not an easy man to put up with. I guess you could say Inga has grown beyond me.”
Now what was she supposed to say to that? She had a feeling he probably was hard to live with. He certainly hadn’t been faithful. She herself was living proof of that.
He spoke into the silence between them. “Cleo, I know I haven’t been any kind of real father to you. But I’d be honored if you’d allow me to attend your wedding.”
Again, what could she say but, “Of course. I’m, um, pleased you want to come.”
“Where and when?”
“We’re keeping it simple. The wedding chapel at Impresario. Saturday at six. Family only.”
“I’ll be there.”
And Matthew Flint was there. As were Fletcher’s half brothers and their wives and Davey and little J.J.. Caitlin Bravo—Aaron, Will and Cade’s bold and brassy mother—also attended, as did Jonas Bravo and his wife, Emma, with their toddler, Russ, and six-year-old Mandy, Jonas’s adopted sister and ward. Fletcher’s mother and stepdad made it, too.
And then there was Ashlyn, who, all in pink, her shining brown hair twined with rosebuds, was the cutest little flower girl Cleo had ever seen.
After the brief ceremony, they all headed over to Club Rouge, where a private room was waiting, complete with a large round table set for the wedding feast with gleaming crystal and fine china. Just about every guest had a toast to propose.
For Cleo, the evening went by in a happy blur— except for a few moments in the ladies’ lounge, where she happened to run into Caitlin.
When Cleo entered the lounge, Caitlin Bravo sat at the gold-rimmed vanity mirrors, reapplying her red-red lipstick. At the sight of Cleo, she rolled the lipstick down and capped it. “There she is, the gorgeous blushing bride!”
Cleo gave the woman a friendly smile. According to Celia, Caitlin was a wonderful person at heart. Aaron’s mother had not only raised three boys on her own, she’d also made a success running a combination bar/restaurant/gift store/gaming parlor, called the Highgrade, in her hometown. “My mother-in-law didn’t get where she is by keeping her mouth shut and minding her own business,” Celia had warned. “If you don’t want Caitlin’s opinion, stay away from her. Far, far away.”
Too late for that. Caitlin was already patting the red-and-gold-brocade chair next to her. “Park that pretty butt right here. Just for a moment, now, darlin’. We’ll have us a quick talk, woman-to-woman.”
Feeling trapped—and also a little bit curious as to what the opinionated Caitlin might have to say to her—Cleo slid into the offered seat.
Though the lounge was empty except for the two of them, Aaron’s mother leaned close to Cleo, bringing with her a cloud of musky perfume. She spoke low, as if guarding against any other listening ears. “I been watching that husband of yours ever since he came to Vegas and joined up with my Aaron and his uncle Jonas. Fletcher’s got those strange light eyes, now doesn’t he? Just like his daddy, that low-down SOB ex of mine. At first I thought that just lookin’ in those eyes again was getting to me, that it wasn’t anything about Fletcher himself that bothered me, that he only reminded me of my own checkered past and the evil, sexy man who ran me in circles—and also gave me three fine, wild sons. I have since changed my mind. It’s more than just those pale eyes. It’s Fletcher himself.”
Alarmed, Cleo jerked back. “Why? What did he do?”
Caitlin loosed a lusty chuckle. In the bright mirror lights her hard black hair gleamed like a raven’s wing. “Honey, it’s nothin’ he’s done, exactly—or if it is, it’s nothin’ I caught him at. But there is something….”
“What?”
“Well, I don’t know, not for sure. But I’ll lay odds something is bothering him in a deep way. There’s some secret he’s keeping. With him, no one gets too close.”
“You know this … how?”
“I know it here.” Caitlin fisted a hand and pounded her chest with it. “And I also know that you’re the woman to open him up.”
“Er … you do?” Cleo’s apprehension faded as she realized that Caitlin was quite a character—but not necessarily anyone Cleo needed to take too seriously.
Caitlin loosed a hefty sigh, and the bright beads on her red dress glittered madly with the movement. “I didn’t get me three sons by a psychopath without learnin’ a thing or two about what goes on in men’s minds. I been worried about Fletcher, I truly have. Worried not knowing how he’d ever allow himself to let down his guard and find the love every man needs. But tonight I met you, sweetheart. And I can honestly say I’m not worried anymore. You’re the woman that he has been waiting for.”
Cleo resisted the urge to make some flippant remark concerning Caitlin’s amazing psychic abilities. No. That would be cruel. Caitlin meant well. Cleo could see her sincerity in her black eyes. “Well. I, um, promise to do my best.”
Caitlin laughed her raucous laugh again. “You don’t believe a thing I’ve told you, now do you? And don’t answer that. I’ve said what needed sayin’ and that’s all she wrote for this particular conversation.” She grabbed her sequined bag and pushed herself to her feet. “I wish you health, wealth and love aplenty, darlin’, on this your wedding day.” Then she turned for the door and went out without looking back, her high red heels tapping hard on the black marble floor.
The next morning Cleo and Fletcher took off for a Bravo-owned five-star resort in Cabo San Lucas. Fletcher’s mother and stepdad stayed with Ashlyn at the penthouse for the four brief days they were gone.
Those four days were beautiful. Cleo and her new husband lay in the tropical sun and swam in the blue, blue sea and made love—a lot.
Twice—the afternoon of the first day of their honeymoon and two days later at dinner—Cleo found herself thinking that her groom seemed just a little preoccupied, a little bit withdrawn. Both times she asked him if something was bothering him. Both times he reassured her that there was absolutely nothing wrong.
The second time she asked, at dinner on their private balcony overlooking the beach and the fabulous jewel-blue ocean, he reached across the table. She gave him her hand and reveled, as always, in the sheer thrill of his touch.
“How could I be preoccupied?” he said. “I’m right where I want to be—with you.”
They returned home midweek, said goodbye to Fletcher’s folks and then they both rushed around playing catch-up, getting on top of what hadn’t gotten done while they’d been lying in the sun. Fletcher had a series of killer meetings that stretched into the evening on both Thursday and Friday, so Cleo and Ashlyn shared dinner on their own.
Friday night, Cleo was sound asleep long before Fletcher returned to the penthouse. Deep in the hours between midnight and dawn, she stirred, opened her eyes—and stared into the darkness at Fletcher’s side of the bed.
Empty.
She stretched out a hand, felt the cool, undisturbed expanse of silk. The red numerals on his bedside clock read 3:13. So very late. Where could he be? He’d said nothing about being gone all night.
Restless
