He scowled. “Forgive you? For being right?”
“I wasn’t right! I was misjudging you about something you hadn’t done!” Deliberately she lowered her voice. “If you can’t, Jack, I’ll understand. I misjudged you in Barcelona. I misjudged you last night and again this morning. That’s a lot of mistakes to forgive. I wouldn’t blame you if you walked away right now.”
“You need to walk away from me,” he said stubbornly.
“I don’t want to.”
He stared out over the trees across the road. His throat worked. He shut his eyes for a long moment and Celina held her breath. Then he opened them again and turned to look down at her. His expression was ravaged. “I don’t want to, either. I never want to leave you.” He sounded as broken as she felt.
Celina felt something akin to a sob catch in her throat. She swallowed, blinked rapidly, and told herself she wasn’t going to cry. Then tears slid down her cheeks.
“Ah, Cel, no! Don’t cry!” And all at once Jack had his good arm around her, pressing her against his chest, burying his face in her hair. She felt a ragged shudder go through him as well, and when she lifted her head to look up at him, his cheeks weren’t dry, either.
“We make a pair,” she said softly and slid her arm around his waist, careful not to jar his arm.
“I hope so,” Jack murmured. “Dear God, I hope so.”
The royal wedding went off without a hitch.
The bride was radiantly beautiful in her elegant slim gown with its exquisite handmade lace overskirt. The ancient church was a perfect setting, and as she came down the aisle on her brother’s arm, Celina didn’t think Hope had ever looked so happy.
The groom was solemn and steady and looked suitably princely, except every time he looked at his bride. Then, despite the gravity of the moment, His Serene Highness Prince Jonas broke out in a dazzling grin.
“Suppose it’s just as well they didn’t elope,” Maggie said, looking around the crowded church approvingly, then focusing on the wedding couple standing together in front of the vicar. “I knew the boy had it in him. I knew Jack did, too,” she murmured with a sidelong look at Celina.
It was perhaps the thirtieth time she’d said so since Celina and Jack had arrived back at the manor house early yesterday evening. Jack was everyone’s hero, though he still didn’t think so. The dowager and Anna fussed over him, and Maggie said, “I told you so,” to Celina frequently.
Celina smiled and nodded. The dowager was right. Jack did have it in him. She would never doubt him again.
Now she studied him as he stood off to the side, watching Jonas and Hope exchange vows, and knew that he should be back in the room in bed, resting, recovering, getting ready for the surgery that would take place on his wrist and hand.
Jonas had told him he didn’t have to be the best man. Nico had volunteered to take over.
Carlo had said, “I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you. You saved my son’s life.”
But Jack was as stubborn about that as he was about everything else.
“I said I’d do it. I want to do it,” he’d insisted. “Unless,” he’d added to Jonas, “you don’t want me to.”
“Don’t be an ass,” Jonas had retorted gruffly.
“But I’m so good at it,” Jack had replied, but he’d given Jonas a relieved grin and promised. “I’ll be there.”
Now, his face almost as white as Hope’s gown, he stood ramrod straight, waiting for his cue to hand over the rings.
That was all he’d be thinking about, Celina was sure. He wasn’t worrying about the future, about his surgery or the long recovery he had ahead of him before he’d be doing any guitar playing again.
But she could never say to him, “You shouldn’t have done it.”
They both knew he should have and, he’d confirmed it last night when she’d sat on his bed with him, careful not to bump his arm even though he wanted her close. He’d looked deep into Celina’s eyes and said, “I would do the same thing again.”
She knew that now. Jack always did what needed to be done.
And he was hers. Forever.
That was what mattered, having a future with the man she loved.
When the time came, he handed over the rings. He had worried all morning that he’d misplace them or forget them. He had been far more nervous than Celina had ever seen him – even performing before thousands of people.
“You won’t forget them,” she’d said and kissed his cheek.
“You could make me forget everything,” he’d told her with a grin that promised they’d spend some time later that evening focused only on each other.
