Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set

by Michelle Douglas, Jessica Gilmore, Jennifer Faye

  He nodded. ‘It should be Dad walking down the aisle with her, not me.’ His voice was husky with suppressed emotion. ‘But things are as they are.’

  ‘Your parents would be really proud of you,’ she said.

  ‘Excuse me?’ His voice had turned icy.

  She took her hand off his arm. ‘OK. It’s not my place to say anything and I wasn’t trying to patronise you. But I thought a lot of your parents. Your mum in particular was brilliant when my mum died. And they would’ve been proud of the way you’ve always been there for Ash, always supported her—well, almost always,’ she amended. To be fair, he’d been pretty annoyed about Ashleigh’s change of planned career. He hadn’t supported it at first.

  ‘She’s my little sister. What else would I do?’

  It was a revelation to Claire. Sean clearly equated duty with love, or mixed them to the point where they couldn’t be distinguished. And discussing this was way beyond her pay grade. She changed the subject again. ‘So how much do I owe you for the flight?’

  ‘You don’t.’

  ‘I’ve already told you, the dress is my responsibility, so I’ll pay the costs. But thank you for organising it, especially as it means Ash isn’t worrying any more.’

  ‘We’ll discuss it later,’ he said. ‘Ashleigh comes first.’

  ‘Agreed—but that doesn’t mean I’m happy to be in your debt,’ she pointed out.

  ‘I did this for Ashleigh, not for you.’

  ‘Well, duh.’ She caught herself before she said something really inflammatory. ‘Sean, I know we don’t usually get on too well.’ That was the understatement of the year. ‘But I think we’re going to have to make the effort and play nice while we’re on Capri.’

  He slanted her a look that said very clearly that he didn’t believe she could keep it up.

  If she was honest, she wasn’t sure she could keep it up, either. Or that Sean could, for that matter. But they were at least going to make the effort. Though they had a cast-iron excuse not to talk to each other for the next few minutes, because he needed to concentrate on driving.

  She put the dress box safely in the back of the car, took her sunhat from her bag and jammed it on her head so it wouldn’t be blown away, then sat in the front seat next to Sean. She still had her dark glasses on from the helicopter flight, so the glare of the sun didn’t bother her.

  Sean was a very capable driver, she noticed, even though he was driving on the right-hand side of the road instead of the left as he was used to doing in England. The road was incredibly narrow and winding, with no verges and high stone walls at the edges; it was busy with vans and scooters and minibuses, and every so often he had to pull over into the tiniest of passing places. If Claire had been driving, she would’ve been panicking that the car would end up being scraped on one of those stone walls; but she knew that she was very safe with Sean. It was an odd feeling, having to rely on someone she normally tried to avoid. And even odder that for once she didn’t mind.

  ‘Is there anything you need for the dress?’ he asked as they pulled up outside the hotel.

  ‘Only my portable steam presser, which I brought with me on my first trip.’

  He looked confused. ‘Why do you need a steam presser?’

  ‘This dress has been in a box for three days. Even though I was careful when I packed it, there are still going to be creases in the material, and I don’t have time to hang the dress in a steamy bathroom and wait for the creases to fall out naturally. And an ordinary iron isn’t good enough to give a professional finish.’

  ‘OK. Let me know if you need anything organised.’

  He probably needed some reassurance that it wasn’t going to go wrong, she thought. ‘You can come and have a sneak peek at the dress, if you want,’ she said.

  ‘Isn’t that meant to be bad luck?’

  ‘Only if you’re the bridegroom. Remember that the dress needs pressing, so you won’t be seeing it at its best,’ she warned, ‘but it will be perfect by the time Ash puts it on.’

  * * *

  Sean looked at Claire. Her sunhat was absolutely horrible, a khaki-coloured cap with a peak to shade her eyes; but he supposed it was more sensible than going out bareheaded in the strong mid-morning sun and risking sunstroke.

  He wondered if she’d guessed that he wanted reassurance that nothing else was going to go wrong with the dress—just as she’d clearly noticed that moment when the might-have-beens had shaken his composure. She’d been a bit clumsy about it, but she hadn’t pushed him to talk and share his feelings. She’d been kind, he realised now, and that wasn’t something he associated with Claire Stewart. It made him feel weird.

