“She’s not,” Ryan denied. “Her father is.”
“I thought her parents couldn’t be here for the wedding.”
That was the response Harper had expected when she’d sent the email to inform them of the event, and it was the response she’d received. He’d wanted her to call, suggesting that the news warranted a more personal form of communication, but his fiancée had insisted that emailing would alleviate any awkward silences while her parents tried to explain why they were unable to attend their only daughter’s wedding.
She’d accepted their rejection of the invitation with aplomb; he hadn’t been able or willing to do so.
“Obviously there was a change of plans,” Ryan told his brother, not wanting to reveal the part he’d played in getting them there.
The doors opened again and a stylish fiftysomething woman and a much younger man walked in. The woman could only be Harper’s mother, Gayle Everton-Ross, and the man her brother, Spencer. Cameras whirred and clicked as they took their seats in the front row.
When they were settled, the clerk started the recorded music and Kenna appeared. And then, finally, Harper was there, and the sight of her actually stole the breath from Ryan’s lungs.
She wore a white dress. Not a wedding gown but a casual summer dress with tiny little straps over her shoulders and a flirty skirt that fell just above her knees. Her slender legs were bare and her feet were tucked into sexy sandals that tied up around her ankles and added at least three inches to her height.
Her hair was pulled away from her face in some kind of fancy knot and was topped with a short layered veil that he recognized from photos of his mom and dad’s wedding. In her hands, she carried a hand-tied bouquet of creamy white tulips.
“I guess I was wrong about the runaway part,” Justin mused beside him.
Ryan was glad, because he knew that if she ran, he would run after her. And not just for Oliver’s sake.
Harper had agreed to this wedding for the little boy, and Ryan couldn’t deny that he’d deliberately played that card because he knew it would trump any arguments she might have made against his proposal. What he hadn’t told her—what he knew she wasn’t ready to hear—was that he wanted this marriage. He wanted her in his life for the long term, not just because Oliver needed her but because he did, too.
* * *
Behind the courthouse was a modest green space with wrought iron benches, urns overflowing with colorful flowers and a three-tiered marble fountain. Though not originally designed for the purpose, the area had become a popular reception location for those who married in the courthouse chapel. Of course, Ellen Garrett had gone one step up from a potluck set out on folding tables and had arranged for seating under cover of an enormous white tent. There was a buffet table where hot and cold hors d’oeuvres were served along with tall glasses of nonalcoholic champagne.
After their formal wedding photos were taken—including, as a gift from the bride to her matron of honor, a picture of Kenna with Brock Lawrie, aka the father of the bride. It was only when Ryan spotted Daniel returning from the courthouse with Jacob that he realized he’d lost sight of Oliver. There were enough people around that he was sure the little boy was being watched by someone, but that certainty didn’t dispel the unease that churned in his gut.
“Do you see Oliver?” he asked his dad.
John glanced around. “No,” he said, unconcerned.
Ryan scanned the gathering again, but he didn’t see him. His mother was talking to Aunt Jane; Harper’s mother had her cell phone pressed to her ear; and Oliver obviously wasn’t with either of them.
Then he spotted his cousin Jordyn walking near the fountain, and he exhaled a sigh of relief to see Oliver’s little hand firmly clasped in hers. They were headed back toward the tent, and he met them halfway.
“He’s a little wet,” Jordyn said apologetically. “I didn’t quite catch him before he started splashing.”
Ryan wasn’t concerned about the water—his attention was focused on something else. He crouched down in front of Oliver and gestured to the beanbag dog that was clutched in his hand. “Where did you get that?” he asked.
Of course, the child’s limited vocabulary didn’t allow him to answer the question. He responded only with, “Woof.”
“It does look like Woof, doesn’t it?” he agreed.
Almost identical, in fact, right down to the ragged ears that Oliver liked to chew on.
“Ryan?” Jordyn looked at him worriedly. “What’s wrong?”
He stood up again. “Was anyone else with Oliver by the fountain?”
“No. He was by himself, playing in the water.”
“Do me a favor?” he asked her. “Don’t mention this to Harper.”
“Don’t mention what to Harper?”
He shook his head. “Just...that I had a moment of panic when I didn’t know where he was.”
“I won’t,” Jordyn agreed. “But I am going to go say goodbye to your bride now because I have to head into work in a couple of hours.”
“Thanks for coming,” he said.
“I had to come.” She smiled and kissed his cheek. “I wouldn’t have believed you were married if I hadn’t witnessed it myself.”
When Jordyn had gone, he lifted Oliver onto his hip and carried him back to the tent. “I think you’re more than a little wet,” he said. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”
He found a towel in the bottom of the diaper bag—he wasn’t sure why there was a towel in there, but Harper insisted on ensuring the bag was stocked with all kinds of things Ryan didn’t think the baby would ever need—and rubbed the front of the little boy’s shirt.
“Woof’s pretty wet, too,” he said. “What do you think? Should we dry him off?”
