The Honeymoon Arrangement (2 page)

‘You don’t believe in love?’ Finn asked, intrigued despite himself. Because, deep in his soul, he wasn’t sure if he believed in the fairytale version either.

To him, love was taking responsibility, showing caring, companionship and loyalty, and he firmly believed in those. Besides, Liz hadn’t got pregnant by herself, and if he was part of the problem then he would be part of the solution.

Right now it seemed that marriage
was
the solution.

He saw something that he thought was sadness flicker in Callie’s eyes.

‘I believe the only pure love people have is for their children, and some people don’t even have that. No, love is a generic term we use to feel safe. Or comfortable? Possibly
co-dependent?’ Callie suggested, twisting in her seat as the aircraft started to move down the runway.

‘Is that what you see love and marriage as? Co-dependency?’ He couldn’t believe that he was having a conversation about his upcoming marriage with an absolute stranger. Reticence was his usual style, along with reserve and caginess. He
asked
the questions, dammit, he didn’t answer them.

Callie shrugged. ‘I think that a lot of people use love and marriage as an escape from whatever is dragging them down. Just like some people escape to drugs in order to feel happy, others escape to love.’

Whoa
. He was occasionally cynical about love and relationships, but she made him look like an amateur. He was cautious, thoughtful and rational about the concept. He took his time to become fully invested in a relationship and he never made quick or rash decisions. Which was probably why he was feeling so out of sorts about getting married—he hadn’t had nearly enough time to think the whole situation through, to process the changes.

And he was still dealing with the death of the only father he’d ever known. Finn pushed his fingers to his right eye to stop the burning. Would he ever get shot of this ache in his heart?

Callie placed the tips of her fingers, the nails shiny and edged in white, on the bare skin of his forearm. ‘Sorry—I’m being an absolute downer. I’m just naturally sceptical about love, marriage and relationships. It’s a crap shoot and I’m not much of a gambler.’ Callie bit her bottom lip. ‘I admit that I’m a little too outspoken and opinionated—’

He couldn’t help his sarcasm. ‘A
little
?’

‘Okay, a lot—but I do wish you happiness and success.’ She tucked her foot up and under her backside again, and sighed theatrically. ‘Both my brother and father—neither of whom I thought would
ever
get hitched—are getting
married within the next couple of months, so I’m going to have to learn to keep my cynical mouth shut.’

Despite having only known her for twenty minutes, Finn knew that was impossible.

‘Thank goodness that Rowan—my best friend, who is about to marry my brother—is an event planner and she’s organising both their weddings. I just have to show up and look pretty.’

Pretty? She could don a black rubbish bag and still look stunning, Finn thought. Those eyes, those cheekbones, that pink tongue peeking out from between those plump lips … He wondered what she would taste like, how those breasts would fit into his hands, about the baby softness on the inside of those slim thighs …

Whoah!

What the hell …? Rein it in, bud, before you humiliate yourself. You’re engaged, remember? An almost father, an about-to-be husband
.

Knowing that she’d said something of importance that he hadn’t picked up because in his head he’d been tasting her skin, he mentally rewound. ‘Wait … you say your best friend is a wedding planner?’

‘Mmm. Actually, she does all sorts of events, but she’s great at weddings.’

‘My partner—fiancée—is going nuts. Apparently there isn’t a wedding planner in the city who’ll take on organising a wedding at the last moment.’

‘When are you getting married … tomorrow?’

‘As I said, we’d like to get it done in three months or so.’

Liz wanted the wedding done and dusted before she started to show as she wasn’t comfortable displaying her baby bump to her conservative relatives.

‘And finding a wedding planner is something I have to do in the next couple of days.’

‘Why isn’t the bride-to-be looking?’ Callie asked. ‘Shouldn’t that be her thing?’

‘Liz is in Nigeria for the next six weeks, so finding a wedding planner has become my job.’

‘What’s she doing in Nigeria?’

God—more questions. He didn’t think he’d met anyone more inquisitive and so unreservedly blatant about it.
So, Sherlock, why haven’t you shut her down yet?

‘Liz is a consulting engineer working on an oil rig.’ He saw her open her mouth and held up a hand to stop the next barrage of questions. ‘This friend of yours … the wedding planner? Is she any good?’

