Love California Box Set: Books 1-3 (Love California Series Collection)

by Jan Moran

  Lizzie groaned at Davina’s little joke. “I can see it now; I’ll be walking down the aisle with a red or green tea bag poking out of me bodice.”

  “No, you won’t. Not on my watch, Lizzie.” Fianna quirked a corner of her mouth. “Maybe I’ll try something else. But trust me, this is going to be gorgeous.”

  Lizzie zipped up her beige woolen skirt while Fianna hung up the dress. “Oh, Fianna, we saw Doyle at lunch. He asked after you. Wouldn’t that be interesting if—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Davina’s eyes lit up. “Didn’t you and Doyle used to date?”

  Lizzie pulled on her nubby Aran sweater. “He’s quite the catch. Heir to an old family fortune, and all that.”

  “Mam said he’s seeing someone else.”

  “Brona, but she’s docile as a mouse. Makes me look like Joan of Arc.”

  Fianna chuckled. “He can’t stand the idea that a woman might actually want to have a career, or even her own interests.” She eyed her sister’s old-style fisherman’s sweater. Davina cast a pleading expression in her direction. “Lizzie, we’ve got to do something about your wardrobe. You’re dressing like Mam.”

  Lizzie beamed. “Would you help me? I’d really love to update my look.”

  Fianna threw herself onto a silk duvet-covered, fluffy down comforter. “Ah, this is wonderful, Davina.” After spending two nights at Fitzgerald Manor cramped in a twin bed that normally housed a seven-year-old, she stretched her legs in luxury, her toes barely reaching the end of the enormous bed. Davina had booked them into one of the most posh hotels in Dublin, which was also hosting the fashion show for the charity event Davina had arranged.

  Davina wore a casual orange twill Tory Burch dress and was perched on a mahogany chair reading messages that had been delivered. “Your friend Penelope Plessen is on her way here. She’ll check in tomorrow and would like for us to join her for dinner.”

  “I can’t wait to see Penelope again. And it’s so good of her to donate her time to the cause.”

  Davina gazed through the tall French-paned windows in the Georgian hotel, which overlooked a manicured park. “What a lovely lass she is. I remember her first major show in Paris. She was nervous, but no one would have guessed from the way she owned that runway. I knew she was going to be a star.”

  “With Penelope here, we’ll probably make the pages of The Irish Times.” Fianna rolled onto her side and leaned on her hand. “Of course, if you’d walk the runway, Davina, the show would hit all the major newspapers in the world.”

  “Don’t be silly. Who wants to see me anymore? Modeling is a young woman’s game. Like Greta Garbo, I retired while I was still on top. Leave them wanting more, that’s what I always say.”

  “I thought you always said more is never enough. Come on, walk one more time? In your niece’s Irish debut?”

  Davina fluffed her platinum white hair and laughed. “You’re not playing fair, appealing to my emotions. No, darling, my detractors—and yes, I have quite a few critics—would gleefully point out how decrepit I’ve become, as if models shouldn’t age.”

  “Hardly! And I thought you were proud of your age. You’ll look fabulous at a hundred, Davina. Look at Carmen.” Still working in her eighties, the silver-haired Carmen Dell’Orefice had first appeared on the cover of Vogue magazine at the age of fifteen. She was a muse to artist Salvador Dali, and she and Davina had been photographed by Richard Avedon, Irving Penn, and Francesco Scavullo.

  “She’s marvelous, isn’t she? But I have my reasons.” Davina sorted through the messages. “Here’s a note from Scarlett. She says to tell you that a gentleman by the name of Niall dropped by Bow-Tie to visit Johnny and Lance, and then left for Hawaii. He asked after you.” She lowered the note. “Niall—that’s a fine Irish name, isn’t it?”

  Fianna bolted up. “I met him in Malibu at my first show.”

  “Nice fellow, is he?”

  “As it turns out, he probably is. Of course, I accused him of being a philandering married man and stormed off.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound good. But it makes you terribly memorable, doesn’t it?”

  Fianna blew out a breath. “No, it wasn’t good, because he’s actually a widower.”

  “Oh, dear. That’s even more tragic.” Davina grimaced.

