California Dreaming (28 page)
Cammie Sheppard never approached guys, and she never, ever approached guys who had dissed her. She always waited for them to approach her, because they always did. Even the ones who were foolish enough to get on her shit list.
But dammit, here they were. She, here on the top deck outside the bridge, and Adam inside with the captain. She had nothing to lose—Adam would be leaving for the University of Michigan in a few days. The thought of that made her heart clutch.
“Adam?”
The captain grinned as Adam turned to face her. A slow smile slid across his face. He'd worn a black Ralph Lauren tux, with a typical Adam-like touch: a violet polka-dotted bow tie and matching cummerbund.
Adam touched the captain lightly on the shoulder. “You'll excuse me. I've got something important to attend to.”
“I don't blame you one bit. You want to help me bring her—this ship, not the girl—back to harbor, come up here later.”
“I'd like that.”
Cammie watched as Adam and the captain shook hands, and Adam stepped out of the bridge to join her on the uppermost deck. From down below, on the first level, they could hear Django playing the Steinway grand piano that Dee had arranged for the boat, along with the low buzz of conversation as the guests assembled for the actual nuptials. Cammie knew she didn't have much time. Ten minutes, maybe. But it would be enough to say what had to be said.
“So,” Adam said when he reached Cammie's side.
“So. There's a few minutes until the ceremony starts. We need to talk.”
“There are some deck chairs in front of the bridge,” Adam pointed out. “No one's there.”
“Works for me.”
They skirted the bridge via a narrow walkway to its left, on the ocean side of the vessel. Just as Adam had promised, there was a pair of white deck chairs with a low gleaming white table in between. Adam sat in one of them; Cammie dropped into the other. She looked out at the open expanse of sea, pitch black except for the glittering light that reflected off the water. The night was unusually clear for Los Angeles, and the stars were out in force, filling the sky.
Adam scratched at the star tattoo behind his ear while he waited for her to speak. That was a good sign; a typical nervous gesture. Nervous was good. She didn't want to be the only one who was nervous in this conversation.
“I'm glad we got a chance to talk at the rehearsal,” she began.
“He raised his eyebrows. “Instead of throwing things at each other? That would have been fun. But messy.”
“You pissed me off last month. When you were in Michigan. And didn't want to come back here.”
He shrugged. “I was conflicted. You've never been conflicted?”
“Never,” Cammie insisted, proudly tossing her strawberry-blond curls over her shoulder. She looked at Adam's open, honest face. “Okay. That was bullshit. I felt conflicted when Sam asked me to wear this goddamn pink bridesmaid's dress. Okay, that's bullshit too. I feel conflicted almost all the time.”
“Nice to hear you admit it.” He crossed one leg over another, and Cammie saw he'd added another typical Adam touch: instead of black patent leather tux shoes, he'd worn black-and-white sneakers.
“Fine. I admit it.” She couldn't quite look at him as she continued. “I have a few other things to admit, too. I wasn't just pissed off. I was hurt. I admit that the only bad thing about working on the new club with Ben was that I wasn't working on it with you. I admit that no matter how much I tried to kick you out of my brain, you kept sneaking back in. I admit that I like myself a lot better when I'm with you, and I admit that the idea of you going back to Michigan and me staying here in Los Angeles makes me feel like I can't breathe. I admit that—”
He held up one finger to his lips. “Stop. That's enough for one session on the witness stand.”
“But I'm not done.”
“Actually, you are.” He leaned toward her and pressed his lips against hers. Slowly, gently, then more insistently. She couldn't speak. She could hardly breathe.
When she came up from the sizzling kiss, she cautioned, “There is more to discuss.”
“There is, is there?” A smiled played across Adam's lips as he pulled back. He leaned against the table, and she stood in front of him. “Then spill.”
“Fine.” She paced a few steps away before turning back to him. “I need to know: what's the weather like in Michigan this time of year?”
Adam's face was clouded with confusion.
“I need to know what to pack.” She hoped that clarified it for him, because it was too embarrassing to repeat.
“Who said anything about Michigan?”
“Don't joke, this isn't funny. I, Cammie Sheppard, have just offered to accompany you to what I can only imagine is the armpit of America—”
“Michigan happens to be wonderful, and you are an unadulterated snob,” Adam corrected. There was no malice in his voice.
