Timeless Vows: Five Tales of Love (Timeless Tales Book 4)

by Ruth A. Casie

  “I’ve got to go,” Agnes said. “Before Albert makes a scene.” Albert leaned out the door and waved for Agnes to join him. “See you at dinner. It’s going to be such a lovely wedding.” Agnes gathered her things and left.

  “You still bothering Margie?” Albert said within earshot, playfully scolding Agnes as the woman reached the door.

  “Her name is Margot,” Agnes said before she walked into the lobby.

  Albert threw his arms in the air and followed Agnes’s lead. Nikki held the door for them. Morgan walked toward her.

  Could Agnes be right? No commitment. He’d been stressing that since…since they came back from Star Island.

  Was there someone else?

  She searched his face for anything that told her things between them had changed. His stride was easy and his smile was warm. He gave her an all-was-right-with-the-world look. Or was that what she wanted to think? The up-and-down conversation with Agnes made her head hurt. She didn’t know how to react to him.

  “How do you feel?” he asked, sitting in Agnes’s empty chair. “I thought you’d sleep through the morning.”

  He appeared relaxed without a care in the world. She bit the inside of her cheek, weighing whether to tell him what was on her mind.

  “You okay? You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. All you have to do tonight is walk down the aisle. It’s a rehearsal.”

  “I’m fine. Just a dull headache. Agnes talked my ear off. I don’t know which family she belongs to but she and Albert are really a pair.” She chuckled and struggled to bury her anxiety. She needed to think this through and decide what to do.

  “I have aspirin upstairs.” He sat back in the chair, closed his eyes and took in the sun.

  She glanced at her watch. Noon. She had to dial in to the Boyles auction at two.

  “The wedding band canceled,” he said, still playing the sun worshipper.

  “What?” She shot up in her chair. “What are they going to do?” Viv had contracted with the group months ago. They were up and coming and she was adamant about having them play.

  “Relax. I told you last night.” He sat up, finished with his sun prayers. “I was going over a legal issue with Nikki when the band manager called her. It seems Viv and Gabe weren’t answering their phones.”

  Last night? She didn’t remember him—oh yes, she spoke to him but she’d be dammed if she could bring back the conversation. She gathered her things.

  “You remember that special event I helped Eloise put together.” Morgan’s sister-in-law was the executive director of The North Star Project, an agency advocating against human trafficking.

  Her brow creased in deep concentration. “What does that have to do with the wedding?” Morgan had put together a high-profile fund-raiser which included a contract for Tara Graham, the Grammy Award winning singer-song writer, to entertain.

  “I saw Tara in the lobby last night. I was surprised when she walked in but not as surprised as she was to find me here. We caught up and I told her what happened with the musicians.”

  She was putting the bottle of suntan lotion, which she didn’t get a chance to put on, into her bag and stopped. “Are you telling me that Tara Graham, the Tara Graham, is performing at the wedding?” Her stomach let out a loud rumble. Agnes must’ve seen Morgan with Tara last night. Her anxiety level plummeted.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “You spoke to her about it last night?” It was a question rather than a statement. She squeezed the bottle of lotion so hard that it exploded all over her. Morgan was quick to grab a pool towel from the nearby stack and wiped her down, which made it worse but the damage was already done. She smelled like a coconut.

  “Yes, and she had a legal issue. I gave her advice on what to discuss with her attorney.” He was still mopping up globs of lotion.

  She put the bottle into her bag and her stomach let out another rumble. “Have you eaten?” Morgan asked. She shook her head. “Me neither. Come on.” He threw the towel into the bin. “I’ll split a piece of apple pie with you. That should hold us for now.”

  She slung the beach bag onto her shoulder and stepped into her sandals. “Hot and with vanilla ice cream.” Her world, which had been off kilter since last night, came back into focus.

  He put his arm around her and squeezed. “Hot apple pie with vanilla ice cream it is.” They headed to the lobby café.

  * * *

  “You want the last of the ice cream?” Morgan’s fork was poised over the plate. He had an I-really-want-that-last-spoonful look in his eye.

