… my parents didn’t have much money.’
‘Is that all? That’s not the wrong side of the tracks. That’s shabby genteel.’
‘My dad went to jail. Embezzlement. He stole to feed a gambling habit.’
That made her pause. Her smile died. ‘Your real dad?’ she asked cautiously, and he nodded.
‘Golly. You almost qualify.’
‘Thank you,’ he said dryly. ‘So where’s your real dad?’
‘He lit out when I was four.’
‘Mine lit out when I was fifteen. With a waitress from a burger joint, and a year’s profit from AccountProtect First Savings.’
‘Wow,’ she said, and almost as a reflex she touched her face.
‘He never hit me,’ Alistair said. ‘Did yours?’
‘I … My stepdad did, yes.’
‘So does that put you further on the wrong side of the tracks than me?’
She stared up into his eyes. Her gaze held. Suddenly her lovely lips curved at the corners and she chuckled again.
It was a good sound. A really good sound, he thought. And he felt pleased with himself. For just a minute she was putting aside her terrors for Max and her pain from her injured face, and she was enjoying herself.
And who could not enjoy this over-the-top wedding? Mike was standing at the end of the aisle, looking stunned. Nervous as hell, despite the array of assorted males supporting him.
This was ridiculous, Alistair thought. What a production.
And then the great front doors swept open. ‘I Will Always Love You’ had segued into a full orchestral rendition of the Bridal March and the guests turned as one to see the bride make her entrance.
Emily. The bride.
This was crazy. She was a powder puff of brilliant white sweeping into the church, with Charles Wetherby in his wheelchair beside her. Charles looked proud fit to burst.
Emily was seeing no one. She looked straight ahead until she saw Mike and faltered in mid-step.
Alistair turned to look at the bridegroom. And he saw the look that flashed between the pair of them …
The whole ridiculous bridal production faded to nothing. This was what it was all about, he thought, stunned. One man and one woman, committing to each other, with all the love in their hearts.
It was no wonder Em hadn’t put her foot down over the apricot tulle. The apricot tulle was nothing.
This man and this woman loved each other.
He had been right to break it off with Eloise, Alistair thought suddenly with a flash of absolute certainty. Eloise would never have looked at him like that. And the way he’d felt about Eloise …
No. This was loving. Out-of-control loving, letting go, a leap of faith—and who cared about apricot tulle? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they belonged together.
He didn’t belong here, he thought suddenly. He felt like an impostor, an outsider privy to emotions he hardly understood.
Embarrassed—or maybe not embarrassed but caught in some emotion he couldn’t begin to fathom—he turned away. He didn’t want to intercept that look again.
He turned to Georgie.
She’d caught the look as well. Her face had changed. Her hands had risen to her cheeks as though to drive away a surfeit of colour.
Her eyes were filled with tears.
‘Georg,’ he whispered, but she shook her head fiercely, denying him the chance to say a word.
He wasn’t going to say a word. He couldn’t think of a word to say.
But tears were slipping down her cheeks. He felt in his pocket, produced a handkerchief and handed it over. Then, as she wiped her face, he took her free hand in his and held it.
What sort of man still used handkerchiefs?
It was a bit of an errant thought but it helped.
Why was she crying at a wedding? This was dumb. It was the stupid analgesics, she thought. It had nothing to do with the way Mike was looking at Emily.
She didn’t do weddings. She didn’t even do relationships. The only relationships she’d ever experienced had led her to disaster.
It was her own fault. She didn’t know who she was herself. She was dumb. She’d go out with a lovely gentle fellow doctor. He’d treat her as if she were Dresden china and she’d feel … empty.
Did she want to be slapped around, as her mother had been?
Of course she didn’t. But there were times when she’d be drawn into a relationship with someone … well, someone her stepfather might have thought a mate. Someone who treated her as she’d learned to expect. She hated that, and it never lasted but, still, at least she knew where she stood.
So she’d never fall in love with a good man?
That thought slammed home, alarming her. She’d been sitting a mite too close to Alistair and now she edged away. He turned and looked at her and he smiled.
He had a killer smile.
He was still holding her hand.
Alistair was one of the Dresden china ones, she told herself, feeling suddenly breathless. She knew from past experience that such men couldn’t make her happy. She’d make them unhappy.
So stop smiling now!
Look at the bride and groom. That was why she was here. Not to think about Alistair-Good-Looking Carmichael.
And not to cry.
Pull your hand away, stupid, she told herself, but she didn’t.
The bride and groom were making their vows, softly but with all the sincerity in the world. Mike was smiling at his bride, making Georgie feel …
Squirmy.
‘Soppy,’ she whispered, sounding as dumb as she’d felt for her tears, and Alistair grinned.
‘Yeah, real Romeo-and-Juliet stuff. Bring on the violins.’
‘They’re happy though,’ Georgie whispered, giving them their due.
‘But we know this love bit’s dangerous.’
She frowned, thrown off balance. ‘Do we?’
‘Of course. You need to decide with your head.’ The priest was talking about the sanctity of marriage, but way back here they could whisper without fear of being overheard. The sound of the wind whistling
