by Beth Andrews
“Everything will work out,” she promised, patting his arm. “You’ll see.”
He paced to the table, muttered under his breath, then whirled back to her. “You’re playing matchmaker.”
Since there was no use in denying it, she shrugged. “You and Yvonne were meant to be together.”
“We were married,” he snapped. “It ended. It wasn’t some great tragic love story. It was a mistake. One I’ve been over for a long time now.”
“If I believed that, I wouldn’t have done this.”
He nodded once, his mouth a thin, angry line. “When you pulled that stunt with Matt, threatening to sell the business unless he agreed to go into a partnership with us, I thought it was a shitty thing to do—”
“Yes, as I recall, you made your feelings about my decision quite clear.”
“Even though I didn’t agree with you, I stood by you. But there’s no way I’m going to let you control my life. Not like you did to Matt. And just for the record, I don’t like being manipulated.”
“Of course not, dear,” Diane said, somehow finding the courage to meet his gaze. “No one does.”
He stormed out the French doors to the backyard. But unlike Matt, who would’ve slammed the door shut, Aidan barely made a sound when he left.
He’d always been that way, Diane thought as she wet a dishcloth and wrung the excess water from it, her hands shaking. Even as a child Aidan had been in control of his emotions. Couldn’t he see she wasn’t trying to hurt him?
Slapping the cloth down, she scrubbed the already shining counter. She’d seen how crushed he’d been when his marriage fell apart. He’d never gotten over that failure or the woman he’d loved.
Now he could correct his mistakes, give Yvonne a chance to correct hers, as well. And yes, maybe they’d even find love again thanks to what Aidan saw as Diane’s meddling.
She’d brought Matt back, reminded him what it was like to be a part of his family after spending so many years on his own. To be accepted and wanted and welcomed by them. To be a part of his heritage.
It’d been easier with Brady. Her middle son had been so lost. Hurting too much, drinking to numb the pain. Wrapped up in his isolation. She’d given him the choice of either accepting help or moving off the Diamond Dust. Though she wasn’t foolish or arrogant enough to believe her ultimatum had been the impetus Brady needed to turn his life around, she’d take her victories wherever she could get them.
Life was too short not to.
“HELLO, MS. DELISLE,” a woman said in a voice heavily laced with the deep South, when Yvonne answered her cell phone that afternoon. “Your father would like to speak with you. Please hold.” Must be her dad’s new assistant.
There was a soft click, then classical music floated through the speaker—Mendelssohn’s “Spring Song,” if she wasn’t mistaken. Yvonne tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear and picked up two of her suitcases. She carried them down a short hallway, past the tiny kitchen where she’d dumped her work binders, folders, inspiration boards and laptop on the table, to the bedroom at the back of the cottage.
Her temporary home sat deep in the woods, a good mile from the Sheppards’ main house. It was small and sparsely furnished, but she didn’t need much. As long as it had a bed, a closet, a shower and a TV with working cable, she’d be fine.
In the bedroom, she hefted the bags onto the double bed. She was staying whether Aidan liked it or not. Though she’d been tempted to give in to his demands, she hadn’t. Hadn’t given up her own wants to please him.
Not like she used to.
Her movements brisk, she flipped the lid of the larger case open. And he’d been so…shocked. As if the idea of her having the brains—or the backbone—to stand up for herself had never occurred to him.
Arrogant, stubborn man.
After another click on the phone, she heard her father’s deep, commanding voice. “Yvonne. Hello.”
“Hello, Daddy.” She picked up a pile of neatly folded underwear and carried it to the tall dresser next to the window. She could easily picture her father, the chairman of Delisle Enterprises, sitting behind his antique desk, the sun shining through the large window of his high-rise office. He’d be in one of his dark designer suits, the Windsor knot of his tie perfect, his light hair flecked with gray. “How are you?”
“I’d be better if I didn’t have to listen to your mother complain that she hasn’t heard from you in three days.”