  But, if she could make the effort, then so could he. ‘Thanks. I would appreciate that.’

  ‘Let’s go, then,’ she said.

  He followed her up to her room. Everywhere was neat and tidy. Funny, he’d expected the room to be as messy and chaotic as Claire’s life seemed to be—even though her shop had been tidy. But then he supposed the shop would have to be tidy or it would put off potential clients.

  She put the dress box on the bed. ‘Right—how much do I owe you for that flight?’

  ‘We’ve already discussed that,’ he said, feeling awkward.

  ‘No, we haven’t, and I don’t want to be beholden to you.’

  ‘Ashleigh is my sister,’ he reminded her.

  ‘I know, and she’s my best friend—but I still don’t want to be beholden to you.’

  He frowned. ‘Now you’re being stubborn.’

  ‘Pots and kettles,’ she said softly. ‘Tell me how much I owe you.’

  Actually, he liked the fact that she was so insistent on paying her fair share. It showed she had integrity. Maybe he’d been wrong to tar her with the same brush as her awful boyfriends. Just because she had a dreadful taste in men, it didn’t necessarily mean that she was as selfish as they were—did it? ‘OK.’ He told her a sum that was roughly half, guessing that she’d have no idea how much helicopter transfers would cost.

  ‘Fine. Obviously I don’t have the cash on me right at this very second,’ she said, ‘but I can either do a bank transfer if you give me your account details, or give you the cash in person when we’re back in England.’

  ‘No rush. I’ll give you my bank details, but making the transfer when you get back to England will be fine,’ he said.

  ‘Good. Thank you.’ She opened the box, unpacked the dress, and put it on a hanger.

  The organza skirt was creased but Sean could already see how stunning the ivory dress was. It had a strapless sweetheart neckline, the bodice was made of what he suspected might be handmade lace, and it looked as if hundreds of tiny pearls had been sewn into it. It was worthy of something produced by any of the big-name designers.

  And Claire had designed this for his little sister. She’d made it all by hand.

  Now he understood why she’d called her business that ridiculous name, because she was delivering exactly what her client wanted—a dream of a dress.

  Clearly his lack of response rattled her, because she folded her arms. ‘If you hate it, fine—but remember that this is what Ash wanted. And I’m giving you fair warning, if you tell Ash you hate it before she puts it on, so she feels like the ugliest bride in the world instead of like a princess, then you’re so getting the rusty spoon treatment.’

  ‘I don’t hate it, actually. I’m just a bit stunned, because I wasn’t expecting it to be that good,’ he admitted.

  She dropped into a sarcastic curtsey. ‘Why, thank you, kind sir, for the backhanded compliment.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it quite like that,’ he said. ‘I don’t know much about dresses, but that looks as if it involved a lot of work.’

  ‘It did. But she’s worth every second.’

  ‘Yeah.’ For a moment
, he almost turned to her and hugged her.

  But this was Claire ‘Follow Your Heart’ Stewart, the mistress of chaos. Their worlds didn’t mix. A hug would be a bad, bad idea. ‘Thanks for letting me see the dress,’ he said. ‘I’d better let you get on.’

  ‘Tell Ash her dress is here safely, and I’ll come and find her the second it’s ready.’

  He nodded. ‘Will do.’

  * * *

  Once Claire was satisfied with the dress, she took it through to Ashleigh’s room. Sammy opened the door. ‘Claire-bear! About time, too,’ she said with a grin. ‘Losing the dress. Tsk. What kind of dressmaker does that?’

  ‘Don’t be mean, Sammy,’ Ashleigh called. ‘I’d cuff her for you, Claire, but I have to sit still and let Aliona take these rollers out of my hair.’

  Claire hung up the dress, then enveloped Sammy with a hug. ‘Hello to you, too. How was your flight?’

  ‘Disgusting,’ Sammy said cheerfully, ‘but when I’ve finished taking photographs tonight then I’m going to drink Prosecco until I don’t care any more.’

