CHAPTER EIGHT
“BYRON. VIVI WOULD like to see you.”
Byron turned away from the window in the bay-view suite where the groom and groomsmen had been given strict instructions to wait until further notice. His fingers fell away from the cuffs of his sleeves where the cufflinks Sidney had given him were secured. Sid had bought them in Africa, jewel-backed sea turtles. Not exactly Byron’s style. But neither was the lavender bow tie he’d struggled with, or the matching striped suspenders. However, it was Sid’s day and he’d wear the ensemble without too much complaint.
At the sight of Roxie peering through the door, he asked, “Everything okay?”
She smiled a reassuring smile he was sure every wedding planner learned from day one on the job.
Hers was breathtaking, though. As breathtaking as it had been the day he met her. He could no longer deny or hinder the added stimulating effect it had on him.
“We’re on schedule,” she said. “The bride’s insisting, though.”
He glanced to the other side of the room, where Grim was helping Sidney deal with his nerves with a well-concealed bottle of ouzo. Grim gave him a nod. “I’ll take care of Sid.”
Byron finished fastening the cufflinks and walked to the door. As he moved past Roxie into the hall, he heard her hiss into the room, “One shot each of the contraband then hand it to Father Constantine when he comes ’round. All right, fellas?”
“Yes’m,” they muttered apiece and she closed the door.
Byron cleared his throat, fidgeting with his collar. “Heads up. Father Constantine comes with his own set of vittles.”
Roxie stepped to him, close in the dimly lit hall. She rose up to the toe of her high heels and fussed with his bow tie. He kept his gaze studiously on her face as she straightened it, lifting his chin to give her better vantage. Trying hard not to imagine burying his face in her hair or touching her in her plum-colored sheath and nude-toned blazer.
When she was done, she dusted off the shoulder of his shirt, smoothed the wrinkles. Clearing her throat, she lowered back to the heels of her shoes and her hands fell pointedly away from him. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Habit. Anyway, I heard your dad clinking past me in the hall earlier. Vera and I gave him a joint scolding.”
“You and Ma could open a ball-busting business. Hire ’Cilla and Olivia. They could be your enforcers.”
Roxie didn’t laugh. Lifting a hand to his chest, she looked at him closely. “Tell me how you’re holding up, tiger.”
“Aren’t you supposed to save the ‘tigers’ for ring bearers?”
“Byron.”
He let out a small sigh. “I’m fine. Don’t I look fine?”
Wrong question, he realized belatedly as her gaze, round and blue, softened significantly—becoming somehow rounder and bluer as it passed over his features. Ah, hell, he thought, swallowing as the hand on his chest lifted, fingers grazing his shirtfront as they fell away. She eyed the buckle of one of his suspenders and assembled a smile. “Very fine... You look pretty dapper, actually.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said, fiddling with the strap that was snug over his left shoulder. “You’re sure Vivi’s okay?”
Roxie’s smile morphed into something meaningful and his heart gave a great yank. “I’ll let you see for yourself. This way.”
He followed her down the stairs to the first level. The evening was mild for winter. Briar and Cole had opened the doors and cracked some of the windows of the inn to invite the fresh air inside. Byron heard the hum of activity as the strings of the quartet warmed up and the guests began to trickle toward the tent on the lawn. At the paneled doors to the dining room, where the bridal party was encased, she stopped and asked him, “Ready?”
Byron eyed the doors. He nodded mutely.
Roxie’s hand found his as she parted the doors. She tugged him inside, letting them whisper closed behind them. “Vivi,” she called. “I found him.”
Though the chaos of the bridal party was evident with makeup and garments thrown over every surface, the room was now empty. From the office access on the other side, Vivienne called out, “Okay. I’m ready.”
Ready for what? Byron wanted to ask. When Roxie let go of his hand and said, “Wait here,” he had to stop himself from reaching out to grasp her again. He watched her go through the door, throwing a wink at him over her shoulder. Trying to prepare himself for the unknown, Byron went to the wide window across the room, twitching back the curtain to get a glimpse of those arriving. It wouldn’t be long now.
