London Tides: A Novel (The MacDonald Family Trilogy Book 2)

by Carla Laureano

  Everyone rose then as the bride appeared at the end of the aisle on her sister’s arm. Andrea looked radiant and happy and so excited that Grace sighed along with the rest of the guests who had been caught up in the romantic setting.

  James watched his bride’s slow walk down the aisle from the altar, enthralled. Grace snapped a burst of shots and smiled to herself. One of these would surely be framed for Andrea’s gift. What woman wouldn’t want to remember the love in the face of her groom when he first saw her in her white dress? If there had been doubt in anyone’s mind that the former playboy had found his soul mate, that single expression would erase it completely.

  When she focused on the rest of the wedding party, however, she realized that not everyone’s attention was on the bride. Ian was looking directly at her. Her breath caught. That single look held so much emotion, she wondered if he was picturing them in James and Andrea’s place.

  Grace thrust herself into an empty seat before the strength went out of her legs completely. Even after the piper stopped and the officiant began the greeting to the guests, she heard very little of what was said. She loved Ian. She’d known that from the second she’d set foot on the cement embankment outside his club, but the commitment he wanted, the promise of forever, had seemed too impossible to think about.

  But now, watching James and Andrea hold hands and exchange their vows with love shining in their eyes, she couldn’t suppress the wave of yearning. It took very little to imagine herself standing with Ian, exchanging their own vows. When she met his eyes again, he was still looking at her, a secretive smile on his lips.

  She forced herself to listen to the rest of the ceremony, applauding with the other guests as James scooped Andrea into his arms for a tender and unhurried kiss, then escorted her back down the aisle with a foolish grin plastered on his face. Andrea was smiling and laughing, whispering things to her new husband as they went. Grace rose to get a picture of the recessional, both of the new Mr. and Mrs. MacDonald as well as Ian and Serena, who walked arm in arm behind them, his height dwarfing his petite sister beside him.

  When he passed, she murmured in a voice just loud enough for him to hear, “Nice kilt, Scotsman.”

  He said nothing, just winked at her and gave her that half smile. And like that, her last bit of doubt vanished.

  There were more pictures after the wedding with the bride and her attendants, but Ian kept an eye on the blonde in the blue dress who wove in and out of guests and caterers, her camera in hand. She had a knack for being in the right place at the right time to capture the candids the wedding photographer couldn’t get to—her editorial skills at work. He had no doubt that by the end, she would have an album that told the alternate story of the wedding from a guest’s point of view; probably one that would be more treasured than the formal shots of the wedding party.

  “So, Brother dear,” Serena said, “what do you plan to do about her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You couldn’t take your eyes off her the entire time you were standing up there, and it was your brother’s wedding. Did you even hear any of the vows?”

  “There were vows?” Something about the whole event was making him unusually punchy, and Serena’s raised-eyebrow look said she knew it. He nodded toward the kids playing on the lawn. “Look, there’s Em and Max. Go attend to your offspring. I’ll survive without your supervision.”

  She stuck out her tongue before moving toward her two kids.

  “It was a lovely wedding.”

  Ian’s smile formed before he even turned. “It was, wasn’t it? They look truly happy.”

  Grace inclined her head to where the newly married couple was presiding over a receiving line, speaking to the guests beneath the expansive tent. “They really do. Of course, it’s driving James absolutely mad not being able to oversee the food. Look.”

  Sure enough, Jamie cast a glance over his shoulder to where hors d’oeuvres were being circulated among the waiting guests.

  “He never changes,” Grace said with an affectionate smile.

  “That’s the thing. He has changed, and for the better. When they met, I didn’t believe he could come to care for someone in such a short period of time. Or at all. But looking at them now—”

  “Sometimes it takes the right person to bring out the best in another. Someone that makes you feel things you never thought possible.” There was a new emotion shining in her eyes, and something in his chest gave a little tug in answer, as if recognizing what she left unsaid.

  He took her hand. “Come, let’s find our seats.”

  She didn’t protest that she wasn’t part of the wedding party, just interlaced her fingers with his and followed him through the crowd. He introduced her over and over, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back, taking every chance he could to surreptitiously caress her exposed skin and thrilling to the occasional shiver that shot through her body.

  “We’re at my brother’s wedding, and all I can think about is pulling you into a secluded corner and kissing you senseless,” he murmured when they finally took their seats at the long head table beneath the tent. “Is that wrong?”

  “Yes, it’s completely wrong,” she said, but the answering heat in her green eyes said something else entirely. That was all it took to ruin his concentration for the evening.

  The food was impeccable. If this was any indication of Chef Davis’s talent, it was no wonder that Jamie had decided to invest in the man’s restaurant. Different from Jamie’s elegant take on comfort food—more avant-garde, more international—it still had the care and precision Ian would expect from his brother’s protégé. Still, he was glad when they progressed to the wedding cake, and then at last to dancing on the wooden floor set up in the meadow beneath the swiftly setting sun. It was a legitimate excuse to get Grace in his arms again.

