The Wedding Diaries

by Linda Francis Lee

  Vivi’s heart just about burst with enthusiasm and purpose.

  Sitting down with a cup of tea, she started making her plans. The food they would eat, the games they would play, and the songs they’d sing. Okay, maybe no songs.

  Instantly she was back in her days of Miss Teen Homemaker of America, planning the event, coordinating the schedule. When she had a glimmer of memory about being the runner-up, iceberg and all, instead of the winner, she disregarded it. A picnic was a picnic.

  Once the menu was planned, she glanced at the clock. It was nearly noon and Max hadn’t returned. She really wasn’t disappointed. She wasn’t.

  She went to Pricemart and shopped, buying everything she needed for Max and his family. Over the next hour, she readied hamburgers and hotdogs for the grill, whipped up gigantic batches of potato salad and coleslaw, then started on dessert. By the time she had everything ready, the brownies in the oven baking, it was five o’clock and she had the biggest mess she had ever seen. And still no Max.

  With no help for it, she rolled up her sleeves, turned on the radio, then started to clean. After a minute, she started to tap her foot. After five, she started to hum. And when Aretha Franklin came over the wires, Vivi bit her lip, glanced around the empty kitchen, then couldn’t help herself from belting out “R-e-s-p-e-c-t” in time with the music.

  Perfect veneers dropped away. She swished her hips and sang along as she rinsed bowls, stacked dishes, and did Aretha proud. But her eyes went wide when she did one hugely impressive jumping jack turn . . . and came face-to-face with Max.

  Vivi screamed. Massively manly Max jumped back. Then, after one sharp glare, he started talking to her—or more specifically, it looked like he was lecturing her.

  Mortified that she’d been caught, she didn’t turn down the volume. She wasn’t too keen on knowing what he had to say. At least that was the decision until a woman walked up beside him.

  She was beautiful. That is, if you liked perfectly elegant mixed with scads of perfectly proper shoulder-length blond hair, a hint of foundation, a dash of blush, and the requisite low-heeled pumps of the Symphony Society crowd.

  Max turned off the stereo with a click.

  After a second, the woman raised an expensively plucked brow. “Who’s this?” she asked, looking Vivi up and down.

  Vivi took off the brownie-stained apron and set it aside. If she hadn’t prided herself on liking everyone she met and finding something to appreciate in all people, she would have hated the woman on sight. Or maybe it was the strange way the woman made her feel by standing so close to Max.

  But she didn’t care, Vivi told herself firmly. She didn’t dislike this obnoxiously elegant woman.

  Vivi peeled back a wide smile. “Hello, I’m Vivi. And you are?”

  “Max’s date.”

  Bitch. Oops, sorry.

  Max got that look about him, stern and commanding, as he glanced at the woman. “Nell,” he said in a really unfriendly way.

  Nell smiled shyly, abashed, though Vivi could tell it was only for show.

  Hmmm, something not so perfect about their date.

  “Nell, this is Vivi Stansfield. She’s helping me out with the girls.”

  “Ah, the new nanny.” Nell regained her superior footing as if she had never lost it and gave Vivi another once-over. “Surely you’re not the Vivi Stansfield that we read so much about.”

  Vivi had to fight really hard to keep the smile in place. “Afraid so.”

  Nell looked pleased. She glanced back and forth between Vivi and Max, then said, “I’ll just go make a call, then freshen up.”

  With little more than a superior smirk, she turned and left the room.

  Gone, just like that. As if she had nothing to worry about by leaving the two of them alone.

  “Excuse me,” Vivi started to call after her.

  But Max caught her arm and held her there as the kitchen door swung closed.

  “Whatever you were going to say,” he stated, “don’t.”

  Vivi gave him an indignant glare. “She wasn’t even threatened by me.”

  He raised a brow.

  “Not even the least little bit,” she complained.

  “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

  With a scowl, she glanced in the chrome bread box, yelped, and leaped back. “I look terrible!”

  Max chuckled. “Now you know why I jumped.”

  “Very funny.” She tugged her arm away.

  “Why are you here?”

  Her mind scanned for an answer, since she wasn’t in the mood to admit to being evicted, especially with Miss Perfect out there getting more perfect. “Time off is overrated. As a dedicated employee, I thought I should be here.”

  Max leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. She could tell he didn’t believe her, and just when she thought she’d truly have to confess, he spoke. “Are you staying here over the weekend because you’re trying to avoid Grady?” he asked sternly.

  Avoid Grady?

  At first she was confused, then she was elated. Saved. “Yes! That’s it. I’m still trying to get over my ex-fiancé.” That wasn’t a lie. Whenever she allowed herself to think about it, it seemed impossible that they weren’t getting married anymore—that she wasn’t getting married anymore. She had the dress, the wedding cake top, even her wedding diary filled with notes.

  Who wouldn’t want to avoid facing the reality of that, if not the reality of Grady? And just because she’d had the sudden insight that they weren’t right for each other, that didn’t mean she didn’t feel badly about everything. But no reason to explain all of that.

  “It only makes sense that I wouldn’t want to be home alone in my apartment, moping around, stuffing my face with chocolate. And what else would a reasonable person do when this city is filled with potential land mines that remind me of Grady?”

