Hair straighteners, heated rollers and cans of spray went into one set of suitcases. Pots of foundation, dozens of brushes and cards of false eyelashes were heading for another. Penelope smiled at the women.
‘I think you deserve to join the celebration. They all look fabulous.’ She stepped closer and lowered her voice, although it was hardly necessary as the chatter and laughter as the glasses were being refilled were enough to make any conversation private. ‘Any problems?’
Cheryl’s smile said it all. ‘Bit of a mission to get every one of Clarissa’s curls sitting just right but we got there in the end. Thank goodness for industrial-strength hairspray.’
The spirals of platinum blonde hair hung to the bride’s waist at the back, easily visible through the sheer mist of an exquisitely embroidered veil. Tresses at the front had been twisted and clipped into a soft frame that supported the tiara holding the veil, as well as offering an anchor for a dozen or more small silver stars. A star made of diamonds sparkled on the perfect spray tan of Clarissa’s décolletage—a gift from Blake that had inspired one of the themes for the wedding. Beneath that, the heavily beaded corset bodice of the dress made the most of what had to be close to the top of the bride’s assets.
‘What d’ya think, Penelope?’
‘I think you couldn’t look more perfect, Clarrie. It’s just as well Blake’s got all those groomsmen to hold him up when he sees you walking down the aisle.’ She took another quick glance at her watch. ‘Five minutes and we’ll need you all in position in the reception hall. I’m just going to make sure the boys are out of the building and that those photographs as you come out will be the first glimpse of your dress that the world gets.’
It was Penelope who waited with Clarissa in the main entrance, signalling each pair of bridesmaids when it was their turn to walk out of the huge doorway, down the sweep of wide steps and start the journey along the carpet that led to the raised gazebo where the celebrant was waiting, flanked by the males of the wedding party. Clarissa’s song choice of Whitney Houston that had been rejected for the fireworks show was perfect for this entrance but it needed careful timing to make sure the bride arrived beside her groom before the song finished.
Penelope waited until all the heads turned to watch Clarissa take her final position, facing Blake and holding both his hands. Nobody saw her as she quietly made her way to the shade of an ancient oak tree, well away from the audience but close enough to hear the ceremony, thanks to the lapel microphone the celebrant was wearing.
A brief respite from the tension of the day was more than welcome. A private moment to collect her thoughts and remember to breathe.
Except it didn’t stay private for long. A figure materialised beside her in the shade. A dark figure. And Penelope forgot to breathe for rather too long.
Had Rafe dressed up for the occasion? He was wearing black jeans today, and a black T-shirt that had a faded image of what was probably an album cover from a forgotten era. The cowboy boots were the same, though, and they were in harmony with a battered, wide-brimmed leather hat that any cowboy would have treasured.
He was dressed for his work and clearly comfortable with being on the hired-help side of the boundary Penelope was balancing on but right now her position in this gathering was unimportant. This short period of time was a limbo where nothing mattered other than the vows the wedding couple were exchanging. This tiny patch of the famous Loxbury Hall gardens was a kind of limbo as well. An island that only she and Rafe were inhabiting.
He was as dark as she was pale. As scruffy as she was groomed. As relaxed as she was tense. Black and white. Total opposites.
It should be making her feel very uncomfortable but it wasn’t.
There was a curl of something pleasant stealing through Penelope’s body. Try as she might to deny it, the surprise of his company was sprinkled with a condiment that could—quite disturbingly—be delight.
* * *
He’d had something on the tip of his tongue to justify the choice of joining Ms Collins in the shade of this tree. Had it been something about it being the best vantage point to observe the ceremony and that he had the time because everything else that could be a distraction in the background had to be put on hold for the duration? Not that his team had much else to do. Everything was in place and all that was needed between now and about midnight was a rehearsal to check that all the electronic components were in functioning order.
Or maybe it had been something about how well the event was going so far. That it was everything the perfect wedding should be.
No wonder the ability to produce words seemed to have failed him for the moment. This was everything the perfect wedding shouldn’t be. The epitome of the circus that represented conforming to one of society’s expected rules of declaring commitment and faithfulness. A rule that was rarely kept, so why bother with the circus in the first place?
Or perhaps the loss of a conversational opening had something to do with being this close to Penelope?
He’d spotted her discreet position from the edge of the lake where he’d initially positioned himself to be out of sight of the guests. That silvery dress she was wearing shone like a new moon in the dense shade of this ancient tree and...and it was possibly the most stunning dress he’d ever seen. Weird, considering there was no more cleavage to be seen than a tiny, teasing line just where that sun-kissed skin began to swell.
Rafe dragged his gaze away, hopefully before she was aware of his appreciation because the glance had been so swift. Her hair looked different today, too. Softer. She still had those braids shaping the sides of her head but the length of it was loose at the back, falling in a thick ringlet instead of another braid. It was longer than he remembered, almost touching the small of her back in that second, silver skin. What would happen, he found himself wondering, if he buried his fingers in that perfect silky spiral and pulled it apart? Would her whole back get covered with golden waves?
What was more likely to happen was that he would infuriate this would-be queen of event management by messing up her hair. She might not be holding a clipboard right now but the tension was still palpable. She was in control. On top of every moment and ready to troubleshoot any problem with the efficiency of a nuclear blast.
Clarissa’s breathlessly excited whisper was being amplified by strategically placed microphones. ‘I, Clarissa Grace Bingham, take thee, Blake Robert Summers, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold...’
Finally, he found something to say.
‘Sounds like she’s the happiest girl on earth right now.’
‘Of course she is. This is her wedding day. Every girl’s dream.’
‘Really?’ Rafe couldn’t help the note of scepticism. ‘Does anyone really believe that those vows mean anything these days?’
Uh-oh... Maybe he should have ruffled the spiral of hair down her back instead of dropping some kind of verbal bomb. The look he received made him feel like he’d just told a kid that Santa Claus didn’t really exist.
‘I believe it,’ Penelope said.
She did. He could see it in her eyes. A fierce belief that it meant something. Something important. He couldn’t look away. He even found himself leaning a little closer as a soft word of query escaped his lips.
‘Why?’
*
