by Beth Andrews
His mother’s domain.
He should’ve gone up to his office. His mom and Al were at the stove, talking together. Brady was at the table, and Matt was peering into the refrigerator even though, from the looks of it, lunch would be served any minute.
“Where were you?” Connie asked from where she sat next to Brady. “I thought you were right behind us.”
They’d all spent the morning pruning the viognier vines. As Aidan had told Yvonne, when something needed doing at the winery, they all pitched in.
“I got…delayed,” he said, heading for the sink to wash his hands.
Yeah. Delayed. By the sight of Yvonne’s shapely lower half sticking out of the car. That had always been his problem. He’d been too infatuated with her. Had wanted her too much, almost to the point of distraction. Maybe that’s why she’d left him. He dried his hands. Did it matter?
He didn’t want to get drawn into conversation, and crossed to sit in one of the armchairs of the family room.
Connie got up from the table and went to sit on the arm beside him. “You okay?”
“Fine,” he snapped. Hurt flashed in her blue eyes and she slowly stood. He sighed. “Sorry. I’m fine. Really.”
“You sure?” she asked, unconvinced. “Because if some—”
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Yvonne said as she stepped into the room, her eyes on Diane. “I must’ve had the wrong time for our meeting.”
Everyone stopped talking, all eyes on her.
She cringed only slightly, but he noticed. As always, he was too aware of her.
“Not at all. You’re just in time.” His mom took a red, ceramic casserole dish from the oven, her cheeks flushed from the heat. The scent of something cheesy filled the air. “Would you grab the salad from the fridge?” she said to Connie, who was staring at Yvonne as if she were the spawn of Satan. “Matt, the dishes. Aidan, silverware. Brady, please slice the bread.”
Yvonne stood there holding several large binders, two posters tucked under her arm, her eyes wide in shock. Or panic.
Aidan stood and crossed the room to the silverware drawer. He used to do his best to make Yvonne feel welcome in his family. Had always tried to draw her out of her brittle shell.
He no longer cared to break through it.
“I don’t want to interrupt a family meal,” she said. “I’m more than happy to reschedule.”
“And here I thought you were in a hurry to get started,” Aidan said, setting a handful of forks and butter knives on the counter.
She shifted her hold on the binders. They were heavy, he knew, but she made no move to set them down. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to take them, not after she’d been so adamant about carrying them herself.
“I am. I meant that I could come back. When you all have finished eating.”
His mom put a large spoon into her casserole. “No need to reschedule. You can tell us about your ideas for the wedding over lunch.”
Yvonne swallowed.
“What Diane’s leaving out,” Al said with a wide smile, one Aidan could tell had been practiced to perfection, probably on the campaign trail, “is that every Thursday she and her sons and Connie have lunch together.” He dropped his voice conspiratorially as he took the binders and set them on a high-backed stool. “It gives her an excuse to cook for them and have them all together for at least an hour.” He held out his hand. “Al Wallace. So you’re the young lady planning my wedding.”
Yvonne finally set the poster boards on an empty stool and her laptop case on the floor out of the way. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Senator Wallace.” She shook his hand. “I’m Yvonne Delisle.”
“Sheppard not a good enough name for her anymore?” Connie asked Aidan in a low whisper.
He didn’t take his eyes off his ex-wife. “Obviously not.”
“That’s everything,” his mom said, sounding tired. She brushed hair from her forehead with the back of her hand, and he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Could it be that a guilty conscience was keeping her awake at night? “Drinks and glasses are already on the dining room table so we can get started. Why don’t you go first, Yvonne?”
Yvonne blinked. “Oh, that’s…that’s not necessary. Y’all go ahead. I’ll just wait out here until you’re done.”
“When I cook,” his mom said, the brightness of her voice belying the determined glint in her eyes, “everyone eats.” She held out a white plate. “Everyone.”
Yvonne met his eyes, beseeching him. She seemed so…lost.
