Читать книгу Modern Romance January 2020 Books 5-8 - Heidi Rice - Страница 14

LATER THAT EVENING Layla fed Flossie and let her out for a comfort walk. When she got back, the old dog began to snore almost as soon as she settled back in her wicker basket in front of the fire in Angus’s study a few doors away from the kitchen. There was a pet door in one of the back doors off the kitchen, but Flossie was too arthritic these days to get through it.

It was sad to see the old girl’s decline. Layla had only been at Bellbrae a couple of weeks when Angus McLaughlin had brought Flossie home as a playful and needle-toothed puppy. She had often wondered if he had bought the dog to help her settle in. She had asked him once but he’d dismissed the suggestion in his gruff and off-hand way.

Layla had spent many a happy time playing with Flossie, brushing her silky coat and taking her on walks about the estate, which had seemed so huge and terrifying when she had first arrived. But with the company of the ebullient puppy it had suddenly become a home. A home she could not imagine losing. Her happiest memories—the only happy memories she possessed—had been crafted and laid down here at Bellbrae.

Layla was putting the finishing touches to dinner shortly after when Logan strode into the kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder and turned back to the pot she was stirring on the cooktop. ‘Dinner won’t be long.’

‘Where’s Elsie?’

Layla put the cooking spoon down on the ceramic spoon rest and turned and faced him, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘I gave her the night off. She hasn’t been doing so much cooking now your grandfather’s no longer with us.’ She waited a beat and added, ‘She knew about the change to his will.’

Logan frowned. ‘Thoughtful of him to share it with the household help but not with me.’

Layla pursed her lips. ‘You might think of Aunt Elsie as little more than a humble housekeeper but she has supported your family through every high and low of the last three decades.’ She whipped off her apron and flung it on the benchtop.

‘When your mother left when you and Robbie were little, when your father died, when Robbie went off the rails that first time in his teens. And when your grandmother died when you were away at university. Aunt Elsie has cooked and cleaned and consoled everyone, working long hours and forsaking a normal life of her own. Don’t you dare refer to her as just the help.’ Her chest was heaving like she had just run up one of the Bellbrae turrets. Three turrets. Possibly all twelve of them.

He closed his eyes in a slow blink and sighed. ‘All I seem to do lately around you is open my mouth and change feet.’ He twisted his lips into a rueful grimace. ‘I meant no offence. My only excuse is that I’m still reeling from being so much in the dark about my grandfather’s intentions. I hate surprises at the best of times and this was one hell of a surprise.’

There were surprises and there were surprises. Layla could only imagine the surprises Logan had received over the course of his life were not the pleasant type. His mother abandoning him and his brother as small children to go and live with her lover abroad, the sudden death of his father from pancreatic cancer, the terrible shock of his fiancée’s suicide and now his grandfather’s odd conditions on his will. She could hardly blame him for wanting a little more predictability in his life. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I told Aunt Elsie about your proposal.’

Logan’s gaze was steady and watchful. ‘And?’

‘She told me I’d be a fool not to accept.’

‘And have you accepted?’

‘Just to be clear—I don’t want you to lose Bellbrae much more than I want to be your wife. Think of my acceptance as an act of charity, if you will.’

If he was relieved by her answer he gave no sign of it on his features. They might as well have been discussing the weather. ‘I appreciate your honesty. Neither of us want this but we have a common goal in saving Bellbrae.’

Layla kept her chin high, her gaze level, her pride on active duty. ‘She also thinks it won’t be a paper marriage for very long.’

One side of his mouth came up in a vestige of a smile. It took years off his face and made something in her stomach slip sideways. It had been years, seven years at least, since she had seen him give anything close to a smile.

He approached the island bench on the opposite side from where she was standing.

‘Why would she think that?’ His voice had gone down to a rough deep burr.

Her gaze flicked away from his, her cheeks warming like she’d been standing too close to the oven. She gave a little shrug. ‘Who knows? Perhaps she thinks you’ll be overcome with uncontrollable lust and won’t be able to resist me.’

There was a loaded silence. A silence with an undercurrent of unusual energy vibrating through every particle of air. Energy that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck and along her arms tingle at the roots.

Layla sneaked a glance at him and found him looking at her with a contemplative frown.