“By?”
It was Vivienne. He looked away from the window. His hand flattened against the cool pane.
She was standing in the doorway, wearing something long and white. He had a vague notion of her slender silhouette and translucent draping over one shoulder as well as a halo of purple-and-green flowers. All he could really see was Vivienne standing unsupported on her own feet.
She laced her hands together. “Well? What do you think?”
“Viv,” he said in a hushed tone. Damn if he hadn’t lost his voice. He thought to close his mouth but his jaw muscles had gone slack. The vision of her began to waver and he blinked several times.
Her smile fled and her lips trembled. “Oh, Byron. You can’t do that.”
“Do what?” He sniffed. Damn it. Damn it all to hell.
“You’re my Tin Man,” she murmured. “You can’t...”
He gave a stiff nod, doing his best to even his breathing. “Yeah. Okay.” He cursed under his breath. Oil can. Lifting his hand and shoulder as one, he asked, “How, uh... How did you—”
“Ike,” she said by way of reply. “Everybody said I couldn’t do it. There was only one person before him who thought I could and I wanted you to be the first to see.” She beamed. “You were right, By.”
“Tell ’Cilla that, what you just said.”
Vivienne laughed. “I’ll tell her.” She gestured to the table. “Will you sit with me for a while?”
“Of course,” he said and took a step forward to help her.
She held up a hand. “Wait.” Glancing back to the office door, she called, “Roxie?”
Byron watched as Roxie came into the room again. She took his sister’s elbow. “Slowly,” she whispered, guiding her to the closest chair. “Let’s not tire your legs out before your walk. Byron, would you be so kind as to pull out a chair?”
He leapt to. Grabbing the chair by the top rail, he slid it out and stood readily by as Roxie helped Vivienne lower herself to the seat. As she knelt to straighten the train and keep it from wrinkling, Byron watched Vivienne’s hands smooth the skirt over her lap. “You’re going to call me a liar,” he told her. He didn’t think his voice would ever recover. “But you’re the most beautiful frigging bride I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, poop,” Vivienne said though she beamed once more. Roxie smiled, too, as she rose. She took Byron’s elbow now, guiding him to the next chair. She pulled it out for him and pointed at it. Vivienne grinned as Byron folded into the seat. “Isn’t our Roxie a dream?”
Roxie’s hair had fallen over her face, cloaking most of it from view. Byron saw her lips pressed taut together and when her eyes rose to his for a brief second, he saw that the larkspur had gone damp. He fought the urge to pull her down to his lap before she clattered to the door in her heels, talking quietly into an earpiece.
Vivienne’s smile bloomed wide when the door closed behind Roxie. “Admitting it’s the first step, big brother.”
He reached for his tie then stopped himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby sister.”
She laughed, small. “Fine. I have some things to say to you.”
“Warning. Even men in hard metal jackets have their limits.”
“Noted,” she allowed, dropping her chin
in confidante fashion. “How are your knees?”
Byron frowned at them. It was a miracle he hadn’t fallen on them when he’d seen her standing there. “They’re all right.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Because, in a few minutes, I’d like you to walk me down the aisle.”
His mouth opened but nothing escaped. When he only stared, she spread her fingers on her lap, turning them up to the ceiling. “I’ve already spoken to Pop. He liked the idea, too.”
He racked his brain for an answer. She’d knocked him senseless. She and Roxie were making an art of it. “I’m honored. But why me?”
“Because I never would have done this without you,” she told him. “Because I never would have done any of it without you. I never would have gotten out of bed after the accident if you hadn’t told me to and then dragged me out of the covers when I refused. I never would have gotten strong again or moved on with my life, finished school, much less traveled or discovered the thing I was supposed to do with my life. And I definitely never would have met that person I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with, just like you said I still could. You’ll have to tell me how you’re always right about things, By.”