  “No, you can have it.” His spoon scooped up the ice cream before she finished her sentence. She smiled as he wiped the last bit of the dessert from his mouth then checked her watch.

  “It’s one thirty. I need to dial in to the Boyles auction. By the way, do you think we’ll have time to explore the falls tomorrow? Viv told me it’s a must see.”

  He folded his napkin and placed it on the table. “Yes. We’ll go right after you get all glamorized with the rest of the girls. I have to meet Tara. You want to wait for me here or in our room?” He was on his feet.

  “You go on ahead. I want to get ready for the call. I’ll meet you upstairs.” He left her at the table and walked across to the banquet room. She drained the last of her iced tea and made her way toward the elevator. The airport van must’ve arrived. Suitcases and garment bags cluttered the lobby. A long line of new guests choked the registration desk. Nikki and her daughter Noelle were busy getting people registered.

  “No, that won’t work. I’m Gabe’s aunt Bea and must be in the room next to my sister.” The woman was adamant.

  Margot navigated past the crowd. What a zoo.

  “Mom, why can’t I have my own room?” A young girl stomped her foot and glared at her mother.

  “Because you’re twelve years old and you’ll stay with your father and me. End of story.”

  A commotion on the other side of the lobby involving two women grabbed her attention. Was that the sheriff? Yes, it was, and with a bloody nose.

  “This is the medical emergency,” a third woman said. She turned to see Davina, Viv’s friend, scurrying toward the bleeding man. Margot couldn’t keep up with the score card. She’d ask Viv or Davina what happened later.

  Jostled by the crowd, she struggled with her oversized beach bag to maneuver around the crush of people and reached the elevator. “Hold it, please.” She rushed inside. “Thanks,” she said before she turned around.

  “The pleasure is all mine.” She froze as the deep velvet sound washed over her. She’d know that voice anywhere. Her heart was beating wildly and she had a hard time controlling it. A slow pirouette brought her face-to-face with Zack Douglas. His fair complexion, blond good looks and hazel eyes had made her swoon in college. They’d remained together through grad school but as the years passed their lives went in different directions. She got involved in her parents’ antiques shop and Zack, an engineer, tried to find his place in the world but for him it was elusive and his restlessness frustrated both of them. They grew further apart until nothing was left between them. He’d stepped out of her life and away from all their friends. It was sad but not devastating. Well, not too devastating.

  “Hi, Zack.” She found her voice as the elevator stopped on the second floor and they got out. At one time, she’d had a million questions she’d wanted to ask him, but now she couldn’t think of one. The opening strains of “Smooth” caught her attention and she smiled. It had been their song.

  He took his cell phone out of his pocket and checked the display. “Sorry, I have to take this.” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Dr. Douglas, how can I help you?”

  Doctor. That took her by surprise but only the drastic shift from engineering. Concerned and lifesaver were terms that fit him. If anyone needed something, anything, you called Zack. He ended his call.

  “I’m glad I bumped into you.” He sniffed the air. “You smell—”

  “L
ike a coconut. I had a run-in with a bottle of suntan lotion. I had no idea you were coming.” She didn’t know that Gabe and Zack kept in touch.

  “I didn’t, either, until I bumped into Gabe in the old neighborhood. I’ve been overseas for the past five years and returned to the states last week. We spent a few hours reminiscing and catching up on what everyone is doing.” So this was spontaneous. How like Gabe to offer the invitation. “Actually, you and Gabe are the only people who know I’m here. He mentioned you’ve taken over the antiques shop and turned out to be quite the art collector.”

  “Only for other people.” Seeing him made her insides flutter as they did when she found an exceptional antique. Or was it Agnes or the little pink drinks that had her stomach in motion? There was something about Zack that…

  Little by little, the awkwardness of seeing him after all these years faded and he was an old friend with whom she’d lost contact. Nothing else.

