The photographers didn’t know where to point their cameras next. Even Shirley Grubb abandoned her need for pink tulle and embraced the theme with enthusiasm.
‘Oh, Jenny…I’ve been dreaming of this wedding since Kylie was born, and I so wanted everything to be right,’ she confided towards the end of the evening. ‘I was so upset when Kylie told me she wasn’t doing it my way. But now…My two sisters are here. Their daughters had flash weddings in Sydney—no money spared—and you know what? They’re jealous. They’re jealous of their little sister who married Fred Grubb and never has any money to her name.’ She hugged Jenny, and there were tears slipping down her face. ‘He’s fabulous,’ she whispered. ‘You’re so lucky.’
Guy was fabulous? Jenny was lucky? Jenny examined the comment from all sides, then decided to ignore it and hand out a few more drinks.
She couldn’t quite ignore it.
Guy was everywhere, working hands-on, making sure the event went without a hitch. He was dressed as a bodyguard, armed and dangerous, his slicked-down hair making his face look somehow menacing, his mock pistols too obvious, moving among the crowd, making amiable if-you-don’t-have-a-good-time-I’ll-punch-your-lights-out comments—sure his wedding couple were safe.
I’d think I was safe if I had him for a bodyguard, too, Jenny thought while she dispensed drinks. But she shoved the notion aside and went to make sure the cake, an overblown affair, adorned with a miniature gangster and his bride driving away in their fancy car—where had Guy found these props?—was ready for cutting.
She put the thought of Guy to one side.
But she stayed achingly aware of him.
And Guy…?
He moved through the wedding with his customary efficiency, ensuring each and every guest took home memories to cherish. Whether it was adroit flirting with the bridesmaids, bullying Uncle Ern to take Cousin Cecilia onto the dance floor, or removing the third glass of champagne from fifteen-year-old Bert’s grasp and replacing it with cola. ‘That stuff is a lady’s drink—I never touch it,’ he told the kid, who gazed at Guy in suspicion and then decided that maybe cola really was okay. Wherever there was a need, there he was.
But at any given moment Guy knew Jenny’s whereabouts. She was dressed in a pert maid’s uniform, doing the same as him, working the crowd. He watched her laughter and her affection for these people. He watched as people responded to her with affection, and the more he saw of her the more his mind had to dwell on.
Jenny.
The night wore on. The crowd started to thin.
His awareness of Jenny built.
And the crazy idea from the night after the beach incident became louder and louder in his head. You’re thinking of marrying?
Yes. Yes, he was.
He couldn’t stay independent without her, he thought. It was a dumb notion, but maybe if he married her and kept her safe he could get her out of his system?
Or not. Whatever.
You’re thinking of marrying.
Jenny had no time to talk to Guy until Daryl and Kylie had driven away, their found-for-the-occasion Buick trailing a suitable clattering of ancient shoes and tin cans. The guests dispersed with reluctance, the crew cleared the mess, and Jenny was left with Guy.
‘That was fantastic,’ she told him as they emerged into the warm night air, glad to be free of the fog inside. ‘It was the best wedding.’
‘It was, wasn’t it?’ Guy said. He flicked a switch and the lights of the hall disappeared. They were left in darkness, their two cars standing in solitary state in the abandoned car park. ‘I’d forgotten how much fun it was to be hands-on.’
‘I loved it.’ She sighed in exhausted pleasure. ‘There’s no nicer thing than a truly happy wedding.’
‘No,’ he said, and paused.
It was one a.m. It was time she was home, Jenny thought ruefully. Henry would be awake at six, and the next day was huge. There was still planning to do for Anna and Barret’s wedding, and Christmas was in two days’ time.
Christmas…
Christmas without Ben was awful. She’d hated the last two Christmases. But now…things had changed, she thought, and she wasn’t sure how. All she knew was that in the last few days she’d changed. She was no longer dreading Christmas.
Because of this man?
Maybe, but he didn’t have to know it, she thought. He’d set something free in her that she hadn’t known was imprisoned. She felt light and happy and young.
Whoa. This man was dangerous, she decided. Happy and young or not, she was Henry’s mother, and she needed to go home to bed.
‘Goodnight, Guy,’ she said, and turned away, but his hands came out and caught her shoulders, turning her back to face him.
‘Jenny…’
‘Mmm?’ She had to stay cool, she told herself. She mustn’t let him see that just by touching him he could…he could…
He kissed her.
She let him kiss her. How could she not? It was a lovely, languorous kiss, a kiss to melt into, a kiss to lose yourself in. He was so big and dangerous and warm and safe and wonderful…
These were crazy thoughts. She was crazy, she decided, as the kiss went on and her entire being was consumed with the feel of him, the thought of him. Guy…
It was a magic end to a magic evening—to be kissed by Guy. Her life had been barren for too long. To have this man’s hands hold her, to have this magic sensation drifting through her…It was wondrous.
The kiss went on and on, and she took as much as she gave. It was a healing, she thought as she savoured the feel of him. It was a lovely way to end her mourning.
And at some deep, primeval level she knew it was more than that. There was no thought of Ben as she kissed him, but as he pulled away at last she caught at the ragged ends of her self-control and told herself that of course this was because of Ben. She was a widow, and now she was re-emerging to the outside world. This was nothing more than a reawakening. So she sighed with absolute pleasure as he broke the contact, as he held her at arms’ length and smiled down at her in the moonlight. She sighed with pleasure and tried to hold back the regret that the kiss was at an end. And she tried to think of Ben.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, and she managed to smile back.
‘You’re not bad yourself, buster,’ she whispered. ‘Though I’m not sure I go for the hair oil.’
‘I’m serious,’ he told her.