“Later,” Celina had promised.
“Count on it,” Jack had murmured in her ear.
She was.
The reception was as much fun as the wedding had been lovely. Anna considered it a feather in her cap. Hope might have arranged everything with Flora’s help. But somehow Anna was accepting credit for every i being dotted and every t crossed.
“Who cares?” Hope said cheerfully, her arm hooked through Jonas’s as they took a break from dancing and came to stand next to Celina and Jack, watching their guests waltzing around the room.
“But you did all the work,” Celina protested.
“I just wanted to marry Jonas here in the village – in my home – and I have. That’s what matters. So I’m happy and –” She lifted her gaze and fondly followed her brother and his fiancée as they danced cheek to cheek “I daresay Max and Flora are, too. I only hope Anna is as happy.”
Celina hoped so, too. Anna and Carlo weren’t dancing, but they were standing next to each other, each holding a boy firmly by the hand. Celina was pretty sure that Mads and Casper weren’t going to get out of their sight any time soon.
“Look! Maggie is dancing!”
Jack looked. His brows shot up. “With Nico?”
Celina laughed. “I expect he thinks it’s safest to dance with his grandmother and avoid the marriageable females Anna has lying in wait.”
“Well, there’s one he won’t have a chance with,” Jack said, his eyes picking out Ally Parker pressed close to Fredrik as they swayed to the music.
Celina beamed. “And Fredrik isn’t on his phone!”
Jack laughed. “Must be serious.”
“Fredrik deserves a good woman in his life.”
“So do I,” Jack said gruffly. He held out his one good hand. “Dance with me.”
“Are you sure?” He was still pretty much held together by Steri-Strips and duct tape to her way of thinking. She wasn’t sure dancing was a good idea.
“It’ll be hours til I can take you to bed,” Jack said in an undertone only she could hear. “And even then God knows what I’ll be able to manage.” He grimaced. “At least let me hold you and pretend we’re dancing.”
“I can do that.” She took the hand he offered and settled gently against him, sliding her arms around him so that he didn’t have to do any more than lean against her and every now and then shuffle his feet.
Oh, and kiss her. He did that, too. A lot.
She kissed his lapel, then lifted her face to kiss his chin and, very gently, the scrape on his jaw.
“Torturer,” Jack muttered.
She pulled back, looking up at him in surprise. “You don’t like it?”
“I like it way too much. Have mercy.”
“Picky, picky,” she chided gently. “First you want me, then you don’t.”
“I’ll always want you.” There wasn’t the slightest hint of doubt in his tone.
“I love you,” Celina whispered, then nestled against him and smiled as she felt him rest his cheek against her hair.
“And I love you. Always have. Always will. You’re stuck with me,” Jack said.
They moved a little. Kissed a lot. And when the music stopped, they stayed together, right where they were.
Jack brushed a kiss over Celina’s ear and held her close with his one good arm. “D’you suppose Jonas will be
my best man again?”
Celina kissed him on the lips. “I’m sure he will.”
South Face’s farewell tour ended in Barcelona.
Fitting, Celina thought.
She didn’t mind. She was eager to make new memories, better memories of that beautiful city. She’d been making wonderful memories with Jack all over the world the past three months.
Touring was never going to be her favorite thing, but since she had stopped worrying that Jack would be seduced by the glamour of it and knew what they had together was better than anything they’d find elsewhere, she opened her mind to it more and more.
She appreciated the energy of the band’s live concerts and she understood the exhaustion that came after each performance.
She was exhausted herself these days, and she didn’t even have to perform.
“You don’t have to come to Barcelona,” Jack had told her when they’d talked earlier in the week. “I’ll be in San Michele on Monday.”
“No,” Celina had said. “I’m coming. I want to be there.”
“But you’ve been running yourself ragged,” Jack protested.