“Fine. It's wonderful. I'm sure I'll love it,” Cammie said sweetly.
“Great,” Adam agreed. “But I don't know why you're going there.”
Did she have to spell
everything
out?
“For you, asshole.”
He ran a hand through his short dark hair. “Well, that's going to be a helluva commute, since I'm going to Pomona.”
“What?” Cammie put her hands on her pink-clad hips and stared at him. “Pomona College? As in, like, fifty miles away in Claremont?”
“Yep. I was thinking about changing schools. I told you that. But I finally decided to stick around here. I figured you'd come to your senses eventually.” He stood with a devilish smile and stepped over to her. “I was right.”
“Adam Flood, you did not say one word about Pomona!” she cried, batting him lightly with a manicured hand.
“Cammie Sheppard, we're not always going to play everything your way.”
For the briefest moment, she felt her temper flare. But then she realized: if he had been willing to play everything her way, he wouldn't be the guy he was, the guy she wanted.
“Okay.”
His eyebrows rose. “You agree with me?”
“I do. So, want to come with me to look at some commercial space tomorrow? For my modeling agency? I'm meeting a broker.”
He entwined his fingers with hers. “Want to look at apartments in Pomona with me?”
Cammie flipped her golden curls. “I don't do apartments. But I
do
do helicopters, which happen to fly from my dad's helipad at Apex out to Pomona. And I
do
do you. Given proper motivation, of course.”
“I'm going to kiss you again,” he murmured, bringing her face close to his with one hand on her chin.
“Don't say it, Adam. Just do it.”
And he did.
Friday night, 8:20 p.m.
A
nna stood to the left side of the ten-foot arch of exotic flowers—candy pink anthuriums, crimson heliconias, and birds-of-paradise in every hue—and looked back toward the one hundred and fifty guests who were seated on both sides of the aisle. Dee had pulled it off. The wedding was going to happen. The sun had gone down completely, and tiny lights outlined the yacht. Others, recessed and subtle, washed the throng of people in a rich, golden ochre. The ocean lay inky beyond the confines of the boat. When Anna tilted her head back to look, she saw a sky full of stars.
To her left and right stood Dee and Cammie, each in a pink bridesmaid's gown identical to Anna's. Back in January, she would never in a million years have imagined herself at another wedding with these girls, much less being members of the same wedding party together. Now, here they were in August—if not exactly friends, something much less than enemies. The thought pleased her. In fact, it pleased her a lot.
The chief justice of the state Supreme Court stood directly in front of Anna. Like the ship's captain, he looked the way a judge was supposed to look. Tall and regal in his black robes, with thick silvery hair and intense dark eyes. He held up one hand for quiet. The audience hushed. Then he gave Django—who was sitting at the grand piano—a little nod. Django started to play an old love song Anna vaguely recognized. And then it came to her. It was “As Time Goes By,” from the movie
Casablanca.
Anna smiled. How apt. How fitting. How perfect.
“Here comes Sam,” Dee whispered.
Right on cue, Sam stepped out of the
Look Sharpe's
cabin as everyone beamed at her. Her face shone above her beautiful white dress. Anna didn't think she'd ever seen her friend look quite so luminous. There were actual shouts of, “Bravo, Sam!” as she took confident steps down the aisle toward the wedding party. Then, along with everyone else in attendance, she turned to face the main cabin as Django segued into, “Here Comes the Bride.”
Here she came. As the assembled guests rose as one, Dina—dressed in a simple pale blue evening dress designed by Gisella—walked alone down the aisle, tossing red and pink roses to cheers from the crowd. And making a movie star's entrance was her former husband, Jackson. He sneaked out from behind the wedding canopy to more cheers from the crowd, wearing a black Ted Lapidus tux with a pale blue cummerbund. Dina's former husband … who was about to become her husband again.
Sam had given Anna the shorthand version of what had happened. Evidently Jackson and Dina had been seeing each other. Sam knew they'd gotten friendly. But she had no idea that they'd gotten this friendly, until the night of the rehearsal dinner. Even then, neither of them had made a big deal of their reconnection, since they didn't know if anything would come of it.
