But when she looked up, she realized the same couldn’t be said of the TV gang, all of whom were now staring at her. Straightening her Stetson, Carrie tried her hardest to look professional. “I need to go and check on some of the details for tomorrow,” she said, and a few of the other women turned back to the screen, no longer interested. “Can you get her into bed?” she asked the others, feeling a smidge guilty.
Ruth would understand, she told herself, as she let herself out of the bridal suite. Hell, if she was awake, she’d be cheering her on.
Carrie slung her hat over the end of the banister and checked her watch. Nearly midnight; no time to get changed. She glanced down at her Wedding Planner pyjamas, and shrugged. Too late now.
Skipping down the stairs and into the lobby, she danced barefoot across the cold tile floor, into the dining room, and toward the open terrace door. She was already cold, and wishing she’d had time to grab a coat, at least. But, she thought with a smile, hopefully she wouldn’t be out there too long.
After all, given the weather, it only made sense to invite Nate back up to her room to get warm, didn’t it?
She’d only really suggested the terrace for the sense of nostalgia, anyway. She just wanted to see him again in the moonlight.
Carrie pushed aside the curtain and stepped onto the chilly wood of the terrace, then stopped. There was Nate, standing before her, looking just as he must have done that first night, fourteen years ago. Right down to the girl he was kissing.
Chapter 12
Carrie stumbled back into the darkness of the dining room, unable to take her eyes off the sight before her.
“Carrie?” Izzie appeared in the kitchen hallway, coat on and sausage butty in hand. “What are you doing in here? I thought you were outside with Nate?”
“He’s...busy.” Carrie turned away from the windows. Why prolong the torture? “Why are you still here, anyway?”
“Just waiting for my brother to come and pick me up,” Izzie explained, her eyes wide. “But if it wasn’t you on the terrace, who’s he gone to meet?”
“Given the way he was kissing her, I’d guess it’s someone he knows pretty well,” Carrie said, hating the bitter edge in her voice.
Izzie’s eyes grew even wider. “Ohhh.”
Wrapping her arms around her middle to try to keep in the small amount of heat she had left, Carrie said, “Look, if he comes back in, could you tell him I called down to say that I couldn’t leave Ruth, and I’ll see him tomorrow?”
Izzie nodded, slowly. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” Because being humiliated was one thing. But Nate knowing he’d humiliated her was far, far worse.
As she climbed the stairs to her attic room, Carrie couldn’t stop herself wondering how many girls he’d kissed on the terrace over the years.
* * * *
Nate had shut the terrace door behind him and felt Carrie’s arms slip ’round his waist even as he stepped away from the glass. Her lips were on his before he even had a chance to register the black hair where he’d expected red.
He’d blinked, put his hands to her shoulders and disentangled his lips. “Mel?”
“Surprised?” Melody gave a throaty laugh. “I did try the front door, but it was locked. Thought I’d try my luck at the side doors.” She ran a hand down his arm. “And look how lucky I got.”
She’d reached up to kiss him again, and he’d stepped back a moment too late. “No, Mel. Wait. Come on. We talked about this.”
“You talked about this,” Mel corrected, moving to stand with her back against the terrace rail, her voice sharp and short in the night air. “You said it was a bad idea. Just like you said you’d had enough of my program, two years ago. And you walked out when I didn’t agree with you.”
Nate had stared at her across the darkness of the terrace, at the hard, tense lines of her body, and barely recognized her. “That’s not what happened. I just–”
“You just left,” Mel interrupted. “And I spent two years thinking you might come back, because all you said when you left was that you couldn’t do the program anymore.”
“You dumped me!”
“From the program! Not from...” Mel’s voice softened. “Not from us. And then when you did come back, I thought... But all you talked about was this place. So I wanted to see it. Wanted to see what it was you couldn’t leave.”
“It’s better in the daylight,” Nate had said, aiming for levity and failing.
