Читать книгу Rom-Com Collection - Kristan Higgins - Страница 24

IN THE RECEIVING LINE, Laura hugged and kissed Ian, then turned to me. “Callie! Thank you so much for coming! I’m so glad you did.”

“Congratulations,” I said, smiling. I couldn’t help liking her.

“And oh, my God, that dress!” she exclaimed.

I smiled modestly, but hiked the hem up so she could see my shoes.

“Don’t tell me … Manolo?” she said in the hushed and reverent tone the shoes deserved.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “And I got them on clearance for only—”

“Okay, let’s move along,” Ian grumbled, giving me an ungentle nudge. He stood in front of the other bride. “Devin. Best wishes.” His voice was cool.

“Ian. Hello.”

My eyebrows raised. Well, of course they’d hate each other. Devin turned to me. She was wearing a cream-colored Hillary Clinton–style pantsuit (the horror, the horror) and no makeup, a far cry from her stylish and ultrafeminine new wife. Still, she was quite attractive in that good-bone-structure way. “So you’re Ian’s date, huh?” she asked, looking me up and down.

“We’re friends,” I corrected, suspecting he would if I didn’t. “Nice to meet you.”

At the end of the line, Ian introduced me to Laura’s parents. “John, Barb, this is Calliope Grey, a friend of mine from Georgebury. Callie, these are my … uh, Laura’s parents.”

The mother shook my hand. “Well, we certainly never saw this day coming,” she said, still holding onto my hand. “We were hoping for grandchildren.”

“You never know. They can always adopt,” I said. “My sister adopted both her girls.”

“We always thought Ian would make a wonderful father. He was so good to Laura, and honestly, he couldn’t have been—”

“That’s enough, Barb,” Laura’s father said. “Nice to meet you,” he said to me. “We’ll see you at the reception.”

“So,” I said once we were in the car. Ian put the key in the ignition. “I take it you weren’t the only one surprised by Laura’s, um … sapphic tendencies?”

Ian rubbed his eyes. “No. Her parents were just as … I guess Devin was the only one who … Can we not talk about this, Callie?”

“Sure. I’m sorry, Ian. Shall we stop for a drink first? A primal scream, maybe? Want to kick something?”

Ian tipped his head back against the headrest. “Maybe you could just … be quiet for a while.”

“Sorry,” I whispered, chastened. “I was just trying to cheer you up.”

“I don’t need cheering up,” he said. He started the car and pulled away from the curb, then glanced at me. “The hand-holding was nice, though.”

I waved my hand in the air. “Available whenever you need it. All part of the date package,” I said.

“We’re not on a date,” he said.

I sighed. “Right. Just friends.” Then, determined to give the man some peace, I shut my mouth.

The reception was at some old mansion on a hill. A wall of windows overlooked a long, sloping field. The sun sank into the horizon with an obligingly magnificent show of color. Candles flickered everywhere, the flower arrangements were opulent and waiters circulated with trays of cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. Pretty much exactly what I’d want for my own wedding, should that happy day ever occur.

Ian knew a lot of the guests, of course, and was doing his best to be sociable. But his shoulders were tight, and he wasn’t smiling or talking much. One couldn’t blame him. Even outside his ex-wife’s wedding, he didn’t smile or talk that much. Well. Ian certainly had other qualities. Like possibly the biggest heart in all of New England, if not the Eastern Seaboard. How many men would do what he was doing now?

There was much speculation, of course. Here he was, not only at Laura’s wedding, but at her wedding to a woman, to the other woman, for that matter. As Ian exchanged stiff pleasantries with people from his old life, I put my eavesdropping skills to use. There were plenty of “That poor slob, how could he not know?” comments. If Ian overheard any, he didn’t say a word.

Some people were happy to see him. He got a few hugs, a few cheek pats. Laura’s aunt, a portly woman who clutched a fox terrier in her arms, pinned us in one corner. “Kato here keeps pooping in the dining room, don’t you, snooky-bear? Ian, can you take a look at him?”