Callie nodded. ‘She really is. She started off by doing kids’ birthday parties and then she did a Moroccan-themed wedding which was amazing. In eighteen months she’s done more than a few weddings.’

‘Can I get her number?’

‘Sure.’ Callie nodded. ‘If you allow me one last word on marriage.’

‘Can I stop you?’ Finn raised a dark eyebrow. ‘And just
one
word? How amazing.’

Callie ignored his quiet sarcasm. ‘It’s not from me but from Nietzsche …’

Good looks and good brains too? Callie was quite a deep little package.

‘Nietzsche, huh? Do enlighten me.’

‘He said something about love being many brief follies and that marriage puts an end to said follies with a single long stupidity.’

Huh. Some German philosophers and some navy-eyed blondes were far too smart for their own good.

‘I need a drink.’

Callie grinned. ‘People frequently say that when they’re around me.’

Finn didn’t find that hard to believe.
At all
.

Three months later …

C
ALLIE
,
ABOUT TO
pull the door open to their favourite watering hole, the Laughing Queen, frowned as Rowan held the door closed and stopped her from walking inside.

‘What?’

Rowan narrowed her eyes at her. ‘Can you try and remember that this is a
business
meeting? That my client and his fiancée have called their wedding off two weeks before they were supposed to say I do. Do
not
flirt with him!’

Callie, purely to wind Rowan up, flashed her naughtiest smile. ‘Why not? Maybe me flirting with him will cheer him up.’

‘Don’t you dare! I swear, Cal, just behave—okay?’

‘I always behave!’ Callie protested. Okay, that wasn’t true, so she quickly crossed her fingers behind her back. For most of her adult life, whenever she’d found herself back in Cape Town, she had normally ended up in this bar, getting up to some mischief or other. Jim and Ali, the owners, loved her because she always got the party started and they ended up selling much more liquor than normal.

‘Just no dancing on the bar or impromptu line-dancing, okay? Or, if you have to, pretend that you don’t know me.’

‘Hey! I’m not so bad!’

Rowan was thinking of Callie’s early twenties self, or
maybe her mid-twenties self … maybe her six-months-ago self. The truth was that it had been a while since she’d caused havoc in a pub. Or anywhere else.

Normally, whenever she was feeling low or lonely, needing to feel outside of herself, she headed for the nearest bar or club. It wasn’t about the alcohol—she’d launched many a party and walked out at dawn stone-cold sober—it was the people and the vibe she fed off … the attention.

So why, after a decade, was she now boycotting that scene? Had she totally lost every connection to the wild child she had been? That funny, crazy, gap-toothed seven-year-old who’d loved everyone and everything. That awesome girl she’d been before everything had changed and her world had fallen apart.

Sadness made her throat constrict. She rather liked the fact that at one point in her life she’d been totally without fear. That was how she usually felt in the middle of a party she’d created: strong, in control, fearless.

Maybe she should just start a party tonight to remind herself that she could still have fun.

When she repeated the thought to Rowan, her mouth pursed in horror.

‘You are hell on wheels,’ Rowan grumbled, letting go of the door handle and gesturing her inside.

‘And
you
were a lot more fun before you got engaged to my brother,’ Callie complained, stepping into the restaurant. She waved at Jim, who was standing behind the long bar at the back of the large harbour-facing restaurant. ‘What happened to my wild, backpacking, crazy BFF?’

‘I’m
working
.’ Rowan said through gritted teeth. ‘This is my
business
.’

Seeing that Rowan looked as if she was about to start foaming at the mouth, Callie slung an arm around her shoulder. ‘Okay … chill. I’ll behave.’ She couldn’t resist another dig. ‘Or at the very least I’ll try.’

‘I was nuts to bring you along tonight,’ Rowan complained, leading them to an empty table in the corner and yanking out a chair.

Callie took the seat opposite her and flipped her hair over her shoulder. Seeing Rowan’s irritated face, she realised that she might have gone a little too far, so she placed her hand on hers and squeezed. When Rowan’s eyes met hers Callie met her dark eyes straight on. ‘Relax—I’ll behave, Ro.’

Rowan scrunched her face up and when she opened her eyes again let out a long sigh. ‘Sorry. It’s just that I feel for this guy. I mean, can you imagine calling it quits so close to the wedding?’ Rowan picked up a silver knife from the table and clutched it in her hand. ‘What could have gone so badly wrong so late in the day?’