“It doesn’t matter.” Mel had shaken her head. “I’m never going to get it. It’s not my world. And maybe Carrie Archer is everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”
Nate swallowed. “I think she might be.”
“But so was I, once.” Mel’s eyes had glinted in the moonlight as she stared at him. “Me, and London, and the program, and our flat. What changed?”
“I did.” Nate had stepped forward and rested one hand against her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize...”
“I just need to know–” Mel said, and before he’d realized what she intended, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck again and kissed him, hard and hot and long.
Somewhere in the back of his head, Nate had heard a door open and shut again, and prayed it was one of the stag do getting lost on his way to the bathroom.
Nate reached behind him and loosened her grip on his neck before he spoke again. “I’m sorry.”
Mel seemed to deflate as she moved apart from him, her shoulders slumped and her eyes on the wood by their feet. “Yeah, I know. You can’t help who you fall in love with, I guess.”
She stayed silent for a moment, before her head jerked up, her shoulders straightened, and she moved toward the steps off the terrace to the drive. “You’ve got your show, by the way,” she called back, as she descended the stairs. “That’s what I drove all this way to tell you. And it won’t be me trekking up here every week to run the damn thing, I can tell you that.”
“Are you sure?” Nate leaned against the edge of the terrace and looked down at her. “I mean...”
Mel shrugged. “Wasn’t my decision anyway. But it’s yours. So why don’t you go tell your little girlfriend the good news.”
Nate checked his watch. Quarter past twelve. Where had Carrie got to, anyway? The memory of a metal frame scraping on wood returned to him, and he winced. “Yeah, I really better had.”
But he stayed a moment longer, to see Mel safely in her car and her car lights heading away south, just in case.
When he was sure she was really gone, he turned and headed down the terrace to enter the inn again via the dining room. The last thing he needed after a visit from Mel was another encounter with the stag night.
Shutting the door behind him, Nate blinked in the dimly lit room, the only light coming from the lobby. He stepped forward and saw Izzie, in position behind the reception desk, picking at a sandwich.
“I thought your brother was coming to get you,” he said, as he leaned in the doorway and smiled at her.
“I think he fell asleep again,” Izzie said, not looking up. “I’ll try him again in a moment.”
“Okay then. I’m going to head home, I think, so I’ll see you in the morning?” Nate turned to head down the kitchen hallway to the back door.
“By the way,” Izzy said, her sharp tone stopping him. “Carrie called down. Said she couldn’t leave Ruth and she’ll see you tomorrow.”
Nate winced. At least he had a probable answer to who opened the terrace door. Of course Izzie would have wanted to know who was out there with him, if it wasn’t Carrie. He just worried about what she’d seen. “Iz, look. The woman on the terrace? That was my ex-girlfriend. Who I very firmly reminded of the ex part of our relationship.”
“None of my business.” Izzie was still not looking at him.
“No, but I don’t want you to think–” Izzie’s mobile interrupted him, ringing with a high-pitched squeal.
“My brother,” she said. “I’d better find out where he is. Se
e you tomorrow.”
And with that, Nate was dismissed. He trudged into the blackened gardens, back to his summerhouse, wondering how likely Izzie was to tell Carrie what she’d seen tonight. And how much trouble he was going to be in tomorrow.
* * * *
The following morning, Carrie and Ruth sat in the front drawing room, a tray of untouched coffee and croissants between them, staring at Carrie’s epic to do list.
“I’m still not seeing the part where it says let the bride drink her own bodyweight in champagne,” Ruth moaned.
Carrie rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t actually able to do much to stop you. Besides, it was your hen night. It’s compulsory.”
“Well, it hurts. How are you even functioning today?”
“Not very well,” Carrie answered, replaying Nate’s epic kissing of somebody else on her terrace. Surely there was some sort of explanation for it? But she’d spent all night trying to think of one, and got nowhere. He had to be around somewhere, she knew, because the Christmas tree had made its way in from the gardens to the lobby, and Izzie was humming Jingle Bells while she strung the lights round it. She just couldn’t decide if she wanted to see him and hear his excuse or not. Especially when she had so many bigger things to worry about.
