Best Laid Plans (Dearly Beloved)

by James, Silver

  He offered her a cryptic smile and kissed her cheek. “It’s late. You and Laurel have a big day tomorrow with her final fitting.”

  Oh, but he enjoyed the way she sighed, as if she were disappointed. Good. Always leave an opponent wanting more. Truth be told, he was looking forward to when she was no longer his adversary, but his partner. And she would be. He had every intention of winning her love.

  Taking the long way home along the coastal road, Nick was stretching his time spent with Claire for as long as he could. He craved her smile, the sound of her voice, her laughter. When they were apart he even missed her adorable scowl. He was pleased those scowls came fewer and farther between these days, though he had plans for teasing the expression back on her face once they were a couple.

  The full moon glistened on the Pacific Ocean adding sparkle to the scenery flashing by. Nick considered the box tucked into his jacket pocket and resisted the urge to pat its comforting shape. If he stayed on the highway, he could drive straight to San Francisco. He would enjoy sharing San Francisco with Claire. Instead, he turned inland at the next exit.

  At her home—the dingy condo where she lived alone—he parked and hurried around to open her door. When they’d first started dating, she’d always beat him to it. Now, she’d learned to wait for him even though she snerked about his chivalry.

  “Chivalry is not dead,” he’d informed her at the time. “And whether you think so or not, I am a gentleman.”

  After that, she’d let him open doors for her, hold her wrap, and carry large packages. He’d even offered to hold her purse once. He grinned now at the memory of the shocked expression on her face.

  “I don’t remember saying anything funny.” Claire’s acerbic tone yanked him back to the present.

  “Would you believe that just being with you makes me grin like an idiot?” She rolled her eyes and his grin broadened as he offered his hand to help her from the low-slung seat.

  A bit to his disappointment, she’d started wearing slacks on their dates. He liked her legs. A lot. And enjoyed admiring them as she climbed into and out of the sports car. She’d caught on to that early and switched to clothing that left far less skin exposed.

  He continued to hold her hand as they walked to her front door. He kissed her sweetly as he had earlier, but then deepened his kiss, pulling her body closer and pressing it against his, so that there was no mistaking his interest.

  “Any chance of a nightcap?” He whispered the words against her temple as he pressed a kiss there.

  Claire inhaled several times as if warring with herself over an answer. She eventually stepped back and her shoulders slumped a little. He tilted her chin up with a fingertip underneath and offered her a regretful smile. “I’ll take that as a no.” He leaned down to gently slide his lips across hers. “Raincheck then.”

  He stepped back, waiting for her to unlock her door and step inside. He always waited until he heard her turn the lock before he left.

  “Why, Mr. Grant?”

  Nick fought to keep his poker face on. One step forward, two steps back. There was no challenge in the honorific now. He studied her, concerned at how deflated she seemed. “I thought I answered that question earlier, Claire.”

  Her eyes looked luminous in the moonlight and he couldn’t resist tracing her cheek with his fingertips. “I like you. And not because you are my daughter’s wedding planner. I like you because you are a fascinating woman. And I do wish you would call me by my first name.”

  He watched her closely, deciphering the series of expressions flitting across her face.

  “Mr. Grant—Nick, we both know this…this whatever it is can’t go anywhere.”

  “I know nothing of the sort.”

  “How many times have you been married?”

  While the question caught him off guard, he didn’t hesitate to answer. “Just the once…to Laurel’s mother. It didn’t work.”

  Claire looked surprised. She tilted her head and watched him for a long moment. “She left?”

  “With the pool boy. Claimed they were soul mates. He wanted to be a rock star.” He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Que sera, sera. What about your ex?”

  Claire flashed a rueful smile. “John was the rock star. And he ran off with the pool boy, too.”

  He managed not to laugh. “I promise,” he said solemnly, “I will never run off with the pool boy.”

  She laughed then and he joined her. “That’s good to know,” she said after catching her breath. Her smile faded a bit as she regarded him with a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I’m off balance with you, Mis—Nick. I don’t know what this thing between us is.”