  “They really do look great together,” she murmured. Jamie and Andrea swayed on the dance floor, wrapped in each other’s arms, blissfully unaware of the existence of the other guests dancing around them. “They make me want to believe in happily-ever-afters.”

  “You make me want to believe in happily-ever-afters,” he murmured. “You also make me wish I were a better dancer. I didn’t know you could dance.”

  “I’m multitalented.” She grinned up at him with a naughty smile that made his heart seize again.

  “Did I already say you’ll be the death of me?”

  “No, but you told me I had a cruel streak.”

  “The death part was implied.”

  She laughed, and then a few moments later, she sobered. “Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “For this. For making me feel like I belong. For making it clear to everyone that I’m with you.”

  It was so out of character for her that he stopped dancing and just held her in the middle of the other couples. “Grace, you do belong with me. And I promise you, no one will ever be allowed to make you feel otherwise when I’m around.” Despite the fact that they were on display, or maybe because of it, he kissed her, long and slow and deliberately. Let them think what they wanted. Let them whisper about the shameful display—though he suspected he and Grace weren’t the only ones affected by the romantic setting. Let his mother be horrified that he was kissing the woman he loved, who was not English, overeducated, or proper. She would have to get used to it, because in that moment Ian realized he could no longer imagine a future without Grace.

  “There’s something I want to do,” he said suddenly, “but I have to go back to my room first. Will you come with me?”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine.” And in a few moments, he hoped it would be better than fine.

  Ian took the stairs two at a time, then unlocked his room. It took only a moment to find what he was looking for in his suitcase—the gray velvet box he had picked up before they left London—and tuck it into the sporran at his waist. When he emerged back into the front foyer, however, movem
ent in the dimly lit reception room caught his eye. His mother stood at the mantel with a glass of wine in her hand. From the look of her, it was not the first drink of the evening.

  “Mum, what are you doing in here?”

  “Looking for you.” She turned slowly, taking in the renovated room. “They did a lovely job with this old place. I always did like this room.”

  Something in her voice told him this wasn’t idle conversation. He moved closer and saw that her eyes were bleary, but not from alcohol. “Mum?”

  “I haven’t been back here since your father and I—well, you’re aware of that. I thought it would be easier after all these years.”

  Not for the first time, Ian wondered if the divorce and the move back to England had been harder than she’d let on. She’d never remarried or, until recently, even had gentlemen friends. But after the way she’d treated Grace, he wasn’t inclined to feel sympathy for her.

  “What’s this all about, Mum?”

  “You know very well what this is about. You had the audacity to bring her to a family affair—”

  “No, that’s not it. I had the audacity to love her. I don’t understand. Do you refuse to accept her because she’s Irish? Because of her tattoos? Or do you think she’s beneath me?” He stared at his mother, willing a straight answer from her for once.

  Marjorie’s expression softened. She crossed the room and placed a hand on his chest. “I know you think I’m impossibly cruel, Son, and shallow. But I knew what kind of person she was from the first time I met her. I knew she would break your heart. And I was right.”

  She could not have said anything to surprise him more. He looked down into her face and saw genuine concern etched there. His mother was worried about him? He’d always assumed her matchmaking was out of consideration for her image and social status. But the slump of her shoulders held weariness. The set of her jaw revealed pain.

  “You haven’t been the same since she left you,” Marjorie said quietly. “And I’m afraid this time when she leaves, it will break you. I love you, Ian. I don’t want to see your love for this woman—as little as I can understand it—destroy you for good.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him in surprise, and he gently put his arms around her. She might be meddling and sometimes cruel, but she was still his mother. She cared about him. She worried about him, even if she didn’t manage to show it properly most of the time.

  “Mum, you have to trust me. She’s changed.”

  “I know you think so. But people like that don’t change. You believe because they say you’re the one, you’ll come first in their lives.”

  “Are we talking about Dad?”

  Marjorie pulled away and wandered over to a picture on one of the polished antique tables. It must have been either Jamie’s or Serena’s idea to include the family photo in the decor, this one showing the five of them in Scotland, before she and Duncan MacDonald had divorced. Before Marjorie had forced the children to choose between their parents.

  “I know you think I did the wrong thing. But I loved your father. More than you could ever know. I thought I could give up everything for him, and maybe I could have.” She turned toward him with a wry smile. “The problem was, he couldn’t give up anything for me. Scotland and his music always came first. His students always came first. When I realized we had been married twenty years, and he had never once been willing to sacrifice anything to make us a family … I couldn’t do it any longer.”

  Ian felt as if he had been punched in the gut. He knew it was true. He had heard her say it before, and he had defended her to Jamie more than once. Hadn’t he seen how the divorce had affected her? When they’d moved to London, she hadn’t left her bedroom for a month. But somehow—

  Somehow he had never made the connection between his father and Grace.

  Would Grace’s work always come between them? Would she really be able to sacrifice the thing that gave her life meaning?

  Or would she leave him again?

