Save the Date (Wild Wedding Series Book 3)

by Ann Marie Walker

  The doors had barely opened when the sounds of mariachi music greeted them from somewhere in the distance.

  “Think that’s live?” Cassie asked.

  Rebecca shrugged. “Fifty-fifty when it comes to my brother.”

  The music grew louder the closer they came to the kitchen, and while it wasn’t live, that certainly didn’t make the mood any less festive. Olivia was wearing a pair of jeans rolled up past the ankle along with a bright-red, off-the-shoulder peasant top, and had her blond waves piled in a messy knot on top of her head. But it wasn’t her attire that made the mood so light, or even the music. It was the way their hostess danced barefoot across the industrial-sized kitchen.

  Like everything else in Cole’s penthouse, the kitchen was high-end. Heck, his appliances could have probably paid for an entire condo. Not in this building, but still. Sleek black-lacquered cabinets spanned the length of the room, while a white marble-top island sat in the middle beneath blown-glass lights. Olivia had obviously added her own touches because there was no way Rebecca’s brother would have selected the lime-green stand mixer that now graced one of the side counters, not to mention the colorful gingham dish towels that were strewn about as if a tornado had blown through the room.

  Rebecca smiled because, in a way, one had. A tiny blond tornado had whipped through her brother’s life, turning more than his kitchen into a total disarray. And he couldn’t have been happier. “What brought on the whole fiesta theme?” she asked.

  Olivia reached for a glass pitcher, then turned to greet them with a smile that could have powered the commercial-grade blender that sat front and center on the marble countertop. “Mexican food,” she said. “I’ve been craving guacamole something fierce.”

  First cravings and now barefoot in the kitchen? The clichés were piling up left and right. But instead of asking the obvious question, Rebecca simply returned her sister-in-law’s warm smile. “So I just heard.”

  Cassie shot a knowing look at Rebecca before turning her attention back to their hostess. “And for guac, you need chips,” she said, plopping the burlap bags onto the counter.

  “And with chips, you need salsa.” Rebecca set the box of cupcakes on the counter and dug the organic salsa her brother had asked her to get out of her leather tote bag.

  Olivia’s face glowed. “See, this is why you two are my best friends. You get me.”

  “Hey, I get you too,” Conor Lynch said as he strolled through the door. He was dressed in plaid shorts and a bright-pink polo shirt, which on most men would have meant he’d spent his day on a golf course. But since it was Conor, it could have just meant those were the last clean items in his closet. Rebecca had known her brother’s childhood friend for a few years now, and yet she still wasn’t quite sure what he did for a living. Olivia described him as the group’s cruise director, and while that was a fitting title, it didn’t change the fact that Conor seemed to move through life without a care in the world, let alone an obligation, yet ran with a crowd of players with more money than free time.

  “Especially when you buy the good stuff,” Conor said, stopping midstride to admire the unassuming bottle of Casamigos tequila that had been placed next to the blender.

  Olivia laughed. “Is that all it takes to win your heart, Conor, a bottle of George Clooney’s tequila?”

  “That and some chips.” Conor winked then crossed the room to place a kiss on Olivia’s cheek before making his way to the stove. “What’s cooking, good looking?” he asked as he bent to peer through the window.

  “I made my mom’s famous tofu burritos.”

  Conor’s near ever-present smile fell so quickly, Rebecca had to stifle a laugh. Fortunately, Olivia put him out of his misery before the crocodile tears could fall. “Don’t panic. There are steak fajitas on the grill.”

  “Excellent. Who’s catering, Blue Agave? Or did you get Lalo’s to come out?”

  Olivia shook her head, and a slow smile crept across her face. “Cole.”

  Conor’s eyebrows shot up. “Cole is cooking?”

  She nodded.

  “Damn, you two are a domesticated mess.” His grin widened. “Please tell me he’s wearing one of those dorky aprons. I swear, if it says ‘Kiss the Cook,’ I’m going to piss myself.” He turned to leave but Olivia stopped him.

  “Here, take some of these with you,” she said.