  “I’m glad I’m not the only one then. I have a proposal for you, Ms. Vitale.” He noted the way her eyes dilated when he mentioned the word proposal. “I propose that we don’t worry about what this thing between us is. I propose that we simply enjoy each other and see what happens.” He offered her his hand to shake. “Deal?”

  Claire hesitated only a moment before she gripped his hand for a vigorous shake. “Deal.”

  Reluctant to release her, he tugged her closer for one more kiss. “Enjoy your day tomorrow, Claire Vitale. I’ve been banned from the bridal salon for the duration of the fitting. And I will miss seeing you.”

  Chapter 7

  Claire stepped into the luxurious dressing room and found several gowns hanging there—unfamiliar gowns. Had she inadvertently walked into the wrong salon? She backed out and bumped into the bridal consultant. “Didn’t you say room six?”

  The woman nodded. “You’re in the right place. Our bride is being mischievous today. She’s picking out gowns for you to try on.”

  “Me?” Claire clung to her sense of decorum like it was a life raft. Before she could comment further, Laurel bounced up.

  “Oh, good! You’re here. The seamstress isn’t quite ready for us so I thought we could pass the time by switching roles. I’m the wedding planner now and I’ve picked out some gowns for you to try on.”

  Claire attempted to speak several times before giving up. The look of sheer delight on Laurel’s face precluded her from raining on the girl’s fun. “Well, I certainly hope you’ve picked out something matronly for me.”

  Laurel waited outside the dressing room, comfortably seated in the viewing area, sipping raspberry ice tea. When Claire stepped out wearing the first gown, the girl’s eyes widened. “Oh, Claire,” she exclaimed. “You look amazing.”

  The crepe de chine sheath dress had a slight flare at the floor-length hem line. Cap sleeves provided a simple backdrop for the elegant shoulder-to-waist cowl neckline with a sheer lace inset. The lines of the dress smoothed the curves Claire often cursed and for once, she didn’t cringe from the image staring back at her in the three-way mirror.

  “You’ll make a beautiful bride.”

  She stared in the mirror, focused on Laurel’s face behind her. “Your performance in this role reversal game is spot on. Now, young lady, enough fooling around. You need to get into your own gown. There’s only one Grant wedding planned and that bride is going to rock her dress, right?”

  Laurel’s fitting took no time at all. Tall like her father, she was also slender. Off-the-rack clothes often fit her perfectly. The bridal salon would make a few minor adjustments, steam and press the gown, and have it delivered to the Grant estate two weeks before the wedding.

  While Laurel slipped back into her street clothes, Claire handled some voice mails left by the groom’s mother. Justin was a sweet kid, such a contrast to his demanding mother. In some ways, the woman was almost as bad as Nick. Mr. Grant, she mentally corrected.

  She looked up just as a junior clerk swooshed by holding her dress. She meant to keep the sigh internal but it slipped out. The dress was gorgeous and, unlike most, it fitted her rounded figure perfectly. Claire shoved thoughts of the dress away.

  She had the shambles of a rehearsal dinner to mend. Justin’s mother had fought with the country club’s chef
and now Claire had to find a restaurant that would take them on short notice. The wedding was just a month away. A wave of sadness rolled over her. Thirty days. Laurel and Nick would be out of her life then. The thought depressed her. She tried to pretend that it was Laurel she’d miss, but her heart knew better.

  ****

  Nick stared out his office window. A storm was brewing out at sea and the waves formed foamy whitecaps. His thoughts were as unsettled as the atmosphere. Laurel would be married in a few short days and he now faced his fear that Claire might very well walk out of his life for good.

  He’d come so close last night as he held her in his arms at her door. He wanted to tell her how he felt; wanted to crash against the barriers she threw up between them just like those waves now crashing against the private pier below his estate.