“Uh … sure, Dolores,” Ian said.

Now perhaps was a good time to hit the ladies’ room, as my gown and Dr. Rey’s Shapewear required some forethought.

“Back in a flash,” I said, giving his arm a squeeze. He gave me a stiff nod, then turned back to Kato, who bared his tiny teeth and snarled adorably.

Five minutes later, as I was in the stall, wrestling Dr. Rey’s Shapewear back over my thighs, I heard Ian’s name again. And this time, the person wasn’t quite so kind in her assessment.

“Can you believe Ian showed up? I mean, what the fuck is he doing here? Trying to make Laura and Dev feel guilty?”

“No clue,” said another voice. “I always thought he was a cold fish.”

I wasn’t about to let that go unchallenged.

“He’s here because Laura asked him to come,” I said, coming out and staring at the two women. “It meant a lot to her.”

“Is that what you think? And who are you?” the first one asked, not at all nicely.

“Yes, it is what I think … what I know, actually. And hello, I’m Callie Grey, Ian’s date,” I said, glad that here, at least, Ian wouldn’t contradict me. “So nice to meet you.”

How I wished Ian would let me pretend to be his girlfriend to show people that he’d moved on … even if he hadn’t. But no, when I rejoined him a minute later, he relentlessly introduced me as his friend, didn’t hold my hand, didn’t smile at me, didn’t indulge in any body language that said he was crazy about me. Which I thought was really too bad, because let’s be honest. I was definitely feeling things. Any man who could do what he’d done in the foyer of that church … well. Not to mention how smokin’ he looked in that tux.

We made it through dinner well enough, though of course we were seated with the snotty pair from the bathroom. If Ian was quiet, I made up for it by being my usual chatty self. He seemed to grow more and more still, tension making him almost brittle as he doubtlessly counted the seconds ‘til we could leave gracefully.

The best woman gave an endless speech, riddled with inside jokes and references. When that was finally over and we’d all dutifully sipped champagne, Ian and I looked at each other. “Want to go?” I whispered.

He nodded.

Then Laura stood up and took the microphone.

Ruh-roh.

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” she said. “It means so much to Devin and me to have you sharing our happy day.” She paused, and Ian seemed to freeze, as if sensing what was coming. “But,” Laura continued, “there’s one very special person here who put aside a lot—a lot—to come tonight—”

Oh, God. Poor Ian, I thought, my stomach contracting in horror.

“—and I just wanted to say how overwhelmed and grateful I am, Ian—” her voice grew husky “—that you found it in your heart to be here. You are so special. Thank you so, so much. I’ll never forget this.”

Every one of the roughly two hundred guests swung around to get a look at Ian, who sat as if carved from granite. His face was grim, and I knew that this was just about the worst thing that could happen to him … all that attention, all that emotional diarrhea, aimed right at him. A swarm of fascinated whispers rose from the guests.

Well, I couldn’t just let him sit there. I leaned over, a sweet smile on my face, and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re right, Laura,” I called, settling my head on his shoulder. “He’s a prince!”

There was an “aw” from the guests, a few chuckles. The nasty bathroom woman sneered, but up at the head table, Laura beamed. “Yes, he is,” she agreed. “Well, I guess that’s it from me! I hope everyone dances and eats cake and has a great time! Thank you!”

The roar of conversation resumed, and I looked up at Ian. “You okay, buddy?” I whispered.

He fixed me with those blue, blue eyes. “Yes. Thank you.” For what, I wasn’t sure. In fact, he might have been mad. Hard to tell.

“Careful, now,” said the bitchy bathroom woman. “He might turn you into a lesbian, too.” Her companion gave a snort.

I just smiled at her, snuggled a little closer to my guy. “I’m not worried,” I said, tossing her a little wink. Then I looked up at Ian. “Want to dance?”

“Love to,” he answered. He grabbed my hand and practically dragged me onto the dance floor.