She blinked and stared at the list again, waiting for the outer edges to come into focus. Time to get back to work. “Okay. Main issues for today.”
Ruth ticked them off on her fingers, and Carrie circled the corresponding number on the list. “Rehearsal dinner, guest check-in and setting up for tomorrow.”
“Correct. Now, as the bride, you’re supposed to be panicking and trying to make last minute changes.”
“Would that help?” Ruth asked. “Because I do a fine line in unreasonable demands.”
“I think maybe it would be better if you just took charge of welcoming your guests and looking pretty for the dinner tonight,” Carrie suggested. “You can leave the rest to me.”
“Fine by me.” Ruth reached out to pour herself some coffee, but just stared at it. “But I do have to remind you, Anna’s going to be here at two to look over everything for tomorrow.”
Carrie pulled a face. “I know. Believe me.” Just what she needed; her ex-boss still checking over all her work.
“Hey, you managed for five years,” Ruth reminded her. “You can make it through one more wedding.”
The thought was incredibly seductive. Just one more wedding, the most important wedding she’d ever arranged, and Carrie would be free of Wedding Wishes and Anna Yardley forever. Then she could start focusing on the Avalon as hers, again.
She just had to make it through the next forty-eight hours. How hard could it be?
Izzie stuck her frowning face around the door, just as she reached for the coffee, and Carrie cursed herself for even thinking of tempting fate like that.
“What’s happened?” she asked, wondering if Nate’s mystery woman might have fallen down some stairs. “Who’s bleeding?”
“Nothing like that,” Izzie assured her. She shot a nervous glance at Ruth, which made Carrie worry even more. “I’ve just got the florist on the line.”
Carrie jumped to her feet, motioning for Ruth to stay where she was. “Remember, your job today is to stay calm, welcome your guests...”
“And look pretty,” Ruth finished. “I know.” She twisted her engagement ring ’round her finger. “You’ll let me know if there’s a problem, though, right?”
“Absolutely,” Carrie lied, and went to find out what had gone wrong now.
* * * *
“What on earth went on in here last night, boy?” Stan asked, his voice booming, and Nate tried not to wince as he continued the effort of turning the bar back into a respectable hotel drinking establishment.
“Just the usual, Stan. Drunken debauchery and loose morals.” Nate thought he heard Henry stifle a chuckle.
“That’s what I heard,” Stan muttered, just quiet enough for Nate to pretend not to have heard him.
What had Izzie been telling everyone about last night? And most importantly, what had she told Carrie? Nate hadn’t seen hide nor hair of either of them all morning, or he’d have asked, just to be put out of his misery.
“Now, I know I’m not your father,” Stan went on, apparently undeterred by Nate’s lack of answer. “But I think a young man like you needs someone to look out for him.”
“I’m not really that young,” Nate protested.
“I just want to make sure you’re thinking sensibly about this,” Stan said, and Nate wondered if he should just confess to something to get out of the conversation. “You’ve got a responsibility to...”
He trailed off as Carrie came running in, clipboard flapping along behind her.
“Oh, thank God,” Nate muttered. Carrie looked up at him incredulously, and he couldn’t tell if there was anger behind her eyes or not, so he added in a more concerned tone, “What’s happened? Is there blood?”
Carrie shook her head. “It’s more of a floral emergency.”
Nate winced. Ruth had been very particular about her wedding flowers. “No cool water roses?” He’d always suspected they’d have a problem timing the arrival from Ecuador.
“No flowers,” Carrie said. Now that was a problem. “The florist had a break-in last night. Nothing taken, but the vandal snapped or ruined all the flowers. I need you to fix it.”
Nate decided that answered the question of whether Izzie had told her. This was definitely punishment. “How?”