“Maybe Ms. Delisle would be more comfortable if someone served her,” Aidan said blandly.
“Maybe you’d be more comfortable if you took that stick out of your ass,” Matt murmured.
Aidan smirked, making sure Yvonne noticed. That she saw how unaffected he was by her.
She averted her eyes.
“Please,” Al said, his hand on her back as he guided her forward, “join us.”
YVONNE GRANTED DIANE ONE of her pageant ready smiles. “I’d be delighted to join you all. Thank you so much.”
Connie rolled her eyes—and Yvonne wanted to shove a piece of bread up the woman’s nose.
Clutching the plate to her chest, she passed Aidan and his brothers, keeping her eyes straight ahead. And don’t think she missed the emphasis Aidan had put on her last name with his last little quip. Had he really thought she’d keep his name after they divorced? Why would she when she’d never truly been a Sheppard?
Stepping up to the counter, she helped herself to silverware and a paper napkin, the nape of her neck hot. It seemed business dress at the Diamond Dust was T-shirts and jeans. Except in Matt’s case. He wore a T-shirt with cargo shorts—despite the fact that it was barely forty degrees outside.
The weight of her blazer pressed on her shoulders; her shoes pinched her toes. She’d worn her black pantsuit and the red silk top with a draped cowl neckline because she’d wanted to look professional. Confident. Competent.
Instead, she stood out like a frilly china doll in a shop full of Barbies—pretty to look at, but not nearly as much fun to play with.
She pretended great interest in scooping out just the right amount of salad.
“You trying to wish that lettuce onto your plate?” Connie asked from her spot in line behind her.
Yvonne’s back went up and she met the other woman’s eyes. An easy enough feat, thanks to her shoes adding three inches to her height. “Excuse me?”
“You’re staring at it like you’re trying to move it with your mind. While the rest of us are waiting—ever so patiently—for you to get moving.”
Yes, that image of Connie with food shoved up her nose was more and more appealing.
“I’m so sorry,” Yvonne said in a placating tone that would irritate the other woman more than any food fight. Moving toward the end of the counter, she glanced at Connie’s plate. “I can see you’re very hungry.”
Connie helped herself to two thick slices of Italian bread. “And I can see you’re not,” she said, motioning to the small amount of casserole and salad—minus dressing—on Yvonne’s plate.
“Connie,” Diane said, “could you show Yvonne to the dining room?”
Yvonne bit her lip to stop from pointing out that she’d been married to Diane’s son. That she’d spent several holidays and many family dinners here. She knew perfectly well where the dining room was.
With a shrug Yvonne took to mean she consented to Diane’s request, Connie buttered her bread, then walked away. Yvonne followed.
“Must be tough,” Connie said as she reached across the table for one of the bottles of water Diane had put out. “Trying to maintain that beauty queen figure.” She bit into her bread. “Unfortunately,” she said, speaking around her mouthful, “I have the opposite problem. I eat and eat and just can’t gain a pound.”
Yvonne studied Connie’s slim figure in her snug, faded jeans and maroon T-shirt with You Had Me at Merlot across the front. “Yes. That must be terribl
y difficult.”
Connie’s answering grin was more than a bit self-congratulatory. As if she’d won some competition between them.
God, Yvonne hated her.
She frowned. No. That wasn’t right. Of course she didn’t hate Connie. Nice Southern girls didn’t hate anyone.
Senator Wallace followed Matt into the room. Matt sat next to Connie. “Just grab a spot anywhere,” the senator told Yvonne kindly as he took his place on Matt’s other side.
She tried to return his smile, but couldn’t manage it when Aidan and Brady came in. She sat across from the senator, leaving the seat at the head of the table and one to her left open. Without so much as a glance at his brother Brady sat next to her, leaving Aidan at the opposite end of the table.
“Do you want something to drink?” Brady asked her, his tone low and gravelly, as if rusty from overuse. Or not being used enough.