  “I’m glad for you.” He squeezed her hand. “I want to catch up and hear all about it but I have to take care of this.” He held up his cell phone before he slipped it back into his pocket. She didn’t notice any hint of apprehension in his touch or the awakening of any dormant romantic feelings. No, the romance was reserved for Morgan. But she did get the sense that Zack was confident and grounded, set on his path. “I’m sorry I have to go. Can we speak later?”

  “Sure,” she said. His face lit with a wide smile. She smiled back.

  “Thanks.” He dropped her hand. “I’ll see you later.” He headed right, his cell phone already in his hand.

  She turned left and took a few steps before she peered over her shoulder. He was gone. She was excited at reconnecting and catching up. A lot had happened in ten years. She continued on to her room. That was pleasant, two old friends meeting. Then why had she looked at his ring finger for a wedding band, which he didn’t have? To know if he’d made a commitment?

  She entered her room and put her bag near the desk. The aroma of coconut was overpowering. The bathing suit was exchanged for a lacy cover-up. She grabbed her tablet. It was ten to two. Morgan’s message to George Hughes was at the top of her inbox. He had given George all the information he needed about the auction and accolades about her. Morgan was one of her biggest supporters. She dialed in to the auction.

  “Good afternoon. You’ve reached Boyles Auction House. This is Christina. How may I help you?”

  “Hi, Chris, Margot here,” she said as she opened her folder, checked her bidder number—six thirty-eight—and pulled out the auction catalog. She took one last glance at the rare fourteenth-century Italian cassone. The dome-top chest with painted panels was valued at forty-five thousand dollars. The provenance was all in order. According to George Hughes, the chest had been part of the Fayne Manor tower room furnishings.

  “There’s a late addition to the lot in which you’re interested, an early seventeenth-century cradle. It’s in excellent condition and has been valued at ninety-five hundred dollars. It’s intricately carved wood with a gold polychrome. I’ve sent you a picture. The price range for the lot is twenty-two thousand and fifty-four thousand five hundred dollars.”

  “Yes, I saw this yesterday but you’d already gone for the day. It looks beautiful.” They were selling the cassone and cradle together. She had contacted George Hughes with the additional item right after she got Chris’s email. He was eager to have them both. If she could close this deal it would be a real coup. These were museum-quality pieces. She had to play this right. Chris may be a good friend but her allegiance was to “the House.”

  “I think there are two other dealers who may be interested in the same lot. They’re here on the premises. While these pieces are good, we have several others in today’s auction that surpass them. And before you say anything, I’ve already pointed that out to the other bidders.”

  “Thanks.” She knew Chris was right. One item in particular made everything else pale. It was unfortunate that the piece went on the block before the Fayne Manor pieces. She was concerned that the losing bidders, who hadn’t spent their money, may find the lot she wanted interesting.

  Her phone buzzed with a text message. George was excited and wished her luck. He was on the line listening to the auction. With the addition of the cradle, he had increased her spending limit to sixty-five thousand dollars. The family he represented wanted to restore the manor in the seventeenth-century style and was dedicated to “bringing home” as many original pieces as possible.

  While she waited for the auction to begin, she browsed through the papers in her folder and put her hand on Gabe and Viv’s invitation. What was it doing in this folder? Another one of her filing secrets. Her finger traced the satin-finished border. For a moment she imagined her name and Morgan’s engraved on it instead of Gabe and Viv. That wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t so bad to go on as they had. She stuffed the card back into her folder.

  Had Morgan grown too accustomed to her being around? They did live together. She leaned back in the chair. She didn’t have to give up. Or make it easy for him to walk away. She needed to put the spark back into their relationship. That’s it, Margot, pull out all the stops tonight. The strappy sundress for the rehearsal along with her hair down…he wouldn’t have a chance. She hoped.

  “Margot, they’re starting.” She straightened in the chair and pushed all thoughts of Morgan from her mind.

