The Bouquet List: a Weddings in Westchester novel (Entangled Bliss)

by Barbara Deleo

  She stayed still, didn’t turn to look at him, just enjoyed the closeness. “Most people would spend between $30,000 and $50,000 in a place like this.”

  Lane blew air through his teeth. “God, no wonder the O’Malleys are doing so well.”

  “Yes, but there are a whole lot of expenses too. I don’t think you necessarily need to have the full-on luxury touches that the O’Malleys do to make money. I just think you have to be smart about the venue you have, the food, everything. It would be interesting to know how much people spend with us on average. Hey, do you think you could suggest our place when you go to Pete and Amy’s engagement party?”

  He angled toward her. “You were invited too.”

  “Only because they mistook me for your date. I guess they’d think of the Palace since he’s friends with Nick, but it still wouldn’t hurt for you to mention it.”

  He was still leaning into her and nodded toward the front. “Ever been in a wedding party?”

  This time she did turn to him and grinned. “You know the movie 27 Dresses? That could be me, except I was everyone’s flower girl in these amazing big Greek weddings. For some reason, the Katsalos family has a ridiculous number of boys, so I was always the go-to girl for the frilly dress and polished shoes look. One time I was even the stand-in flower girl for people I didn’t know when their flower girl was sick. I’ve also been bridesmaid six times to various friends and cousins.”

  Lane whistled softly. “Geez, that’s a lot of hair spray and confetti.”

  She smiled. “How about you?”

  “Just once as a best man for my cousin Rick.”

  He turned back to the front of the chapel and she took the moment to steal a look at his strong profile. Something had changed in his expression, and she remembered him mentioning marriage once before. “In the car on the way to Costa’s you talked pretty passionately about marriage. What made you believe in it so much if things were so tough for your parents?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve always been determined that I’d make a better go of it than my mom and dad, to one day create a family that would stick together through good times and bad. Your parents were a huge inspiration to me.”

  She sighed. “I guess you’ve had to modify your view of them lately.”

  “Not at all. I’m not naive enough to think that a marriage that has lasted as long as your parents’ has doesn’t have its strains and stresses, but I fully believe they’ll be happy again. It’s part of the reason I wanted to help out at the Palace.”

  A sharp sting began behind Yasmin’s nose and for a horrifying second she thought she might cry. “I know Dad loves Mom, and she loves him, but they’ve just gotten so tied up in their everyday lives. I just don’t know if they’ll find their way back to each other.”

  “Of course they will,” he said, firmly. “I don’t doubt it for a second.”

  She blinked away tears and he touched her hand. “What is it?”

  “You’re such an all-or-nothing guy.”

  He smiled, and suddenly the sounds of an organ broke the chatter and people shifted in their seats. Yasmin turned to see Paul’s fiancée, Carmel, waiting at the end of the aisle with her father. Whether it was the thought of what her parents were going through, the haunting strains of “Ave Maria” coming from the pipe organ, or the sight of what must be the bride’s grandmother dabbing her eyes with a white handkerchief in the front row, something made Yasmin let out a gasp.

  Quickly, she covered her mouth, but she couldn’t contain the powerful feeling of joy, the overwhelming sense of hope and happiness and life on that girl’s face, and a tear tracked its way down her cheek.

  Her mother had always spoken about the magical power of a wedding. In Greek, Pia would always say that being able to help people make their dreams come true was a gift from God. Sitting in this place with love shining off the walls and hope and happiness in everyone’s eyes was almost too much to bear.

  “Hey, what is it? What’s wrong?” Lane leaned toward her and was whispering in her ear. “Did I upset you, talking about your parents?”

  “No. Shush, I just…” And then her nose began to run and she had to sniff. She pushed her glasses out of the way and dragged a finger across her cheek. With one hand, Lane reached around and held her close, and with the other he dug into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief. “Here, take this.”