After a moment, he appeared to give himself a mental shake and then raked his splayed fingers through his hair, dropping his hand back by his side. ‘I would hope you know me well enough to be reassured I am a man of my word. If I say our marriage will not be consummated, then you can count on it that it won’t be.’

Why? Because she was so undesirable? So repugnant to him as she had been to her first and only boyfriend when she was sixteen? So unlike the gorgeous supermodel types Logan had occasional casual flings with?

‘Right now, I don’t know whether I should be reassured or insulted.’ The words slipped out before her wounded ego could check in with her brain.

Logan’s gaze dipped to her mouth, lingering there a fraction longer than was necessary. His eyes came back to mesh with hers and her heart gave an odd little thumpity-thump. She had to summon every bit of willpower she possessed and then some not to glance at his mouth. She wondered if he kissed hard or soft or somewhere in between. Her mind suddenly filled with images of them making love, her limbs entangled with his, her senses singing from his touch, his mouth clamped to hers in passion. A passion she could only imagine because she had never experienced it herself.

‘It would only complicate things if we were to have a normal relationship.’ His voice had a rough edge as if something was clogging his throat. ‘It wouldn’t be fair to you.’

Layla turned and went back to the pot simmering on the cooktop behind her. Her body was simmering too. Smouldering with new sensations and longings she had no idea how to control. Had his ‘proposal’ unlocked something in her? Made her aware of herself in a way she hadn’t been before? Aware of her needs, the needs she had ignored and denied, always telling herself no one would ever want to marry her.

She took the lid off the pot, picked up the spoon and gave the casserole a couple of stirs. ‘Will you continue to have casual lovers during our marriage?’

‘No. That’s something else that wouldn’t be fair to you. And I would hope you would refrain from any dalliances yourself.’

Layla put the spoon down again and placed the lid back on the pot with a clang. ‘You don’t have to worry on that score. I haven’t had a casual lover my entire adult life.’

Why did you tell him that?

There was another pulsing silence.

Logan came to her side of the island bench and stood next to her near the cooktop. Her body went on high alert, every nerve and cell aware of his closeness. Not touching, but close enough to do so if either of them moved half a step.

‘But you’ve had lovers, right?’

Layla turned her head to glance at him, hoping he would put her flaming cheeks down to her proximity to the simmering pot in front of her. ‘Not as many as you might think.’ No way was she going to announce she was a twenty-six-year-old virgin. She moved from the cooktop to gather the serving utensils. ‘I haven’t opened any wine for dinner. Do you want to grab a bottle? We’ll be eating in the small green dining room since it’s just the two of us.’

‘I’ll bring something up from the cellar.’

Just the two of us.

How cosy and intimate that sounded, but it wasn’t true. He would never have asked her to marry him if it hadn’t been for the strange conditions on his grandfather’s will. She had to remember that at all costs. This was a business deal. Nothing personal. Nothing lasting.

Nothing.

Logan spent longer than he needed to choosing a wine from the well-stocked Bellbrae cellar. He remembered the bottle of vintage champagne he’d selected when he’d got engaged to Susannah. How excited he’d felt, how ready he’d felt for the commitment he’d made. How he had imagined himself to be in love and Susannah in love with him. He had been Layla’s age—twenty-six. Susannah had been two years younger with a host of issues he had been completely oblivious to until it was too late.

Losing his father after a devastatingly brief battle with cancer had compelled him to settle down as soon as he could. With hindsight, he could see now how many signs he’d missed about the suitability of Susannah, even his own readiness for such a permanent commitment. He’d had no way of knowing how that night of celebrating his engagement would end less than a year later in Susannah’s death. How could he have been so ignorant of the demons she’d battled on a daily basis?

What did that say about him?

It said he wasn’t relationship material, that’s what it said. Or at least, not that sort of relationship. Promising to love someone no matter what, making a long-term commitment were things he could no longer do. Would never do.

But a paper marriage to save his beloved home was something he could do and do it willingly.

Logan selected a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge in the cellar next to the racks of vintage wine. His upcoming marriage to Layla might not be a real one in every sense of the word but it was surely worth celebrating their joint commitment to save Bellbrae.

Layla wheeled the serving trolley into the green dining room rather than risk carrying plates and dishes. Because of the muscle grafts performed to keep her leg functioning as best as it could, it was often weaker and more painful at the end of the day. And the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself by losing her balance again and needing Logan’s assistance. She was already feeling a little nervous about having dinner with him.