Oliver held tight. Then he spied a snack-size container of Cheerios in one of the side pockets of the diaper bag and dropped the toy in pursuit of the cereal. Ryan sat him down on a chair and opened the lid.
He didn’t want to consider that this beanbag puppy could be the same one that the boy had lost weeks ago and miles away, but the possibility that Oliver just happened to “find” an identical dog was too unbelievable. It wasn’t just a coincidence—it was downright creepy.
When he was certain that the little boy was thoroughly focused on his snack, Ryan picked up the toy and tossed it in the nearest trash can.
* * *
Harper was, surprisingly, a little disappointed when the limo returned to whisk her parents and brother back to the airport. Although she hadn’t appreciated all of the fanfare that had arrived with them, she was glad that they’d been there. And walking down the aisle with her dad had meant more to her than she’d expected—and his strong presence kept her steady when she saw Ryan Garrett waiting for her at the front of the chapel.
Her groom. Her husband. For better or for worse.
“Thank you,” she said, brushing her lips against his cheek.
“For what?”
“For guilting them into coming.”
“It didn’t take much,” he said. “They wanted to be here.”
“Yes, my mother made a point of saying that nothing could have kept her away from her only daughter’s first wedding.”
“First wedding?”
She nodded. “And when I told her that I was hoping it would be my only wedding, she—looking amused—said, ‘Well, all the more reason for us to be here, then.’
“As if I didn’t know that the real reason was to get another picture of my dad in the papers, along with mention of his upcoming projects.”
“How did the press know they would be here?”
She sighed. “My mother sent out a press release.”
He slipped his arms around her. “I’m flattered that she thought the event newsworthy enough.”
“Only because my father walked me down the aisle—which, again, explains why he was here to walk me down the aisle.”
His lips curved. “And you say I’m cynical.”
“No one in my family does anything without ulterior motives,” she warned him.
“So what was yours for marrying me?” he challenged.
“You know what it was—to bolster our claim for custody of Oliver.”
“That was the real motive,” he clarified. “I want to know what nefarious plans are lurking beneath the surface.”
“I don’t have any nefarious plans.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “Not even to take me to your bed and seduce me?”
“Well, that idea does hold some appeal,” she acknowledged.
“I’d rather you held on to me,” he told her.
She linked her hands behind his neck. “How’s this?”
“It’s a good start.” He pulled her closer to his body. “This is better.”
She tilted her head back, a wordless invitation that he didn’t hesitate to accept. As his lips moved over hers, she melted against the hard strength of his body. His hands slid up her back and down again, and she shivered against him.
He eased his mouth from hers. “What would you say if I suggested we go home and consummate this marriage?”
She smiled. “I’d say ‘Let’s go.’”
Chapter Fourteen
They’d intended to send a copy of their marriage certificate to their lawyer, but it turned out that they didn’t need to. Shelly called on Monday to congratulate them, having read about their nuptials in the morning paper. Apparently having the paparazzi at their wedding had served a useful purpose after all.
Shelly promised to amend their response to reflect their now-married status. And when Caroline did her weekend summary on Coffee Time, she included congratulations to the happy couple.
Aside from the temporary notoriety and the rings on her finger, not much else changed in their relationship after the wedding. And that was okay, because Harper was content with everything exactly as it was. She had a great job, a comfortable home, a beautiful little boy, an adorable—and slightly hyperactive—puppy and a husband who ensured that she never regretted the sleep she lost in his bed. The only thing that could possibly make her happier would be to have Oliver’s custody settled, but she refused to let the threat of that hearing interfere with her enjoyment of every day.
“Diya—do you have the contact info for that teacher who started the after-school community service program that we want to spotlight next month?”
“I’ve got something better,” her assistant said from the doorway. “Your husband.”
“My—” Harper looked up, surprised—and pleased—to see Ryan standing in the doorway. “Oh, hi.”
He smiled. “Hi.”
Diya nudged him past the door, then slipped out, closing it firmly behind her.
“You’ve never stopped by the studio before.”
“And I might never again,” he warned. “This place is an obstacle course through chaos.”
“There’s a lot going on,” she agreed.
“Well, I’m not going to take up much of your time,” he promised. “I just wanted to stop by to invite you to dinner tonight.”
“We have dinner together every night,” she pointed out.
“Tonight I want to take you out.”
“Like...on a date?”
“Yes, on a date,” he confirmed.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because it occurred to me that, despite having been married for almost a week, we’ve never actually been on a date. I’d like to remedy that.”
“Just the two of us?”
“That’s what makes it a date,” he confirmed.
“What about Oliver?”
“My parents are going to keep him. And the puppy. Overnight.”
“Sounds...promising.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Casa Mercado.”
Her brows lifted at his mention of the upscale tapas bar and restaurant that had opened about six months earlier. “I appreciate the gesture, but you do realize that with the promise of an empty house, I’d probably put out for a burger and fries from a drive-through window?”
“I’ll keep that in mind for future reference,” he said. “Tonight we’re going to Casa Mercado.”
* * *
She had a date with her husband.