Of course. Yvonne should’ve known that Elaine Winston Delisle’s next move would be to have her husband step in.
Yvonne put the underwear in the top drawer, then went back for more. “I’ll be sure to call her today.”
“See that you do. You know how she worries.”
Yes, her mother certainly did that. But he did his fair share, as well. An only child, Yvonne bore the brunt of those worries, the bulk of their love and the weight of their expectations.
And though she loved them, could she really be blamed for escaping to Charleston after her divorce? Oh, she’d tried returning to Savannah, tried to go back to playing the part of dutiful daughter, had even become engaged to the man they’d handpicked for her. Until she’d realized that what she needed even more than her parents’ approval was some freedom so she could finally just be herself.
“Now that I’ve delivered your mother’s message,” he continued, “how’s my favorite girl?”
Not even the warmth and concerned note in her father’s voice could shove Aidan’s words from her head.
Daddy’s little princess.
“I’m fine,” she said, more sharply than necessary. She pressed her lips together. When she spoke again, her tone was carefully modulated. “Everything’s fine, Daddy. Really.”
And damn Aidan for making her feel as if she should be ashamed of her upbringing.
“I still think taking that job at that winery is a mistake,” her father said.
“I appreciate your concern, I really do, but it’s too late for objections.” She dropped her bras onto the dresser. “I’m already here.” And since she could practically hear his disapproval humming over the phone line, she added, “Besides, Joelle asked me to take on this assignment.” Of course, Yvonne had been more than thrilled to accept when Joelle, the owner of World Class Weddings, had told her Diane had asked for her specifically. “And I signed a contract. You wouldn’t want me to break it, would you?”
“When I taught you the importance of keeping your word, I didn’t mean at the expense of your pride.”
She smiled. “I still have my pride. This is just business.” It wasn’t as if she was crawling back to Aidan, begging him to give her a second chance. She was there on her terms.
“I hope you’re right,” Richard groused. “But promise me you’ll be careful. And that this business will remain just business.”
“I promise.” An easy enough pledge to make, considering the way Aidan had looked at her earlier. The only personal feelings that man had for her were contempt and anger. A lump formed in her throat and she cleared it away. “Try not to worry.”
“Of course I worry. You’re my little girl.”
With a small eye roll, she set a white bra in the drawer, followed by a beige one. His “little girl” was a thirty-one-year-old divorcée with a thriving career and, she realized with a frown, an extensive collection of beige bras.
“I’m capable of taking care of myself,” she said as kindly as she could.
“I know that. You’re a Delisle, aren’t you? I just don’t want to see that bastard hurt you again.”
She’d been the one to walk away from her marriage, but her father insisted on blaming Aidan for their divorce. Her mother, on the other hand, believed Yvonne had been a fool to leave a handsome, successful, intelligent man who’d done his best to take care of her.
Yvonne had learned early on it was futile to argue with either of them.
Besides, she couldn’t honestly say either one was completely wrong.
“No one’s going to get hurt.” Least of all her. Not again. “I’m so sorry, Daddy, but I have a meeting to get to. I’ll call Mother later today, okay? Bye, now. Love you.”
She shut off her phone before he could respond.
Not exactly the mature, responsible or brave way of handling a difficult conversation, but an effective one nonetheless. For the time being, anyway.
And she wasn’t lying, exactly, about her meeting. She just hadn’t mentioned it wasn’t for another half hour, that’s all.
She lined up her bras in a neat row and shut the drawer. Someone knocked on the front door. Even as she stilled, her hand on the drawer handle, her pulse picked up. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Then again, why would she be? Only one person knew she was here already.
She leaped for her purse on the bed, digging through it as she hurried into the bathroom. She touched up her lipstick, rubbed her lips together in lieu of blotting with a tissue, then ran her fingers through her hair before rushing down the hall and into the foyer.
