share a door,” he said. “I’ll make sure we have adjoining rooms.”
She threaded her fingers together. Her turn to demand. “I want to start repairing my house now. If I leave before our…before the time’s up, I wouldn’t expect you to repay me for any work I do.”
“If you leave?” He leaned forward. “What would make you leave? I don’t want to marry you and have to start over again in a few months.”
She tried to take his lead and think of marriage as a business deal. “I’m just saying if. I don’t know why I’d leave. Some emergency, maybe, but I don’t plan to leave.”
“Do you need time to think? I can’t make a mistake.”
She took a deep breath and held it. If she thought too long, she’d realize a house and land couldn’t be worth marrying the son of her family’s enemy. She wasn’t making dramas. She shouldn’t eat lunch with Nick Dylan, much less marry him.
“I can’t help it.” She met his gaze evenly. “I want my home and my past. I want my memories back.”
“You can’t remember your childhood without living in the house?”
His interest startled her, but again she should follow his example. She had to find a way to live with Nick Dylan for the next year.
“I’d rather not talk about my past or your father.”
Sitting back, Nick stretched his long legs in front of him. “I guess we have a few more terms to iron out before we meet with our attorneys.”
She curled her legs under her and pulled her skirt over them. “I’d like to move home as soon as we sign the prenuptial agreement.”
“But you’ll move into my house after the wedding?”
“Yes. I can sand all the floors downstairs before we put a wedding together.” Her skirt hid the way her knees shook every time she thought about marrying him.
This was the only way she’d ever get her home back.
“LISTEN, CLAIR, I wanted to talk to you alone because I have to assign you to a job at the Dylans’.”
She blinked. When Paul had asked her to his office, she thought she might have done something wrong on an assignment. “What kind of a job?”
“You’re the only person I have who has experience installing fountains, and Mrs. Dylan wants one. I gave her a catalog, and she’s supposed to put in her order this week.”
“You want me to work for her?”
Paul picked at the chipped top button on his shirt. “I have to ask you to do the job. I’m afraid I’ve heard the story about your family and the Dylans, but their business is important to me. I don’t want to risk an untrained person making a mistake.”
Clair knew her responsibility. “When do you want me to install the fountain?”
“Depends on when it arrives, but I need to warn you, Leota Dylan makes certain rules for people who work in her house.”
Big surprise. “Like what?”
Paul cleared his throat. “She doesn’t want us to mix with the servants or with her or Dr. Dylan.” He licked his lips. “I know you’ll dislike her caste system, and I’m afraid you’ll tell me you won’t do the job, but we’re welcome in the greenhouse and nowhere else.”
Clair had dreaded telling anyone about her upcoming wedding. If she didn’t tell Paul now, he’d wonder why later. She’d agreed to make her marriage look real, but her heart pounded as if she were pointing herself headfirst over the edge of a cliff. “I’m marrying Nick Dylan.”
Paul gaped at her, obviously trying to decide if her engagement helped his business or hurt it. “I guess Mrs. Dylan will have to modify her policy for you.”
HUSHED TONES filled the church. A sibilant “she,” repeated over and over, as the wedding guests spoke of Leota. “She’s not coming. Her own son’s wedding, and she’s not coming.”
Clair listened from the vestry. The undertones sounded almost like a laugh track from a bad TV sitcom. She didn’t care so much for herself. She didn’t embarrass easily, and she might have had to wrestle herself into the church if she were Leota. But Nick probably wanted his mother’s approval. According to the discussions they’d had during the prenuptial negotiations, Leota was one of the executors they had to convince.
The lace cap on Clair’s veil made her scalp itchy. She slid her fingers beneath and scratched, mindful that Leota Dylan didn’t suddenly show up and catch her being unladylike.
With each passing second, escape looked more attractive than marrying Nick. She’d give Leota five more minutes, and then she’d beg the judge to run her down the aisle before she sauntered out there and called the whole thing off.
“Clair, she’s finally here.” Selina fluttered into the vestry, plucking at Clair’s dress like a small bird trying to put its nest in order. “Are you ready?”
“Stop, stop.” Clair caught her hands. “I’m so nervous, Selina.”
“Brides are supposed to be nervous. Your wedding wouldn’t feel real if you weren’t. Can I tell the minister you’re ready?”
“The moment Leota takes her seat.”
“Let me peek outside and make sure the judge is ready to give you away. Oh, you look so lovely. I can’t help thinking of my own wedding.”
Clair slid a finger under her left eye, where a tear burned. Would she ever love a man enough to marry and mean it? Was she capable of real love?
Selina beckoned from the door. “Come on.”
“You’d have made a great matron of honor.”
“You don’t need me.”
“Not true.” Clair hugged her mother’s friend—her friend. “Thanks for your help. The church is beautiful.” She grinned. “The judge is beautiful.”
“Make him use his hanky if he cries.”
Selina slipped out. Clair and Nick had agreed to forgo attendants except for the judge. She waited for Selina to take her place in a pew before she stepped into the aisle and took the judge’s proudly offered arm. Clair returned his warm smile, but faltered as she looked at the man who waited for her at the altar. She hadn’t prepared herself for Nick in a tux and candlelight.
He looked gorgeous. No other word for it. His black hair gleamed. His suit embraced him, defined the lines of the tall, strong body to which she was about to pledge her troth. The determination in his gaze pulled her up the aisle.
The music she’d chosen, a piece from Massenet’s Thais, overwhelmed her. The traditional “Wedding March” hadn’t seemed appropriate, but she loved this music. It seemed to flow into her body, making her powerful and womanly. She should have gone for the traditional. It might have been another lie, but it wouldn’t have meant so much to