The idea made Harper strangely nervous.
They’d been living together for almost three months, sharing a bed for five weeks and married for six days, but tonight was their first real date.
She pampered herself in anticipation of the occasion, indulging in a leisurely soak in the tub and rubbing scented lotion on her skin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d dressed up in anticipation of being undressed, but she was optimistic that her husband would appreciate the black lace demicup bra and bikini panties that she wore beneath her little black dress even more than the dress itself.
She loved the way Ryan touched her. The way his hands stroked over her body, the way his lips caressed her skin. He knew all of her most sensitive spots and just where to linger. She really liked it when he lingered.
She kept waiting for the attraction to wane. It was inevitable. The extreme heights of emotion that characterized the beginning of any relationship couldn’t last. She understood that, and she was prepared for it. She loved being with him, and she loved making love with him, but she wasn’t in love with him and she certainly didn’t expect that their marriage would turn into some happily-ever-after.
They’d married for Oliver’s sake—to support their application for custody of their friends’ little boy and because they’d promised to raise the child together. Their personal relationship was something else entirely and she had no illusions. But she was going to enjoy every minute that she had with him to ensure that she didn’t have any regrets when it was over.
She was slipping her feet into her shoes when Ryan came into what had been “her” room and was now “their” bedroom. He halted in midstride, his eyes skimming her from head to toe and back again. “Mrs. Garrett, you look... Wow.”
She eyed him up and down, appreciating the way the dark suit fit his long, lean body. “You look pretty good yourself, Mr. Garrett.”
He settled his hands on her hips, drew her close. “What are you wearing underneath that dress?”
She tipped her head back and nipped playfully at his chin. “If you play your cards right, you’ll find out later,” she promised.
His hands slid around her back, over the curve of her buttocks. “Maybe I changed my mind about going out.”
She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. “You said we had an eight o’clock reservation at Casa Mercado.”
“I did. We do. But suddenly, I’m thinking pizza—”
“I’m thinking you might need a little more than pizza to keep up your energy later.”
He offered his arm. “Your wish is my command.”
* * *
Ryan led Harper through an elaborate metal scrollwork archway into a walled courtyard that housed an outdoor bar/patio. The floor was an elaborate design of traditional Spanish tiles in burnt orange, warm gold and cobalt blue. The atmosphere was casual, with wooden chairs and tables and oversize market-style umbrellas in the same bright blue, and contemporary music spilled out of speakers hidden by the towering plants.
Walking through another archway, they left the courtyard patio and entered a quieter lounge space with dark-tiled floors, rustic wood-beam ceilings and arched entranceways. Where outside, everything had been color, inside was much more subdued. The tables were set with white linens, square plates, gleaming silver and a trio of tea-light candles in poppy-red glass holders. On the walls hung oversize sepia-toned photos of flamenco dancers, the monochromatic color scheme of each one set off by a splash of color—a red rose in a dancer’s hair, glossy ruby-painted lips, a swirling skirt of bold crimson.
It was lucky that Ryan had made a reservation, because there weren’t any empty tables in view. After they were sea
ted, before they’d even had a chance to look at the wine list, a waitress appeared with a bottle of champagne and two flute glasses.
“Compliments of Chef Felipe, with congratulations on your recent marriage.”
“Thank you,” Ryan said. Then, when the wine had been poured and the waitress had gone, he looked questioningly at Harper. “Chef Felipe?”
“He was a guest on Coffee Time a few months back, right before the restaurant’s grand opening. He made this amazing custard—crema catalana—on the air and sent little dishes of it around to everyone on the set.”
“Was it good?”
“I practically licked the bowl.”
His eyes darkened. “I would have enjoyed seeing that—you can be quite creative with your tongue.”
Her cheeks flushed. “And then I did an extra circuit at the gym.”
“We’re definitely going to save room for dessert.”
Between sips of the wine they nibbled on marinated black olives and shared bites of chorizo sautéed in white wine and fried potatoes in spicy tomato sauce. They also sampled piquillo peppers stuffed with Manchego cheese, bacon-wrapped dates drizzled with honey, mixed greens with pears and walnuts—because, as Ryan teasingly remarked, it wouldn’t be a meal for Harper without some kind of salad—and chunks of Black Angus sirloin with a sweet mustard sauce.
They were almost finished their meal when the chef made his way to their table. He greeted Harper warmly and introduced himself to Ryan. “I apologize for not coming out sooner, but the kitchen was busy tonight.”
“I imagine that makes you very happy,” Harper said.
“It does,” he confirmed. “And how was everything at your table? Were your tapas exceptional?”
“Yes, they were,” Ryan confirmed.
Felipe nodded. “Our goal is to ensure that no customer leaves hungry or unhappy. The bigger challenge, for any new restaurant, is getting them in the door.” He looked at Harper again. “You helped make that happen.”
“Caroline made that happen—I didn’t do anything,” she denied.
“As a chef, I know the most important people are those who work behind the scenes,” he told her. “So thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
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