  Margot listened to get a sense of the bidding climate, what to expect on the items she wanted. The auctioneer passed the first three items. They hadn’t reached the reserve price, the minimum price the consignor requested. It wasn’t unusual. The pieces would be offered at a private sale or at the next auction. They were all fine pieces. She had examined them when she visited Boyles on Wednesday at the presale exhibit. But the passes did indicate that everyone was holding on to their money and waiting for the Louis XVI cartonnier. The writing desk and cabinet was in magnificent condition and was valued at over one hundred ninety thousand dollars. It was next up.

  “Margot, they’re having mechanical difficulty bringing the cartonnier to the block. Mr. Boyle instructed the handlers to bring up the cassone and cradle instead of waiting.” Her heart pounded from the adrenaline rush. It happened at every auction. But this was different; this small change in the schedule could work to her advantage. At least she hoped it could.

  Bidding opened at twenty thousand, two hundred and fifty dollars and went up in thousand dollar increments. Margot was in the mix. When the price reached thirty thousand, two hundred and fifty dollars the bidding slowed. This is what she was waiting for.

  “Thirty-five thousand, five hundred,” she told Chris. The other bidders were silent.

  “Going once, going twice. Final call—”

  “Thirty-seven thousand,” a bidder called out. She waited for the final call.

  “Forty thousand, eight hundred seventy-five,” she told Chris. She could hear a flurry of noise on Chris’s side.

  “You appear to have annoyed the gentleman in the front. He’s shaking his head no.” Her adrenaline, which was already racing, pumped harder.

  “Going once, going twice…” The auctioneer paused. Margot stood up, waiting for the final call. “Sold,” he brought down the hammer, “to number six thirty-eight.” A scream built inside her but at the last second she slapped her hand over her mouth. Her phone pinged with a text. George sent his congratulations when the hammer hit. The key turned in the door.

  “Congratulations, Margot.” Chris was as excited as she was. “I’ll take care of the paperwork and have it all on your desk Monday morning.” Margot answered George’s message. With her twenty percent commission she’d still saved him sixteen thousand dollars.

  “Thanks, Chris. Have a great weekend.”

  Morgan opened the door and she danced over to him. From the look on his face she had no doubt that he expected her to still be on the call. She gave Morgan a big kiss. “Ask me how we did.” She pranced out of his reach.

  “H
ow’d we do?” He came in, emptied his pockets on the dresser and took out his clothes for the evening.

  “Boyles always amazes me.” She closed her tablet as she went into the bathroom. “I’ve already gotten a message from George. Two Fayne Manor pieces of furniture are going home. He’s pleased. We saved his client a lot of money.” She grabbed her comb and pulled it through her hair to detangle the nest that had settled there. Should she tell him about Zack? No, it was nothing important. “How did things go with Tara?” Her hair was a bit wild but at least it was tangle free when she went back into the room.

  She turned to face him when he didn’t answer. Her breath caught. His shirt was off and he had that smile that made her bones weak. She stood mesmerized against the bathroom door.

  “I love it when you wear your hair down, all loose and wild.” His voice purred as his fingers raked through her hair. He braced his hand on the wall behind her then leaned forward, closing the distance between them to inches. Her eyes fluttered as his breath brushed across her face. She said nothing and instead she told him she loved him with her eyes.

  How did he do it? One minute she was calm and cool, the next she was hungry and burning. His soft lips nibbled and tickled her ear. His face loomed so close she could see the silver flecks in his blue eyes. Her heart banged against her chest. His breath against her neck was warm. The rest of her, the parts he loved, were hot. His lips came down on hers and captured them in a tender but fierce possession. A moment of panic spiked through her like an arrow, but disappeared under an all-consuming rush of heat.

  God, she wanted a commitment and only Morgan Stuart would do.

  * * *

  Morgan set her drink—seltzer with lime—on the cocktail table on the terrace.

  “Isn’t this a rehearsal?” Margot asked him in hushed tones. He should have known Viv and Gabe would be unconventional. It was their style.

  “There’s been a change in plans. Let me find out what’s happening. I’ll be right back.” He walked over to Gabe and the knot of men standing by the gazebo.