  He had more money than he could spend in ten lifetimes yet the one thing his heart desired eluded him. He’d kissed her, putting his entire soul into it. She’d responded, her lips softening beneath his onslaught and parting to let him in just as he longed she’d do with her heart.

  As lightning flashed, he turned from the window and stalked back to his desk. He sank into the leather chair but couldn’t settle. He twisted it to face the window again, the fingers of his right hand drumming the mahogany top of his desk. Laurel had tried to help, but now a bad case of nerves only got worse the closer the wedding came had a hold on her.

  His left hand dipped into his trouser pocket and withdrew the small black velvet box that had taken up permanent residence there. Nick flicked the top open and stared at the sparkling ring. Some of the women he’d gone out with would turn up their noses at the size. A mere one-and-a-half carets? They’d be insulted. But Claire’s hands were petite. He’d known the moment he’d looked at that ring it would be perfect on her left ring finger.

  Thunder boomed close enough to rattle the windows. Nick inhaled deeply. He’d made up his mind, decided what he would do. He smiled; the expression was one his business colleagues were all too familiar with. He snapped the ring box closed and deposited it back in his pocket. Time to get to work.

  Chapter 8

  Claire rubbed her temple and wondered where she’d tucked her bottle of ibuprofen. Not even noon and she already had a killer headache. The rehearsal dinner had been an unmitigated disaster.

  The best man got drunk and propositioned the maid of honor, whose fiancé had promptly tackled the man. The groom’s mother and father got into a shouting match, with the mother declaring she wanted a divorce before flouncing from the room.

  Sometimes, no matter how well you planned, things just went to hell anyway. At the end of the evening Claire had even suggested, out loud this time, that perhaps Laurel and Justin should elope.

  The party supply people had arrived and the tents appeared to be half-way erected. The caterers had moved into the kitchen. The truck from the liquor wholesaler was parked in the driveway while two burly men unloaded cases of wine and champagne.

  Heidi jogged by, clipboard in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. “Don’t ask, boss,” she called over her shoulder right before she disappeared around the corner of the house.

  Claire had tried to see Laurel earlier but the bride, claiming a headache, refused to open her bedroom door. She knew how the girl felt. She’d wanted to stay in bed hidden under the covers today, too. But she was the wedding planner and that meant she was in charge of making the day go according to plan.

  Two hours later, she stood outside Laurel’s room again, knocking. When she got no answer, she tried the door knob and stepped into the room as the door opened. No bride. No dress. Turning on her heel, she trotted to the far end of the hallway and pounded on the guest room door where Justin was supposed to be dressing. No answer. The door opened with an ominous creak. No groom.

  Panicked, she ran for the main staircase and managed, in her rush, to get to the first floor without falling. One of the catering staff paused when he saw her.

  “Oh! Ms. Vitale. There you are. Mr. Grant is looking for you. He’s in the…parlor?”

  Relief washed through her. Of course. The parlor. That’s where they’d decided Laurel and her wedding party would gather and dress. Nick must be in there with them for pictures. “Thanks!” she called over her shoulder as she headed toward the west wing.

  Breathless, she knocked once before opening the door—to a room empty but for Nick. She stared at him. Stared around the room. “Where’s Laurel?”

  “Gone.”

  She shook her head, worried she hadn’t heard him correctly. “Well…where’s Justin?”

  “He’s gone, too.”

  “Gone? They… Wait. What do you mean Laurel and Justin are gone?” Had they taken her suggestion seriously? Surely they hadn’t actually eloped. “Gone?”

  Nick nodded and she forced air into her lungs. Three hundred people were waiting out in the garden for a fairy tale bride and her groom. How could Nick look so perfectly calm when she wanted to hyperventilate?

  “Where are they?”

  He shrugged and looked nonchalant.

  She forced air into her lungs again. “You don’t know?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means they’re on their way to Bali but I don’t currently know their exact location.”

  “Bali?” Her voice squeaked. “Why are they going to Bali?”

  Nick chuckled. “To get married.”