Her smile faded and she looked up at him, wondering.
‘Serious?’
‘I want to ask you something.’
She didn’t want to talk. She so wanted to kiss him again. She desperately wanted to kiss him again. But…She was a sensible woman. She had to move on.
‘About Barret and Anna’s wedding?’ she asked. ‘Can it wait until tomorrow? I’m really tired.’
‘Jenny, I wondered if you’d be interested in marrying me.’
She stilled. The words seemed to echo over and over in the stillness. Marrying…?
He’s gone mad, Jenny thought at last. The romance of tonight must have gone to his head.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she whispered, and he raked his fingers through his hair—then remembered the oil slick. He stared down at his oily fingers with a rueful smile.
‘Urk. I’ve made a mess of that.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of my proposal.’ He took a too-big handkerchief from his breast pocket and carefully wiped his fingers clean. ‘I haven’t had that much practice, you see. I didn’t mean to do it.’
‘Then why did you?’ She was having trouble making her voice work. She was having trouble making anything work.
‘I could make you safe,’ he said, and she looked up at Guy’s earnest face, at his mock pistols and his slicked-down hair, and suddenly, irresistibly, maybe even hysterically, she started to laugh.
‘What?’ he said, sounding offended, and she bit back her bubble of laughter and tried to be serious. Or tried to be light-hearted. Or something.
‘I don’t need a bodyguard,’ she told him. ‘But it was a very nice offer. Thank you.’
‘I’m not offering you a bodyguard. I’m offering you a husband.’
She stilled at that, her laughter fading. It wasn’t a joke, then. He was…serious?
He was asking her to marry him?
The idea was so preposterous that she almost choked.
‘I’m already married,’ she said, before she could stop herself, and she watched as his face changed.
‘What—?’
‘I’m married to Ben,’ she said stupidly.
‘Ben was killed two years ago.’
‘Yes, but…’ She took a deep breath, searching for…Searching for she didn’t know what.
‘I can’t remember him properly,’ she said inconsequentially. ‘I can’t remember the way he held me. I can’t—’
‘Jenny, it’s natural.’
Was it? She felt her heart clench with a well-remembered pain. Ben was dead. Move on, people said. Her own mother-in-law…Let Ben go. And she had tonight. For the first time she had. But to have this moment become a decision about the rest of her life…
Ben, her heart screamed. Ben. I’m not ready to let you go.
‘He’s my husband,’ she whispered. ‘He’s in my heart. I thought you at least would know that.’
Guy stood, gazing down at her in the silence.
‘I do know that.’
‘Then why…?’
‘You make me feel different.’
‘You make me feel different, too,’ she said, and she put her hand up to his face and cupped the curve of his jaw. The feeling she had then…it was indescribable. Say yes, her heart screamed. Say yes before he changes his mind.
‘I can’t do it,’ she whispered. ‘You must see it’s impossible.’
‘Why is it impossible?’
‘Henry…’
‘Henry would come with us,’ he said strongly, taking her hands in his, trying to make her see where his thoughts had taken him. ‘You can’t tell me he’s getting optimal medical treatment here. The world’s best doctors are in New York.’
She stilled. ‘You’d take us both to New York?’
‘Of course.’
‘But our home is here.’
‘I have a massive apartment in Manhattan. You can see the Statue of Liberty from—’
‘Our home is here.’ Her voice was flat, without inflexion, and suddenly desperately weary. ‘Do you think I could leave Lorna?’
‘Lorna has Jack.’
‘She does. And she has me. And she has Henry. We’re family, Guy.’
‘You don’t need family.’
‘At Christmas?’ she whispered. ‘You’re saying that two days before Christmas? That I don’t need a family?’
‘Hell, Jenny…’
‘This is ridiculous,’ she said, trying hard to be strong. ‘We hardly know each other.’
‘And yet you feel what I’m feeling.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Jenny,’ he said, and the hands holding her shoulders suddenly firmed. ‘You’re lying.’
Of course she was lying. Whatever he was feeling she was feeling, too. Multiplied by about a thousand. He drew her into him, his lips met hers, and she felt…She felt…
Heat.
The word slammed in her mind as the sensation slammed through her. Heat. A conflagration that was all-consuming, starting from her lips and flooding through the rest of her. As if she was dry tinder and a match had been held to the all-too-ready fuel.
She wanted him with every inch of her being. Her lips opened under his. She welcomed him with joy. Her hands came around his chest and tugged him closer.
Guy.
The kiss went on and on. Neither could stop it. Why should they?
Guy had asked her to marry him. This man who was holding her, who was making her feel as if life itself could start now…
Guy.
He was her employer.
The thought slammed into her mind and somehow it steadied her. The thought had her remembering that her feet were planted on Sandpiper Bay ground—and had to stay that way. Somehow she tugged back, and Guy gazed down at her in the moonlight, concerned.
‘What is it, sweetheart?’
What right did he have to call her sweetheart? She loved it, she decided. But…she couldn’t.
‘Guy, leave it,’ she demanded, and he let her take a further step back. The fact that her body was screaming to remain in his hold had to be ignored. It must be.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘If you weren’t my boss I’d slap your face,’ she managed.
‘Why?’
‘For taking liberties.’
‘You want to be kissed.’
‘I don’t.’
‘You do.’ He was teasing her with his eyes. He was smiling down at her. And there was such…love?
She was imagining it. Love? No.
She was married to Ben.
‘I still love Ben,’ she said, and tilted her chin.
‘Maybe I still love Christa. But it’s memories that we love, and memories make cold bedfellows.’
‘You want me in bed?’ She’d started to shake, and it wasn’t from cold. Bed with this man…Bed with Guy…
‘A man would have to be inhuman not to want you in his bed.’