was good at doing things for other people’s own good. You could ask Joe, though his clumsy attempts at parenting were no doubt part of why his brother was running off half-cocked to get married.
“I’m sure we can figure out something,” Becky said of her pavilion dream.
“We? No, we can’t.”
This was better. They were going to talk about practicalities, as dream-puncturing as those could be!
The plane was circling now, and they moved toward the airstrip.
He continued, “What you’re talking about is an open, expansive structure with huge unsupported spans. You’d need an architect and an engineer.”
“I have a tent company I use at home,” Becky said sadly, “but they are booked nearly a year in advance. I’ve tried a few others. Same story. Plus, the planes that can land here aren’t big enough to carry that much canvas, and you have to book the supply barge. There’s only one with a flat enough bottom to dock here. An unlimited budget can’t get you what you might think.”
“Unlimited?” He heard the horror in his voice.
She ignored him. “Are you sure I’d need an architect and an engineer, even for something so temporary?”
He slid her a look. She looked quite deflated by all this.
“Especially for something so temporary,” he told her. “I’m sure the last thing Allie wants is to be making the news for the collapse of her wedding pavilion. I can almost see the headlines now. ‘Three dead, one hundred and eighty-seven injured, event planner and building contractor missing.’”
He heard her little gasp and glanced at her. She was blushing profusely.
“Not missing like that,” he said.
“Like what?” she choked.
“Like whatever thought is making you blush like that.”
“I’m not blushing. The sun has this effect on me.”
“Sheesh,” he said, as if she had not denied the blush at all. “It’s not as if I said that while catastrophe unfolded all around them, the event planner and the contractor went missing together.”
“I said I wasn’t blushing! I never would have thought about us together in any way.” Her blush deepened.
He watched her. “You aren’t quite the actress that your employer is.”
“I am not thinking of us together,” she insisted. Her voice was just a little shrill. He realized he quite enjoyed teasing her.
“No?” he said, silkily. “You and I seeking shelter under a palm frond while disaster unfolds all around us?”
Her eyes moved skittishly to his lips and then away. He took advantage of her looking away to study her lips in profile. They were plump little plums, ripe for picking. He was almost sorry he had started this. Almost.
“You’re right. You are not a prince. You are evil,” she decided, looking back at him. There was a bit of reluctant laughter lurking in her eyes.
He twirled an imaginary moustache. “Yes, I am. Just waiting for an innocent from Moose Run, Michigan, to cross my path so that in the event of a tropical storm, and a building collapse, I will still be entertained.”
A little smile tugged at the lips he had just noticed were quite luscious. He was playing a dangerous game.
“Seriously,” she said, and he had a feeling she was the type who did not indulge in lighthearted banter for long, “Allie doesn’t want any of this making the news. I’m sure she told you the whole wedding is top secret. She does not want helicopters buzzing her special day.”
Drew felt a bit cynical about that. Anyone who wanted a top secret wedding did not invite two hundred people to it. Still, he decided, now might not be the best time to tell Becky a helicopter buzzing might be the least of her worries. When he’d left the States yesterday, all the entertainment shows had been buzzing with the rumors of Allie’s engagement.
Was the famous actress using his brother—and everyone else, including small-town Becky English—to ensure Allie Ambrosia was front and center in the news just as her new movie was coming out?
Even though it went somewhat against his blunt nature, the thought that Becky might be being played made Drew soften his bad news a bit. “This close to the equator it’s fully dark by six o’clock. The chance of heatstroke for your two hundred guests should be minimized by that.”
They took a path through some dense vegetation. On the other side was the airstrip.
“Great,” she said testily, though she was obviously relieved they were going to discuss benign things like the weather. “Maybe I can create a kind of ‘room’ feeling if I circle the area with torches and dress up the tables with linens and candles and flowers and hope for the best.”
“Um, about the torches? And candles?” He squinted at the plane touching down on the runway.
“What?”
“According to Google, the trade winds seem to pick up in the late afternoon. And early evening. Without any kind of structure to protect from the wind, I think they’ll just blow out. Or worse.”
“So, first you tell me I can’t have a structure, and then you tell me all the problems I can expect because I don’t have a structure?”
He shrugged. “One thing does tend to lead to another.”
“If the wind is strong enough to blow out the candles, we could have other problems with it, too.”
“Oh, yeah, absolutely. Tablecloths flying off tables. Women’s dresses blowing up over their heads. Napkins catching fire. Flower arrangements being smashed. There’s really a whole lot of things people should think about before planning their wedding on a remote island in the tropics.”
Becky glared at him. “You know what? I barely know you and I hate you already.”
He nodded. “I have that effect on a lot of people.”
He watched the plane taxi toward them and grind to a halt in front of them.
“I’m sure you do,” she said snippily.
“Does this mean our date under the palm frond is off?”
“It was never on!”
“You should think about it—the building collapsed, the tablecloths on fire, women’s dresses blowing over their heads as they run shrieking...”
“Please stop.”
But he couldn’t. He could tell he very nearly had her where he wanted her. Why did he feel so driven to make little Miss Becky English angry? But also to make her laugh?
“And you and me under a palm frond, licking wedding cake off each other’s fingers.”
At first she looked