  ‘Hangover on top of jet lag. Nice,’ Claire teased. ‘It’s so good to see you, Sammy.’

  ‘You, too. And oh, my God. How amazing is that dress? You’ve really surpassed yourself this time, Claire.’

  Claire smiled in acknowledgement. ‘I’m just glad we got it back.’

  The hotel’s hairdresser and make-up artist cooed over the dress, too, and then Claire submitted to being prettied up before putting on her own dress and then helping Ashleigh with hers.

  Sammy posed them both for photographs on the balcony. ‘Righty. I need to do the boys, now,’ she said when she’d finished. ‘See you at the town hall.’

  ‘OK?’ Claire asked when Sammy had gone.

  Ashleigh gulped. ‘Yes. Just thinking.’

  ‘I know.’ It would be similar for Claire, if she ever got married: she’d be missing her mum, though her dad would be there—if he approved of Claire’s choice of man—and her mum’s family would be there, with Ashleigh and Sammy to support her.

  Not that Claire thought she’d ever get married. All the men she’d ever been involved with had turned out to be Mr Wrong. Men she’d thought would share her dreams, but who just couldn’t commit. Men who’d been so casual with her emotions that she’d lost trust in her judgement.

  ‘But I think they’re here in spirit,’ Claire said softly. ‘They loved you so much, Ash. And Luke can’t wait to make you his bride. You’ve got a good guy, there.’

  ‘I know. I’m lucky.’ Ashleigh swallowed hard.

  ‘Hey. If you cry and your make-up runs, Sean will have my guts for garters,’ Claire said. She went into a dramatic pose. ‘Help! Help! Save me from your scary big brother!’

  To her relief, it worked, and Ashleigh laughed; she was still smiling when Sean knocked on her door to say they needed to go.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SEAN HAD ALREADY seen the dress—albeit not at its best—but seeing his little sister wearing it just blew him away. The ivory dress emphasised Ashleigh’s perfect hour-glass shape by skimming in at the waist, then falling to the floor in soft folds. Her dark hair was drawn back from her face and pinned at the back as a base for her veil, and then flowed down in soft curls. She wore a discreet and very pretty tiara with sparkling stones and pearls to reflect the pearls in the bodice. And finally she was carrying a simple posy of dusky lavender roses, the same colour as Claire’s dress; the stems were tightly bound with ivory ribbon.

  ‘You look amazing, Ashleigh,’ he said. ‘Really amazing.’

  Then he glanced at Claire. Again, he was shocked. He hadn’t seen the bridesmaid’s dress before, though he’d had a fair idea that it would be dusky lavender, the same colour as his waistcoat and the rose in his buttonhole. Although it, too, was strapless and had a sweetheart neckline, it was much plainer than Ashleigh’s dress and ended at the knee. Claire’s hair was dressed in a similar style to his sister’s, though without a veil and with a discreet jewelled headband rather than a tiara. Her roses were ivory rather than lavender, as a counterpoint to the bride’s bouquet, and her satin high heels were dyed to match her dress.

  If he’d seen her across a crowded room as a complete stranger, he would’ve been drawn to her immediately. Approached her. Asked her out.

  He pushed the thought away. This was Claire. He did know her. And, if they hadn’t made a truce for Ashleigh’s sake, they would’ve been sniping at each other within the next five minutes. She was absolutely not date material.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Ready,’ they chorused.

  The official civil ceremony was held at the town hall in Anacapri. Only the main people from the wedding party were there: Ashleigh and Luke, with Luke’s best friend, Tom, as the best man, Claire as the bridesmaid and one of the witnesses, and himself as the other witness. Sammy was there, too, to take photographs.

  After everything had been signed, the two open-topped cars took them to the private villa where the symbolic ceremony was being held and the rest of their family and friends were waiting to celebrate with them.

  Luke and Tom went ahead to wait at the bridal arch, which was covered with gorgeous white flowers.

  Then Ashleigh stood at the edge of the red carpet, her arm linked through Sean’s. He could feel her trembling slightly. Nervous, excited and a little sad all at the same time, he guessed. ‘Ashleigh, you’re such a beautiful bride,’ he said softly. ‘Our parents would be so proud of you right now.’