He shook his head. Something was working at his throat. He couldn’t open his mouth until it stopped.
“So...” She sighed and it came out tremulous. Her eyes shined with emotion. “I’ll ask again. Will you let me lean on you one last time before I become Mrs. Sidney Hewes?”
“Yes,” he said, taking the hand she extended to him. “After I beat myself on the chest and man up a little to the task. But, hey, it doesn’t matter what your name is, Viv. You can lean on me from now until the hereafter.”
Her fingers gripped his, squeezing. “Okay, good,” she breathed. “Because there’s one last thing I need to say to you while we’re both still Strongs.”
“Oil,” he wheezed.
She giggled. “It’ll be quick. You know that I love you and I’d never dream of telling you how to live your life, but Ma tells me that you’ll be buying the Victorian soon.”
“You’re okay with that?”
“More than. I always saw you there. Of course, I never saw you there alone.”
His good-natured expression fled. “Viv.”
“No, let me say this,” she said, gripping his hand tight when he would’ve let go. “When Dani died, it killed me to see you down. It took some time, but then you got out of bed. You went back to work. You came here and started over. You walked away from a partnership in the firm in Atlanta and started a new business with Toby. And now you’re buying a house again for the first time after Dani...” She trailed off. “Byron, you’ve been so strong. You’ve moved on in every way. Except one.”
“I’ve moved on,” he claimed.
“I don’t think so,” she disagreed. “I think you’ve put on a good face, gone on dates, maybe even been intimate with a woman or two, but deep down, I don’t think you’ve really tried to find anyone else.”
“Look,” he said carefully, “I get that it’s your wedding day. I get the inclination to throw happiness around like confetti. But I’m okay where I am. I swear to you—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted, gently stern. “You’re an open book. I know when you lie. Don’t lie to me, By.”
He focused on the gold cuff spiraling up her arm from wrist to elbow. It was something borrowed, their mother’s. “This is about Roxie, isn’t it?”
“You like her,” Vivienne surmised. “You really like her.”
“I like her,” he admitted out loud for the first time. “All right? But she’s hung up on someone else. Her ex.”
“And if it weren’t for him...?” Vivienne asked.
“If it weren’t for him,” Byron said, taking the cue, “not a lot would’ve stopped me from trying...well, trying.” He lifted his shoulders, at a loss. “But she can’t help the fact that she still wants him any more than I can help the fact that I’ve spent the last five years wanting my wife back.”
Vivienne stared at him unblinkingly. There was no pity. Just kindness. Just love. “If, in the future, you find somebody else, will you try again?”
“Yes,” he said with some reluctance. “I will, for you.”
“Not me,” she said with a shake of her head. “It should be for yourself and...whoever she is. She’s lucky, so lucky. Roxie doesn’t know what she’s missing.”
Byron cleared his throat, releasing her hand so he could dry his palms on his slacks. “Sid’ll be missing you if I don’t get you to the altar soon.” A quick knock came at the door and he stood. “Shall we?”
CHAPTER NINE
“LOOK AT THEM,” Briar said wistfully, nursing a flute of champagne.
“I’m going to have to stop looking at them,” Adrian admitted, “before I start blubbering like a baby.” She glanced sideways at Roxie. Her eyes widened. “Ah, crap. They broke Roxie.”
Something escaped Roxie. A laugh or a sob, something in between. In vain, she tried to reel back the tears into their ducts and away from her makeup. In her white gown, the bride circled one spot on the dance floor slowly, leaning largely on the solid line of her brother. Her cheek was pressed to his lapel. His head was low over hers and shaded. They swayed gently in the protective circle of each other’s arms, and Roxie didn’t think her heart would survive the last refrain of Dave Matthews’s “Sister.”
She’d done countless weddings. Her soul had been touched in many ways through the years...