More knocks—these rapid and impatient sounding.
“Coming,” she called, slipping her right foot back into one of the black pumps she’d toed off after she’d brought the last of her luggage inside. With one hand on the wall for balance, she put on the left shoe. “Just a moment.”
She straightened and swept back her hair. Inhaled a calming breath and opened the door.
Only to find it wasn’t Aidan on the other side.
“Diane,” she said, refusing to believe the unsettled feeling in her stomach was disappointment. “Hello.”
Diane Sheppard held a recyclable grocery bag in each hand, her smile small and polite. Detached. The same smile Yvonne often used when faced with an acquaintance she didn’t know very well. One she didn’t particularly care to know better.
“I thought I’d drop by,” Diane was saying. “Save you the trouble of coming over to the house and…” She lifted the bags. “I wasn’t sure when you’d have a chance to get into town so I picked up some groceries.”
Yvonne’s mouth popped open. “Oh. That was very…”
The other woman stepped forward, leaving her no choice but to move out her way.
“Thoughtful,” she finished lamely as Diane entered the house and headed straight for the kitchen.
Yvonne glanced from Diane’s retreating back to the porch and back again.
What just happened?
“Are you getting settled in all right?” Diane called from the other room.
The other room where Yvonne had piled boxes and papers and folders and files on the kitchen table to get them out of the way. Horrified, she quickly shut the door and a moment later found Diane unloading groceries onto the counter.
“Uh…yeah.” Yvonne winced and cleared her throat as she tried to straighten up the mess on the table. “I mean, yes. Thank you so much for asking.”
Heat crawled up her neck. So much for her hope that after seven years she’d be more at ease around her daunting mother-in-law.
Ex. Ex-mother-in-law.
They had no ties. Not anymore. Had really had none even when they’d been related. Diane had always been pleasant to her, but their relationship had been merely…cordial. Their only common ground had been their mutual love for Aidan. Now, facing Diane, Yvonne had no idea what to do next. Offer her hand? Too formal. A hug? Oh, God, that was inconceivable.
“Good.” Diane handed her a small bunch of green bananas. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call,” she said, somehow making what from anyone else would be a request sound like an order.
Yvonne stared down at the fruit. What was she supposed to do with it? She didn’t even like bananas. “I will,” she answered calmly, when what she really wanted to do was shove Diane out the door so she could compose herself. Tidy up the cottage. Realign her thoughts to accommodate the fact that her schedule, her plan for the afternoon, had been changed. “And thank you for the groceries. I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble, though.”
“No trouble at all.” Diane set a box of shredded wheat cereal in an upper cabinet. “I was at the store and tossed a few essentials in for you. And since I baked yesterday, I brought some cookies as well.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Chocolate chip.”
Aidan’s favorite.
“How…nice,” Yvonne managed to say lightly. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy them.”
And maybe as she ate them, she could remember how she’d gotten Diane’s recipe and made a batch herself. Because Aidan had asked her to. Her first—and last—attempt at baking had ended with smoke billowing from the oven, a visit from the local fire department and her feeling like a complete failure.
“Aidan mentioned you were at the carriage house this morning,” Diane said, opening the refrigerator door and putting away the milk and butter.
“I got in early and thought I’d check out the building.” She scraped off the sticker on the bananas and rolled it into a tube. “He seemed quite surprised to hear I’d been hired.”
“Hmm…yes…well, that’s probably because I hadn’t told him yet.”
Yvonne set the bananas on the only bare corner of the table. “He doesn’t want me here.”
“No. He certainly doesn’t.” Diane stacked one bag on top of the other and then folded them. “But I do.”
Ducking her head, Yvonne examined the bananas closer. “I appreciate your belief in my abilities. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure your wedding is perfect.”
“Oh, I have no doubt. Which is why I’m confident everything will turn out as I’d planned.”