There weren’t too many people out there yet, but Ian didn’t seem to mind. The band was just starting their second song … “If I Ain’t Got You” by Alicia Keyes, and the singer was pretty damn good. Ian slid his arm around my waist, and we assumed the position.

The wave of lust I’d been riding since I saw him in his tux seemed to swell.

“So how are you, Ian?” I asked. My voice sounded embarrassingly sex kitten, and I cleared my throat.

He tilted his head to one side. “Better now,” he said, and those girl parts of mine started yowling like ruttish cats. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“Oh,” I said, blushing. “It was … I … it was nothing.”

“It was something.” His eyes crinkled slightly, and I fought off a swoon.

He smelled so good … that clean, fresh smell of rain in the spring, and the heat from his body seemed to pull me closer. My hand was so, so happy, being held lightly in his, and when his cheek brushed mine, the faint rasp of razor stubble against my skin, my knees almost buckled.

“This is a nice place,” I said.

“Yes,” Ian agreed, and his voice scraped some tender place inside me.

“So, Ian,” I breathed, fighting off the urge to pull a Bowie and just climb on. “Everyone’s watching us. You could definitely kiss me now. End all that speculation.”

He pulled back and looked at me, and his eyes seemed … warm. “I’m not going to kiss you because someone’s watching, Callie,” he murmured, and his eyes dropped to my mouth.

And he didn’t kiss me, but somehow, my God, that meant even more, though why, I couldn’t tell, as my blood supply was cheerfully fleeing from my brain to my reproductive organs. He pulled me a little closer, and we weren’t moving so much now, but the feeling of him so close made me forget how to breathe. I wanted just to slide my hands under his coat, unbutton his shirt, kiss his neck, pull him closer, feel his mouth on mine, taste …

“Having fun, kids?”

“Yes!” I squawked. It was what’s-her-name’s … the bride. Laura. Her dad. Whoever. My breath shook as I inhaled, and Ian glanced at me, the slightest smile in his eyes.

“Great. Glad you’re doing well, son.” Laura’s father slapped Ian on the back, then walked away.

Ian and I looked at each other. I swallowed. “Would you like to leave, Callie?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, my voice unsteady. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” he answered, and again, the old knees threatened to give way.

Of course, we had to say goodbye to the happy couple. “I hope we see you soon,” Laura said, giving him a hug. She hugged me, too. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered. “You’re good for him.”

“Well,” I said, blushing furiously. “Um … good luck with everything.”

Ian didn’t hold my hand on the way to the car, simply opened the car door for me. As we pulled away from the reception, the skies opened and rain pounded down on the roof of the car. My well of snappy one-liners seemed to dry up. I didn’t look at Ian, and he didn’t talk. The only sound was the pattering rain, the hissing of the tires through the wet streets, and the hard, fast rhythm of the wipers.

The rain had grown heavier by the time we drove back into Montpelier. Ian pulled into the hotel parking lot, found a space, then turned off the ignition. For a second, he rested his forehead on the steering wheel. “I’m very glad that’s over,” he said.

“I’ll bet,” I murmured, looking at him for the first time in half an hour.

He turned his head and looked at me. “You were a wonderful date, Callie,” he said, and with that, he leaned over and kissed me.

For a minute, I didn’t move … the shock was so great that I just sat frozen. Then the reality of his mouth on mine sank in … warm and gentle and rather perfect, really. I sighed, and his hand came up to cup the back of my head, his fingers sliding through my hair, and I realized I was already gripping his lapels. I shifted so I could get closer. Then the kiss deepened, and God, he tasted so good, and his mouth felt unbelievable. I slid my hands under his jacket, up along the solid muscles of his back, then shifted, one foot pushing against the car door so I could get closer to him, to that solid heat. He seemed absolutely focused on kissing me, just that, just this lovely, long, hot kiss, and man, he knew what he was doing. I felt myself softening, melting against him, and Ian was the opposite, hard and, oh, just hard and hot and safe. A low sound came from deep in his throat, and a rush of deep satisfaction flooded through me … he did like me, he did want me. His mouth moved to the base of my neck, and my hands fisted in his shirt, practically tearing it.