“I don’t care,” she said, and left.
“Quite the challenge,” Stan said, eyebrows raised. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m not entirely sure yet,” Nate admitted. “But I suspect it will involve my gran.”
“She’s in a wheelchair, son,” Stan reminded him.
“She can arrange flowers sitting down,” Nate pointed out, picking up the bar phone and dialing. “Gran? I need a favor.”
Maybe if he fixed the flowers, Carrie would agree to be in the same room as him long enough for him to explain how kissing Mel had really been for Carrie’s benefit.
Except maybe he wouldn’t put it exactly like that.
* * * *
Anna arrived with a large wheeled suitcase and a list of problems. Starting with, “I’ve just been looking at these Orders of Service, Carrie. Are you aware you’ve misspelt the second reader’s name?”
All Carrie knew was she’d proofed the text for the Orders of Service three times based on the final email received from Anna herself, and a second, double-checking email from Ruth.
“Why don’t I stash your bag for you, then we can go through all the materials and timings for tomorrow before I get someone to take you to your hotel,” she suggested. It was far too early in the festivities to get into that sort of argument.
Anna stared at her. “Why aren’t I staying here? I’m the wedding planner, I need to stay on-site.”
“We only have limited space here, Anna. Ruth wanted just family at the Avalon. I’m sure this was covered in the reports.”
“You’re staying here,” Anna pointed out, and Carrie felt her temper fraying.
“I live here, Anna. And I’m family. Now where do you want to start?”
Twenty minutes later, they’d established that Anna now hated everything about the planned wedding and the Avalon, and probably Carrie herself. Carrie looked down at her list and the endless scribbling she’d added to it, and put down her pen. “Okay. Well, if you’d like to show me the spelling error on your original email we used for the Orders of Service text, I’ll set about getting those reprinted.”
Anna ignored the faint accusation and said, “Yes, I think that would be a good idea. Ruth’s aunt would be very upset, I imagine, otherwise.”
Carrie handed over the clipboard without a word and let Anna make the necessary changes. Then she added a note to her mental list to keep both versions, just in case.
“Well, I’ll leave you to sort out these few
things, while I go and get ready for the rehearsal dinner.” Anna got to her feet and brushed down her suit, presumably for invisible inn lint.
“Then I’ll see you at dinner,” Carrie said, keeping a fixed smile on her face until Anna left the room. As the door shut, she sank into her chair and surveyed the list again.
It didn’t look any better.
“You know the flowers aren’t here, right?” Ruth asked from the doorway. “Shouldn’t they be here by now?”
“Everything is under control,” Carrie said, hoping she wasn’t lying. God only knew where Nate would find Cool Water Roses in Coed-y-Capel, or Felinfach, or Aberarian, or anywhere outside of Ecuador, for that matter. But that was his problem. And he deserved it. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
Ruth didn’t look convinced. “Is that your to do list?” She grabbed the clipboard from Carrie’s hands before she could stop her and dropped into the chair Anna had just vacated. “Why are we reprinting the Orders of Service?”
“Because Anna gave me the wrong spelling of your aunt’s name.” As a precaution, Carrie handed over the already printed versions.
Ruth checked it over and said, “No, she didn’t. This is right.”
Not really all that surprised, Carrie struck a line through the re-printing item on the list. “I think she was hoping I’d get them all reprinted and have complaints from your family.”
“She’s getting desperate, then.” Ruth laughed. “I suppose we should be grateful she hasn’t sabotaged the flowers or something.”
Carrie thought about phoning the florist to suggest dusting for prints, but decided convincing Ruth that everything was okay was a higher priority. “Absolutely. Are all your guests here?”
“All except Auntie Celia.” Ruth leaned back in her chair and sighed. “God, they’re exhausting. How do you deal with people all day?”
“To be honest, not really a problem so far at the Avalon.”
Ruth smiled, her eyes still closed. “Give it time.”
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