In the early days, Aunt Elsie had been very old-school about dining with the family upstairs and had always insisted Layla eat in the kitchen with her. But since the death of Logan’s grandmother the rules had been relaxed as Angus McLaughlin had appreciated the company at dinner to get him through the long lonely evenings.

But she had never dined alone with Logan.

The green dining room was one Layla’s favourite rooms in the castle. It had windows that overlooked the loch on the estate and the Highlands beyond. She left the curtains open as the moon had risen and was shining a bolt of shimmering silver across the crushed silk surface of the water.

Logan came back from the cellar just as Layla was straightening the settings on the table. He was carrying a bottle of French champagne in one hand and holding two crystal glasses by the stems in the other.

‘I seem to recall you like champagne. But if you’d prefer wine…’

‘No, I love champagne. It’s my favourite drink.’ She raised her brows when she saw the label. ‘Gosh, that’s a good one. But should we be wasting it on an everyday dinner?’

He placed the glasses on the table and began to remove the foil covering and wire from the cork. ‘This isn’t an everyday dinner. Tonight, we’re celebrating our success in saving Bellbrae. That’s worth ten thousand bottles of this drop.’

Layla watched as he deftly removed the cork and poured the champagne into the two crystal glasses. He handed her a glass and raised his own glass in a toast. ‘To saving Bellbrae.’

She sipped the champagne, savouring the honey and lavender notes as they burst on her tongue. ‘Mmm…lovely.’

Logan put his glass down and reached for something inside his trouser pocket. ‘I have something for you.’ He took out a vintage emerald-green velvet ring box and handed it to her.

Layla knew exactly what was inside the box. She’d helped Aunt Elsie pack away Logan’s grandmother’s things when Margaret McLaughlin had died from complications after routine surgery. The collection of beautiful heirloom jewellery had fascinated Layla so much she had secretly looked at it on many occasions when no one had been around. She knew the code to the safe where it was kept, and had even tried various pieces on, looking at herself in the mirror, pretending she was a princess about to be married to the handsome prince of her dreams.

Layla put her champagne glass down and prised open the lid of the box and stared at the gorgeous Art Deco setting with its array of glittering diamonds. ‘Oh, my… I’d forgotten how beautiful your grandmother’s ring is.’ She met his gaze. ‘But surely you don’t want me to wear it? I mean, given the circumstances of our…um…marriage?’

His expression was largely unreadable…all except for the way his eyes dipped to her mouth before going back to mesh with hers. ‘My grandmother would want you to have it. She was fond of you. Try it on. See if it fits. We can have it resized if not.’

Layla already knew how well it fitted but didn’t want to reveal her guilty secret. She took the ring out of the box, a part of her disappointed he wasn’t the one slipping it over her finger for her, just as a man deeply in love with his fiancée would do. But nothing about their engagement was normal, so how silly of her to wish for things she couldn’t have.

But as if Logan had suddenly read her mind, he held out his palm for the ring. ‘Here—let me do that. I believe it’s my job.’ There was a strange quality to his voice, a low deep chord of some unidentifiable emotion.

Layla placed the ring in the middle of his palm and held her breath as he took her hand in his. Her fingers were so white against the tan of his, her skin alive with sensations—tingly, fizzing sensations—that sent tiny zaps of electricity to the far reaches of her body.

He slid the ring over the knuckles of her ring finger and smiled when it met no resistance. ‘It’s like it was made for you.’

She was so captivated by his smile she forgot to look down at the ring on her finger. It had been years since she had seen him give a genuine smile. Not one of those half-baked twists of his mouth but a real smile that involved his eyes, making them crinkle attractively at the corners. He looked younger, less stressed, more approachable. The grief-damaged landscape of his face restored to one of hope instead of quiet despair. He was still holding her hand, his fingers warm and gentle as if he was holding a kitten.

The atmosphere changed as if there was a sudden rent in time. A stillness. A silence waiting with bated breath for something to happen…

Layla couldn’t tear her gaze away from his mouth, couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to feel his lips against her own. She moistened her own lips with a darting movement of her tongue, her heart giving an extra beat like a musician misreading a musical score. ‘I—I don’t know what to say…’

‘Don’t say anything.’ The pitch of his voice went down another notch and he slid his other hand under the curtain of her hair, his eyes locked on hers.