  Conor waited impatiently as Olivia poured one of the bags of chips into a basket that had a ramekin of salsa in the center. Once she was done, he hurried out of the room, but not before snagging a Corona out of the glass-door refrigerator.

  Olivia waited until he’d left before confiding, “I bought him one that said ‘I love to rub my meat,’ but for some reason I can’t find it anywhere.”

  Rebecca snorted. “Did you check the dumpster?”

  The three women shared a laugh at her brother’s expense, but the fact remained that the change that had come over him, while still a work in progress, was nothing short of miraculous.

  “What can we do to help?” Cassie asked.

  A tiny crease formed between Olivia’s brows. “Maybe grab a few of the margarita glasses out of that cabinet,” she said, nodding to where she’d found the pitcher. “I bought this little gizmo to salt the rims.”

  Rebecca and Cassie each grabbed as many glasses as they could hold and began dipping them in the contraption that held lime juice and salt.

  “Will that handsome fiancé of yours be joining us?” Rebecca asked.

  Cassie’s face fell. “No. After we made the official announcement, he decided it was best to stay behind and smooth things over with his grandmother.”

  “Is she still not on board?”

  “Oh no, she is. We couldn’t have made a formal announcement without her blessing. And his dad couldn’t be happier for us. It’s just…”

  Olivia set a bowl of fresh strawberries on the counter. “Long-distance sucks,” she said, finishing Cassie’s thought while also perfectly summing up the expression on her face.

  “It does,” Cassie agreed.

  Rebecca sighed. “The perils of dating royalty,” she said, teasing her friend in an effort to put a smile back on her face. “Must be so hard to deal with all those servants and private planes.”

  “And chauffeured cars and catered meals,” Olivia said, joining in on the game as she dumped ingredients into the blender.

  “And the jewels!” Rebecca added. “All those bulky diamonds. How does a girl manage?”

  Olivia nodded. “And wait until they try to put a tiara in all those curls!” she shouted over the whirl of the blender.

  “Oh yeah, hadn’t even thought about that,” Rebecca said as the motor quieted. “Seriously, you might want to rethink this whole wedding thing.”

  “All right, all right.” Cassie laughed. “Point made.”

  “Here.” Olivia filled two of the glasses with a hefty pour of strawberry margarita. “Try these before I make another batch.”

  Cassie slid her glass closer. “Seriously, you guys know I don’t care about any of that stuff, especially the crown. I liked Hank just fine when he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt.”

  “I think you liked him even more once he took the jeans off,” Olivia said with a waggle of her eyebrows.

  “Livvy!”

  “Sorry,” she said, although she didn’t look sorry at all. In fact, she looked like a horny little vixen, Rebecca thought, adding one more item to the list of evidence she was cataloging. According to what little knowledge she had on the subject, which admittedly was mostly from episodes of Friends, the second trimester of a pregnancy saw a surge in hormones that left a woman feeling more than a little frisky. Then again, Olivia wasn’t known for her subtlety when it came to the topic of sex.

  “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the perks or understand his obligations, because I do,” Cassie said. “But I also want to be able to have nights with him like tonight, just chilling with our friends.”

  Olivia rounded
the counter and put her arm around her best friend. “You’ll still have that, sweetie.” She gave her a sly smile. “You’ll just have to fit it in between royal duties.”

  “It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it,” Rebecca added.

  Cassie laughed as she wiped a stray tear from under her eye. “I’m such a wuss. It’s only been three weeks.”

  “You’re not a wuss,” Rebecca said. “You’re in love.” She clinked her glass against Cassie’s before taking a sip.

  “Yeah,” Olivia agreed. “That makes us all a bit nuts.”

  “Well, I better toughen up because now that the news is out, I have a lot to do.” Cassie straightened and cleared her throat. “And at the top of that list is planning our engagement party. Well, actually less planning and more hiring someone to do it.” She turned to face Rebecca, and her face lit with a warm, hopeful smile. “So…will you?”

  “Me?” she squeaked.

  Cassie nodded.