She could’ve kissed him.
“Water would be fine.”
He grabbed two bottles, loosened the cap on one, then handed it to her. The unexpected kindness when she was so nervous, when it was so painfully obvious no one really wanted her there, had her throat constricting.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Aidan was watching her, his eyes hooded.
But there was something in his expression. A warning, maybe? As if he was telling her not to get comfortable here, not to expect too much.
Lesson already learned, buddy.
“As promised,” Diane said from the head of the table, “here is our guest list.” She handed Yvonne a piece of lined paper. “On the bottom is the wording we’d like to use for the invitations.”
“Thank you.” Yvonne scanned the list. There were two neat columns, in different handwriting, telling her they’d each written their own guests’ names. She did a quick calculation. No more than one hundred and fifty. Good. With some planning, she should be able to comfortably seat that many people in the carriage house no problem.
Diane forked up a bite of salad. “Do you have the invitation choices for us to look at?”
“Yes. I found several styles I think will work for you.” The guest list had been ripped out of a notebook, leaving one side of the sheet torn and ragged. She folded the paper carefully and tore off the tattered strip, leaving a clean edge. “I also came up with a few ideas for table settings and two color schemes for you to pick from.”
She’d learned early on that if people had too many choices, they not only found it more difficult to make a decision, but also questioned their choice after the fact. Then again, she usually spent quite a bit more time with her clients than she had with Diane and Senator Wallace.
“Would you like to bring them in here?” Diane asked.
Yvonne rolled the strip of paper into a ball between her thumb and forefinger. “Excuse me?”
“Your ideas. I’d like to see them.”
“Now? I…I mean…wouldn’t you prefer to finish eating?”
And give everyone else a chance to go away.
Diane sipped her water. “Al and I are heading up to D.C. right after lunch.”
“We’d like to be on the road as soon as possible,” the senator added.
“You’re leaving?” Yvonne asked before she could catch herself. And from the surprised looks she was getting, she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed how putout she’d sounded. “I’m sorry, I thought you wanted to discuss your wedding with me.”
Wasn’t that why she was here, being put through this? Or was this Diane’s version of subtle revenge against the woman who’d walked out on her son?
“If you’re not comfortable discussing it in front of everyone, we can always do it when I’m back on Monday,” Diane said.
Yvonne slowly stabbed a piece of lettuce with her fork, but didn’t bring it to her mouth. “Actually,” she said, using the complacent tone she employed when dealing with a difficult bride, “with less than two months to prepare for the wedding, we need to make as many decisions as early as possible.”
“Then I guess you’d better show me those invitations now,” Diane said.
“Of course.” She scraped her chair back. “If you all will excuse me?”
“I’ve got it,” Matt said, getting to his feet. “I’m heading out for more bread, anyway. What do you need?”
She didn’t have the energy to argue. “The poster boards, please. And the binders,” she added, when he reached the doorway. “Oh, and my purse, if it’s not too much trouble.”
She could do without her laptop, but she needed her BlackBerry for notes.
Senator Wallace stood as well. “I’ll give you a hand.”
“And here I thought you were determined to carry your own weight from here on in,” Aidan said evenly.
“How…sweet of you to remind me.”
His lips quirked. So wonderful to know she amused him.
“Seems like bad timing for a trip to D.C.,” Aidan told his mother as he leaned back in his chair. “A trip I didn’t know about until now. Especially when it’s obvious Yvonne needs you here to finalize wedding plans.”
Diane added salt to her food, her eyes never lifting from her plate. “Al is the guest speaker at an alumni dinner he asked me to attend with him.” She looked at Yvonne. “If there’s anything before I come back, you can always call or email me.”
“No problem.” She already had Diane’s contact information. “Addresses to go with this list would be helpful.” She gestured to the notebook paper. “And I usually have the response cards sent directly to me. I can email you an update at the end of every week.”
