by Ellie Hall
“And soon you’ll be Mrs. Wheaton.” Juliette smiled.
Charlotte had heard plenty about the American best friend Wyatt Jones. He and Will had worked as models together and had many wild times. “I’ve heard about him, but never met him.”
“He is one fine specimen of man muscle, American brawn. A proper cowboy.” Juliette batted her eyelashes in his direction though he still faced away from them.
“Are you single?” Emma asked.
Juliette tipped her head from side to side. “Nothing official.”
Juliette told them about the Frenchman who’d been wooing her.
Charlotte’s gaze drifted over to Wyatt who shifted, revealing his profile. He had a chiseled jawline and a crooked smile. “He’s probably broken a lot of hearts.” Too late, Charlotte realized she’d spoken aloud.
“What do you mean?” Emma asked.
Charlotte quickly recovered. “I mean, he’s Will’s best friend. They used to model together. I’m pretty sure they left a trail of women in their wake.”
“Well, as we know, people change.” Emma’s lips lifted in an assuring smile.
Charlotte realized what her comment suggested even though she didn’t mean for it to offend Emma. “They sure do. Will’s so lucky to have found the woman who won his heart. I’m really happy for you guys.” She was, but the constant presence of grief made her feel like she was treading water, but not wearing a snorkel or looking at exotic Caribbean fish. More like struggling to stay afloat.
The three women carried on with pleasant conversation, and it was clear Emma wasn’t upset about Charlotte’s comment. After a time, a duke or the member of some royal house or another snagged her attention. She extended both her hands to drag Juliette and Charlotte along. She whispered, “If I say the word Pomeranian that means rescue me from a dreadfully boring conversation.”
Juliette, all too happy to meet royalty said, “Oui.”
Will rushed over, giving his bride to be a smooch on the cheek then said, “I have to say hello to my sister,” he said, nabbing her away.
She was glad he rescued her from having to rub elbows with the nobility without having to use a code word. She preferred to be a quiet observer.
“There you are. I never thought I’d get away from Boylston. Banged my ear off about the Chapman-Shaw merger for ages.” Will rubbed his hand down the back of his neck.
“Looking forward to heading back to Isla Encanta?” Charlotte asked.
“Am I ever. You should come stay with us.”
“And miss summer in London? Ask me again in January, dreary, drizzly, January.”
“Will do. You certainly could use a vacation.”
She didn’t want to think about how that was true. “Emma told us about the proposal. Very romantic, brother.”
“No less than she deserved, you too. Maybe you’ll meet your mister here,” he said with a lift of his eyebrow. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
She nodded, but Will was gazing out at all the guests and he didn’t see the smile that slipped off Charlotte’s face.
“You do realize this is madness. Glorious, about to marry the love-of-my-life, madness.” He chuckled. “Could you help me with one thing though?”
“Is everything okay?”
“Of course, but Emma’s taught me to ask for help when I need it.” He cast Charlotte a pointed look. Both siblings had a habit of trying to shoulder burdens alone. “Anyway, Emma’s mother keeps meddling and fussing then disappearing. She’s driving us both nuts. Anyway, we need more of those delicious apple-rose pastries. Have you tried one?” Will went on to describe it.
“I see Emma has also got you off your strict dietary regime,” Charlotte said.
“Just for today.”
“And tomorrow?”
Will nodded sheepishly. “Then it’s back to the protein shakes and bland dinners.” He laughed. “Emma’s mother said she went to tell the caterers we needed more, but she probably got lost and is trying to get one of these old money earls to marry her—like Archer Pearce for instance.” He thumbed over his shoulder.
“You invited him?” He’d been involved in a recent bank scandal.
“Now that Emma’s royalty, we practically had to invite half the country.” He gave his sister an imploring look.
She planted her hands on her brother’s arm. “Of course, I’ll go find out about the apple rose pastries.” She was relieved it was something so straightforward and he wasn’t asking her to do something awkward like dance with one of those old money earls he’d mentioned.
He gave her hand a squeeze and then called after her, “Now, you don’t go getting lost either, but do feel free to fall in love.”
His laughter faded as she reminded herself why that would never happen.
Charlotte passed through the gilded hall of the historic Garden House, part of the royal garden system. She intended to follow her ears and nose to the sound of pans clattering and the smell of deliciousness baking. However, there were countless doors and other hallways on the lower level. She wasn’t sure which led to the kitchen. The Garden House was old, had once been one of the royal palaces, but the main part of it had burned in a terrible fire around the turn of the twentieth century. It was part of the royal registry of historical buildings converted for the public and used for events like weddings.
However, that didn’t help Charlotte find her way through the maze-like corridors. A long row of catering carts stood like soldiers in one hall, waiting to deliver more confections to the guests. One was piled high with chocolate chip cookies—Sydney’s favorite. Her stomach dipped. Some days were easier than others to get through. She wished he was there to celebrate Will’s happiness, his future. But he was gone. Tears sprung to her eyes.
Charlotte rounded the corner, trying to find the kitchen. It was relatively quieter in that hall. She’d taken a wrong turn she paused and leaned against the wall—out of sight. She was lost and needed a moment to compose herself before finding the kitchen and interacting with a stranger.
