Kiss the Bride

by Lori Wilde

  He didn’t want to comply. Was the man trying to humiliate him? Or use his injury as a reason to dismiss him, even though Benedict had promised Elysee he wouldn’t?

  The thought angered him. His eyes locked with the President’s. “What for?”

  “I want to see what you were willing to sacrifice for my daughter.”

  It was an odd statement. It effectively diffused Shane’s anger, but not his embarrassment. Slowly, he pulled his hand from his pocket and thrust it under Nathan Benedict’s nose. He steeled his jaw, hardened his feelings.

  “Can you make a fist?”

  Shane bent his fingertips as far as they would go. His mangled paw wouldn’t even make a good talon. His fingers felt stiff as concrete and almost as cold. They ached, but then again, they hadn’t really stopped aching since he’d awakened from the coma. What good was a Secret Service agent who couldn’t pull a trigger?

  “They had to fuse the metacarpals in your hand.” Nathan said it as a statement, as if he had already talked to Shane’s doctors.

  “Yes.”

  “You took a blow to the temple as well, survived a brain bleed without any lasting damage.”

  “That’s what I’ve been told.”

  “You saved my daughter’s life.” Benedict headed for the wet bar in the corner of the room.

  “I did what had to be done.” Self-consciously, Shane eased his hand back into his pocket.

  “You’re a hero.” Benedict poured the brandy and turned back to him. He extended the brandy snifter toward Shane’s left hand.

  “I’m not.” How could he be a hero when he couldn’t even make a fist? “I was simply doing my job.”

  “It’s more than that.”

  “Beg your pardon?” What was the man getting at?

  “Your job is your identity. I know all about you, Tremont. I know your grandfather was killed at Normandy on D-day and your father is a decorated Vietnam POW. I know you saved a fellow recruit from friendly fire during boot camp maneuvers. Heroism is in your blood. I also know that you’ve had some sadness in your life and that your marriage broke up because of it.”

  As a Secret Service agent on protective duty in the White House, he knew he’d undergone the most extensive of background checks. He just hadn’t realized how extensive. If the government knew the reasons his marriage had ended, then they knew everything there was to know about Shane Tremont.

  “What’s your point?” Shane asked bluntly.

  At this juncture, he felt he had nothing else to lose. Elysee might believe her father wouldn’t cut him loose from protective detail because of his injury. Shane, however, harbored no such illusions. He was useless as a bodyguard, at least until his hand was fully functional again.

  If that ever happens.

  He swallowed hard. No. He wasn’t even going to entertain that thought. He would recover. Fully. Completely. He was determined.

  Benedict took a sip of his brandy, but never took his eyes off Shane. “My daughter’s in love with you.”

  Shane was bowled over. It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. “I’m aware of that, sir.”

  “Elysee told me that you kissed her.”

  He tensed. Where was this conversation headed? He’d done it. He’d kissed her and he wasn’t a liar. “Yes, sir.”

  “Why?”

  “It felt like the right thing to do at the time.” Shane tried to gauge the President’s reaction and was surprised when he nodded.

  “Do you have tender feelings for her?”

  “I’m very fond of Elysee. We’re good friends.”

  “I’m aware of the psychological bond that develops between a bodyguard and the person he’s protecting,” Benedict said. “Especially when the bodyguard saves the protectee’s life.”

  “What exactly are you trying to say, sir?” Shane took a swig of the stout brandy. It burned his throat as he swallowed back the biting mouthful.

  “I respect you, Tremont. But more than that, I like you. You’re honorable and straightforward. You don’t pull any punches, but you can be trusted to keep your mouth shut.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “With someone like you, I wouldn’t have to worry that Elysee would be taken care of,” he said.

  “No, sir,” Shane said. “You have no worries on that score. I’d protect Elysee with my dying breath.”

  Yeah? And how are you going to do that with a useless hand?

  “And you’ve proven it.” Benedict kept nodding. “She couldn’t do any better than to marry a man like you.”