Which was true. She’d found a young Irish woman to take her place as Maggie’s assistant, and Maggie had agreed that Tara would be fine. But “shaping her up” to Maggie’s standards wasn’t easy, especially because Maggie really didn’t want her to go.
“I’m not going far,” Celina said assured her.
“Montana’s not far? I have serious doubts about your grasp of geography.” Maggie had been all starch.
“Well, yes, Montana is,” Celina agreed. “But we’re keeping my flat in Liburno. We’ll be here, too.”
She and Jack had agreed on that. He’d talked to his father about the future, about how he’d love to live in Montana part of the year and share the responsibility for the ranch, but that he intended to keep writing songs and would occasionally – “very occasionally,” he said tersely – perform with South Face for charity benefits and special events. And, to his surprise, his dad was okay with that.
“He’s mellowed,” Jack had said wonderingly.
“So have you,” Celina told him.
This time they’d invited both their families to their wedding, which had taken place right at the local register office not far from Weston Foliat. And this time both families had appeared.
Jonas had indeed been Jack’s best man. Again.
The dowager countess of San Michele had acted as Celina’s matron of honor.
Maggie had been aghast when Celina had asked her. “You can’t want me! I’m a hundred and ten!” she had objected, her cheeks turning bright red.
“I don’t want anyone else,” Celina had said firmly. “You don’t have to do anything except be there and sign as a witness. I’m not making you buy a new dress you’ll never wear again or waltz down an aisle. You can manage it even in your eighty-fifth year,” she added dryly.
“I might have enjoyed waltzing down the aisle,” Maggie had speculated.
But she never got a chance to. She had, however, witnessed their marriage, and the next day she had sat with Celina in the London hospital where Jack’s surgery had taken place.
When Jack was released four days later, Maggie had nudged Carlo into providing the royal family jet to bring them to San Michele for an alpine honeymoon. It hadn’t taken much of a nudge as Carlo and Anna were still thanking him regularly for saving Casper.
They stayed in another of San Michele’s romantic mountain hideaways. And they made more memories – even better ones, in Celina’s estimation, than before because they understood each other better now.
Two weeks later Jack had gone to New York for the start of the farewell tour. Of course he couldn’t play guitar. But he did sing, and to Celina’s ear, whenever she caught a video of a South Face performance, his ragged baritone sounded better than ever.
She flew to Iceland to meet him when the band played there. Two weeks later she flew to Stockholm. And when they went to the Far East for the middle month of the two, she flew out to join him twice – once in Tokyo and once in Singapore.
When they got back to Europe, it was easier and she’d been to Venice and to Paris in the past month. He’d also managed to come to San Michele for brief overnights. Life was good.
His arm was improving. A physical therapist was traveling with the band now. His job was to get Jack’s wrist and fingers back into prime guitar-playing form.
That’s where he was now. But he should be back from working with the therapist any minute.
Celina had arrived less than an hour ago, had come straight from the airport, and had found the key waiting for her at the desk.
“I’ll tell them to give you one,” Jack said. “But it’s okay if you decide not to come.”
Last weekend in Paris while Jack had been giving a concert, Celina had spent the evening fast asleep in their bed. She hadn’t even awakened when he’d slipped in beside her.
She put her suitcase in the closet, then took a quick shower, pulled on one of the snuggly terry robes the hotel provided, and settled onto the bed to wait for him.
The next thing she knew, warm lips were touching hers.
Celina blinked, startled, and found herself staring up into Jack’s amused face.
“Told you you should’ve stayed in San Michele,” he growled, stroking her hair back off her face, then dipping his head to kiss her again.
“And I told you I would be here.” She picked up his left hand and moved his fingers and wrist experimentally. He was no longer wearing a cast, just a protective sleeve. The movement in his fingers was good.
“Getting better every day,” he said against her ear. “We could find them something to do. A little more exercise?” He pulled back just enough so that she could see his suggestive wink.