“That would be fine,” Diane said as the men returned, Al carrying the binders, while Matt had her poster boards under one arm, a small stack of bread in his palm and her purse hanging off his wrist.
Yvonne jumped to her feet to take them. “Thank you so much.” She set the boards on her chair, leaning them against the back, before pushing her plate aside to make room for the binders. She straightened and felt pinned to the spot by six expectant gazes.
She inhaled deeply and prepared to put on the show of her life.
CHAPTER SIX
YVONNE BLUSHED FROM head to toe, warmth engulfing her, causing sweat to break out along her hairline. She was so out of her element. She wanted her office. Her things. The big desk she could hide behind, the comfort of being surrounded by familiar objects. Of knowing her coworkers—people who respected her, a few who even liked her—were close by.
Usually she felt relaxed with her clients. Was confident she could give them exactly what they wanted, do whatever it took to make their wedding perfect. Now all she felt was exposed. As if Aidan and his family could see she was a fraud. Someone who worried too much. Who was unsure. Who’d been told she would outgrow her shyness, her unease around people.
She hadn’t. It’d been easier to take a cue from her mother and keep people at a distance. To pretend to be someone else. Someone secure in her abilities and her place in the world. She’d thought she could keep it up indefinitely during her marriage, only to discover she couldn’t.
“Let me find those invitations,” she said, her voice taking on a coolness she didn’t feel. She set one binder aside, opened a second, only to realize it wasn’t the one she wanted. Her stomach tightened. Where was it? Had she left it in the car?
Wordlessly, Brady picked up the binder marked Sheppard-Wallace Wedding and handed it to her.
Yvonne inclined her head in thanks.
She flipped to the first page and took out the three sample invitations she’d chosen last night. “As you can see,” she said, carrying them over to Diane, “I kept things simple in both the design and typesetting. Of course, we can always change the font color based on the color scheme you choose.”
While Senator Wallace leaned over to see the invitations, Yvonne went back to her seat and took a long drink of water. She picked up both boards, holding them upright on the table. “After seeing the carriage house, I thought we could go with a rustic wedding th
eme. I kept the color choices sedate. Brown, dark greens and cream, with accents of either robin’s egg blue or dusky rose.”
On each board, she’d made collages of photos that incorporated the color scheme and overall feel of the idea. The blue had antique lanterns with candles inside, an old barn with a huge twig wreath hung above the doors, small birds nests with robin’s eggs, two bridesmaid dresses and a round, three-tiered white wedding cake with roses on the top layer. The white cake on the rose board had red roses on each of the tiers. The rest of the space was covered with ideas for dresses, centerpieces of plain white ceramic vases filled with twigs from cotton plants and a bouquet of brown orchids and dark red roses with a vintage brooch on the stem wrap.
“Those are both lovely,” Diane said, for the first time sounding excited about, or at least interested in, her upcoming nuptials.
“What’s up with that shoe?” Connie gestured to the rose board with her fork. “You don’t really expect Diane to wear something like that, do you?”
Yvonne glanced at the shoe in question—a satin pump with a four-inch heel, straps that crossed on top of the foot and a rose on the outside ankle. “It’s just for color reference,” she said. “As are the dresses and the robin’s eggs.”
Yes, her tone was slightly condescending, but only because she was so nervous. And second-guessing herself and her work. She usually took a few days to put together inspiration boards.
“I do like them both,” Diane said, either ignoring Yvonne’s breach of manners or not noticing it in the first place. “What do you think, Connie?”
She shrugged. “I guess the blue one’s not so bad.”
Yvonne’s fingers tightened on the boards, creasing the heavy cardboard. “I’m so glad you like one of them,” she said, in such a sweet tone, only an idiot would think she was being sincere.
Connie was many things, but stupid wasn’t anywhere on the list. “And I’m just as glad that you’ve returned to the Diamond Dust. Why, I don’t know how we’d ever pick out matching colors and buy flowers for a wedding without your superior expertise.”