  Marry?

  Shane’s gaze flew to Nathan Benedict’s face. This was the first time such a notion had crossed his mind, but he felt that any man would be damned lucky to marry Elysee.

  “Until now, she’s been picking these spineless peckerheads who are just interested in her because of who she is. But I don’t have to tell you that. You’ve been her bodyguard for over a year. You know.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then she gets her heart broken when her flashin-the-pan boyfriends realize they’ll have to sign a pre-nup agreement leaving them with nothing if they divorce her. Or they discover what it’s really like living in the public eye and find out they’re never going to be stars just because they’ve glommed on to her. But you, you’re different. You really care.”

  “I do care about Elysee, sir.” And he did. But just how deep did his feelings run? He was startled to realize how much he did care. It didn’t compare to what he’d felt for Tish of course, but he never wanted to feel that kind of chaotic madness again.

  Benedict polished off his brandy with a long gulp; for the first time Shane realized the man was as nervous as he was. “Have you ever considered getting remarried? I know this sounds strange, but I’m worried about my little girl. I was forty-eight when she was born and I’m not going to be around forever. I’d like to see her happily married to a good man who’ll do right by her.”

  “Sir, I…” Shane didn’t know what to think, much less say.

  Nathan Benedict held up a hand. “Elysee loves you and you’re fond of her. You already know how easy she is to get along with. You kissed her. That means something.”

  Did it? Shane stroked his chin.

  “Whatever you decide, you have my undying gratitude for saving her life. If you hadn’t gotten between her and that backhoe…” Nathan let his voice trail off and Shane saw his eyes glisten with emotion. “You’re going to be compensated for that. And I want you to stay here at the ranch until your doctors release you from their care.”

  “What about my job as Elysee’s bodyguard?”

  Benedict shifted his weight and didn’t meet Shane’s eyes. “I don’t see how you can continue being her bodyguard, knowing she’s in love with you. But if you regain full function of your hand, we’ll find another protective detail for you.”

  “And if Elysee and I were to get married? What then? What kind of work would I do?”

  “How would you feel about heading up the Secret Service? Marshal Vega is retiring next year. The position has a lot of power. You’d be effecting policy, in charge of all my personal security, my life,” Nathan Benedict said with his unerring ability to read people. He’d figured out what motivated Shane most—the desire to protect and serve.

  “Elysee is a wonderful girl.”

  “She is.”

  “Give it some thought, Shane. I’d be honored to call you son.”

  He looked at the President and a feeling he’d never wrestled with came over him. He felt flattered and intrigued, honored, and yet he didn’t want to be given a job he hadn’t earned just because he’d married the President’s daughter. He also didn’t want to marry Elysee simply because it was the easiest thing to do.

  “I have to be honest, sir. I have no idea how I truly feel. About Elysee. About the job. About myself.” He indicated his injured hand.

  “I understand.” Benedict nodded. “You’ve got a lot to think about.”

  “Yes,” he
said. But deep within, Shane heard a soft voice whisper, This is it. This is the way to let go of Tish forever.

  The next afternoon, Elysee took Shane horseback riding around the perimeter of the ranch. The kitchen staff packed them a picnic lunch and the day was all blue sky, cool breeze, and autumn wildflowers in full bloom.

  They ate their lunch beside the lake, dining on chicken salad sandwiches, carrot sticks, and fresh fruit. Elysee talked animatedly about how she wanted to get involved with WorldFem. He could see the caring in her eyes, knew her heart ached over the injustices. They were so much alike in that respect. Both of them focused on making the world a better place, though each in their own way.

  “What a team we could be,” she said. “Going around the world, fighting for women’s rights. I’d give speeches, visit women in need, head charity drives, raise funds, and you could be there to watch over me. Making it all possible. If only I could convince my father that I know what I’m doing and that with you at my side I wouldn’t get taken advantage of.”

  “Elysee,” he said softly, “I’m afraid I can’t be your bodyguard.”