She didn’t want anyone to think she was anything less than thrilled about the nuptials. She was happy for the couple, but felt sad and missed Sydney—missed having someone to talk to, listening to his stories, and playing cards with him. She was surprised Will had actually won an island from Wyatt, given that she always bested him when they played cards. But as Emma said, people change. Or maybe the cowboy wasn’t a skilled card player.
She sniffled. Neither Sydney nor Will would want her in the hallway sobbing so she squared her shoulders and drew a deep breath. She peered around the corner to be sure the coast was clear because she didn’t want anyone questioning why she was alone in the hall crying. When she straightened, ready to set foot into the hall and find the baker and pastries Will requested, she knocked into a large, solid figure. She stumbled, shuffled, and careened into a cart loaded full of mini confections.
A massive pair of hands wrapped around her waist to keep her from going head first into platters of mini meringues. Once she got her footing, she turned around to apologize. The American best friend started to do the same. Her breath caught as their eyes met.
Chapter 2
Wyatt
“I’m sorry,” said a woman with the most striking blue eyes Wyatt had ever seen. Yet there was undeniable sadness in them. Either that or she’d been hurt after he’d knocked into her.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked, tipping his cowboy hat by way of pardon.
Her nod was hardly convincing. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.
He felt stupid for needing a minute of quiet after the long flight and the hubbub of the party. “Don’t be. It was my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“I was just, um, supposed to be getting something.” She seemed flustered or out of sorts, looking everywhere, but at him. “Um, oh, right, the apple rose pastries. Will asked me to request them from the caterer.”
Wyatt tucked his chin. “Really? He asked me to do the same thing.”
In addition to her eyes, she was all around striking. Wyatt wasn’t sure if that particular word came to mind because he’d bumped into her—in effect, struck her—or if she was so arrestingly, startlingly, noticeably beautiful it was like he’d been struck by lightning. He shook it off, but couldn’t help take in her shiny dark hair, her smooth nose, the apples of her cheekbones, or her apple rose lips. They looked as delicious as the mysterious pastries Will had asked them both to get. An odd request when he thought about it, considering there was serving staff at the party.
His gaze caught on her and his pulse took off at a gallop. He wasn’t there to meet a woman. He definitely didn’t have time for that in his life despite what Will had said about him bumping into his future bride at the wedding. He was there for his best friend and his fiancé, to celebrate their union, and maybe check out London for a few days. That was all.
The woman bit her lip, sending a wave of desire through Wyatt. But her eyes told a different story that brought up concern, calming his internal wave of longing.
“Hey, are you really okay?”
She nodded rapidly. Her eyes darted down the hall.
“You sure, because it seemed like you were hiding or something.”
Her cheeks tinted as pink as the flowers on her dress. “I guess I just needed a minute.” She stiffened and stepped back like a spooked horse.
“Right. Well, you sure those chocolate cake bites weren’t threatening you or anything?” He pointed at another tray of desserts, trying to joke. However, as the seconds passed, she bristled.
“Why were you backing up into a hallway?” she retorted as though offended that he pried.
“I, uh, just came down to get the pastries.” He hesitated because he needed a minute too. After running into her, he needed a few more. The mystery woman woke something in him that he couldn’t explain and quite frankly didn’t want to experience.
Wyatt prided himself on being a rugged rancher with no interest in women or relationships. Been there, failed that. He’d sowed his wild oats, then quite literally sowed the fields at the ranch, lacing them with heather, lavender, and other wildflowers, getting his hands dirty in the soil and washing himself clean of desire and women.
He’d separated himself from the modeling world, the international travel, and the extravagance. He lived a simple life, restoring the old ranch, and riding every chance he got.
“I suppose we should do that then,” she said.
“Do what?” he asked, drawn to the sound of her voice with a lovely yet somehow also adorable British accent.
She blinked a few times. Her eyes were almost a metallic blue, magnetizing him. She shuddered a breath, gazing in the vicinity of his chest. He’d parted with his typical plaid button-down shirt in exchange for a fitted button-down in light gray. Although he’d grown to prefer casual clothing, he was once a top model and it seemed the clothes remembered how to fit him perfectly. He blended in among the crowd, even though he was noticeably tanner—though so were Will and Emma thanks to the island he let his best friend win in a card game after he’d been down on his luck and needed a boost. It didn’t matter much, Wyatt owned two other islands in the Caribbean. He’d played his own cards right, never wanting to end up like his father, and had invested his money wisely.
He didn’t boast, but he rivaled Will in his net worth. However, unlike his best friend, he lived a decidedly simpler lifestyle.
“I suppose we should get the apple rose pastries,” she said as if coming to her senses. She carefully stepped past him.
A member of the catering staff approached and British Blue Eyes spoke to her about the pastries.
Wyatt waited so they could return to the party together. Despite his better judgment, he wanted to know more about her, how she knew the couple, and if she’d like to dance. He wasn’t the dancing type, but deep down, in the most hidden parts of his heart, he had a vision of his true love and him dancing on the front porch of the ranch house while music played softly in the background. It’d be a summer’s night and the crickets would be chirping and the fireflies blinking in the fields. He shook away the thought as she started down the hall.
