Джеки Браун – Gorgeous Grooms: Her Stand-In Groom / Her Wish-List Bridegroom / Ordinary Girl, Society Groom (страница 8)
Something flickered in his gaze, an emotion she couldn’t quite read. “Consider it done.”
“Thank you. But this isn’t just about the shelter.” She fussed with the mother-of-pearl buttons on her sweater set and admitted, “I’m afraid I’m not as altruistic as that.”
His lips thinned into a smile. “Let me guess: this would be your way of paying Derek back? A little bit of revenge from the woman scorned?.”
She nodded. “I suppose that’s true. As much as I want the good guy in all of this to win, I’d also like to see the bad guy lose.”
“Are you sure I’m the good guy, Catherine?”
His gaze locked with hers in seeming challenge.
“I want you to be,” she whispered.
“Why?”
She gave a nervous laugh. “Yin and Yang, I suppose. One to balance out the other.”
“So you’d marry me to keep the cosmic forces in order?”
She didn’t reply. In a way it had to do with cosmic forces, all right, but not necessarily the ones he assumed. For the first time in her life Catherine was handing herself over to fate. This was the right thing to do. She could feel it, even if she couldn’t articulate why.
“If we do this, we’ll need to do it quickly and quietly,” Stephen said.
“You’ll marry me, then?”
Stephen studied Catherine’s face. There was no denying her beauty. It had long beguiled him, even when he hadn’t thought there was much else to her than physical perfection. Under other circumstances he might have been flattered by the proposal. Under other circumstances, however, he knew it would not have come. Women from Catherine’s elite social sphere might condescend to take a dip in Stephen’s gene pool, but they didn’t want to swim there forever. Years of dating had told him so, despite his fortune.
“I’m desperate, Catherine,” he said flatly.
He watched her wince and wondered was he so desperate he would take a wife, even if only on paper? He didn’t have the luxury of time to clearly think things out. The one thing he knew without hesitation or question was that he did not want to see Danbury’s sold. Marrying Catherine might be his only way to stop that from happening.
“Is that a yes?”
He nodded. “We’ll need to move fast. Danbury’s no longer has a company jet. The bottom line has been too thin in recent years to justify it. We’ll have to catch a flight out of O’Hare.”
“A flight?”
“Vegas.” He shrugged. “It’s quick and legal.”
“Vegas,” she repeated, looking as if she were sucking on a sour ball.
“You don’t have to do this.”
She moved forward, offering her hand as she came. “I do.”
And it was with just those two words that she sealed the bargain.
It was nearly midnight when they arrived in Las Vegas. The city, however, seemed to have an abundance of energy and enthusiasm despite the late hour. Catherine had neither, especially since she was still working on Illinois time. She had never been to Vegas. She wasn’t one for games of chance, which of course seemed ironic given the risk she would be taking with Stephen. For a woman who didn’t believe in gambling, she’d certainly found herself in a high-stakes game.
What did she know about this man who would soon become her husband? Not much. Not nearly enough for the commitment she had agreed to make. He was private, but it was more than that. He hid something—not something evil, like Derek, of that she was sure. But those eyes that watched everything and rarely reflected anything told her that he found it easier—safer?—to tuck his feelings deep inside. She could appreciate that, she thought. She’d done it most of her life when it came to her parents.
“Tired?”
The softly spoken question startled her. She turned from the cab’s window to find him staring at her. “No. Not really. I’ve never been to Las Vegas.”
He studied her for a moment longer before replying, “It’s not really your style.”
“How can you be so sure?” She found herself a little bothered that, while he seemed such an enigma to her, he should consider her such an open book.
“It’s gaudy, flashy, at times crass and always greedy. You are conservative, traditional, sedate…generous.”
“That’s just how every woman wants to be described by her prospective groom. You might as well be talking about a station wagon,” she said on a nervous laugh, but she wasn’t really insulted.
He only raised one ebony eyebrow, and she found herself lost in those dark eyes.
“Try again,” she said, turning in her seat so that she fully faced him.
“You have style,” he said slowly.
“Hmm. Now I’m a Mercedes.”
But she didn’t laugh this time. She could scarcely breathe when he looked at her like that, his gaze so thorough, as if no detail could escape his notice.
“You’re beautiful, but you know that.”
“It’s often an empty compliment,” she replied.
“Which brings me to smart, but I suspect you know that, too.”
She shrugged. “Well, it’s not something I hear often from men.”
Despite her outward nonchalance, genuine pleasure had her pulse spiking. Men so rarely complimented her on her intelligence. Oh, she was no genius, but neither was she a vapid member of the social elite. She had graduated
It also helped ease her guilt. Once upon a time she had been useless. Her best friend had paid the price. She pushed back that painful memory as the driver pulled the car to a stop in front of their hotel.
They had each only brought one small case to spare them from checking luggage, but Stephen insisted on carrying hers. Inside, it seemed ridiculous to request separate rooms when they were in town to be married, but Catherine wondered how she could sleep in the same proximity as Stephen, share a bathroom, when they had never so much as gone on a date. The dilemma was solved to a certain extent when he requested a suite. Their quarters were opulently decorated in navy and gold, and spacious enough with two bedrooms, each with its own bath.
“Which room do you want?” he asked politely as they stood in the living area and eyed one another with growing discomfort.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m so tired I could sleep standing up.” She laughed, hoping to lighten the mood. He didn’t so much as blink.
“You can take that one.” He pointed to the doorway nearest her. He hesitated at the threshold of the other bedroom, carry-on bag in hand. “Thank you, Catherine.”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Try to get some sleep. We have a big day ahead of us.”
As Catherine settled between the cool sheets of the king-sized bed, she knew “big” was an understatement.
Early the next morning they picked a chapel within walking distance from their hotel, opting for what passed for understated in Las Vegas. Plastic blood-red roses dripped from a white trellis just outside the door, and inside the lobby guests could put a buck in a vending machine to buy a packet of birdseed to toss at the bride and groom.
Of course there were no guests: only Catherine, wearing a simple white A-line dress that flowed nearly to her ankles, and Stephen, dressed in a charcoal suit. She supposed it was silly to wear white for this farce of a wedding, but she believed in tradition.
A Vegas wedding, she soon realized, had traditions of its own, quirkiness being at the top of the list. They managed to bypass the Elvis impersonator, but to Catherine’s horrified amusement, the I Do Chapel’s minister bore a striking resemblance to Liberace.
“The standard wedding package includes your choice of song, a bouquet of white carnations for the bride and a snapshot to remember the happy occasion,” Liberace droned. “For just a little more you can upgrade to the deluxe package and get the pretty little lady a bouquet of roses, three snapshots and these matching T-shirts.”
He pointed to the wall where the shirts were displayed. Emblazoned on the front of each were the words “We did it in Vegas at the I Do Chapel.”
“Oh, my God,” Catherine gasped, swallowing a bubble of hysterical laughter.
To her surprise, Stephen said dryly, “The deluxe package, by all means. We wouldn’t want to miss out on those shirts.”
The entire affair seemed so out of character for both of them, she supposed they would need the T-shirts to convince themselves they’d actually gone through with it. Of course, the marriage certificate would be real enough. That thought was sobering.
After filling out the necessary paperwork, they followed Liberace into the main room of the chapel.
“Are you expecting any guests?”
“No,” Stephen said.
“Then I guess we’ll get down to it.”
Before Catherine could catch a breath, a woman shoved a bouquet of plastic white roses into her hands and snapped a hasty shot of her and Stephen as they stood before a makeshift altar. Liberace nodded to another woman, who cued up the music. “Green-sleeves” filled the room.