  Alarm spread across her. “How come?”

  He laid his right hand on the picnic blanket between them. “I can’t protect you, not with this.”

  “You’re going to get full function back. You’re dedicated to your physical therapy and you’ve got the right mental attitude,” she encouraged.

  “I’m trying my best, but I have to face the reality that no matter how hard I try, it might not ever happen. Besides, it’s more than the hand.”

  “You’re quitting? But why would you walk away from a job you love?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  She leaned forward, bracing her chin in her palm. “Explain it to me.”

  He thought of his conversation with her father the night before. He thought about how lonely he’d been for the last two years. How much he’d loved being married until the worst had happened for him and Tish. How he’d like to have that kind of happiness back again. It was time to release the past and move on. And Elysee, the one he was closest to, was the perfect person to do it with.

  “I can’t continue being your bodyguard, under the circumstances.”

  “What circumstances?”

  He didn’t know what he was going to say. He hadn’t planned it, hadn’t even made up his mind for sure until the words were out of his mouth.

  “Elysee Benedict, would you marry me?”

  “What?” She blinked, looking completely caught off guard.

  “Would you marry me?” he repeated.

  Elysee squealed, knocking over the picnic basket on her way into his lap. She hugged his neck and rained kisses upon his face. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  Shane blamed circumstances—his injury, their forced proximity, the beautiful autumn day. He blamed his job, his role as her hero. He blamed the way her eyes, blue as a robin’s egg, promised to ease the loneliness he hadn’t realized ran so deep. He blamed the earnestness on her face, her sweet scent, and her open honesty that made him want to tell her everything.

  But most of all, he blamed himself. For missing being married so badly he wanted to do it again, and for failing Tish so spectacularly that he felt a burning need to make some kind of amends. He was crossing all kinds of boundaries, violating oaths, breaking taboos. Bottom line of the bodyguard’s code—never, ever get emotionally involved with the person you’re protecting.

  What had he done?

  “Elysee,” he said, and then stopped. How did you go about taking back an impromptu marriage proposal? “Listen to me a minute, sweetheart, I…”

  “I’m calling Daddy!” she cried and whipped her cell phone from her pocket. “I can’t wait to tell him the good news. He really, really likes you. Oh, Shane, I’m so happy.”

  He looked down into her face, her eyes brimming with joyous tears, and his heart stilled with confusion and tenderness and a strange sort of peace. He liked taking care of people and Elysee let him take care of her. That was important for a man. To feel needed. It was something independent-minded Tish had never understood.

  This was suddenly too real.

  Tell her it was a mistake. Tell her you didn’t mean to ask her to marry you just yet. Tell her you jumped the gun, spoke too soon. You don’t even have a ring.

  But he couldn’t. She looked so happy and making her happy made him feel good. This was the right thing to do. No second-guessing. He’d made his decision and he was sticking with it.

  “Daddy,” Elysee bubbled into the phone, “guess what? Shane and I are getting married!”

  And that’s how Shane Tremont, middle-class boy from small-town America, found himself engaged to the President’s daughter.

  Chapter 6

  Tish was sitting cross-legged on her couch, staring at the new Stuart Weitzman sandals propped on her coffee table and feeling like a binge eater who had just downed two boxes of double-stuffed Oreos, when the telephone rang.

  She let it ring.

  What if it’s a job?

  Forcing a smile so the caller couldn’t tell she’d overindulged on shoes two days ago and had the grand total of three dollars and seventy-eight cents in her checking account, she picked it up, answering with the name of her business. “Capture the Moment Videos.”

  “Tish Gallagher?”

  “Yes. How may I help you?” Tish uncoiled her legs and sat up straight.

  “Amber Wilson gave me your name. You videotaped her wedding and she can’t stop raving about how great you are.”

  “Thank you.” Her spirits soared on the praise.

  “I’m getting married this Christmas Eve and while I know it’s rather short notice, I’m on the hunt for the best videographer in Houston.”

