I studied Garrett. From her father, Summer had inherited her prodigious height, a smile that crooked up on one side, and soft hazel eyes that more often than not held dancing laughter but could also be smoldering and serious. Right now, Garrett’s eyes looked anything but amiable. He went with the simplest way of diffusing tension.
“We can discuss spending time with your . . . mother on the way to school. C’mon, Summer, you don’t want to be late.” Garrett’s voice was at once stern and pleading. Summer reluctantly gave up her spot next to Adrienne, but not before she graced her with another fierce hug. She crossed the parlor with a wistful glance for her mother and stood beside Garrett.
“See you later, Mom?” Summer’s eyebrows rose in anticipation, and Adrienne let out a merry peal of laughter.
“Yes, sweetheart, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
Summer lit up at her mother’s pronouncement and doled out another electric smile, her magenta braces flashing.
“I’ll see you at the car.” Garrett offered his daughter a warm smile, and she seemed to relax, the tension of the moment gone. Summer gave me a hug on her way to the front hall. She left her father to face off with Adrienne.
Garrett waited until we could hear the heavy mahogany front door slam shut.
“You have a lot of explaining to do, Adrienne.” Garrett’s words came out in a strained string of hisses, yet he managed to remain barely civil. “For example, how did it happen that Summer seemed to know you’d be here, but I’m just finding out now?”
Adrienne’s pale petal lips lifted up in a lilting smile. Her cool demeanor was back, her nerves unflappable. The only sign of the scene that had just taken place was a little bit of smeared mascara at the edges of each eye. “If I’d told you beforehand, I’m sure you’d have arranged for Summer to be out of town, or otherwise unavailable.”
Garrett shook his head, a lock of nearly black hair gracing his forehead. “That’s not true, and you know it. Summer would give anything to see more of you, though I’m not sure why. If you’d contacted me, I would have arranged for you and Summer to have plenty of time during your stay in Port Quincy. I would never do anything to keep you two apart. You’ve done enough of that yourself over the years for me to have to contribute to your disappearing act.” I could practically see the frost in the air.
Adrienne gasped and a delicate hand fluttered to her throat. The director, Xavier, came to her side and placed a fortifying hand on her arm.
“Let’s not get testy, folks.” He was dressed head-to-toe in black, with a black merino hoody, a black silk T-shirt, black cargo pants, and black Adidas shoes. Thin wire frames rimmed his piercing amber eyes, the bottom of the glasses resting on his sharp, tanned cheekbones. His silver hair provided his only pop of color. He carried a Lucite mug of a malodorous green liquid. He stopped to take a sip of the concoction through a wide straw before advancing toward Garrett, his arm sliding from Adrienne’s shoulder. I caught a whiff of patchouli as he crossed the room.
Is he just supporting Adrienne as the director, or is there something more going on between them?
“I don’t want Summer to be late.” Garrett ignored Xavier’s admonition and headed for the door, all but dismissing him. But not before leaning down to grace my lips with a fleeting kiss.
I felt hot eyes boring into the back of my neck and swiveled around to take in Adrienne. A look of clarity and realization seemed to kindle in the splintery cold depths of her icy blue eyes.
Uh-oh.
I had a feeling it wouldn’t be so easy to deftly sidestep Adrienne Larson’s famously meddlesome ways for the next two weeks.
* * *
Adrienne wasted no time in taking over. She instantly forgot her role as estranged mother and shook off her emotionally charged encounter with Summer with swift aplomb, like a snake shedding its skin. She didn’t seem embarrassed over her public reunion with her daughter and scoped me out with new vigor. She morphed into hostzilla with startling alacrity. The Ice Queen was in full effect.
“Girls.” She folded her hands crisply in front of her and flicked her blue-eyed gaze up and down, taking in my and Rachel’s appearance. I raised an eyebrow. I’d just turned thirty this year, and usually a title of ma’am was more affronting. But somehow I could detect a dismissive strain to Adrienne’s appellation of “girls.”
“You simply must change. These outfits won’t work on camera.”
I gazed at my checked plum dress and felt a slow heat climb my neck.
