From that day forward, she cried only crocodile tears. In a matter of weeks Drake had taken their shared grief to the next level. It required super-human acting on Summer’s part to pretend that the touch of his hand on hers didn’t repulse her. The first time he kissed her, she almost threw up.
Sometimes she caught her father watching her. She met his gaze unflinchingly, saying nothing.
The imminent merging of two multi-billion-dollar empires was back on schedule. In the meantime, the pre-wedding parties were lavish, the guest list the Who’s Who of Philadelphia society.
Telling him it wouldn’t feel right, under the circumstances, until their wedding night, she wouldn’t sleep with Drake. Somehow word got out. Drake took a lot of ribbing for it. Sometimes he almost seemed to respect her for it.
Claire’s wedding morning dawned crystal clear. Even though the wedding had been postponed a few months, that was how Summer thought of that day—as Claire’s.
Summer’s vision cleared, and she found herself staring at Kyle. Had he been this close all the while she’d been talking? Close enough to touch if she needed to touch him. Close enough to feel the heat emanating from him. Close enough to look into his eyes and continue.
“Claire’s wedding day dawned crystal clear. I underwent the transformation. I was made-up, manicured, spritzed, moisturized and scented like a virgin sacrifice about to be dropped into the mouth of a volcano. I stepped into Claire’s gown, let my father fasten the clasp of my grandmother’s pearls at my nape, sat for the photographer, and smiled for all the bridesmaids. And then it was time.”
Once again Summer felt transported back to that day. It was as if she was standing on the steps of that cathedral, the polished marble cool beneath her shoes, the light shining through the magnificent stained glass windows feeling more like stage props than evidence of a divine presence.
The music started, and her father held out his arm. She didn’t recognize the woman who took it. She didn’t know the woman who smiled demurely as she fairly glided to the front of the cathedral, her elaborate elbow-length veil fluttering behind her. She went through every motion with grace, poise and dignity.
She placed her hand in Drake’s. She answered the bishop’s questions with the appropriate responses.
And then the bishop said, “Do you Serena Nicole Imogene Matthews take Drake Elliot Proctor the Second to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Serena Nicole Imogene Matthews stood mute.
A hush fell over the guests, all five hundred of them. The bishop cleared his throat. Drake smiled encouragingly, but his Adam’s apple wobbled slightly. Every one of the bridesmaids gestured in some way, as if they believed she had stage fright. Drake’s groomsmen shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Her father’s eyes narrowed.
Summer turned to the bishop and quietly said, “Would you repeat the question, please?”
He nodded as if relieved. Finding his page in his book again, he said, “Would you Serena Nicole Imogene Matthews take Drake Elliot Proctor the Second to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Using the stage voice she’d perfected in drama class, she looked at Drake and said, “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.”
She wrenched herself away. Leaving Drake’s side in a gown that felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds, she went down the steps while half the guests were gasping and the others were asking each other what was going on.
Her father had risen to his feet in his place of prominence in the front pew. She stopped before him.
“That was for Claire.” She handed him her bouquet. “These are for Mom. It looks as if you should have had another daughter.”
Gathering her skirt in both hands, she started down the aisle. Cameras flashed. The photo of her dashing from the church would appear on the front page of the society section in newspapers up and down the East Coast. Her father disinherited her immediately. And then Summer was really and truly alone in the world. She would take the nickname her mother had given her when she was small, and she would stumble into a new life.
But that day, she’d walked, faster and faster and faster down the aisle, until she was running, until all she saw in the sea of faces were eyes and all she heard was the thundering of her own heartbeat.
“I didn’t stop running for a long, long time.”
Kyle watched as the haze slowly cleared from Summer’s eyes. She was coming back from a distant place. He wanted to say something profound, but it wasn’t his to say. Halfway through the telling, he’d noticed the sliver of the moon out the window behind her. It hung as if suspended from a thread over her right shoulder. He wanted to pluck it now and place the moon in her hand, wrapping his hands around it until its glow spread all the way through her.