Then a car door slammed, and I jumped back a little. The emergency brake (or something … oh, no, it was the brake) was pressing into my thigh, as I’d basically crawled on top of Ian and was now sprawled awkwardly across the seat and my driver. The rain pounded on the car, and the windows were already steamy … and let me tell you, they weren’t the only ones.

Ian was breathing hard, I noticed, and his eyes were half-closed as he looked at me. He smiled, a slow, satisfied smile, and I swallowed and bit my lip. My hands were on his chest … his broad, solid chest, and I could feel his heart thudding away, gratifyingly fast.

“Want to go inside?” he whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

I nodded, apparently unable to speak.

He gently pushed me back to my side of the car, as I was also apparently unable to move. My legs were wonderfully weak and trembling, and my skin felt feverish. Ian opened his door and got out, the rain instantly soaking him. He came around to my side, opened the door, then bent down.

“Your shoes will drown,” he said, and with that, he scooped me up in his arms. The cold rain was a shock, and I yelped a little. Ian smiled, closed the door with his foot and carried me … carried me toward the hotel, and it was so crazy romantic that I couldn’t quite believe it was happening to me. My heart felt as light and happy as a dandelion seed carried on the breeze.

“Do you like hauling women off to your lair, Ian?” I asked above the rush of the rain. “Makes you feel manly, does it?”

“Makes me feel hernia, anyway,” he said, trying not to smile. Or grunt, perhaps. “And I’m carrying you to the lobby. Not necessarily my lair.”

“Drat,” I said.

He laughed. I melted.

Alas, we were at the front door, which a bellhop thoughtfully opened. Ian set me down just inside the lobby, then ran a hand through his wet hair. I was soaked as well, dark splotches on my dress, the soggy silk clinging to my legs. He was still smiling, and man, what a difference … from Russian assassin to, I don’t know … dessert. There were wonderful crinkles around his eyes, and he didn’t have dimples so much as these lines that slashed his cheeks, and he looked so happy, so sweet in his wet tuxedo that I’d have married him in an instant, should a justice of the peace have happened to conveniently walk by.

I pushed my wet hair behind my ears. I had a good feeling about this. Like I was about to get lucky, oh yeah. “Hope I didn’t rupture any of your disks,” I said. Okay, not the best come-on line, but I was still a little breathless.

From being carried. I did mention that he carried me, didn’t I?

“No, no. You can’t be any heavier than the DeCarlos’ bull mastiff, and I have to lift him up all the time.” His grin widened.

“Ian, stop. I’m blushing.”

He looked at me. At my mouth. And so here it came. That moment where we’d actually have to discuss going to his room. Or mine. If we were going to do something about that kiss in the car. As the good Lord knew, I sure as heck wanted to. And as of tonight, the feelings finally seemed mutual.

“Callie?”

My head whipped around, my mouth fell open.

It was Charles deVeers. Muriel’s father.

“Mr. deVeers!” I blurted.

“Now, now, you said you’d call me Charles,” he said, coming over and giving me a bear hug. “What are you doing here, sweetheart? Did Muriel call you?”

My mouth opened and closed a few times before actual words emerged. “I … I—uh, Charles, this is Ian McFarland. We were at a wedding.”

The men shook hands. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?” Charles asked. “On the hike. You’re Callie’s boyfriend, right?”

Ian looked at me. Didn’t say anything.

“Uh … no,” I stammered. “We’re … we’re just friends.”

Though Ian had been calling me that all night—and though being his friend was something of an honor—the word suddenly seemed very … meager. Ian’s gaze shifted away from me.

“So … um, what are you doing here, Charles?” I asked.

“Well, this is the best hotel around, according to your boss. I stayed here last time, too.”

“It’s a great hotel,” I said faintly. “Definitely. We did an ad campaign a few …” My voice trailed off.