“What’s wrong with my outfit?” My voice came out in a squeak, and I vowed to calm down. I’d been going for professional and sleek when I’d chosen the dress this morning. It smoothed out my curves and the pretty checkered pattern provided some visual interest.
“The small pattern will show up on film as wavy lines. Do you have something solid you can change into? And it’s a smidge frumpy. You’ll want something a bit more form-fitting.”
I thought I was off the hook, but Adrienne was just starting. Her laser-sharp gaze settled at the crown of my head. “Your hair . . . could you straighten it? It’s a little unkempt.”
My hands fluttered to the messy bun I’d carefully constructed out of my unruly, sandy curls. I’d been going for a tousled, beachy effect, but I guess that wasn’t the end result.
She cocked her head and studied me. I barely refrained from squirming like a bug under a microscope and diving behind my sister for cover. “And that necklace is a bit much—it distracts from your face.”
I fingered the statement necklace of violet and silver beads Garrett had gifted me for my birthday and finally found my voice. “Oh no, this one stays.”
She turned to Rachel without waiting for my response.
“The glitter on your dress will reflect too much off the lights. It’s distracting.” Her eyes lingered on my sister’s prodigious bustline. “As is the neckline. Do you have something a little more demure?”
It killed me to admit it, but I secretly agreed with Adrienne about my sister’s dress. Still, she felt comfortable in it and was rocking her look, so I stood closer to Rachel in a sign of solidarity. Rachel’s mouth was hanging open in apparent shock. It took a lot to render my sister speechless.
Rachel snapped out of her shock and I felt her bristle next to me. To her credit, she didn’t blush or flinch. She stood tall, drawing up all five feet and nine inches of her height, aided by her strappy gold sandals. She narrowed her pretty almond-shaped green eyes and leaned over Adrienne.
“This is the dress I’m wearing today. I don’t believe the director has a problem with it.”
Xavier materialized out of thin air and inserted himself between Adrienne and my sister like an NFL referee about to break up a skirmish.
“Ladies,” he soothed, his voice melodic and instantly calming, and his teeth as white and blinding as the pristine snow outside, “we’ll have plenty of time to work out wardrobe for the later shoots. Let’s just get a few things in the can today.” His amber eyes appeared large and calm behind the giant wire frames, and his mouth ticked up in an easy, pressure-diffusing smile. I felt myself calming down by marginal degrees. Xavier’s skin was luminous despite his being in what I guessed was his late forties. I wondered just what was in the smoothie concoction he kept sipping—perhaps water from some fountain of youth.
“There is a reason Adrienne always wears pastels,” he whispered to my sister and me with a smile. “They’re perfect on camera.”
I heard the camerawoman behind me muttering, “Just because Adrienne’s dating the director, she thinks she is the director.”
So that answers that question. Adrienne and Xavier are an item.
“This house is quaint, but it’ll film well.” Adrienne turned around in a slow circle, our offending outfits forgotten. I’d heard Thistle Park described many ways, but never heard it as quaint.
She took in the lofty ceiling of the parlor, complete with a newly restored mural. “Xavier tells me your business is rather ne
w. How many weddings do you two have under your belts?”
“We’ve hosted weddings nearly every weekend since early November. We’ve never done a celebrity wedding, but Dakota and Beau will be well taken care of.”
Xavier announced we’d begin shooting soon, and the crew got busy setting up a matrix of wires, lights, and mikes.
“Why don’t you tell us what you’ll be doing over the next twelve days in preparation for the wedding?”
I beamed, eager to show off the plans Rachel and I had worked so hard on since November.
“We’ll begin with a run-through when Dakota and Beau arrive tomorrow. I’ll set up a representative table to give them an idea of their reception, and we’ll do a formal food tasting as well.... Wait, are you filming this?” I swallowed and stared into the camera pointed at me. I stopped my patter and self-consciously tucked an errant curl back into my bun. Adrienne rolled her eyes and let out a belabored sigh.
“We’ll be shooting nearly everything this week,” Xavier explained. “You never know what gems we’ll find in all the film.”