Every nerve tingled at his touch, every cell in her body throbbing with awareness. His eyes were the deepest blue she had ever seen them—bluer than the Bellbrae loch at midnight, bluer than a midnight winter sky. He was still holding her left hand, the heat from his hand seeping into her body with the potency of a powerful narcotic. She was aware of every part of his hand where it touched hers—the pads of his fingertips, the latent strength of his fingers, the protective warmth of his palm.

Layla forgot to breathe. She was transfixed by the slow descent of his mouth towards hers, spellbound by the clean fresh scent of his warm breath, mesmerised by the magnetic force drawing her inexorably closer, closer, closer to his lips. It was as if she had been waiting her entire life for this to happen. She hadn’t been truly alive until now. She had been a formless ghost wandering through life until this moment when she had morphed into a live and vibrant female body with urgent needs and desires. Her heart sped up, her pulse leapt, her anticipation for the touchdown of his lips so acute it was almost unbearable.

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

It was a silent chant keeping time with the pounding beat of her heart.

But suddenly Logan dropped his hold and stepped back, opening and closing his fingers as if to rid himself of the taint of touching her. ‘Forgive me. That wasn’t meant to happen.’ His tone was brusque, his expression masked.

Layla was so overcome with disappointment she couldn’t find her voice. She couldn’t bear to look at his face in case she saw his disgust for her written on his features. The cruel taunts of her teenage boyfriend echoed out of the past in her head.

‘You’re ugly. You’re a cripple. Who would ever want you?’

She looked down at her left hand where the ring was mockingly glinting, her stomach plummeting in despair. Such a beautiful ring for a girl who couldn’t even attract a man enough for him to kiss her. What a mockery that ring was. A glittering, glaring, gut-wrenching reminder of everything Layla was not and never could be.

‘It’s okay,’ she said at last, forcing herself to meet his gaze. ‘I understand completely.’

He sucked in a deep breath, sending his hand through his hair so roughly it left deep crooked finger trails. ‘I don’t think you do.’

Layla turned and got down to the business of serving their meal onto the plates where she had left them on the sideboard, next to the serving trolley. She placed the plates on the dining table and glanced his way. ‘I think I do understand, Logan. This engagement is nothing like your last. You loved Susannah.’ She released a painful breath. ‘You still love her. That’s why getting engaged to me makes you feel so uncomfortable, because you feel you’re betraying her memory.’

A muscle in his jaw flickered as if he was grinding down on his molars. ‘I don’t wish to discuss Susannah with you or anyone.’ His eyes were like closed windows. Curtains drawn. Shutters down.

Layla sat down at the table and spread her napkin over her lap. ‘I realise you’re still grieving. I’m sorry things have worked out the way they have—for her and for you. It was the saddest thing, especially since you’ve had so many other tragic losses in your life. But I think your grandfather was right in encouraging you to move on with your life.’

‘Oh, so you quite like the way he went about it, do you?’ His tone was as caustic as flesh-eating acid.

Layla pressed her lips together, fighting to control her see-sawing emotions. One second she was furious with him, the next she felt sad he couldn’t let go of the past. ‘Please sit down and have dinner. I’m getting a crick in my neck looking up at you.’

Logan strode over to the table and pulled out the chair and sat down, his knees bumping hers under the table. She shifted back a bit, trying to ignore the rush of heat that shot through her legs and straight to her core. Why couldn’t she be immune to him? Why was she so acutely aware of him?

They began eating in a stiff silence, only the clanging discordant music of cutlery scraping against crockery puncturing the air.

Layla drank her glass of champagne and Logan refilled her glass as if he were a robotic waiter, but she noticed he didn’t drink from his. His untouched champagne glass stood in front of his place setting, releasing bubble after bubble in a series of tiny vertical towers.

She picked up her glass with her left hand and the diamonds on the ring winked at her under the chandelier light coming from overhead. Something was niggling at the back of her brain… Why hadn’t Logan given Susannah his grandmother’s ring? Layla remembered Susannah’s engagement ring as being ultra-modern and flashy. It was a look-at-me ring that was not to Layla’s taste at all. ‘Logan?’

He looked up from the mechanical task of relaying food from his plate to his mouth. ‘What?’ His curt tone wasn’t exactly encouraging, neither was the heavy frown between his eyes.