But then there was Byron. She’d watched him walk Vivienne down the aisle, glowing nearly as brightly as she did. And something inside Roxie had cracked when a stunned Sidney overcame his shock and met the pair halfway down the aisle, offering to take his bride the rest of the way. Roxie had watched Byron follow, offering a ready handkerchief to his mother and father in the front row before taking his place at Sidney’s back.
The cracks had begun to web when, alongside Priscilla—stalwart Priscilla, who had been weeping openly—he’d bound their hands for the Celtic-style handfasting. By the knots of these cords your love is united, they’d spoken together before taking turns reading the blessing itself.
These are the hands, Byron had read alone, that will comfort you in illness and trials, and share the joy and happiness of life together...
Roxie’s professional composure had fissured well before the start of the reception, when again Vivienne rose to towering applause to share her first dance with her husband, then partake in a father-daughter dance with Constantine and, finally, a dance with Byron.
“Here, honey,” Olivia said, handing Roxie her own champagne. “You need this more than I do.”
Roxie took it. She sniffed, swiping her fingers as discreetly as possible underneath her eyes as she tipped the bubbly substance to her mouth.
She felt Olivia’s pat on the back. “Hell of a wedding.”
“Absolutely,” Adrian added while Briar simply pressed her fingers to her lips and gazed out over the dance floor.
“I’m not sure I’m responsible for any of it.” Roxie’s voice lagged when Byron lifted his cheek from Vivienne’s. His head turned slowly and his eyes found her. All the fissures and cracks exploded, leaving nothing behind to shield the light that had been burning behind them unbeknownst to her. She sucked in a breath, stunned at the aching.
Oh, God, what do I do about this? What do I do about this man and the way I feel about him?
All three girls looked from Byron to Roxie. Adrian smiled and went back to sipping her champagne. Olivia raised a brow and exchanged perceptive glances with Briar. None of them said a word, though, and Roxie couldn’t look away as Byron’s mouth tipped into a rueful smile. He lifted his shoulder the slightest inch, a helpless posture that made her own smile bloom. She shook with quiet laughter and felt it color and warm her cheeks.
Briar cleared her throat. “You should cue the band.” When Roxie looked at her, blank, she said, “For toasts.”
Roxie snapped to. “Yes. Yes, of course.” She searched for a place to set her glass.
Adrian took it. “I’ve got it.”
She handed the glass back to Olivia, who told Roxie plainly, “Don’t worry. You’ll get your cake later.” She smirked.
Roxie’s lips turned inward and she shook her head at Olivia’s throwback to Byron’s man-cakes. Still, she said nothing as she walked away, unsure how to shrug off the speculation when she was as translucent as the Cristal buzzing through her system.
As the reception wore on, she milled between various stations and tables while keeping tabs on the happy couple. She let Vivienne and Sidney linger with each other and their guests as the party swung on into the night, guiding them gradually from the toasts to the cake cutting. She made sure Vivienne had a plate of food from the banquet tables, assigning Constantine to supply his new son-in-law with one, too. It was her job to ensure that everyone was enjoying themselves. With the Strongs at the celebration helm, that was an easy feat.
Midway through the reception, she caught the ring bearer leading the flower girl by the hand from the garden, where she’d scraped her knee. Roxie took them both into the inn’s kitchen and sat the girl on the stool, wiped away the blood and talked to both in happy tones as she applied a bandage from her emergency kit. She was leading them back through the screen door when she saw Byron coming toward the house. He found her and his eyes stopped roving. Looking for me, hmm? she mused, squeezing the flower girl’s hand before sending her off to her mother.
“Trouble?” he asked as the children capered off.
“Nothing an Olaf Band-Aid couldn’t fix,” Roxie explained.
He held out his hand for hers. “Come on,” he said when she stared. “There’s someone who wants to meet you.”
She lifted her hand to his. He kept it there as they meandered through the crowd on the fringes of the dance floor. Vivienne had declared that even if she could only stand up for three dances there would be nonstop dancing at her wedding. The lively band and guests weren’t disappointing her.
Wooing the Wedding Planner Page 14