“Ouch!” Rachel had pinched me through the folds of my apparently frumpy dress.
“Pull it together,” she hissed. “You’re letting Adrienne rankle you.”
“Maybe this isn’t worth the free publicity after all,” I whispered back to my sister as the camerawoman readied herself again.
“Of course it is. And you’ve handled way worse than the likes of Adrienne Larson.” Rachel flicked her magenta-lacquered nails in the host’s direction. She paused for a moment. “Although seeing her with Garrett”—she blew a strand of honey-kissed hair from her forehead—“that was intense.” Worry gathered in Rachel’s eyes like an impending snowstorm.
“Ready?” Xavier offered a kindly smile.
I steeled myself and began again, determined not to get rankled.
You better get used to the cameras—they’ll be all up in your business for nearly two weeks.
“Um, as I was saying. We’ll do a formal food tasting and meet with our florist, Lucy Sattler. Later, we’ll make centerpieces together.”
Adrienne smoothly sidled up to me, her face agog. “I don’t think I Do has ever featured a celebrity bride making centerpieces for her own wedding.”
I tried not to look wary, now that I knew I was being filmed. “Dakota wanted to incorporate authentic parts of her hometown, Port Quincy, and try her hand at crafting some of the decorations for her wedding.” There. I’d calmly diffused Adrienne’s query. “Rachel will show us all how she came up with the idea of Dakota and Beau’s wedding cake, and we’ll take you on a tour of downtown Port Quincy.”
“Cut.” Xavier nodded in my direction. “That was just what we needed.”
I let out a breath and joined Rachel.
That wasn’t so bad.
If I could just forget the cameras were there and act like myself, reality TV would be a snap.
“A tour of Port Quincy? I went to college here, and I must say, there isn’t a lot viewers will want to see highlighted. It’s a sleepy little town.” Adrienne arched a perfect blond brow and waited to see if I’d take the bait.
“But that’s what I love about it,” I answered slowly, thinking of how I’d ended up in this town. I’d been engaged to be married here, but never imagined I’d jettison my law career, leave Pittsburgh behind, break up with my fiancé, and inherit his grandmother’s mansion. But here I was, ensconced in this quirky and gorgeous house I’d turned into a B and B, in business with my sister, and dating a wonderful man. I couldn’t have been happier with the way things had turned out. I loved my new hometown and never wanted to leave.
“Port Quincy may be sleepy, but it’s also filled with amazing people. It’s charming and welcoming, and I’m happy to call it home. I hope you’ll get to know it over the next few days and see for yourself how wonderful it is.”
“Great job. You’re a natural.” Xavier offered me a serene smile, and it was only then that I realized I’d been filmed again. I reveled in his even-keeled manner and wondered how he managed to be with a woman riddled with such high-strung perfectionism. I wondered how Garrett had managed as well. I shook off that thought and vowed to give Dakota and Beau a lovely display of Port Quincy hospitality.
Chapter Two
The next day dawned clear and cold and still. I stayed in bed for a few minutes in my aerie perch of a third-floor apartment and gathered my thoughts for the week ahead. I finally arose just before the sun showed its face and puttered into the kitchen to make my guests a meal. I recalled Xavier’s green smoothie and fixed a breakfast with his apparent health consciousness in mind: egg white and veggie omelets, whole wheat bagels, fruit, chocolate black bean muffins, and an array of green teas and coffee. The crew appeared to have slept well despite the time difference from California and dug in with appreciative murmurs. Xavier did commandeer my blender to whip up another pungent shake, this one a concoction of berries, tomatoes, and beets. He took an appreciative slug and let out a sigh. Adrienne picked at her omelet and gave him a contented smile.
“Your outfit is perfect, Mallory,” she said as she brought her dishes into the kitchen.
“Thank you.” I beamed, secretly pleased the Ice Queen had given me her stamp of approval. Maybe she’d just been grumpy and jet-lagged yesterday. It was a new day, and I’d try to start fresh with Adrienne, despite the millions of questions I had for my boyfriend, Garrett.