  She lifted the handkerchief to her nose and blew softly, but the tears still fell and her glasses fogged up. How lucky those two were to have found each other, to be surrounded by friends and family as they expressed their endless love. God, what had happened to her? She hadn’t cried like this in years. But it felt good.

  Suddenly, she realized that Lane wasn’t letting go. His arm was still around her shoulders, his broad palm gently stroking her upper arm. She stayed as still as she could, willing him not to let go, and when he held her closer, she let herself relax into him. What sort of guy still carried around a cotton handkerchief? He was so cute with his lunches and his briefcase and his carefully folded handkerchiefs.

  “Okay?” he whispered. “Don’t look now, but the flower girl is doing pirouettes. She thinks she’s in Swan Lake.”

  She started to smile and then giggled quietly. “It’s just beautiful.”

  They sat huddled together for the entire forty-minute service, Lane holding her close, and his handkerchief pressed into a tight wad in her hand, and she had to try really hard to remember why they couldn’t be a couple. They’d worked together well on the project, hadn’t they? And she hadn’t thought that was possible in the beginning. Maybe there was a chance that something could develop. Maybe now that he’d let some of his barriers down, he’d start to see how good they could be together.

  As soon as the ceremony started, the tears stopped, but she still lifted the handkerchief to her nose just so she could smell the undeniable, perfect scent of Lane Griffiths.

  Chapter Eight

  Lane had never enjoyed a wedding so much in his life. He and Yasmin had spent the time between the service and reception talking about all the wedding disasters they’d been involved in.

  Having been brought up in a wedding hall business, Yasmin had many stories, like the Andalusian mother of a groom years ago who had gotten the idea of a stripper at the bachelor party lost in translation and had organized one for the wedding reception instead. Apparently, the grandmother had needed smelling salts. He’d told her about the time someone really did stand up and say why the bride and groom shouldn’t marry, and how the whole congregation had run him off the property.

  He sat at their table and took a mouthful of beer as she made her way between tables back to him. Her cheeks were glowing and she made a funny face at him as she indicated with wild arm gestures and exaggerated movements how long the O’Malleys’ tables were. He couldn’t restrain a laugh. The purple of her hair matched her dress and she stood out like the brightest flower in the bunch among all the people in pastel shades. Yes, that was it. When Yasmin was around, everyone else appeared pastel and bland. She had a way about her that seemed to bring everything into sharp focus, make every conversation interesting and every moment fun.

  When a particularly sexy salsa tune began, she did a few quick dance steps and finally made it to their table.

  “Oh. My. God,” she said as she leaned down to his ear. “We have to put in a bathroom like theirs! It has fresh towels and flowers, and you can try moisturizer and perfume! Here, smell.” She thrust her wrist toward him and it was all he could do to stop himself from taking her hand in his and stroking it. He leaned in and breathed deeply, and the scent of a bright summer’s day powered through him.

  She sat down with a thump. “You’ve got to admit, the O’Malleys do things exceptionally. Everything’s sort of unobtrusive but elegant. The waitstaff is all smart and efficient, and things seem to flow really well. This room with the skylights and the greenery everywhere is gorgeous.”

  Lane nodded as he looked around the stylishly
decorated room. “Yep. It’s all done professionally. I do think the Palace trumps them on food, though. You guys have to hang on to Leo. They could make a lot more of their outside setting, too. It’s made me think that we could really work on the courtyard at the Palace, perhaps have an outside bar by the bougainvillea. One thing I don’t think they have enough of is the personal touch. It feels a bit corporate and sterile. I think we can exploit the fact that the Palace is intimate and friendly.”

  Yasmin nodded. “Funny that both places are run by families, but I agree with you. Our place feels a lot warmer and more loving.” She leaned closer. “See that woman over there, the one who looks like a guest in the soft red dress? That’s Erin O’Malley, the daughter who’s taken over the running of things. She doesn’t look corporate and sterile.”