  “But…but…” She snapped her mouth shut to keep from babbling. “The people. Out there. What are we going to do?”

  He smiled. “As I see it, we have two options.”

  Claire nodded and felt hopeful. This is what Nick did—swooped in, like a white knight on a charger, to take command.

  “I can walk out there, announce that Laurel and Justin have eloped, and dinner is served. Or…”

  She waited, her eyes widening as she held her breath.

  “Or we can give them a wedding. Albeit not the one they are anticipating.”

  Claire laughed. Hysterically. “A wedding? Do you just happen to have a bride and groom hiding in the closet?”

  “Well, not exactly in the closet.”

  She gasped as he took her hand and dropped to one knee. “Claire, you taught me there is more to life than corporate mergers. And you reminded me that enjoying good food, indulging in decadent desserts, and smelling the roses are something to be done every day. But most importantly, you taught me how to love a woman as funny and warm, as intelligent and wonderful as you are. Will you marry me?”

  Claire stared at him, speechless, shocked—wondering if she’d heard him right. The huge, sparkly diamond ring he held up toward her looked real. She shook her head to clear the fog and stopped just short of pinching herself. This had to be a dream. Nick Grant was not a man who got down on one knee.

  He smiled that charming I-know-what’s-best smile of his. “I hope that headshake isn’t your answer.”

  Nick squeezed her hand, his fingers warm and gentle where they wrapped around hers. “Say yes, Claire. Say yes and we’ll walk down the aisle together, say our vows, and celebrate with three hundred people, most of whom we barely know.”

  A giggle burbled out before she could catch it. His smile broadened and he rose in one athletic motion. “I will take that as a yes.”

  She nodded until she got dizzy before melting against him.

  He cupped her cheeks in his hands to still her head.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I love you but I never thought—”

  “You never thought I’d love you?” He finished her sentence. Only this time she didn’t mind. “I absolutely do, Claire. And I was worried you could never love a curmudgeon like me.”

  She laughed. “Curmudgeon? Really? You might be a square, but I would never call you a curmudgeon.”

  She sobered as the weight of what he’d asked—and she’d agreed to—settled on her shoulders. “Marriage? Are you sure, Nick?”

&
nbsp; She glanced down. Her wedding planner power suit was acceptable attire for behind the scenes, but totally unacceptable for a wedding—especially her own.

  As if reading her mind, Nick pointed to a large white ribbon-tied silver box on the chaise lounge. She’d thought it a late wedding gift. “For you. Laurel helped me pick it out.”

  Curious, she opened the box and was left speechless for the second or third or tenth time that day. Nestled under crisp tissue paper was the very wedding dress Laurel had teased and cajoled Claire into trying on at her own final fitting. She sniffled and blinked hard to keep the tears pooling in her eyes from spilling over and ruining her makeup.

  “Will you wear it? For me?” Nick stepped up behind her and placed his hands on her sides as she shook out the dress. “This may not be your dream wedding, and I’m no prince—but that dress is definitely something out of a fairy tale.”

  She tilted her head up and turned to look at him. “I think it’s absolutely perfect. Give me five minutes.”

  “I’m giving you the rest of my life, sweetheart.” He bent to kiss her and retreated as Heidi swept in.

  “We’ll need fifteen minutes. Now get out so the lady can dress.” She bullied Nick into the hall and shut the door in his face.

  Exactly fifteen minutes later, Heidi opened the door. “You’re not supposed to see her until she walks down the aisle. Get out there and tell everyone there’s been a change in plans.” She shooed him off with a flapping hand motion. “And wait up there with the minister, like a proper groom.”

  Heidi remained guarding the doorway until he disappeared. Once he was gone, she swung the door wide open and smiled. “It’s show time.”

  ****

  Claire squeezed the bouquet so hard her hands cramped. White, star-shaped stephanotis entwined with pink rosebuds and ivy leaves, their sweet fragrances wafting around her. Instead of bringing her peace, they evoked panic. She had to be crazy.