  “What? Are you crazy?” Her voice was several octaves too high. “Aren’t there royal subjects who do that sort of thing? People who are far more knowledgeable when it comes to all the rules of etiquette? I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

  “There is, actually. A rather stuffy curmudgeon of a man named Godfrey. And while I’m sure he will be involved in the process—” Cassie cringed “—I apologize for that in advance. The last thing we want is someone like him planning this event. The wedding is going to be out of control. But the engagement party, at least the one in the States, is all ours. Well, mostly anyway. I’m sure it will still have to be a formal event.” Cassie giggled. “Her Majesty would have a coronary if Hank and I threw a royal hoedown.”

  “So much for your dream of a small wedding,” Olivia said. She and Cassie had been friends since high school, which meant they no doubt spent many a night discussing their dream weddings over a tub of cookie dough ice cream. But even though Rebecca had only known the two of them for a little over a year, even she knew Cassie had always envisioned her wedding day as something intimate. Although to be fair, most girls went through a stage of imagining their wedding as a cross between Cinderella and Princess Kate, and the odds of that fantasy becoming a reality were far more difficult.

  “His grandmother has already declared it a national holiday,” Cassie said.

  Olivia’s eyes grew wide. “No shit? Well, getting a day off from work will go a long way toward winning over the kingdom.”

  Truth be told, while some of the older members of the establishment balked at the idea of Henry marrying outside of European royalty, the citizens of his country embraced the couple with open arms. So had most of the world, for that matter. Headlines across the globe compared them to Will and Kate, with one referring to their whirlwind romance as a cross between Notting Hill and The Prince & Me. The thought of one of Rebecca’s favorite childhood movies brought a sudden image to mind.

  “Will there be a parade?” she asked, picturing Prince Edvard’s mighty steed galloping through the streets of Denmark with Paige Morgan holding on tight.

  “Parade, balls.” Cassie cringed. “Everyone taking pictures of me from less-than-flattering angles.” She stared down at the chip she held in her hand, heaped with guacamole. “I should probably cut back on the chips.”

  Olivia shot her a look. “Don’t you dare change who you are for tabloids. Besides, Hank likes your—what did he call it? Ah, yes, the honky-tonk in your badonkadonk.”

  Rebecca could only assume the reference was some sort of inside joke having to do with the Trace Adkins song. Whatever it was, it elicited an exaggerated eye roll from Cassie.

  “Back to my point,” the future princess said after popping the chip in her mouth and washing it down with a generous gulp of strawberry margarita. “The wedding will be ours, but it will also be the country’s.” She wiped her mouth with a bright-orange cocktail napkin covered with images of tiny cacti wearing sunglasses. Definitely not a Cole purchase, Rebecca thought.

  “But the engagement party is just for us. Our town, our friends.” Cassie smiled at Rebecca. “And who better to plan that event than one of those friends?”

  Behind them, the service elevator dinged to announce its arrival.

  “Are you expecting someone else?” Cassie asked.

  “I think Cole invited one of his friends who just moved to town, but other than that, only…” A knowing smile curved Olivia’s lips just as Prince Henry stepped out of the elevator. Rebecca had met His Royal Highness a few times now, but the fact that he would one day be king of an entire nation was a fact that she still hadn’t been able to wrap her head around. Of course, it would help if he dressed the part. Wearing jeans and a button-down shirt and with his light brown hair in an artfully rumpled mess, Hank looked more like a J.Crew model than a prince.

  “Room for one more?” he asked.

  Cassie nearly dropped her drink. A second later, she was in motion, a blur of auburn curls and girlish squeals as she ran across the kitchen and into his open arms. Rebecca tried not to stare, slurping down a gulp of margarita as a distraction, but the fact remained that seeing Cassie and Hank so happy, not to even mention her brother and Olivia, gave her hope that she’d one day find her own soul mate. At the moment, she’d settle for a simple date on a Saturday night. But in reality, she was far too busy spending most of her Saturday nights making sure other couples had the perfect start to their happily-ever-afters to make much progress on finding one of her own. The expression “always a bridesmaid” couldn’t hold a candle to “always the wedding planner.” The only single men she met were guests at weddings. Most of them had dates, and those who didn’t were on the prowl for a no-strings-attached wedding hookup. Not exactly the best dating pool. Between her illness and her career, the most action she’d had with a man in the last two years was getting knocked on her ass in the park.