There had been several instances throughout her story when he thought he’d identified her pivotal moment. The first came when her mother died and, then, when Claire had. Those were life-altering circumstances, but the pivotal moment had occurred later. It hadn’t happened that day when she’d walked out of that church and walked away from a life of luxury.
Her pivotal moment was that instant when she’d heard her father laugh after Proctor had said, “You have more than one daughter.”
Everything prior to that was Summer’s before, and everything since, her after. Kyle was experiencing a similar moment now, a moment on which the axis of his existence rested.
The way she was looking at him now made him suspect that some time had passed.
“Are you ever going to say anything?” she asked.
He wanted to swing her off her feet, to wipe the pain from her memory. He couldn’t do that. Nobody could, so he did the next best thing. He wrapped his arms around her and held her, just held her. She came stiffly into his arms. Gradually, she relaxed. That was when he felt her tremble.
When the trembling stopped, he said, “That’s a good secret.”
She looked up at him and rolled her eyes. “You are going to be the death of me, do you know that?”
“Yeah? I guess we’re even because you’re the life of me.”
She sniffled, and a smile spread across her lips. “Kyle, do you think you could kiss me now?”
Summer watched Kyle react to her request. He had a way of setting his jaw just so, of not quite closing his mouth, of taking a deep breath and holding it, only to release it slowly before drawing another. His dark hair was mussed, his cheeks less hollowed than they’d been a week ago. But it was his eyes, those green, green eyes that let her know what he had in mind a moment before he took a step closer.
He made a sound deep in his throat, part growl, all male. “I think I can do better than that.”
He placed a hand on either side of her face. Slowly, he brought his face down, until his features blurred before her eyes and his breath mingled with her breath.
He’d kissed her often since he’d rumbled in on a thunderclap all those days ago. But he’d never kissed her quite like this.
There was a reverence in the way he held her face in his big hands. Absorbing the rhythm of his heartbeats and the heat that was uniquely him, she brought her body closer. Gliding her hands around his neck, she sighed.
Summer didn’t rush.
She didn’t push for more. She didn’t hurry. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she had all the time in the world.
He swung her into his arms, eventually. He lay her down, and he lay down, too. They made love in his bed, under the eaves in her century-old inn, as the sliver of the crescent moon outside the window slowly floated across the sky, silently calling in another day.
Chapter Twelve
Summer double-checked the information on the confirmation form regarding a room reservation for October. Hosanna chimed from the bell tower on the Congregational Church as it did every weekday at half past eleven. The breakfast dishes were done, two days’ worth, actually, and all the beds were made except one.
She was back in Innkeeper Mode.
She’d fallen asl
eep in Kyle’s arms last night. Luckily, her internal clock had awakened her before her other guests had stirred. Although she would have loved to linger in bed long enough to kiss Kyle awake, too, she’d eased out of bed and pulled on her clothes. Leaving him snoring softly and carrying her shoes, she’d crept down the stairs.
A quick shower, a single coat of mascara and lip gloss, clean clothes, and she was back in the kitchen. She may not have beaten the sun up, but she was ready when her guests shuffled to the table for breakfast. Rugged carpenters that they were, they acted as if they’d died and gone to heaven when she set down their plates of scrambled eggs, American fries and ham. It made her rethink the asparagus quiche she’d been planning for tomorrow.
She’d spent yesterday in a fog. Finding the courage to step up to the invisible line Kyle had drawn in the sand hadn’t been easy, and yet telling him her story had released something inside her, something that had been weighing her down for a very long time.
Today she was more like a glowing comet spinning through her chores. Baring one’s soul was good medicine. Baring one’s body was a close contender. She smiled to herself, feeling lighter, freer and truly understood. All because she’d shared her secrets with the only man she’d ever trusted.