“Your outfit, however—” she began, sliding her baby blue eyes over to Rachel. Today my sister had donned skintight leggings with little purple hearts scattered over the cloth and a voluminous pink sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder. “Perhaps—”
“No way, Jose.” Rachel stopped loading the dishwasher and shook her head, the honey-kissed brown waves fanning out. “Xavier hasn’t said anything about my clothes, and he’s the only one I care about.”
I hid my smile and took Adrienne’s dishes, pleased that my sister wasn’t taking any guff. Adrienne pursed her lips and wheeled around on her heels. She minced out of the kitchen without a backward glance.
Before we could even comment, a black car rolled into the driveway.
“This is it!” Rachel set down a dish and nearly yanked me from the kitchen. “Dakota and Beau are here!”
The crew gave us amused smiles as Rachel pulled me through the dining room and into the front hall. We made it to the door as the celebrities got out of the car and watched them advance up the long herringbone brick path, cleared of ice and snow.
Beau held the car door open for his fiancée, and Dakota Craig emerged. On the red carpet, she was all glamor and minimalist, chic style, her dark blond tresses gathered in chignons and buns. Her style in everyday life translated to clean-cut lines and simple clothing. Her long hair was gathered in a loose braid, and she wore gray leggings and an oversized navy sweater beneath her camel coat. I thought I caught a glimpse of red hair at the edges of her temples, but it may have been a trick of the light. Only her sunglasses and her boots, which looked like they cost the amount of some of the smaller weddings held here, revealed her status as a movie star. She carried her own luggage and climbed the stairs to the porch quickly. She pushed her sunglasses into her hair and enveloped me in a quick hug.
“Thank you for throwing this together so quickly.” Her famously large violet eyes sparkled and I was surprised to see a smattering of freckles beneath them that didn’t show up on film.
“It’s a pleasure. I hope you enjoy staying here. We’re going to throw you an amazing wedding.”
Dakota turned around in a circle, taking in the vast front hall. “It’s just good to be back in Port Quincy again.”
When I had been contacted about hosting Dakota and Beau’s wedding, I’d been shocked to learn Dakota had been born and partially raised right here in Port Quincy, Pennsylvania. Her mother, Roxanne, had moved her to L.A. when she was three to star in commercials, but she’d returned each summer and still considered Port Quincy to be home.
“This is my fiancé, Beau Wright.”
“Pleased to meet ya.” Beau swept down to kiss my hand, sending me into a fit of giggles. He repeated his antics with Rachel, his southern drawl in full effect, and earned another set of nervous laughter. Charm oozed out of Beau’s tight, nonexistent pores. He was as old as Dakota, thirty-one, but didn’t quite look it. Perhaps this was because he shielded his complexion from the sun with his wide ten-gallon hat. He removed it and promptly set it down on a lamp. I whisked it away and set it on a table where it wouldn’t catch fire. Beau’s glossy dark curls shone in the indoor light. He removed his coat, revealing a denim shirt and black jeans, completing his look with his trademark cowboy boots. Beau was simply hotness personified, Michelangelo’s David come to life in an unpretentious country package. Beau and Dakota were an unlikely match, one the tabloids liked to speculate about. But they seemed genuinely in love in the dealings I’d had with them over the phone and on Skype, and I was eager to give them a perfect day.
Beau offered me a folksy smile and turned to take in Rachel again. This time, his gaze was borderline lecherous. His famous, preternaturally blue eyes, rimmed in impossibly long lashes, settled on my sister’s prodigious bust line. Dakota didn’t see it, but I did, and I drew in a sharp breath. He quickly looked away. I wondered if I’d imagined it.
My sister had been through a rough series of relationships this year and had sworn off dating completely back in November. That hadn’t stopped the men of Port Quincy from following her around like the Pied Piper of Hotness everywhere she went. Rachel had changed her attitude about men, but not her signature come-hither style of dress and demeanor. She left a passel of smitten and drooling men in her wake whenever she ventured into town, as they trailed after her to no avail.
It was probably best for her to take a break from men, but she’d been tetchy and off her game for months. She embraced her new celibacy like a nun. She was often grouchy, pious and somber.
Murder Borrowed, Murder Blue Page 2