car was awash in flowers, old-fashioned English garden flowers mingled randomly with huge tropical blossoms in the most garish colors imaginable. They were arranged in swags strung through wreaths, with the occasional sheaf to add visual interest. “It’s a leftover Rose Bowl Parade float,” she said at last.
“No way! Parade flowers are real. These are made of the purest virgin plastic.”
“I sensed, somehow, that they were.”
“Indestructible at the highest speeds, in rain, sleet or snow.”
“Are we anticipating any of those things today in Southern California?”
“High speeds, maybe.”
Faith gave him a sharp look, but he seemed to be serious and quite proud of his vehicle. “Do the doors still open?” she asked him, and they were on their festive way.
Twenty minutes later they reached the Little Chapel in the Pines, and Faith caught her first glimpse of Cabot. It seemed like centuries since she’d last seen him, and he took her breath away. In his black suit, black shirt and black tie, he stood on the cobblestone pathway that led from the historic chapel to the street. Surrounded like a god among mortals by the camera crew with their equipment, he gave every appearance of a man who was issuing orders.
He shot one arm out in front of him and gestured behind himself with the other. Then he stuck both arms straight out to the sides and swiveled a little. Every movement was filled with a masculine energy that quickened Faith’s pulse. She especially liked the swivel. She hoped the driver didn’t notice she was drooling.
And then he caught sight of her. She could tell he’d seen her, could see his expression change, could sense his awareness of her. He took a step toward her, then another, almost like a man sleepwalking.
“If you’re having second thoughts, now’s the time to run.”
“What?” The voice of the driver had broken the spell and Faith hurriedly gathered herself up to get out of the car.
“Just kidding,” the driver said as he got out and came around to her door.
Cabot was still behaving like a sleepwalker, taking one slow step and then another, but, Faith observed with disappointment, his focus was not on her but on the limousine. Furthermore, the camera crew had fallen into step behind him, and they all marched toward her like a live version of Night of the Living Dead.
He had reached her side. “Don’t hurt the driver’s feelings,” she whispered hurriedly. “I’ll be sure you have something a bit more…ah…restrained for your honeymoon.”
“This is very…flowery,” he said.
“I think it’s too…” Faith said.
“It’ll really show up on film,” the cameraman said. He seemed transfixed.
“Like a zit on your nose,” Faith said, “but I can…”
“Speaking very frankly, Raff,” drawled a crew member, the one with the rooster haircut and an enviable diamond stud in one ear, “I’ll have to insist that we restrict the flowers to moderate zone species or tropicals. Not both.” He gazed at the car another moment, his head tilted to one side. “Or to pastels or vivids, but not both.”
“Pastels would…” Faith began.
“It could handle sheaves or wreaths,” said the one female member of the crew.
“But not both,” they chorused together, and at this point, Faith simply chimed in.
“So what I think we’re saying, Cab,” said the cameraman, “what I think we’re all in agreement on here—do I have this right, Chelsea, Joey, Miss…whatever?—is that the car…”
“Could be toned down some,” Cabot said. “But not much. Tippy will like it. Okay, you guys, let’s get to work.”
But for a moment he lingered, staring at the garishly decorated car. He had to stare at the car, because if he let himself look at Faith he would risk embarrassing both of them. He hadn’t let himself go back to the agency or participate in the fittings and hair-dresser visits. Three weeks had gone by, and now he was struck all over again by her sheer loveliness. While Joey the stylist had the ability to make Tippy look like an angel, Faith was an angel. In the pale-blue suit, her hair floating out from under the broad-brimmed hat, she was a vision of sweetness and beauty.
Faith was what he wished Tippy could be, or could be turned into.
“Shoo-ah,” he could hear Tippy saying.
He could sense the tables turning on him in the worst possible way. He didn’t have the slightest problem going on a platonic honeymoon with the real Tippy, while the weekend with Tippy’s “double” was going to be a struggle with his conscience from this moment on.
Make that retroactive to the day he met her.
“Talent,” barked the cameraman, “get in position outside the chapel door.”
“Raff,” Cabot called across the churchyard, starting in Raff’s direction with Faith in his wake, “we are not ‘the talent.’ We are a bride and groom—”
“Real groom, fake bride,” Faith interrupted.
“—who want a professional-looking wedding and honeymoon video.” He turned away from Faith in order to give Raff a hard, meaningful look.
He’d had to tell the crew the truth. They’d worked with him many times before, and unlike Faith, they were way too savvy to buy the idea of a honeymoon video that had to be scripted and rehearsed. They were also professionals, as aware as he was that a slip of the tongue could cost them their careers. No one outside their little circle could know the truth. Jack Langley had even conned that worthless twerp Josh Barnett into believing Tippy had actually fallen for her publicist. But Cabot had a feeling that however innocent Faith was, she was a lot smarter than Josh Barnett. Raff needed to watch his words.
“Sorry, boss,” Raff said. “Old habits, y’know. I keep forgetting this job’s personal.” His grin was unrepentant.
Still, feeling sure that Raff wouldn’t let him down, he glanced at Faith to find her beautiful eyes infused with ominous suspicion. Cabot’s stomach tightened up.
Faith had started to worry about the bride she was doubling for. The way Cabot had said, “Tippy will like it,” it being that Celebration of Plastic that was the going-away car, indicated his complete lack of understanding of Tippy Temple’s personality, her hopes and dreams. Each example of this insensitivity made Faith more sure that Cabot had not consulted Tippy about the arrangements, but was instead barreling ahead in his forceful fashion toward a glitzy media splash of a honeymoon that would offend the daylights out of his true love.
She didn’t intend to let him get away with it, but there was nothing she could do about it now, because Raff had just said, “Okay, let’s do a take of the leaving-the-church scene,” and Joey had echoed, “I want to see a little snuggle-up moment,” and all the stray thoughts that had been going through her head flew out when Cabot put his arm around her shoulders.
“Oh, yummy. So sweet. Okay, that’s good,” Joey was saying. “You