She needed to call Madeline and ask if there was anything she could do before the wedding rehearsal, which was scheduled to begin at six. Tomorrow Riley and Madeline’s wedding would go down in history in Orchard Hill. Just a week ago, she’d dreaded the thought of history being made here. Now she was looking forward to it.
The door chimes purled. She glanced up from her computer screen as a man with silver hair and cowboy boots entered, a cigarette clamped tight between his lips. Evidently remembering his manners, he wet his fingers and put the cigarette out.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“This is The Orchard Inn, isn’t it?” His accent was Boston, but not quite the one the Kennedys had made famous. This man had climbed out of his humble beginnings, though, for his shirt had cost a pretty penny and his cowboy boots several more.
“This is The Orchard Inn, yes,” she said.
He studied her with brown eyes that had probably seen more than anybody knew. She wasn’t afraid. For one thing, she had pepper spray behind the counter, and, for another, she knew self-defense. Besides, she considered herself a good judge of character, and first impressions counted. This man had lines beside his mouth and unwavering rectitude in his eyes.
“May I help you?” she asked again.
“I’m looking for Kyle Merrick. Is he here?”
She couldn’t give out personal information. This silver-haired man undoubtedly knew that because he smiled. “I already tried his phone. He’s not answering.”
He was resorting to charm. She liked it. It didn’t work on her, but she liked it.
Kyle saved her the trouble of explaining that to him.
“You would try to charm the spots off a leopard as he was spitting you out.”
Summer and the man both glanced at the stairs. His shirt tucked neatly into a pair of unwrinkled pants and his Italian shoes planted a comfortable distance apart, Kyle stood halfway to the top.
“What are you doing here, Grant?”
Summer started. Kyle’s mentor Grant?
While Kyle descended the remaining stairs, she tried to recall everything he’d told her about his mentor. It seemed as though his last name began with an O. Not O’Connor or Oliver or Orson. Oberlin. Grant Oberlin, that was it.
“Grant Oberlin,” Kyle said, descending the remaining stairs and coming to a stop on the other side of the registration counter. “Innkeeper, Summer Matthews.”
“I was just making her acquaintance when you so rudely interrupted. Look at you. Just getting up and it’s almost noon. The life of leisure will ruin you. Turn you into a sloth. I got here in the nick of time.”
Summer studied the man who’d been harder on Kyle than anybody in the business, the man who’d taken him under his wing and who’d taught him about life and women and integrity. This was the father of the man who Kyle suspected had ruined his career.
“Maybe you have nothing better to do than sleep half the damn day,” Oberlin said. “But I’ve been up since four. I’m bleeping starving. ’Scuse my French,” he said to Summer. Back to Kyle, he said, “There must be some place in this one-horse town where we can eat. You can say no, but I’ll dog your steps until you hear me out.”
There was grudging affection in Grant Oberlin’s tired eyes and grudging respect in Kyle’s rested ones. With the sole intention of giving them privacy, Summer excused herself and went to the kitchen.
Kyle spun her around while the door was still swishing. Before she knew what was happening, he kissed her. One long kiss, then he turned and left, his gait jauntier than when he’d descended the stairs.
They were both smiling now. And neither had spoken a word to the other.
Kyle was almost late for his brother’s wedding rehearsal.
He practically jogged to the front of the small stone church on the outskirts of Orchard Hill where Riley was standing with a group of men that included Madeline’s three older brothers, Riley’s future brothers-in-law. Kyle didn’t see Summer, but Madeline was busy with the reverend and an older man Kyle didn’t recognize who’d apparently been assigned to walk her down the aisle. Kyle remembered now. That was Aaron’s father. Aaron Andrews had been Madeline’s childhood sweetheart. He’d died tragically, and, by some miraculous and mysterious stroke of destiny, Riley had received his heart.
“You’ll never believe who just called me,” Kyle said as quietly as he could to Riley’s back.
Riley turned around and stepped aside, and Kyle came face-to-face with his youngest brother. “You called me from here?”