  The mere thought of the handsome stranger she met in the park sent a rush of adrenaline through her that was nearly enough to have her lady parts wondering if they were finally coming out of hibernation. In her entire life, she didn’t think she’d ever met a man that pretty. But not in an effeminate way. No sirree Bob, that guy was one-hundred-percent manly man. Rebecca’s eyes drifted shut as she remembered the way his damp shirt clung to the contours of his chest. What she wouldn’t give to slide her palms along the hard planes, her questing fingers tracing the ridges of his abs before dipping below the waistband of his shorts.

  “Rebecca?”

  The sound of Cassie’s voice calling her name yanked Rebecca right out of her daydream and back to the party where she and Conor were the token singles. She’d be worried that her friends were up to a bit of matchmaking if she didn’t know with all certainly that her brother would cut off Conor’s hands if he so much as laid a finger on her.

  “Hmm?”

  “Wow, that must be some excellent salsa,” Olivia said, nodding to the bowl on the counter in front of Rebecca. “From the expression on your face, I’d say it was almost orgasmic.”

  Cassie shook her head at Olivia before turning her attention back to Rebecca. “I was just telling Hank that I’d popped the question,” she giggled. “So to speak. But that you hadn’t given an answer.”

  Hank eased his arm around his fiancée’s waist and smiled. “Well, I hope she told you we will double your usual rate. Hazard pay for having to run everything past Lord Pain in the Ass.”

  “That’s really not necessary. I’m still not convinced I’m the right woman for the job, but if you want me, I’d be more than happy to do it for free.”

  “Absolutely not,” Cassie insisted. “We’d be taking your time away from other paying clients. And besides, you’ve given me so much business, it’s not even funny,” she said, referring to the numerous catering orders Rebecca had placed for clients wanting gourmet cupcakes at bridal showers, bachelorettes, or even receptions.

  “This is hardly the same as a few dozen cupcakes for a hen night,” she said, borrowing a ter
m from Henry’s homeland. On the contrary, the official engagement party of Miss Cassandra Miller and His Royal Highness Prince Henry was going to be the event of the year in Chicago’s social circles. Hell, probably across the entire US.

  “Although we do have one condition,” Cassie added.

  “What’s that?” Rebecca asked. Judging by the mischievous glint in her friend’s eyes, she was definitely up to something.

  “You delegate the night of the party to your staff.”

  Rebecca snorted and, without thinking, blurted out, “What staff?” The caterers she used employed waiters and bartenders, but as far as making sure everything went smoothly on the actual night, she was a one-woman show. She was barely making ends meet as it was. For now, at least, hiring even an assistant just wasn’t in the cards.

  Hank frowned. “Hmm, that is a problem.”

  Cassie gazed up at him. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  He nodded. “We have no choice,” he said. His grave tone was in direct contrast to the smile that curved his lips. “Triple her rate. Quadruple, if necessary.” He turned toward Rebecca. “You’re a tough negotiator.”

  Rebecca’s mouth fell open. Tough negotiator? She hadn’t said a word.

  Cassie elbowed her prince in the ribs. “He’s playing. ‘Taking the piss’ as they like to say across the pond.” She snuggled closer to her man. “But all kidding aside, we want you to do this, but we also want you to enjoy the night with us.” Cassie raised her brows. “And I don’t know…” She shrugged, attempting to look nonchalant and failing miserably. “Maybe even bring a date?”

  Already? Usually they were a few hours into the evening before Cassie or Olivia attempted to fix her up. It was far too early—and she was far too sober—for them to be starting that shit now.

  Hank’s gaze narrowed ever so slightly as he took in the shift in topic. “Shall we join the guys on the terrace?” he asked in a not so subtle attempt to spare Rebecca from the rest of that conversation.

  Subtle or not, Cassie took the hint. “Good idea. With Cole manning the grill, there could be a full-blown bonfire out there by now.”