Layla toyed with the ring on her left hand. ‘Why didn’t you give your grandmother’s ring to Susannah when you became engaged?’

Something passed through his gaze with camera shutter speed. ‘She didn’t like vintage jewellery.’ He put his cutlery down and shifted his water glass an infinitesimal distance. ‘I didn’t take it personally. I was happy to buy her what she wanted.’ He picked up his cutlery again and stabbed a piece of parsnip as if it had personally offended him.

Layla waited until he had finished his mouthful before asking, ‘How are her parents and siblings coping? Do you hear from them or contact them yourself?’

A shadow moved across his face like clouds scudding across a troubled autumn sky. ‘I used to call them or drop in on them in the early days but not lately. It only upset them to be reminded.’ He put his cutlery down in the finished position on his plate and rested his arms on the table, his frown a roadmap of lines.

Layla reached for his forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘I can only imagine how awful it must have been to have come home and found her…like that…’

He pulled his arm away and sat stiffly upright in his chair, his expression as blank as the white tablecloth. But after a long moment he relaxed his posture as if something tightly bound within him had loosened slightly. ‘When someone takes their own life it’s not like any other death.’ His gaze was haunted, his tone bleak. ‘The guilt, the what-ifs, the if-onlys, the what-could-I-have-done-to-prevent-this are unbearable.’ He expelled a heavy breath and continued, ‘I blame myself for not seeing the signs.’

‘You mustn’t blame yourself but I understand how you and most people do,’ Layla said. ‘But I read somewhere that sixteen percent of suicides are completely unheralded. It’s a snap in the moment decision borne out of some hidden anguish.’

Logan picked up his champagne and drained it in a couple of swallows, placing the glass back down with a savage little thump. ‘There were signs but I ignored them.’ He waited a beat or two before continuing in a ragged voice. ‘She had an eating disorder. Bulimia. I don’t know how I missed it.’ His mouth twisted in a grimace and his tone became tortured with self-loathing. ‘How can you live with someone for months and not know that about her?’

Layla reached for his hand but this time he didn’t pull away. ‘Shame makes people hide lots of stuff. Bulimia is mostly a secret disease and much harder to pick up on than anorexia, where the physical effect is so obvious.’

Logan looked down at their joined hands and turned his over to anchor hers to the table. He began to absently stroke the back of her hand with his thumb, the caress only light, lazy almost, but no less magical. Nerves she hadn’t known she possessed reacted as if touched by a live electrode, zinging, singing, tingling.

He lifted his gaze to hers and something toppled over in her stomach. His thumb stilled on the back of her hand but he didn’t release her. His gaze moved over her face as if he were memorising her features one by one. When he got to her mouth she couldn’t stop herself from sweeping the tip of her tongue across her lips—it was an impulse she had zero control over.

Logan gave her hand another quick squeeze in time with the on-off movement of his lips, in a blink-and-you’d-miss-it smile. A smile that didn’t reach high enough to take the shadows out of his eyes. But then he let go of her hand and sat back in his chair and picked up his water glass and drained it, placing it back down with a definitive thud.

‘Finish your dinner. We have a busy day tomorrow meeting with the lawyer to organise the legal paperwork. Rather than drive, I’ve taken the liberty of organising a flight from Inverness to Edinburgh.’ His business-like tone and abrupt change of subject was disquieting and left her with far too many questions unanswered.

‘Okay…’ Layla wanted to know more about his relationship with Susannah. She had idolised them as a couple, seeing them as a match made in heaven. Feeling jealous of the love they’d shared, hoping one day someone would love her in the same way. But finding out their relationship might not have been as open and wonderful as she had imagined made her understand why Logan was so reluctant to commit to anyone else.

But Layla had personal experience of the tricky question of how well could you know anyone, even someone you had lived with for years. Didn’t her childhood circumstances prove that? Her father had always been a difficult man; prone to angry outbursts, regular violence—especially when on drugs or drunk, but who would have thought he was capable of the crime he’d eventually committed—driving into a tree at full speed to kill the family he’d purported to love?

‘The legal stuff…’ She chewed her lip for a moment, desperate to get her mind off the accident that had killed her mother and changed her own life for ever. ‘You mean a pre-nup, right?’