  “No, but it takes a lot more than one or two friendly faces. I think we need to work on exploiting that family feel the Palace has.” It suddenly struck him how well the two of them had worked together in the last couple of weeks. They’d overcome some disagreements and had to compromise on a few things, but they’d had the same vision and that’s what had made all the difference. He watched her wave her arms as she talked passionately about all the things she still wanted to do, and he wondered if they couldn’t overcome the obstacles that were in the way of a relationship too.

  “Yasmin, is that you?” A buff-looking guy with his tie undone had pushed one of the chairs aside and now touched her on the arm. Lane only just managed not to react. He had no right to be possessive—she wasn’t his girlfriend.

  “Bernie.” Yasmin turned to Lane and gave him a wide-eyed look that the guy wouldn’t be able to see. It was clear she wasn’t that pleased to see him, which made his mood perk right up. “Lane, this is Bernie, Genie and Paul’s cousin.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Lane stood and held out his hand, but Bernie ignored it and, taking her elbow, pulled Yasmin from her chair. Lane tensed. He wanted to show the guy the door, but it was Yasmin’s call.

  “How about a boogie, Yas? Don’t you and I have unfinished business?” His speech was sloppy and he had that sleepy, unfocused look of someone who’d had way too much to drink. Lane liked him less by the minute.

  Yasmin threw Lane a helpless look and he was at her side in a second. “Sorry, Bernie. She’s with me and she’s promised me this next dance.” He bared his teeth in something approximating a smile. “And the one after that.”

  Bernie looked up at him and his top lip curled. “Are you her boyfriend?”

  “No, I’m the guy in charge of her dance card and she’s all full up.”

  Bernie pulled himself taller, but Lane stood his ground.

  “Fine then,” Genie’s cousin said. “There are plenty of less-weird-looking girls to dance with here tonight anyway. You were much better when you were normal, Yasmin.”

  Lane slipped his hand in hers and gently led her away.

  “Weddings can bring the worst out in people, too,” she said as they made their way through groups of people. “Bernie’s not a bad guy; his behavior just gets a bit ugly when he’s been drinking.”

  Her hand was still in his, warm and small, and he didn’t want to let go. “That’s one thing we haven’t discussed.” Her hips swayed to the music as they stood away from their table. Bernie had moved to talk to a group of guys, but Lane would keep an eye on him to make sure no other women were propositioned. “Whether we need to upgrade the sound system and the dance floor.”

  “Couldn’t we just treat the whole new floor as a dance floor? No need to make any boundaries. Oh, I love this song,” she said as the band played something faster.

  He watched her sway, mesmerized, the stud in her nose twinkling as she moved. “How about a dance, then?”

  She pushed her glasses up on her nose. “No, it’s okay, I’m happy to just listen.”

  He squeezed her hand and looked down into her face. “Come on, I want to see if you have any rhythm.”

  …

  Yasmin followed Lane out onto the dance floor, which was writhing with people. It was a fast, fun tune, and still holding hands, they began to move separately to the beat. Any other time, Yasmin would have had a glass or two of champagne to toast the bride and groom so all inhibitions would be subdued. So, why was it then that she still felt so light and free, and ready to dance the night away?

  She watched, astounded as Lane moved and grooved in front of her. Now there was a surprise. With his conservative and almost suspicious approach to everything, she’d never have picked him to be a good dancer, but he was moving with her, twirling around. The man had rhythm! And somehow it was rubbing off on her.

  They were channeled toward the stage, and as they got closer and closer to the source of the music, Yasmin found herself moving faster and faster. Lane’s moves were having some magical effect on her, and it was as if she’d always known how to dance. She was gasping for breath when the song finished and a slow ballad started. Seeing other couples move closer into each other’s arms, she turned to go back to the table, but felt Lane catch her hand again.

  “I was only getting started.”

  She looked into his blue eyes then and saw something burning there. He wanted her. She could see it in the way his pupils dilated, in the way he squeezed her hand.

  “I’m dying,” she said, waving a hand at him. “Let me just get a drink.”

  “After this one, I promise,” he said and pulled her close against his body.

