“You’re driving yourself to exhaustion,” he told her toward the end of the week. He sank his fingers into the rigid muscles of her shoulders and worked to smooth out the knots and kinks. “You don’t want that exhaustion to show, and the best way of avoiding that is to get some sleep.”
Catherine nodded absently. “You’re right. I’ll join you in a minute. I just want to go over the seating chart one final time.”
Without a word, he lifted her into his arms and carried her—protesting all the way—into the bedroom. “The seating chart will still be there in the morning, as will the menu and the flower order and the final head count. There’s nothing more you can do tonight other than fuss.”
“I do not fuss,” she argued. “I organize.”
“Sweetheart, I know organizing. That wasn’t it. That was fussing.”
She sagged against him. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m fussing. I can’t seem to stop myself.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
He lowered Catherine onto the bed and in less than thirty seconds had her stripped and a wisp of anightgown tugged over her slender form. Then he tucked her under the covers. He joined her ten seconds later, but by that time she’d already fallen sound asleep. Thank God for small miracles, he couldn’t help but think. Sweeping her close, he brushed her hair back from her brow and planted a gentle kiss there. Satisfied that he’d accomplished his goal with minimal effort, he cushioned her head against his shoulder and allowed sleep to consume him as well.
As the end of the week approached, Gabe kept a weather eye on Catherine, ensuring that she ate properly and caught as much sleep as possible. She tolerated his interference, seemed amused by it, even. Perhaps she understood that it originated from concern. And that gave him hope that maybe this time around they’d get their relationship right.
By Friday morning, the day of the reception, Catherine’s calm had vanished and her nerves had shredded through her self-control. “Anything I can do?” he asked over breakfast.
She shook her head. “I have some paperwork to take care of this morning—”
“You and I both know it’s all in order.”
She flashed a brief, tense smile. “True. But I’m going to review it, anyway. Late this morning I’ll head over to Milano’s and finalize the arrangements for tomorrow’s reception. Joe’s outstanding at his job, so I don’t doubt everything will be perfect, but—”
“You’ll feel better after making sure.” Gabe nodded in complete understanding. “What about tonight’s rehearsal dinner?”
“That’s the responsibility of the groom’s family, thank goodness. Once the rehearsal is out of the way, I’ll come home.” He could see her do a mental run-through of her to-do list and wondered if she even noticed that she’d fallen into the habit of calling the apartment “home.” “I want to try for an early night, which shouldn’t be a problem. There will be a few last-minute phone calls to make before turning in, just to confirm everyone knows what time they need to show up tomorrow.”
He covered her hand with his. “No one will dare be late.”
She relaxed enough to offer a genuine smile. “You’re right about that. It’s not wise to tick off a woman clinging to the edge of a cliff by a fingernail.”
His grin faded, replaced by concern. “That bad?”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “Not really,” she confessed. “I’ve got two or three fingernails firmly dug in.”
Maybe he could help with that. “I want to escort you to the wedding tomorrow, Cate.”
She stared blankly. “I’ll be working.”
“I understand. But I’d like to be there to offer moral support, as well as give you another set of hands should there be a snag.”
A frown formed between her eyebrows. “People will think I can’t handle my own business,” she argued.
“I’ll keep a low profile.”
“Right,” she said in exasperation. “Because, goodness knows, no one in Seattle will recognize Gabe ‘the Pirate’ Piretti.”
He tried another tack. “My presence might help keep Annie’s mother in check.”
“I can handle Beth,” Catherine grumbled.
“I don’t doubt it. But it might force her to think twice before causing trouble or throwing a fit over some trifling problem.”
Catherine turned white. “There will be no trifling problems. There will be no problems at all.”
Hell. “That’s what I meant to say,” he hastened to reassure her. “I’ll just be your muscle.”
To his relief, she relaxed ever so slightly, and her smile flashed again. “Fine. You can be my muscle. Muscle remains in the background and blends in with the wallpaper.”
“Got it. I can do wallpaper.”
Catherine simply shook her head in open amusement. “Good try, but you couldn’t do wallpaper if your life depended on it.”
He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Why, thank you, darling. Allow me to return the compliment.”
She visibly softened. “You don’t have to come, Gabe. I won’t need help.”
“You’re right, you won’t. But I want to be there for you.”
She debated for a few seconds before nodding. “Fine. This one time you can come.”
He struggled to appear both humble and grateful. If she hadn’t been so distracted, she wouldn’t have bought it for a minute. “I appreciate it.” That decided, he pushed back from the table. Bending down, he tipped her chin upward and gave her a slow, thorough kiss. “I’m off to work. If you need me, call my cell.”
She stopped him before he’d gone more than a half dozen steps. “Gabe?” When he turned, she smiled in a way that had his gut clenching.
“Thanks.”
The day of Annie’s wedding proved perfect in every regard. The weather couldn’t have been prettier. Everyone showed up exactly on time. And best of all, the entire affair ran like clockwork. To Catherine’s relief, her nerves settled the minute she stepped foot in the church. She fell into a comfortable rhythm, orchestrating the progression with an ease and skill that impressed even Annie’s mother.
There were the expected last-minute glitches. Someone stashed the bridal bouquet in the wrong room, causing momentary panic. The ring bearer managed to get grass stains on his britches during the ten seconds his mother wasn’t supervising him. And one of the bridesmaids caught her heel in the hem of her gown and needed last-minute stitching. But other than that, the flow continued toward its inevitable conclusion, slow and smooth and golden.
Once the ceremony began, she had a moment to catch her breath and stood in the vestibule with Gabe, watching the timeless tradition of sacred words and new beginnings. It never failed to move her, and this time was no different.
“We never quite got there, did we?” Gabe said in an undertone.
It had been a long day. An exhausting week. Perhaps because of it, the question struck with devastating accuracy. “No,” she whispered. “We never did.”
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