“You think?” A gentle smile played at the corners of her mouth. “And why would we want to do that?” she teased, stroking a hand down his chest to the waistband of his jeans, then lower.
Jack sucked in a breath. “To start that family we want,” he said. “But if you’re too tired ...”
“I’m not too tired.” Celina reached up and drew him down, brushing her lips across his cheek, nuzzling his neck, nipping at his jaw.
“Temptress.” Jack dragged his shirt over his head, then his fingers went to the sash of the robe she wore, unknotting it swiftly. “See how dexterous I am?”
“Very clever. Persistent, too,” she commended him when he parted the robe and slid his hands up her arms, then peeled it off her.
“Count on it,” Jack murmured.
“So am I,” Celina told him, unfastening his jeans and sliding them and his boxers down over his hips.
“You’re very good at this,” Jack said, stroking his hands down her body, making her want to purr.
“So are you.” Celina arched into his touch. Their bodies tangled together on the bed. “But you know what you said about starting a family?” she murmured against his jaw.
“Mmm.”
“It’s not necessary.”
Jack stopped. He pulled back. “What do you mean, it’s not necessary?” He was scowling at her as he spoke.
“We’ve already started one.” She smiled at him, watching as the light dawned.
He stared at her, at first incredulous, then awestruck. “You’re ... pregnant?”
“I am,” she said. “We are having a new little Masterson. In March.”
“March?” She watched him counting back in his head. “March? That’s not even six months?”
“I know. That night in the hunting lodge when you said, ‘We can start our family right now?’ Remember that?”
Jack nodded, still looking dazed, then panicked and, finally, above all, delighted. “I remember.”
Celina kissed him. “That turns out to be exactly what we did!”
The End
You’re Invited...
Read on in The Royal Wedding Invitations series
Book 1: The Pr
ince’s Bride by Sophie Weston
Book 2: The Baronet’s Wedding by Jessica Hart
Book 3: The Bridesmaid’s Royal Bodyguard by Liz Fielding
Book 4: The Best Man’s Bride by Anne McAllister
Enjoy an Exclusive Excerpt from
Last Year’s Bride
Anne McAllister
Copyright © 2014 Anne McAllister
“It’s only one blessed night!” Sam McCullough smacked his hand on the old round oak dinner table as he rose and glowered across the meat loaf at his son. “You’re not going to tell me you’ve got a date.”
“No.” Cole had plenty of practice keeping his voice even. “I just don’t like the notion of doing business at a Valentine’s Day dance.”
“It’s not a dance,” his sister Sadie corrected. “It’s a ball.” She used her fingers to put quotes around the word, as if her enunciation weren’t enough. She was grinning like the Cheshire Cat from the old storybook she used to lug around when she was a little thing. Now she was nineteen and read fashion mags.
“The ‘ball’—” Sam’s voice made the same quotation marks his daughter’s had “—is a business proposition itself. You reckon Troy Sheenan is in it for the pretty music? You better believe he’s got his eye on the bottom line.”
“And it’s a damn sight blacker than ours,” Cole muttered. He forked in another bite of his grandmother’s meat loaf, but he didn’t take his eyes away from his father’s. Under the grizzled stubble on Sam’s cheeks, Cole saw the wash of red that meant the old man was getting riled. He knew his grandmother saw it, too. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that her fork had stopped halfway to her mouth. She pressed her lips together, but then after a brief moment the fork continued its journey and she took another bite and kept on chewing.
“Ours won’t be red much longer. I’m workin’ on it,” Sam said, both hands pressing down against the table as he leaned toward Cole. The cords in his neck stood out.
“So’m I,” Sadie chipped in cheerfully. “Got an interview Sunday afternoon.”
Sadie’s job prospects—she was a marketing major at MSU whose work experience was largely confined to waiting tables at the diner in Marietta and writing ads for the Copper Mountain Courier and the Bozeman Chronicle— were not going to save them from foreclosure, and they all knew it.
The Best Man's Bride Page 18