  The singer was crooning about a girl who’d watched a guy from afar, a guy who’d never really know her, and how he’d regret it his whole life. Yasmin relaxed and let her body mold into Lane’s. His hard chest was firm against her breasts, and her body began to have its own reaction to him. Warmth radiated from each place he touched her and pooled in her belly. He rested his cheek against her hair and she could feel the warmth as he breathed in and out. “You feel nice,” she whispered into the fine fabric of his jacket.

  “Sorry?” He lifted his head and bent his face closer to her mouth. “What did you say?”

  “I said I think this is a gorgeous dance floor and that we should—”

  “Funny, it sounded like much fewer words the first time around.”

  She looked up and he was gazing down at her, his eyes twinkling. “We make a pretty good team, don’t you think? We can plan menus and flooring, spend an afternoon in a fabric store and not get bored, and seamlessly blend in on a wedding dance floor while scoping the place out.”

  “We’ve worked pretty well together.” She smiled up at him. “But we’ve still got a long way to go.”

  “I’ve enjoyed my time with you,” Lane said. He pulled her closer so her cheek was nestled against his neck. Each time he spoke, the words reverberated in his chest. “When I first saw you again and you talked about doing all this on your own with not much more than your mindfulness bell and bat-crazy ideas, I wasn’t sure if you could pull this off.”

  She put her palms against his chest and pushed back so she could look up into his eyes. “You thought I was only doing this to fill in time. That I didn’t take it seriously?”

  “Maybe a little. You’ve proved me wrong, though.” He leaned back so she could really see in his eyes. They were softer somehow. The determined and focused edge that he usually had to his gaze was replaced by a new and beautiful tenderness.

  “I’m not looking forward to you leaving and me being left with everything on my own,” she said, glancing away because the thought was too uncomfortable.

  He lifted her chin so she was looking directly in his eyes. “I have every faith that whatever you take on in your life, you’ll do it with passion and determination, and I know you’ll succeed.”

  And then before she could make any sort of reply, he dipped his chin and placed his lips on hers. Because of the frantic kiss in the fabric store and the way she’d embellished it in her mind since, Yasmin thought she’d know Lane’s kisses anywhere. But this was different. It still made her melt insi
de, but it seemed more insistent, more overwhelming.

  Just as quickly as it had started, the kiss was gone, and once again, Lane pulled her close.

  “I thought you said you didn’t want this to happen,” she whispered, still dizzy from his kiss. “That there was too much at stake.”

  “You’re a hard woman to resist, Yasmin Katsalos, but a kiss or two between old friends never hurt anyone, did it?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, as she held him close, and let herself move to his rhythm. “I’ve never kissed an old friend before. But if you’re happy with it, maybe we should try it again?”

  …

  They kissed in the cab all the way back to the Palace, the only break when Lane absently threw some dollar bills at the driver. When they were out on the pavement, he grabbed Yasmin’s hand and led her through the gates, and they ran straight into Leo, locking up the restaurant.

  “Kids!” He called out while putting the keys in his pocket. “Are you back to do more painting? You’ll want to get out of those fancy clothes before you do.”

  Yasmin slipped her hand from Lane’s and marched ahead of him. “We’ve been at that wedding I told you about, Uncle Leo. The one at the O’Malleys’, but Lane wanted to check that everything was all good for the electricians coming in the morning.”

  Leo took the keys back out of his pocket as if to open the door again.

  “It’s okay,” Yasmin said hurriedly. “I can let him in and lock up afterward.”

  “I can make you a coffee,” Leo said. “I want to hear all about the food that those sneaky O’Malleys are serving. I bet they use instant potato and processed beef.” He turned the key in the lock and Yasmin threw a helpless smile back at Lane. “My friend George went to a wedding there and he said he was sure they used peaches with one of the meat dishes. Can you believe it? What next? Barbecued watermelon? Pan-fried mango?”

  “Didn’t you have roast fig in one of your new dishes?” she said with a grin.

  “Pah! A fig is a noble food. A fig goes with everything!”