  Ashleigh nodded, clearly too overcome to speak, and squeezed his arm as if to say, ‘You, too.’

  ‘Come on. Let’s get the party started,’ he said, and gave the signal to the traditional Neapolitan guitar and mandolin duo.

  Their version of Pachelbel’s ‘Canon’ was perfect. And Sean was smiling as he walked his little sister down the aisle to marry the man she loved.

  * * *

  Claire had seen the photographs and knew that the garden where Ashleigh and Luke were getting married was spectacular, but the photographs really hadn’t done the place justice. The garden was breathtaking, overlooking the sea; lemon trees grew around the edge of the garden, their boughs heavy with fruit, and the deep borders were filled with rhododendrons and bougainvillea. There seemed to be butterflies everywhere. A symbol of good luck and eternal love, she thought.

  She took the bouquet from Ashleigh and held it safely during the ceremony, and she had to blink back the tears as Ashleigh and Luke exchanged their vows, this time in front of everyone. She glanced at Sean, who was standing beside her, and was pleased to see that for once he was misty-eyed, too. And so he should be, on Ashleigh’s wedding day, she thought, and she looked away before he caught her staring at him.

  Everyone cheered when the celebrant said, ‘You may now kiss the bride,’ and Luke bent Ashleigh back over his arm to give her a show-stopping kiss.

  ‘Let them have it, guys,’ Sammy called as Ashleigh and Luke started to walk back down the aisle, and the confetti made from white dried flower petals flew everywhere.

  Once the formal photographs had been taken, waiters came round carrying trays filled with glasses of Prosecco. Ashleigh and Luke headed the line-up to welcome their guests; and then, finally, it was time for the meal. Ashleigh had chosen a semi-traditional top table layout, so Claire as the chief bridesmaid was at one end, next to Luke’s father. As Sean was standing in for the bride’s father, he was at the other end, between Ashleigh and Luke’s mother. And there were enough people between them, Claire thought, for them to be able to smile and hide their relief at not having to make small talk.

  It was an amazing table, under a pergola draped with white wisteria. Woven in between the flowers were glass baubles, which caught the light from the tea-light candles set in similar glass globes on the table, and reflected a
gain in the mirrored finish of the table. The sun was already beginning to set, and Claire had never seen anything so romantic in her life. And the whole thing was topped off by the traditional Neapolitan guitar and mandolin duo who played and sang softly during the meal.

  If she ever got married, Claire thought, this was just the kind of wedding she’d want, full of love and happiness and so much warmth.

  Finally, after the excellent coffee and tiny rich Italian desserts, it was time for the speeches. Luke’s was sweet and heartfelt, Tom’s made everyone laugh, but Sean’s made her blink back the tears.

  He really did love Ashleigh. And, for that, Claire could forgive the rest.

  The cake—a spectacular four-tier confection, which Claire knew held four different flavours of sponge—was cut, and then it was time for the dancing.

  Ashleigh and Luke had chosen a song for their bridal dance that always put a lump in her throat—‘Make You Feel My Love’—and she watched them glide across the temporary dance floor. The evening band played it in waltz time, and Claire knew that Luke had been taking private lessons; he was step-perfect as he whirled Ashleigh round in the turns. The perfect couple.

  Tradition said that the best man and the chief bridesmaid danced together next, and Claire liked Tom very much indeed; she was pleased to discover that he was an excellent dancer and her toes were perfectly safe with him.

  ‘I love the dresses,’ Tom said. ‘If I wasn’t gay, I’d so date you—a woman who can create such utter beauty. You’re amazing, Claire.’

  She laughed and kissed his cheek. ‘Aww, you’re such a sweetie, Tom. Thank you. But I wouldn’t date you because I have terrible taste in men—and you’re far too nice to be one of my men.’

  He laughed. ‘Thank you, sweetie. You’ll find the right guy some day.’

  ‘If I could find someone who’d make me as happy as Luke makes Ash,’ she said softly, ‘I’d consider myself blessed.’

  ‘Me, too,’ Tom said. ‘And the other way round. They’re perfect for each other.’