  Max scowled, but Vivi was on a roll and couldn’t seem to stop herself. “That field where we played in the snow. The busy streets filled with yellow taxicabs, where we walked hand and hand—” She cut herself off.

  “Why doesn’t this sound like El Paso?”

  Vivi grimaced. “Okay, so maybe that was Jenny and Oliver in Love Story, but still, I have memories and I deserve to drown in them for a few days, and why not drown here rather than . . . somewhere else?”

  The change in his mood happened swiftly. Max pushed away from the counter and he didn’t stop until he was directly in front of her.

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re here or not?”

  Just standing close to this man did strange things to her nerves. Awareness and heat made her skin tingle with the memory of his hands touching her, his lips coming down on her—

  “Am I a horrible kisser?”

  Immediately his body tensed. “What?”

  She couldn’t believe she had asked. “Sorry, it’s just that, well, I wondered.”

  “Too late, I’m already wise to your circuitous method of conversation meant to evade and distract. Why are you here?”

  “I was serious. But forget it,” she managed to say, staring at the broad expanse of his chest. “I have a tiny problem.”

  That warrior’s tension of his sizzled through him, and she knew if she looked up, his dark brow would be furrowed. So she didn’t look, just sighed and realized she couldn’t hide from this problem any more than she could hide from the rest.

  He touched her then, gently, just one strong finger to her chin as he forced her to meet his eyes.

  “What is it, Vivienne?”

  She hated the way he refused to call her Vivi. Somehow the use of her given name felt intimate and knowing, catching her off guard, making her say and do things that normally she wouldn’t do.

  “I was evicted.”

  That certainly doused the flames.

  He stood there a second longer, his finger frozen at her chin, then, “Have you always been this much of a disaster?”

  “You flatterer, you.”<
br />
  Max dropped his hand away. “First the credit cards, then the car, now the apartment.” He hesitated, and she could feel the intensity of his gaze burning into her. “Are you sure you’re telling me everything?”

  “Of course I am. What else could there be?”

  “God only knows.” He looked at her long and hard, then finally said, “I don’t think you’re simply overdrawn. I think your father’s the one in financial trouble and in the process is pulling you down.”

  Vivi reeled, a wealth of emotion careening through her. Hot and cold. She turned away and looked out the window. “My father would never hurt me. My father loves me. He wouldn’t do that.” She started to pace. “It’s all a misunderstanding, and just as soon as I find him—” She froze. “I mean, as soon as I get him on the phone, he’ll explain how all of this is a horrible mistake. You heard that message. He sounded fine. He told me not to worry.”

  Max watched her, could all but feel the stress as she tried to keep that crystalline facade around her. Since the night he had seen her in Bobby’s Place, she continued to hold on to her faith in Jennings Stansfield. Admirably. She had not given in, as he could tell she wanted to. But now he saw the cracks were deepening.

  “Daddy, where are you?” he could barely hear her whisper.

  Max was certain she had forgotten he was there, and he felt the hard knot inside him try to slip.

  With this woman it was always the same. Her laughter and strength would give way to reveal vulnerability. In those moments she seemed frail, and his frustration would give way to need. Need to slip deep inside her thoughts—and her body. Take her completely. And in doing so, once and for all, extricate her from his mind.

  But could he get her out of his mind?

  Then, as had happened again and again since she walked into his office, he remembered, the memories swirling back. Back to that night of the debutante ball. The girls dressed in shimmering white satin. He in a tux. But unlike the dates and fathers, Max had been a waiter moonlighting to make ends meet. All that juggling to keep his brothers and sisters afloat. The exhaustion.

  The minute he saw Vivienne, everything had evaporated but her.

  She had been sleek, wearing the same glittering tiara she had worn as a child. And like that day when he was young and saw her on the stage, he had felt the need to reach out and touch her.

  Her father was nowhere to be seen, no doubt downstairs in the bar or running late.

  Forgetting himself as he always did when he saw her, Max didn’t think about who he was and walked toward her. But just before he would have said her name, the look in her eyes stopped him.

  She stood alone, her porcelain features held in a perfect smile that didn’t match the darkness in her pewter eyes. Then a woman who had to have been her mother walked up in attire that he could only describe as earth mother chic, saying, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. But you know Jennings. Can’t be counted on for anything.”

  “Don’t say that,” Vivi had stated with the staunch belief of a young girl who adored her father.

  Max saw the look of bitterness that almost swallowed Isabelle Stansfield. She saw her daughter’s unwavering belief. And constant disappointment.

  Now, standing in his kitchen with her, Max felt the same weakness inside him as he had felt that night. The need to take her in his arms and solve her problems.

  As he had done so many times before, he reached out to her. But this time he touched her.

  As if he had no will of his own, Max ran his thumb along her jaw. Barely a touch, but her breath caught, her pale gray eyes darkening.

  He thought of the afternoon in her apartment, touching her, watching her passion.

  Unable to help himself now, he traced her mouth with the tips of his fingers. Like the ten-year-old boy, he felt himself shake. She was beautiful, as beautiful as she was to him when he had first seen her.