  “Me and my big mouth.” She stood, brushing off her black jeans and silvery gray silk turtleneck. She pushed up her sleeves. “It’s time to go to work on this show anyway. I’ll have the suitcases delivered and have someone sent up to help steam the clothes.”

  “Good, you need to begin delegating so you can grow your business.” Davina paused. “Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?”

  Fianna hugged her aunt. “But if it weren’t for your encouragement and support, I wouldn’t have made it this far.” She kissed her on the cheek. “I love you, Auntie.” She cherished her relationship with her aunt and wished only that she had the same with her mother.

  Davina kissed her back. “And I love you, my darling. Isn’t it grand that we share such a passion for style, too?”

  Fianna made a telephone call, and a little while later, several rolling racks with clothes and accessories were set up in their suite. A maid arrived to help her unpack and steam the garments. The woman knew exactly what to do, and set to work immediately. As she unpacked the sumptuous clothes, Fianna checked her list and organized the outfits in the order in which they’d be sent down the runway.

  Fianna was grateful for the assistance, and the work went quicker than planned. Minutes later, steam was hissing from a handheld steamer, and the clothes came back to life.

  She still had to finish Lizzie’s wedding dress. She’d had a brilliant idea, and Mary Margaret had given her their grandmother’s fine Irish lace to execute it. When, or if, Lizzie walked the aisle, she’d be one of the most stylish brides of the season. Fianna had been trying to reach her sister ever since she’d left the manor, but Lizzie’s phone had gone straight to messages. She’d have to work on her wedding dress in the evenings. Lizzie could have her final fitting before the rehearsal dinner next week.

  As Fianna was thinking about the dinner, a knock sounded on the door. When she opened it, a smartly uniformed butler stood with a colossal floral arrangement that nearly eclipsed his portly frame.

  “What’s this?”

  “Compliments of a gentleman, Ms. Fitzgerald. Where shall I place them?”

  “In the sitting area,” Davina said.

  The maid quickly cleared a low table by a sofa. The butler hefted the arrangement onto the table. The sweet aroma of stargazer lilies and white roses immediately filled the room.

  The butler presented a card, before closing the door behind him.

  Davina cupped her hands around a rose and inhaled. “Aren’t they lovely? Could these be from your Niall?”

  Fianna held her breath and slid a monogrammed card from the ivory envelope. Upon reading it, her heart sank. “Doyle O’Donnell sent them.”

  “Shane’s cousin, right?”

  “Exactly.” Before Davina could say anything, she added, “No, he’s definitely not my type.” He was the type of man whose attributes looked good on paper, but there was absolutely no chemistry between them. At least, not on her part.

  “Young, handsome, rich. And madly in love with you.” Davina placed a finger on her cheek in mock thought. “You’re right, he won’t do at all. So what is your type, Fianna?”

  She laughed, but she knew precisely what her type was. “Someone who’s genuine. Who’s passionate about life and what they do, as well as their contributions to the world.”

  She closed her eyes and pictured Niall curved around her on the chaise lounge, his breath warm on her neck. She could still hear his rich, gravelly baritone echoing in her mind, and it touched her to her core. But now that he’d sold his home in Malibu, would she ever she him again?

  “That’s a lofty pedestal, darling. Not many men like that around.” Davina sighed. “I shoul
d know. I’ve looked long enough. Those men get snapped up in a hurry.”

  “I’ll have to talk to Doyle and make it clear that we’re just friends.” Fianna tossed the card into the trash bin. “He asked me to go to the rehearsal dinner with him, and Shane suggested we make it a foursome. Lizzie can’t understand why I’m not mad about him.”

  Fianna turned back to her collection, which the maid was de-wrinkling to perfection. Fianna couldn’t have been more pleased. She returned her attention to her checklist. “Penelope is bringing her new makeup line from High Gloss, and I have a team of makeup artists and hair stylists scheduled. The models’ show sizes are confirmed, and shoes are matched with the outfits.”

  She ran her finger down the list. “I’d like to check the venue, and make sure the runway is stable.”