  “I’m sorry, Ian. I really wish I could give my blessing. But, Son, some people are not cut out for marriage. I would be willing to bet that Grace is one of them.”

  He looked out the window where she waited, camera in hand, gazing out over the twilit water. Recalled how she had stopped him in the middle of Piccadilly Circus to say she loved him, dissipating for the first time the shadow of the past between them.

  “I can’t believe that, Mum. I appreciate your concern. But I love Grace. And I’m going to marry her.”

  “I respect that. But you will do it without me.”

  Ian pressed his lips together. It was what he had expected, but part of him had thought he could make her come around. “Very well, then. Jamie and Serena can represent my family. I hope someday you’ll realize what a mistake you’ve made.”

  He strode from the foyer and joined Grace outside. “Come, sweetheart. Let’s take a drive before anyone misses us.”

  She searched his face, her forehead creasing. “Is everything okay?”

  “Fine. Better than fine. Let’s go.”

  Grace climbed into the car, puzzled by the sudden frenetic energy in Ian’s body. “Are we leaving?”

  “Not for long. Besides, the party will go until the wee hours. No one will expect us to stick around now that Jamie and Andrea have retired for the night.”

  “That was your mother inside, wasn’t it?” Grace chewed her bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have come. I never meant to ruin what should have been a peaceful family occasion.”

  “You didn’t ruin anything. I wanted you here, and everyone but Mum understands that.”

  Grace soon realized he’d chosen a route that led away from the hotel. “Where are we going?”

  “A little spot I like here.”

  She flicked a glance at him. He’d never shown any particular desire to explore Skye, although he’d offered to show her around if she wanted to take photos. Her heart began to thud nervously against her rib cage when she sensed this was not merely a sightseeing trip.

  When he finally pulled off the highway onto the verge, she drew in her breath. The sky was still light in the distance, showering the dark water with shades of orange and gold. He climbed out of the car, then helped her from the passenger side. When she shivered at the rush of cool air, he immediately draped his formal jacket over her shoulders. She nestled into his side beneath his arm and looked out onto the dark water of the Sound.

  “Something tells me you didn’t bring me here to look at the scenery. And while I’d love to think this was just an elaborate way to get me alone, I rather doubt that as well.”

  He pressed a kiss to her temple, then fumbled for the clasp on his sporran. “I was going to wait to do this. I didn’t want to take anything away from Jamie and Andrea, but now I simply can’t wait.”

  She straightened when she saw the jewelry box in his hand. “Ian?”

  For the first time in recent memory, he actually looked nervous. When he took her hand, his serious expression stole her breath. “I know this might seem sudden. But I fell in love with you when I was too young and too stupid to know what I had in front of me. I loved you when you walked away, and I’ve loved you every minute thereafter.”

  Her hand drifted to her neck, as if that would help loosen the lump in her throat. She couldn’t manage a sound, but he didn’t look to be done yet.

  “Grace, the only thing that has ever mattered to me is you. And if you will let me, I will spend the rest of my life making up the time we lost.” He sank down to one knee in the gravel and opened the box. “Will you marry me?”

  She could barely process what was happening. He was wearing a kilt, a tuxedo shirt, and a very earnest expression, all the while holding a box that obviously contained a ring she couldn’t see clearly in the dim light. When she opened her mouth to reply, the only thing that emerged was hysterical laughter.

  His expression turned to dismay. “Grace?”

  She forced herself to be serious
. “I’m sorry. You caught me off guard, Ian. I don’t need an elaborate set up or a fancy proposal. All I need is you.”

  The lines of his forehead smoothed. “Does that mean …?”

  “Yes. It means that I will marry you.” Her smile stretched so wide it threatened to permanently cramp her face. “It also means you can get up now.”

  “Oh, thank God. The verge is gravel, and I’m not wearing trousers.” He straightened, then removed the ring and slid it onto her finger. “I love you, Grace.”

  “And I love you.” She lifted her face to him, waiting for his kiss. His lips moved over hers softly, tenderly, and she barely dared to breathe as she drank him in. When he drew back an inch, she held her hand up so the ring caught the light.

  “It’s different!” A delicate knot work band cradled the diamond, which was surrounded by dozens of tiny ones.

  “Same diamonds, same metal, just remade. With a little added to the band for strength.”

  Her vision swam in an unexpected wash of tears. He’d kept her engagement ring all these years and then had it remade into something new? Her heart felt too full to speak for several moments. “That might be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “That was the response I’d been hoping for.” He pressed another series of kisses to her lips, her cheek, the spot beneath her ear, and she pressed into him while his fingertips grazed her back beneath the jacket.

  “I’m sorry I laughed at you. I didn’t take you for grand gestures and getting down on one knee and all that.”

  “What can I say? I was moved by the moment.” His lips were brushing her neck in a deliciously slow path to her exposed collarbone. “You seem to bring out the unexpected in me.”

  “You mean I broke the curse of the suit?” Her voice came out shaky. It was getting harder to think by the second.