  Her breath went ragged the second his fingers grazed against her skin, her brow furrowing in panic and concern. But just when he thought she would pull away, she sighed and stepped into his arms, clinging to him. And he was lost—lost as he had been growing up, lost as he had been for so many years when he had nearly drowned after his father had left, then his mother died. Suddenly he clung to Vivienne, their mouths slanting together.

  “Max,” she breathed, her fingers curling into the back of his shirt.

  Running his hands down her spine, molding her to him, he could feel her curves. His erection was swift and intense. He felt feral and reckless and he wanted her closer. He wanted to be inside her, just like that. From a simple kiss to need in a heartbeat.

  He sensed her own desire, but sensed as well a certain franticness, as if she didn’t understand how quickly things had flared between them.

  Then suddenly she pushed at him, her tiny hand flattening on his chest. “Why do you want me?”

  The question jarred in his mind. “What?”

  Her lips were slightly swollen from his kiss, her eyes glazed with sexual awareness. “What is it about me that makes you want me?” she asked, confusion mixing with desire. “Over and over again we’re drawn together. But I don’t know why.”

  He saw in her expression that she truly wanted to know, wanted to understand. But how could he explain when he didn’t understand it any more than she did, and liked it even less.

  Suddenly he was back in that hotel, back on that debutante night, reaching out. Like a young, innocent fool, he had wanted to step in when her father had deserted her. The knight in shining armor coming to her rescue.

  But just as he was about to, just as Vivienne’s eyes settled on him, her name was bellowed through the great hall.

  “Vivi!”

  Vivienne had grown still in her white debutante gown, then turned, worry replaced by a joy that kicked Max in the midsection. Everyone there turned as well, ensnared by Jennings Stansfield as he strode into the gold, gilt, and crystal chandelier opulence of the hotel ballroom, larger than life.

  While Max had served plates of food and poured water and wine, Jennings had presented his daughter, the most beautiful girl there. Max had been forgotten— that is, if she had ever noticed him at all.

  Now, all these years later, he didn’t understand what he felt. Part of him wanted her, but part of him couldn’t look at her without thinking about the years of struggling to keep his head above water.

  “Hey,” she said, with a laugh that didn’t show in her eyes, “don’t worry about it. It was a silly question.”

  Red crept into her cheeks and she started to turn away. Unable to help himself, he caught her arm.

  “I think a better question is why do you keep ending up in my arms. Why do you want me? It’s time you faced up to who you are.”

  Whatever embarrassment she had felt before melted away, and her eyes flashed. “Who is that, Max? The pampered princess that everyone accuses me of being?”

  “You tell me. Are you really a woman whom everyone has misjudged? Or do you even know?”

  She sucked in her breath. “Why are you doing this?”

  He looked at her hard, then said, “Maybe because we all have to realize who we have been before we can truly understand who we have the potential to become. I’m willing to help you, Vivienne. Your father isn’t here, and my guess is that he either can’t or won’t bail you out of this mess. And short of taking my offer of money, or being a nanny for the rest of your life, you’d better find something you can do.”

  They stared at each other, and just when he would have damned all else and pulled her back, Nell called out.

  “Max! I’m ready.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Early the next morning, the house was quiet. It was Sunday, the day before the picnic, and Vivi stood in the kitchen, thinking—not obsessing, she promised herself—about Max.

  As if the thought made him appear, he pushed through the swinging door. He wore workout clothes and a towel slung around his neck. And before she could stop herself, she sniffed indign
antly and said, “Had a little sleep-over, did we?”

  So much for #12 on her list.

  Max raised an incredulous brow. But it seemed to her she had a little leeway in the snippy department since he was the one who had kissed her, then waltzed out the door with another woman. Who could blame her for being a tad on the testy side?

  But rather than giving her the opportunity to indulge in some really good verbal venting, allowing her to find out if indeed he had slept with the woman, Max only smiled, grabbed an apple, tapped her on the nose, went to his room without a word, showered, changed into golf clothes, then disappeared.

  An hour later, she was so frustrated and antsy that she even started missing the girls. For half a second, she felt the whole life-falling-apart panic start to rise like a tide. But in the next, she knew the only solution was to do something productive.

  She had already determined that the laundry room needed to be organized. But how?

  A dry board with colored markers hung on the wall in the laundry room and there were several colored baskets stacked in a closet. In a matter of minutes, she came up with a color-coordinated plan for doing whites on Mondays and Thursdays, darks on Tuesdays, bright colors on Wednesday, and bedding on Friday. She designated a whole separate basket for clothes that couldn’t be put in the dryer. There would be no more laundry calamities in the Landry household if she could help it.

  After that, she moved on to her closet and drawers. Not to organize, this time, but to find a way to start dealing with her debt.

  It’s time you faced up to who you are.

  Vivi scoffed. She would show Max Landry who she was. She was someone who could manage on her own and manage well, thank you very much.

  By noon, Vivi had made three stacks. One of clothes that still had price tags on them and could be returned, another of items that she felt certain she could sell on consignment, and a third for every piece of Louis Vuitton luggage she owned.