Callie heard the unspoken question at the end of Rowan’s sentence.
And what if it happens to us?

‘Easy, Ro. Seb adores you and nothing like that is going to happen.’

‘Bet Finn didn’t think that either,’ Rowan muttered.

Finn? Callie stared at her. Finn Banning? The guy on that flight back from JFK? The one she’d never quite managed to forget? The one she’d recommended Rowan to as his wedding planner? Black hair cut short to keep curls under control, utterly mesmerising grape-green eyes and that wide-shouldered, long-legged, slim-hipped body. The man who had starred in quite a few of her night time fantasies lately.

‘Finn? You’ve got to be sh—’ Callie caught her swearword just in time. With Rowan’s help she was trying to clean up her potty mouth. And by ‘Rowan’s help’ she meant that she had to pay Rowan ten bucks every time she swore. It was a very expensive exercise. ‘You’ve got to be
kidding
me.’

Rowan placed their order for a bottle of white wine with
a waitress before answering her. ‘Sadly not. Anyway, he’s the strong, stoic, silent type—not the type of guy who you can commiserate with. So don’t let on that you know.’

Of course she wouldn’t. She was loud and frequently obnoxious, but she wasn’t a complete moron.

She had a low-grade buzz in her womb at the thought of meeting Finn again—jilted or not. She still had a very clear picture of his super-fit body dressed in faded jeans, his muscles moving under a long-sleeved black T-shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows lounging in the seat next to her; his broad hand, veins raised, capable and strong, resting on his thigh. His quick smile, those wary, no-BS-tolerated eyes …

She had amused him, she remembered, and that was okay. He’d looked as if he needed to laugh more. And, more worryingly, those hours she’d spent with him were the last she’d spent in any concentrated, one-on-one time with a man.

Maybe she was losing her mojo.

‘So, how long are you in the country for this time?’

Rowan changed the subject and Callie sighed with disappointment. She wanted to gossip a bit more about the luscious Finn.

As a fashion buyer for an upmarket chain of fashion stores Callie was rarely in the country, constantly ducking in and out of the fashion capitals of Europe and in New York and LA. Trips back home were rarely for more than a week or two—three if she was at the end of a three-month rotation. Wasn’t she due for a three-week break soon? Hmm … she’d have to check.

‘I’m flying out to Paris in a little while and will be away for a week.’

‘Aren’t you sick of it, Cal? The airports, the travelling, the craziness?’ Rowan asked. ‘I could never imagine going back to my old lifestyle, kicking it around the world.’

‘But, honey, you stayed in grotty hostels and hotels. I travel the easy way—business class seats, expensive hotels, drivers, upmarket restaurants and clubs.’

Rowan had been a backpacker—a true traveller. Callie wasn’t half as adventurous as her friend; unlike Rowan she’d never visited anywhere that wasn’t strictly First World.

Upmarket First World. She was that type of girl.

Callie frowned. Rowan had a look in her eye that told her that she was about to say something she wouldn’t like. She’d been on the receiving end of that dark-eyed look many times since her childhood and she leaned back in her chair, resigned. ‘I know that look. What’s wrong?’

Rowan pulled in a long breath. ‘I don’t know … I’m just concerned. Worried about you.’

Callie fought the urge to roll her eyes. ‘Why?’

Rowan stared down at her hands. ‘Because … um …’

‘Jeez—just spit it out, Rowan,’ Callie said, impatient.

Rowan’s eyes flashed at her command. ‘Well, okay, then. Seb and I are concerned because we think you might be becoming … what’s the word? … brittle, maybe.’

What?
‘Why?’

‘You gobble up life, Cal, like nobody else. You love people and you talk to anyone. Within two seconds everyone adores you and wants to be your best friend. You are the only person I know who can walk into a party and within half an hour have everyone doing shots and then the conga. Men want you and girls want to
be
you.’

Well, that was an exaggeration—but it was nice that Rowan thought so. ‘So where does the worry and the brittle part come into it?’

‘Being bubbly and funny and outrageous has always been a part of you, but we sort of feel like you’ve been acting lately. It’s almost as if you’re trying a bit too hard …’