  “Please do,” Davina said. “Once I was in a show and the runway collapsed. The models weren’t injured, but there were plenty of frightened girls and nasty bruises. Not to mention dreadful reviews.”

  “I hope the room will be nice.” Fianna knew Davina had worked with the charity on a choice of venue, but she was still nervous about it.

  Davina arched a brow. “I think you’ll like it.”

  After the maid finished her tasks to Fianna’s exacting instructions, Fianna thanked her and made arrangements for her to be on call.

  Fianna slipped her feet into a pair of cherry-red patent, Jimmy Choo heels, and then she and Davina stepped into a gilded elevator that whisked them to a lower floor where the show would take place.

  As she opened the door to the grand ballroom, Fianna felt as though she had stepped into a jewel box. Waterford crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, their fiery brilliance reflected in a vast array of mirrors. Mauve-tinted walls with ivory architectural mouldings created a stunning setting that Fianna thought would perfectly showcase her lyrical collection.

  “This is magnificent,” Fianna said, hardly believing her good fortune. “Davina, you couldn’t have chosen a finer venue.”

  Davina’s eyes twinkled. “I’m glad you like it.”

  The elevated runway had already been set up. Fianna tested it, striding across the platform and bouncing to make sure it held. Next, she checked the undercarriage. Finally satisfied, she pronounced it sturdy enough.

  Davina watched her, nodding her approval, and jotting points on the checklist. Together they marked the runway, timing the models’ revolutions. They checked the dressing room, and Davina made a note to add more tables, stools, and mirrors for the stylists and models. “It’s vitally important to have a smooth flow backstage. Eliminate the chaos, or at least keep it to a minimum.”

  “We make a good team,” Fianna said, draping an arm around her aunt.

  Davina beamed at her. “What kind of music do you have planned?”

  “A friend gave me some music to use for the show in Malibu. It was perfect, so I’ll use it again.” Niall’s music. Fianna liked to think it was lucky. It had definitely contributed to making the show a success. She ran a hand over her collarbone, reliving his touch. Meeting him the night of her first show was something she’d never forget. She only wished he could be here for this show, too.

  This was an important professional step for her. Davina had friends attending from top fashion magazines in Dublin and London. A buyer from Harrods would also be in the audience.

  The charity benefited pediatric medical research, so it was well supported. While the show was an excellent opportunity for Fianna, it was also a cause she was pleased to support. She had donated her cost of travel, along with the cost of engaging makeup artists, hair stylists, and models. Penelope was contributing her time and covering her own expenses, too.

  Fianna let out a sigh of relief. “Everything looks fine, Davina. We’ve checked and double-checked. I can’t imagine anything that might go wrong.”

  Davina sucked in her breath. “Don’t jinx it, dear.”

  12

  THE HOTEL LOBBY lounge was crowded with a stylish crowd of young people wedged onto eggplant-colored leather banquettes, martinis and cosmopolitan cocktails in hand. The lights were low, and candlelight flickered on the tables. Overhead, chandeliers reflected the radiant glow, casting rainbow prisms on the glass table tops. Fashionable people milled about, as if waiting for a party to begin. Some looked vaguely familiar, but Fianna had been gone a long time. She couldn’t place any of them.

  Doyle O’Donnell sat next to Fianna and clutched her slender fingers in his beefy hand. “When I heard you were coming home, I said to myself, ‘it’s your lucky day, Doyle,’ sure and it is. The stars aligned again for us, Fianna. We’re meant to be. I’m sure of it.”

  Yesterday after they’d arrived, Doyle had called to see if she’d received the flowers. Fianna had thanked him for the lavish bouquet, but she also wanted to make him understand that they were only friends. He wouldn’t hear of it and insisted she meet him for a cocktail today. In fact, the more she resisted, the more persistent Doyle became, as if the challenge excited him.

  She could see his dark eyes flashing, and truth be told, she was glad they were in a public place.

  Doyle had greeted her with a kiss, which surprised her. They had dated years ago, but as far as she was concerned, their relationship was firmly in the past.

  However, Fianna wasn’t getting through to Doyle. She tried again. “Doyle, I’ve always been fond of you as a friend, but I don’t think we’re meant to be anything more than that.”