Why Diane’s expression was just this side of sly, Yvonne had no idea. Wasn’t sure she wanted to know. It was enough that Diane had asked her here. She finally had the chance to make a real connection with a woman she’d always respected, but who’d never accepted her.
“That’s why I’m here,” she said with her most professional smile. “To make sure you get everything you want for your business and your wedding.”
“What I want is for my wedding to be the first official event held at the Diamond Dust—a sort of kickoff to our venture into hosting. Al and I have both been married before, so we don’t need all the pomp and circumstance this time around. We want a small, intimate gathering with our families and closest friends. And we want it to showcase the best of the winery so people can see what to expect if they hold their own special events here.”
Right. Could she pull this off?
Yvonne’s smile felt stiff and cold. Or maybe the panic squeezing her throat was cutting off the blood supply to her face. “No problem.”
Diane nodded. “I know this is short notice, so I’m sure you’re anxious to get started. Why don’t you stop by the house tomorrow for lunch? I’ll have a finalized guest list for you by then.”
“That’ll be fine,” she said, calculating in her head how much time she had to get the invitations ordered and sent. Not enough. Not nearly enough. She moved aside the scrapbook she’d made showcasing some of her most successful weddings, so she could pick up the large binder underneath. “I have some invitation samples here,” she said, laying the open binder on the counter. “Once you find a design you like, we can customize the colors and—”
“Whatever you pick will be fine.”
In the act of flipping to a design she thought Diane would like, Yvonne froze. “Excuse me?”
“Naturally Al and I will let you know the wording we’d like to use, but the design, the colors…” the older woman waved her hand. “Those are up to you.”
“You want me to choose your wedding invitations?” she asked incredulously.
This time Diane’s smile was warm, her eyes lit with humor. “Isn’t that what wedding planners do?”
“I help people make choices about flowers and color schemes and menus and music,” Yvonne said slowly. “Everything that enables them to have their dream wedding. Those choices are based on the client’s preferences and their budget.”
&nb
sp; Diane crossed her arms over her ample chest and studied Yvonne over her glasses. “My preference is that you plan my wedding—all aspects of it, except for my dress, which I’ve already picked out.”
“But…but what about your attendants’ dresses? Tuxes for the men? Favors and—”
“Al and I are having our children stand up for us. It would probably be best if you let Marsha, Al’s daughter, pick her own dress based on the color scheme you choose, but the boys can wear suits. As for favors…” Diane grimaced, as if a token gift of appreciation was on par with finding someone else’s hair in your dinner. “I’ve never been big on that sort of thing. Let’s just skip that part?”
Yvonne realized she was staring at her with her mouth open. She snapped her lips together. This was crazy. She’d had carefree, laid-back brides before, but nothing like this.
“I’m not sure I feel comfortable taking over that way.” She was excellent at making a client’s dreams come true.
How could she do that for Diane if they didn’t work together?
“Why don’t you put together your ideas and I’ll approve them.”
“I don’t—”
“I’d really like your help with all this.”
And that was the whole reason she was here. Diane needed her. “All right,” Yvonne said. The decision seemed somehow life-altering. Then again, maybe all stupid decisions seemed that way at first. “I’ll have a few sample invitations ready for you to look at during lunch tomorrow. Maybe we can also discuss some ideas I have for advertising events at the winery.”
She’d spent the entire five and a half hour drive from Charleston brainstorming ways to promote the new venture. She wanted to be prepared, to do a good job. Plus it’d kept her from thinking about what a possibly colossal mistake coming back here was.
“I’m not really involved in all that,” Diane said as she headed toward the door.
Frowning, Yvonne followed her. “You’re not?”
“No. You’ll have to discuss any changes or ideas with Aidan.”
Yvonne curled her fingers into her palms. “But you hired me.” She’d thought she’d be working with Diane. Yes, she’d realized she’d have to be around Aidan, but for the chance to finally be accepted at the Diamond Dust by Diane, she’d been willing to risk it.