  “You’ve found her,” Tish said with a smile.

  “My name is Elysee Benedict—”

  “Whoa, wait a minute. The Elysee Benedict?”

  “That’s my name.” There was amusement in her voice.

  “Elysee Benedict? As in the President’s daughter?”

  “Well, yes, but I’m going to have to ask you for complete confidentiality.”

  Tish couldn’t believe it. The daughter of the President of the United States was calling?

  Her bravado vanished and she was left breathless. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. If she snagged this job, she was set. All the fame and fortune she’d been dreaming of would fall right into her lap.

  “Totally. Zipped lip. Tick a lock. Throw away the key.”

  Elysee laughed. “I’m interviewing videographers this afternoon at my father’s ranch in Katy. Are you available to drop by, say, three o’clock–ish?”

  “Absolutely.” Tish would have found a way to go to the moon for Elysee Benedict. She couldn’t believe it. The President’s daughter.

  “I’ll tell security to expect you. Just check in at the front gate and they’ll direct you around.”

  Several hours later, Tish arrived at the Benedict ranch, her heart filled with hope. She had changed outfits several times before deciding to go with a Bohemian style reflecting her personality—fresh, creative, fun. She wore a multi-colored circle skirt made of crinkle cloth with an expensive but simple turquoise V-neck tee. She put earrings in all four piercings in each ear, piled on the bracelets, and finished the ensemble with turquoise ballet-style slippers. She felt a hundred times more comfortable than in the Chanel suit she’d worn to meet Addison James.

  After making it past the security checkpoints, Tish found herself standing on the front steps of a sprawling ranch house that put her in mind of Southfork, from the old television show Dallas. Her body tingled. She was here. At the Benedict ranch, about to have a meeting with the President’s daughter.

  A woman dressed in a simple black pantsuit and a stern expression met her at the door. “I’m Lola Zackary,” she said, “Elysee’s executive secretary.”

  “Good to meet you.”

  Lola ushered her into a sitting room furn
ished with polished antiques. “A female Secret Service agent will frisk you for weapons, ma’am.”

  The Secret Service agent came into the room and frisked her. The woman nodded at Tish’s purse and the backpack containing her DVD player, video camera, and other equipment. “I’ll need to look through your bags.”

  Tish surrendered her things and stood watching while the agent leafed through them.

  “Take a seat, ma’am,” Lola said when the agent had finished her job and left the room. “Miss Benedict will see you shortly.”

  Tish sat on a high-backed chair near the window and knotted her fingers in her lap. The minute the Secret Service woman had vanished from the room, doubts crowded in. They were the same doubts that had occasionally overwhelmed her in the middle of the night when she was married to Shane.

  You’re out of your element. Out of your league. For Pete’s sake, you grew up on the south side of Houston. Who would want the likes of you?

  But she’d come so very far from her early background and, excluding her problem with impulse shopping, she was a pretty decent person. She was loyal to her friends, volunteered at the local battered women’s shelter a couple of hours a week. She was good at her job. But most of all, she genuinely cared about people.

  “You’re Tish?” Elysee Benedict came through the door with a warm, welcoming smile. She wore a simple pair of beige slacks and a black silk blouse that washed all the color from her skin. Her hair was pulled back with a headband. It wasn’t a look that flattered her narrow face.

  “You’re too young to be getting married,” Tish wanted to tell her, because she’d been Elysee’s age when she’d gotten married. But instead she enthusiastically shook her hand and said, “Hi, I’m Tish.”

  “I love your outfit,” Elysee said.

  “Thank you.”

  “And such gorgeous hair.” She gazed enviously at Tish’s mass of corkscrew curls.

  “It’s an untamed terror, is what it is.”

  “Try working with this thin, fine mess.” Elysee touched a poker-straight lock of mousy brown hair. “I’d kill for curls like yours.”

  “No one is ever satisfied with their hair. I bet Jennifer Aniston hates hers.”