Braden Merrick gave Kyle a bear hug.
“It’s good to see you,” Kyle said emphatically.
“Yeah?” Braden groused. “Riley just told me I look like something the cat dragged in.”
The Merrick brothers were almost identical in height. Riley had a way of standing, his hands on his hips, feet apart, shoulders back, eyes assessing. Kyle had been told he looked good coming and going. The baby of the family, Braden still wore his hair too long and played too hard. If he’d ever known fear, it didn’t show when he was trying to win a race.
“I thought you weren’t going to make it,” Kyle said.
“I thought you weren’t, either.”
Kyle grinned. “I came to Orchard Hill to try to talk Riley out of this.”
Braden made a show of looking around the bustling church. “Looks like you made quite an impact.”
That attitude was the reason the older two had ganged up on him when they were kids. Riley said, “I’m glad you’re both here.”
What followed was one of those awkward moments between men, when a cuff in the arm felt like too little and a handshake too stuffy and a hug too girlie.
“I’m glad I didn’t miss this,” Braden said, shoving his hair behind his ears. “There’s a lot of potential here.”
Witnessing the silent exchange between his older brothers, Braden took a step back and said, “You can’t flush my head down the toilet. You’ve tried. Now cut me some slack. I flew all night, moved heaven and earth and drove all day to be here. How about giving me a point for that? You can introduce me to that cute little blonde with the short hair and big—” he grinned “—eyes later.”
The Merrick brothers laughed in unison for the first time in months. It was beginning to look as if the wedding really would go down in history.
In every corner of the small church there was activity. Nobody was listening to anybody else, and nobody seemed sure what he or she was supposed to be doing. Chelsea Reynolds, the official wedding planner for tomorrow’s big event, was running from group to group, her notes fluttering, her normally calm demeanor in a tattered shambles.
She consulted with a middle-aged woman holding a flute and had a discussion with a teenager tun
ing a violin. There was a florist somewhere and a reverend who appeared even more frazzled than Chelsea.
Kyle followed directions and stood where he was told to stand. The flutist started fluting. The first bridesmaid, Abby Fitzgerald, started up the aisle, only to be told to start over, slower next time. The flute music began again.
Marsh, Reed and Noah Sullivan, who’d shared a beer with Riley and Kyle last night, took seats in the front pew. Abby finished her trek up the aisle, and then it was Chelsea Reynolds’s turn. Somebody must have said what Kyle had been thinking, because the curvy brunette took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to relax her shoulders.
Then came Summer. She wore another one of her pretty dresses. It consisted of two layers of silver fabric, the hem and sleeves fluttering in a breeze Kyle couldn’t feel. Nobody had to tell her to relax. Nobody had to tell her to slow down. She glided up the aisle with the poise of Cinderella at her ball.
Kyle hadn’t seen her since he’d kissed her before noon, hadn’t spoken a word to her all day. When her gaze met his, something passed between them, and no words were necessary.
She took her place at the front of the church opposite him. As Madeline started up the aisle, the flute music changed to the undulating strains of a single violin. Kyle heard sniffling and rustling and murmurs and sighs. Madeline was a beautiful bride.
Kyle had another bride on his mind.
He couldn’t help imagining what it had been like that day when Serena Nicole Imogene Matthews had walked down the aisle of a different church, one filled with politicians and executives and brokers and playwrights and a prima donna or two. She’d been undeniably brave that day.
Summer was just as brave today. It couldn’t be easy to put a smile on her face and walk up this aisle when surely memories of that other wedding march were close at hand.
The reverend ran through the vows, the blah-blah-blahs and the do-you’s. And then the flutist and the violinist played together, and Riley and Madeline rehearsed their big exit.
Kyle met Summer at the center of the aisle. As she placed her hand in the crook of his arm, she said, “Did you and Grant get everything worked out?”
A Bride Until Midnight Page 15