Well, something had come of it. The love they'd shared when they were young and struggling had bloomed again. They were older. Definitely wiser. Evidently, Jackson's type did go beyond vacuous young lollipop blondes with fake pneumatic breasts.
Anna had to smile at the irony of it all. Did people ever really change, or did they all just run in circles only to end up where they'd been at the start? Or maybe the truth was more like in
The Wizard of Oz
. You could go on the longest journey only to discover that what you wanted was something you had all along.
It took a long time for the cheers to die and the judge to begin.
“We are gathered here this evening for a very special occasion,” he declared.
The ceremony was short, the vows traditional. Sam stood between Anna and Cammie, with her parents just in front of her. When the judge pronounced them husband and wife and said Jackson could kiss his bride, Anna saw tears in her friend's eyes, and realized that she was looking through some tears of her own.
“Don't ever tell anyone I'm this sentimental,” Sam whispered.
Anna playfully nudged her hip into Sam's. “Your secret is safe with me.”
The ceremony ended with Django playing Bob Seger's “Old Time Rock and Roll.” As the tuxedoed waitstaff whisked the chairs away and began setting up for dinner, guests crowded around Dina and Jackson, offering congratulations.
Anna and Sam got champagne from a passing waiter and toasted each other.
“Here's to the power of my father,” Sam proposed. “Getting a divorce from Poppy through the courts of California in record time. It helps to have a friend who's on the Supreme Court.”
“But what about your mother?” Anna asked. “Wasn't she married too?”
Sam shook her head. “Nope. Just had a boyfriend back in North Carolina. Emphasis on the past tense. Had.”
Sam clinked her champagne flute against Anna's. “Here's to us, Anna Percy. You have changed my life. Thanks.”
The clink of their glasses was lost to the growing
whup-whup
of a helicopter approaching the yacht.
Sam cursed. “I bet the captain radioed in our coordinates. How much do you think the tabloids are paying him?”
This, however, was no mere photographer's helicopter. From the way it hovered over the floodlit helipad on the yacht, it was clear that its intent was to touch down.
“Come on,” Sam urged, as she led Anna to the helipad. “I just want to see what asshole from what rag had the nerve to do this.”
Whoever it was, Anna thought, they wouldn't get far. A dozen burly security guards in blue uniforms circled the helicopter as it touched down. From their intense expressions, it was clear that whoever was in that chopper was going to go right back into the air, with or without the benefit of the helicopter.
Only it wasn't a reporter or a photographer who sprang lithely from the helicopter's interior.
It was Eduardo. He wore an Armani tux, white shirt, and black bow tie, as if he himself was to have been the groom.
Anna had to steady Sam so that she wouldn't fall overboard.
“It's all right,” Sam managed to call to the head of security, since the force looked like they were about ready to take Eduardo down. “I know him.”
An interesting understatement
, Anna thought.
The people who recognized Eduardo applauded his grand entrance, and the crowd dispersed. Eduardo walked over to Sam and said, “We need to talk.”
Sam figured the stateroom of her father's newest yacht was roughly the size of a decent-size three-bedroom apartment in Sherman Oaks. Not that she'd ever set foot in such an abode, but she was an artist. She had an imagination. The room was done in royal purple and black marble, with gold-leaf fixtures on the chandelier, the doorknobs, and headboard of the king-size four-poster bed.
Eduardo seemed to be paying no attention to the décor at all. His eyes were fixed on Sam. “I didn't mean what I said to you last night,” he began. “And I couldn't go to Paris and leave things like that between us.”
“You're not the one who should be apologizing,” Sam protested softly. “What I did to you was terrible, unforgivable—”
“I am chalking it up to your youth,” Eduardo surmised, raising a hand in protest.
“Maybe,” Sam agreed. “Maybe even probably. I just don't know. I've never been any older than I am right now.”
That got a small smile from him.
“I wish I had been brave enough to tell you the truth sooner.” Sam walked over to the stateroom window and looked out. People were partying and dancing. She saw Dee swaying in Jack's arms. Parker was dancing with Citron. It made her happy and sad at the same time. Couples in love. With a future. “I was blinded by how wonderful you are, by how much you love me, by what a miracle it was that you thought I was beautiful—”
