something.”
Sydney wrinkled her nose. “No, I’m not doing that, either.” She set her cup on the counter and crossed her arms over her middle. Maya recognized the defensive body language for what it was. However, if the young woman hadn’t wanted her help, then she wouldn’t have come into the shop so eager to share the details of the job prospect that she was taking such great pains to hide from those closest to her. Maya owed it to Sydney to give her the advice she sought. Even if her friend didn’t seem to like the answer or seem consciously aware that she was seeking counsel.
“Au contraire, mon amie. How will you ever meet your soul mate if you don’t stay in one place long enough to unpack?” Maya set the plate of sweets in front of Sydney. “I am afraid what I have to say isn’t what you want to hear. However, I implore you. It will be a grave mistake if you leave Celebration, Texas, now. Because your soul mate will arrive soon looking for you.”
Chapter One
It was going to be one of those days. Sydney James could already tell. Her return flight from St. Michel to Texas, after her whirlwind trip to interview for the job of press secretary to St. Michel’s royal family, had been delayed six hours. Three hours in the terminal and three hours stuck on the runway.
Much of that time had been the middle of the night in Texas, and a good portion had been spent in the air where she couldn’t use her cell phone, anyway. All she’d been able to do was leave a message that she was going to be late for work—several hours late.
She’d been vague about her plans for the weekend, opting not to tell anyone about the job interview until she had a better handle on whether she even wanted the position. And, of course, whether the job wanted her. For that reason, she’d never been happier to talk to a voice mailbox. Voice mailboxes didn’t hammer her with questions.
Thursday, when she’d left Texas, she’d driven herself to the airport and left her car in long-term parking so she wouldn’t have to bother anyone for a ride to and from Dallas/Fort Worth International. Once she was back on Texas soil, she’d rushed to her car to get back to the office. Now she sat parked in front of Celebrations, Inc., Catering Company. Before she went in, she needed to catch her breath and make herself presentable. Running on little sleep for the better part of the past twenty-four hours, she looked like hell. She studied her reflection in her compact mirror. She had dark circles under her eyes, which made her irises look a peculiar shade of olive rather than their usual medium green, and her face looked drawn and pale. She reapplied powder, blush and lipstick with the silent prayer that maybe, just maybe, she could make herself look halfway human.
Fat chance, she thought as she snapped the compact closed. The camera never lied.
Since it was already noon and she’d missed her call time by several hours, she hoped they’d greet her with the news that they needed time to regroup and wanted to reschedule the scenes she was in for tomorrow—or better yet, later in the week. Or best-case scenario, maybe they hadn’t missed her at all and had taped without her.
Yeah, right.
She knew that was a bad attitude. How many women would love to have her spot on Catering to Dallas, a reality TV show that chronicled the inner workings of Celebrations, Inc., Catering Company? She’d never been the center of attention on the show, and she preferred it that way. Content to carry out her duties as the catering company’s public relations director, staying in the background as her three friends and co-stars Pepper Merriweather-Macintyre, A.J. Sherwood-Antonelli-Harrison and Caroline Coopersmith-Montgomery vied for the spotlight.
Sydney slipped her cosmetics back into the inner pocket of her handbag and let herself out of the car.
“Here goes,” she murmured under her breath, willing there to be a fresh pot of coffee on the craft-services table.
She slipped inside the back door into the kitchen and glanced around. The white cabinets and gold-and-brown solarius granite looked fresh and clean. An array of vegetables befitting a farmers’ market was artfully arranged on the center island. The area was obviously ready for a shoot. However, everyone seemed to be on a break. At least they weren’t in the middle of taping. Although, if they had been, there would’ve been someone stationed outside the door to keep her from wandering into the shot.
“There you are.” Sydney jumped as Pepper seemed to appear behind her from out of nowhere. To be caught that unawares, Sydney must have been more exhausted than she realized.
She put a hand on her chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry,” Pepper said, her Southern accent thicker than usual as she bit off the words. “But where on earth have you been? We’ve had quite a bit of excitement on the set this morning. Didn’t you get my messages? I’ve been trying to call you.”
Sydney hadn’t. Her phone was tucked inside her purse, still on airplane mode. She rifled through her handbag until she found her cellular, her fingers first finding her keys, a travel-size bottle of hand sanitizer and the small bag of pretzels they’d given her on the plane before she located what she was looking for. She pulled it out and changed the setting. More than a dozen calls and texts blew up her phone.
As director of public relations, she was rarely out of touch. She gave the messages a cursory glance before dropping her phone back into her purse and returning the bag to her shoulder. Most of the messages were from Pepper. She would deal with the other texts and voice mails later. As she braced herself for Pepper’s inquisition, she wondered if subconsciously she’d forgotten to turn on her phone to avoid questions about her absence before it was absolutely unavoidable.
And that time was now. Better to head off the questions by volunteering information.
“I had to go out of town this weekend and my return flight was delayed.”
“You what?” Pepper asked. “Where’d you go? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
Sydney waved off the question as if it were no big deal. “Long story. But tell me, what’s happening here?”
Just as Sydney hoped, Pepper lost the scent of her own inquiry and pounced on the decoy.
“Oh. My. Gosh. You won’t believe it.” Her voice was a hushed stage whisper. She looked around as if worried someone might overhear her. “Bill Hines had to take a personal leave of absence. We walked in this morning to find out that we have a brand-new director. At least for the time being.”
Pepper pointed with her nose toward the other side of the large kitchen. Sure enough, there stood a tall, dark haired, broad-shouldered man talking to the executive producer, Aiden Woods. Sydney couldn’t tell what he looked like because she could only see his profile. The men stood behind the set lights. The new guy’s features were somewhat cloaked in shadows.
“Don’t let his good looks fool you,” Pepper said. “The guy’s a slave driver of the worst kind.”
For some reason, maybe it was the lack of sleep, Pepper’s melodramatics struck Sydney as funny. A small hiccup-laugh escaped.
“Right. You laugh now, but just wait,” Pepper warned. “He was not too pleased with you this morning when you missed your call time.”
“What?” Sydney asked, suddenly sobered by the news that she might be in trouble. “I didn’t have a call time.” Yes she did. “Well, not an individual spotlight, anyway.”
Pepper put up her hands. “Hey, don’t shoot the carrier pigeon. I am just giving you fair warning.”