‘Pre-nups are commonplace these days. Please don’t be offended by my desire for one. You have your own assets to consider—your cleaning business, for example.’

Layla gave a self-deprecating snort and picked up her champagne glass. ‘Yeah, right. My assets hardly compare to yours. You have offices all over the UK and Europe. My office is basically on my phone. I decided to give up my Edinburgh office after your grandfather died to come back and help Aunt Elsie. It seemed easier to work from here until everything is settled with the estate.’

‘I’m sorry you’ve been so inconvenienced,’ he said, looking at her with a concerned frown. ‘I had no idea you’d given up your office.’

She waved a dismissive hand. ‘I was glad to come home. Flossie was missing your grandfather and Aunt Elsie was finding it hard to do everything on her own.’

‘Your business is doing well, though, isn’t it? You’re running at a decent profit?’

Layla was not going to admit to him or to anyone how close to the wind she sailed at times with her business. Failure was not an option. A nightmare that haunted her, yes, but not an option. Failure would prove she was nothing but a product of her chaotic childhood—a child of addicts. Her parents had had no ambition beyond the goal of sourcing enough alcohol and drugs for their next binge.

Owning her own cleaning business gave Layla power and control, and God alone knew how little of that she’d had in her childhood. ‘I do okay.’ She put her glass back down again.

‘How okay?’ His gaze was as direct as a laser pointer.

Layla shifted in her seat and lowered her eyes to the remains of her meal on her plate. ‘It’s not always easy to get reliable workers. It takes time to build up trust, to know they’re always going to do the right thing by me and the people I get them to clean for.’ She met his gaze and continued. ‘They’re cleaning people’s homes where valuables and personal effects are not always under lock and key, and often the clients are not at home when my staff are there.’

A frown brought his ink-black eyebrows together. ‘Don’t you do background checks on them first?’

‘Some of the young people I employ wouldn’t pass a background check,’ Layla said. ‘They need someone to give them a break for once. To not always be expecting them to slip up or fail. I believe in showing trust first and teaching them some skills, hoping it triggers the desire in them to make better choices.’ The sort of choices she wished her parents had made.

‘Admirable of you, but you’re setting yourself up for guaranteed disappointment.’ His tone matched his cynical expression.

Layla hoisted her chin a fraction. ‘My vision for my business is not just about making a big profit. It’s about making a difference in people’s lives. Lives that others have judged and found wanting. But I know how powerful it can be when someone believes in you. Someone who sees something in you that no one else does. It’s…it’s transformative.’

His eyes moved over her face like a searchlight for a long moment and she had to fight not to shift her gaze.

‘Is that because of what happened in your childhood?’ His tone had lost its cynical edge. ‘My grandparents giving permission for you to come and live here with your great-aunt?’

‘It’s getting late.’ Layla pushed back her chair and rose from the table and began to gather the plates. Next he’d be asking her to spill all about her miserable childhood and that she was determined not to do. Thankfully, privacy laws had prevented the McLaughlins from hearing too many of the gory details about her early years—details Layla dearly wished she could forget. ‘I think I can hear Flossie asking to be let out.’

Logan placed a hand over her forearm as she reached for his plate. ‘I don’t want you to wait on me, Layla. I want you to talk to me. There’s a lot we don’t know about each other, and we need to know it if we’re going to make our relationship appear genuine.’

She glanced at his hand on her arm and gave him a pointed look. ‘Do you mind?’

He released her hand, his tone and expression softening. ‘I don’t know all the details but I know your background was difficult. It must have been, otherwise you wouldn’t have ended up living here. I think it’s great how you’ve taken charge and started your own business. But don’t be too proud to ask for help if you need it.’ He rose to his feet and pushed in his chair, adding, ‘There’s one other thing I think I should tell you. We’ll have to get married abroad and soon. According to Scottish law, there’s a twenty-eight-day waiting period before we can get a marriage licence, and I don’t want to lose any more valuable time.’

‘Married abroad?’ Layla opened and closed her mouth. ‘Please tell me you’re not thinking Vegas and an Elvis impersonator?’

He gave a crooked smile that made something in her chest ping like a latch springing open. ‘No. But if you’re not keen on an impersonal register office, how about a small and simple ceremony on a beach in Hawaii?’

Hawaii. The land of bikinis and beaches and beautiful bodies.

Oh, joy.