Karen would never forget the heartbroken woman who had taken refuge in this very space, living in the small suite she now used as her office while she struggled to get her business going and forget David, the man who had broken her heart.
Fortunately, he’d come to his senses just in time and now they were engaged for real, living in his amazing town house in Rittenhouse Square. But Karen would be a lot happier when the engagement ended in marriage.
What was stopping David? Did he really want to lose this woman again?
“He’s fine. Really. We’re both fine.”
She didn’t believe it for a minute, but she also knew that Chelsea wasn’t one to unburden herself easily. She’d talk to Karen when she was ready.
Deciding she had too much on her plate with circus acts and new business coming in every day to worry about why her best friend wasn’t in a hurry to marry the man she was engaged to, she reluctantly drained her coffee cup.
When she returned to her office, Karen felt calmer. The taste of lemon clung to her lips and the idea of a circus for a wedding seemed more ludicrous than annoying.
“The Swensons asked to move their appointment back half an hour,” her assistant said. “And two new messages came in. I put them on your desk with your mail.”
“Great, thanks.”
She stepped into her office. The Hepplewhite desk had nothing on it but her laptop, the big leather-bound day planner she still used in spite of technology, the small stack of mail and the phone messages.
She had ten minutes until her next appointment, a new client, Sophie Vanderhooven, and while she waited she flipped open the newest bridal magazine. It was important to keep up with the latest trends, though after ten years in the business she found trends fairly predictable. Now, for instance, with so much uncertainty in the world, weddings were turning strongly traditional. When the economy boomed and wars were somewhere else, then more couples tended to exchange vows on the beach wearing love beads or shouted their I Do’s from hang gliders.
She was skimming an article about nonallergenic bouquets when her assistant beeped her intercom. “Ms. Vanderhooven and her fiancé are here,” she said.
“Thanks. I’ll be right out.”
A quick peek in the mirror she kept in her top drawer confirmed that her mouth was now free of tell-tale lemon dream bar crumbs, her red hair was confined into a smooth bun, her mascara unsmudged. A quick swipe of lip gloss and she stepped back into the towering heels she wore to raise her closer to her dream height of five foot ten from her God-given, stingy five-two.
Her practiced smile on her face, she stepped out to greet her latest clients. She reached the reception area and stalled, her hand already half extended, her mouth open to speak. But nothing came out.
Normally, she gave her initial attention to the bride since she was almost always the true client, while the groom was only peripherally involved. But the man who rose from the plush waiting room seats was not one she could ignore.
He was still commanding, still gorgeous in that careless way of a man who’s so used to female attention he barely notices it. Keenly intelligent gray eyes held her gaze, a twinkle of amusement lurking in their depths. His hair was still dark, though a few threads of silver glittered at his temples. Neither of them spoke, then a female voice broke into her trance.
Her hand was taken in a cool clasp. “Hello. I’m Sophie Vanderhooven, I’m so pleased to meet you. And this is Dexter Crane.”
Automatically, Karen pumped her hand up and down, forced her mouth back into some semblance of normality. “Nice to meet you.”
She inclined her head at the man still staring at her. “Mr. Crane.” There was a slight pause as the three of them stood there before she pulled herself together. “Um, won’t you come into my office?”
She turned and began walking.
She felt his eyes on her all the way, and bitterly did she regret every calorie she’d so foolishly imbibed in the five years since she’d last laid eyes on Dexter Crane. A woman had her pride. The last thing she wanted was to look fat in front of her soon-to-be-married ex-husband.
Especially from behind.
“WHEN ARE YOU AND MR. Crane planning to be married?” she asked in her most professional tone. She’d taken her place behind her desk and motioned for the happy couple to occupy the two pretty chintz chairs opposite.
A well-bred laugh answered her. A finishing school hah-hah, perfectly-modulated and quiet. “I’m not marrying Dexter. He’s the best man, but my fiancé is out of the country and he asked Dex to come along with me so I don’t get carried away.”
Her gaze rose and connected with Dexter’s. Yep, that was definitely a glimmer of amusement. Bastard. He was enjoying this.
“I see.” In a much lower voice she muttered, “Lucky escape for you.”
“Pardon?”
“I said, ‘It’s a lucky thing you’ve come early in the season.’ Things really book up. Well, what do you have in mind, Ms. Vanderhooven?”
The young woman’s ideas were lifted right out of the current issues of bridal magazines. Clearly, she’d been perusing every one.
“And I thought maybe I should have a non-allergenic bouquet, you know, in case anyone’s allergic.” There was a moment’s pause. Karen took refuge in taking notes so she could think of the questions that might help her discover what this bride really might like, ideas that wouldn’t change every month when a new batch of wedding mags hit the newsstands. Then Sophie said, “But I’m very open to suggestions.”
Dexter said, “I’m not the one getting married here, but I’ve always thought something a little less formal would be nice. A garden wedding, let’s say.”
Her pen slipped, drawing a squiggly line right through the word bride. She realized her hands were sweating, that’s why her pen had slipped.
She and Dex had married among a garden of roses and irises, her favorite flower of all, and lilies, so the perfumes intermingled. Even as he spoke the words she was transported back to that magical day, the day she’d thought would begin her own personal happily-ever-after.
Fool.
“I’m sure Ms. Vanderhooven has the best ideas for her own wedding.”
“Not really,” the bride said. “I’m pretty open to ideas. And Andrew always listens to Dexter, so we thought if he came instead it would be almost as good.”
“Dexter, that’s an unusual name.” Karen frowned. “Makes me think of the serial killer on TV.”
Dexter shot her an “oh, come on,” look and explained that Dexter was his mother’s maiden name, as though she didn’t know it perfectly well. Then he rose. “I think better on my feet. You see, Ms. Petersham, mind if I call you Karen? It was Karen, wasn’t it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, naturally, and continued, “You see, Karen, most people want to feel that a marriage is forever, so you want something that’s going to mean something in fifty years. You want a wedding you’ll look back on with fond memories.”
She felt her color heighten as she locked gazes with him. “Do you?”
KAREN HAD A SPLITTING HEADACHE the rest of the day. She knew it wasn’t only the stress of seeing Dex again, but the added insult to her body of skipping lunch. Of course she knew that depriving herself of a few calories wouldn’t suddenly make her magically thin or grow her half a foot so she could look Ms. Sophie Vanderhooven in the eye—and spit in Dexter’s. She’d skipped lunch anyway, which she knew wasn’t good for her, all the diet books said so, but sometimes