  “We’ve known each other a long time, Fianna. Every couple should be so lucky to call each other friend.”

  Why was he doing this now? The runway show was tomorrow, the rehearsal dinner was shortly afterward, and Lizzie’s wedding was that weekend. Her head was spinning, and she still had to finish her sister’s dress. Worse than that, Lizzie was becoming increasingly harder to reach. She’d been vague and evasive on the phone, and Fianna thought she might be on edge of calling the wedding off. She had no idea what to do, except support Lizzie’s decision, whatever it might be.

  “Doyle, you’re not listening to me. We haven’t been a couple for a long time.”

  “You’re not listening to me, lass. I’m talking about our future, not our past. Maybe I should try a different language.”

  Doyle reached into the jacket of his Savile Row suit and brought out a velvet box. “Shane and Lizzie, you and me, we’ll make a grand family, we will. Imagine all the wee ones we’ll have, growing up together, uniting our families. It’s what our ancestors couldn’t have imagined, but here we are, erasing old feuds and starting a millennium with a clean slate. Marry me, Fianna Fitzgerald.” He snapped open the lid to reveal a dazzling emerald-cut diamond ring flanked with baguette diamonds. She gasped. Doyle never did anything halfway.

  “Doyle, you really shouldn’t have…” People at surrounding tables were now taking interest in them. A ring like that was hard to ignore, however, she had no intention of ever becoming Mrs. Doyle O’Donnell.

  “Would you look at the size of that ring?” one woman said.

  A man turned around. “Well, if it isn’t Doyle O’Donnell, making a proposition.”

  Fianna wanted to sink through the floor. This was not going to go well, she just knew it. It was one thing to turn him down, but quite another to do it in front of witnesses and friends—his friends.

  She lowered her voice. “Doyle, not here.” She needed to leave. Fast.

  “Let’s make an announcement at the rehearsal dinner.”

  “No, that’s not a good idea. Doyle, I can’t…”

  “Of course you can.”

  To her horror, he took the ring and slid it onto her finger.

  Cheers broke out around them from people in the entryway, at neighboring tables, and at the bar. With a sinking feeling, she realized he’d set this up. He knew everyone here. He probably thought the pressure would sway her.

  Fianna’s skin burned with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. This was his own doing, but he’d blame her for spurnin
g him. And right before the rehearsal and wedding. How could he?

  She drew a breath. “Doyle, everyone knows I speak my mind.” She darted a glance at his friends, many of whom she now recognized as old friends of her family, too. No doubt she’d see many of them at Lizzie’s wedding. How could she be graceful about this?

  “That’s what I love about you, Fianna. That’s why we’re so good together.”

  She shook his forearm to get his attention. “Listen to me. While I appreciate your offer, I must decline it.” There, that was as graceful as she could be. She tugged the ring off and handed it back to him.

  The gathering crowd booed with dismay, and it was Doyle’s turn to flush beet red. “What’s the matter with you?” he sputtered, his eyes darkening under drawn eyebrows.

  She stood up, anxious to make a break for it. “Sorry, Doyle. I don’t doubt you’ll soon find someone who loves you.” She paused. “I’ll make my own way to the rehearsal dinner.”

  A woman’s voice rang out. “Why, you ungrateful bitch.” From the direction of the bar, a plump young woman with mousy brown hair wearing a tweed jacket and skirt raced toward them, her sensible low-heeled Ferragamo shoes clicking on the hardwood floor.

  Must be Brona. Fianna ignored the woman and strode toward the exit, though it was all she could do to keep from sprinting though the crowd. Clearly Doyle had thought they were going to have celebration party. What’s wrong with this guy?

  A chill coursed through her. Something told her this wasn’t over.

  Niall made his way through the crowd at the international arrivals terminal at the Dublin airport. He wore a vintage Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, and his sun-streaked hair brushed his upper shoulders. He kept his head down and no one recognized him, though the government agent who checked his passport couldn’t help but jerk his head up in surprise.

  Niall lowered his sunglasses. “Yeah, it’s me.” He grinned, and the agent waved him through. “Welcome home, Mr. Finley.”