“So, uh, how do you know Will and Emma?” he asked, catching up to her.
She stopped. “You don’t know who I am?” she asked. Her lips twisted in a cute, but confusing way.
“Do you know who I am?”
“The American best friend.”
He pressed his hand to his chest. “Right. I’m Wyatt Jones. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He extended his hand for her to shake even though he wanted to take her hand in his and kiss her knuckles—though that seemed rather old fashioned.
Her hand slid into his. Another wave crested inside. Warm Caribbean water, crystal clear, flooded him. Her skin was soft, but her grip was strong, intentional. Perhaps she was royalty, trained in international affairs and diplomacy because the grip also lacked the warmth he’d hoped to feel charged between them. However, when she didn’t let go after the customary amount of time to shake someone’s hand, perhaps he was mistaken. Maybe she was the kind of person to wade into unfamiliar water while he was the type to dive in head first—at least, he used to be. Thankfully, he’d learned his lesson.
“And you are?” he asked, intrigued.
“I’m Charlotte. Charlotte Wheaton.”
He dropped her grip and stepped back. If he’d know she was Will’s sister he’d never had allowed himself to feel attracted to her. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?” she asked, seemingly confused.
For marveling at her beauty, for being captivated, for feeling lustful.
“Oh, for bumping into you back there,” he said apologetically.
“I’m pretty sure I knocked into you. And you saved me from wearing meringue on my dress. I nearly fell over and landed face first in the pastries.”
He had reached for her to keep her from toppling over. The moment his hands were on her waist, he’d felt that surge. The one he’d never let himself feel again, at least not for Will’s sister. There was a code among men and being sweet on his best friend’s sister was one he wouldn’t break.
“Is this your first time in London?” she asked.
“No,” he answered simply, not trusting himself to say more.
She waved her hand. “Of course not. How silly of me. You probably came here often when you and Will were still working together. Hitting the clubs, running wild over town.” Her tone dropped, barely masking distaste.
He nodded, glad those days were behind him.
“It’s strange he never introduced us.”
“I’d call it lucky.”
She bristled again. “Why’s that?”
“Will probably wouldn’t have wanted you to know a guy like me.” Because chances were, he’d have ruined a good friendship—back then he wouldn’t have been able to keep himself away from her. Not that he was like that in the present day. But it was best if he put some distance between them nonetheless.
Her smile was strained. “Anyway, I was probably already married so I wasn’t interested in getting to know guys like you—whatever that’s supposed to mean.” She’d started walking again.
He fought against his desire to catch up, letting her get a few steps ahead. Better to let her go.
It was safer. Easier. Smarter.
She paused in the doorway leading back to the party and glanced over her shoulder. She said, “Nice to meet you now.”
No, it wasn’t.
It was risky. Difficult. Dangerous.
Then she disappeared into the crowd of people wishing the bride-to-be and his best friend a long and happy marriage.
Just before sitting for dinner, Amanda, a model turned fitness trainer who Will and Wyatt knew from back in the day, greeted him with a long hug. She melted against him, clearly happy to see him. Wyatt was glad for the di
straction because he couldn’t help, but search the room for Charlotte when he should’ve been listening to what everyone—from the junior barrister for the queen to the owner of the biggest thoroughbred stable in Europe—were saying.
Amanda had gotten comfortable with him and had looped her arm through his then stroked his leg during the meal. He shifted away because he wasn’t interested beyond a friendly conversation aka something to keep him focused on anyone other than Charlotte.
But Amanda clung to him, talking to him about how wonderful weddings were and making it obvious that she didn’t wear a ring on her finger.
After dinner was cleared, Will and Emma stood and thanked everyone for attending the festivities. Will said, “We did things a bit unconventionally and I’ve had to course correct a few times, particularly when I learned my fiancé is royalty. Gone are the days of leaving my dirty socks on the floor. From now on it’s rom-com movies only. I can no longer work eighty-hour weeks. Just for example.” The crowd laughed. “But I’ll gladly trade all of that for this woman.” He wrapped her in a side hug and kissed her temple.
Emma beamed.
Wyatt was happy for the couple but would be lying if he didn’t admit to being surprised. He and Will had been a lot alike when they were younger, but while Wyatt had turned to the calm countryside and horses to tame his wild spirit, Will had kept up the jet setting lifestyle.
“I wish for everyone to be as in love as I am, willing to trade their habits for ones that are more suitable to a relationship, able to make sacrifices when necessary—sorry, Leo, I cannot go to Fiji next week—” Will pointed at one of his friends and again, everyone chuckled. “I never believed I could experience this—” He gestured around the room and then to Emma. “Those of you who knew me before would agree. But when someone special comes along, you do everything in your power to remain by their side. She’s brought out a better version of me; one I hope only gets better year after year.”
The bride and groom-to-be exchanged a long, intimate look. Then she threw her arms around his neck. They shared a quick kiss.