Now, granted, Vermont is a tiny state with very few people, and cities—real cities, with things like hotels—are few and far between. Georgebury only boasted a couple of bed-and-breakfast places, so it wasn’t exactly shocking to learn that Charles deVeers, multimillionaire businessman, might choose this hotel if he was visiting the state. Especially if Mark had recommended it.

But it was shocking anyway.

“Daddy? Where are you?” Muriel came out of the bar. At the sight of me, her face tightened. Then she smiled an alligator’s grin, all teeth and carnivorous intent. “Callie. What are you doing here? Are you stalking us?”

I attempted a laugh. “Ian and I were at a wedding, actually.” I paused, wondering if I could take Ian’s hand. I didn’t. “You remember him from the hike, right?”

“Oh, right. Fleur’s friend,” Muriel said, smirking. “Hi, there.”

“Hello,” Ian said.

And then, of course, Mark emerged from the bar as well. At the sight of me, he jerked to a stop. “Callie!” His face flushed. “Uh … wow. Hi! Oh, and … Ian, is it?”

“Right,” Ian confirmed.

“Nice to see you again,” Mark said. “Small world.” He glanced at me, looking guilty as a shoplifting teenager.

“This is silly,” Charles boomed. “You two should join us! We were just having a little celebratory drink. Come in, come in!”

Mark’s gaze bounced between Muriel and me. He swallowed.

“They were at a wedding,” Muriel said. “And, not to blow the big surprise, but … well, you’ll be going to another one pretty soon.” She smiled broadly, then put her hand on Mark’s chest.

On her fourth finger was a solitaire diamond big enough to choke my dog. I felt the blood drain from my face. Blinked. Nope, it was still there.

“Congratulations,” Ian said.

“Come have some champagne with us,” Charles said. “It’s such a happy occasion!”

My eyes slid from the rock to Mark. Though he was smiling, he didn’t meet my eyes for more than a drive-by.

Mark was getting married. To Muriel. She’d be here forever now. He was getting married to that unhelpful, uncheerful, unfriendly …

Realizing that I hadn’t inhaled in some time, I sucked in some air. I tried to say something, but my vocal cords seemed to be frozen.

“We’re actually pretty soaked,” Ian said, and at the sound of his voice, I closed my mouth. “But thank you,” he added.

“Congratulations,” I said finally, though my voice sounded strange. “Best wishes. Um … well, I guess I’ll see you Monday.”

“Another time, then, kids. You have a great night.” Mr. deVeers, all charm and conviviality, waved us off.

Ian steered me to the elevators, his hand warm on my arm. The minute we got there, he let go, making me realize how cold I was. He pushed the button, then shoved his hands into his pockets.

I took a deep breath, my mind still reeling. “That was … wow. Small world. Small state.” I glanced at my companion, trying to recover. He didn’t look at me, and our kiss seemed like a year ago.

“Ian?” I asked.

“Yes?”

“Um … I’m sorry about that. The interruption.” Shit. I sure as heck was. Just when you think you’re getting somewhere, a huge sinkhole opens up in the damn road and breaks your axle.

The elevator arrived with a ding. “After you,” was all he said.

Our rooms were on the fourth floor, right across from each other. I opened my evening bag and withdrew my key card. He pulled his out from his jacket pocket. The mood from the car was as dead as roadside possum.

“Ian,” I blurted. “Um … Do you want to come in? Raid the mini bar, share a Toblerone? Maybe, um … talk? Or other things, too?”

He hesitated, but the answer was already written on his face. “I appreciate you coming to Laura’s wedding, Callie,” he said carefully, “and you really were … helpful. But maybe this isn’t the right time for Toblerones.” He paused. “Or anything else.”

I took a quick breath, mortified that tears were stinging my eyes. “Okay. Sure. Yup. Well, sleep tight, Ian. See you in the morning. Um, if we could leave on the early side tomorrow, that would be great. I have a lot of things to do.”

“Sure,” he said, and with that, he slid his card into the door and went into his own room.

“Shit,” I whispered. “Shit on a shingle, shit on rye.”