Crazy Love (33 page)

She loved buying rolls of fancy paper and wrapping gifts she’d specially selected, tying elaborate bows with gold ribbon around them, teasing her friends with subtle hints.

She devoured Flo’s mince pies and shortbread and her famous lamingtons, mini Aussie sponge cakes oozing strawberry jelly, coated in liquid chocolate and rolled in coconut.

She attended midnight mass and sang carols and drifted home in the wee hours of Christmas morning, warmed by eggnog and goodwill.

Everything about the season gave her goose bumps, the buzz of expectation electric in the air.

Not this year.

This year she’d turned Grinch.

Belle closed up shop and headed to the back room, working the kinks out of her neck as Sierra opened the take-out boxes and served.

“Mm-mm. Is that Essie’s enchiladas?”

Sierra nodded and uncorked a bottle of Napa Valley’s finest, pouring them each a full glass. “Yeah, she’d just made them, couldn’t resist.”

If she could manage to force a few forkfuls past her lips she’d be doing better than she had the last few weeks. Food hadn’t been her friend. As much as she tried to eat, swallowing every mouthful past the lump permanently stuck in her throat was too big an effort.

“To you.” Belle raised her glass. “May this Christmas bring you everything your heart desires?”

There was only one thing Sierra wanted and thanks to her pigheadedness she’d lost him. Flo had said time heals all wounds and she’d been right.

As each day passed Sierra wondered if she’d been too harsh with Marc, not giving him a chance to explain. Then the little devil residing in her brain would poke her with a pointy reality check pitchfork and
say hey, the guy screwed up. He used you
! and she’d feel vindicated all over again.

She waged this battle with herself daily, wavering between despair and pride, devastated she’d lost him one minute, patting herself on the back for coming out unscathed the next.

If she could call having her heart shattered into a million pieces unscathed.

“Same to you.”

Sierra clinked glasses with Belle, managing a wan smile that didn’t fool her friend for a second.

“Why don’t you call him?”

“Can’t. Been too long.”

“Two weeks isn’t long. Better than pining.”

“I’m not.”

Belle took a healthy sip of wine, quirked an eyebrow. “You’re stuck in your office all hours, you don’t eat, you don’t sleep—”

“Who says?”

“Flo told me your lights are on all night.”

“Meddling old busybody,” Sierra muttered, wondering what would’ve happened if Flo hadn’t meddled all those weeks ago and hidden Marc’s keys the night of the storm.

The matchmaker-in-the-making had finally confessed her little trick and while it had worked a treat at the time, look at her now. Alone, miserable and hopelessly in love, an emotion Sierra swore she’d never feel.

“Dress it up any way you like but you’re pining.”

Sierra pushed the Mexican food she once would’ve drooled over around her plate. “Love sucks.”

“So you’ve said before.”

“I really mean it this time.”

Belle offered her the last of the enchiladas before scooping seconds onto her plate.

“You love the guy, he’s coming back to town in a few days. Why don’t you mend a few fences before the wedding? Give him a call, see what happens.”

Belle dabbed at her mouth daintily, in stark contrast to the way she’d wolfed down the food. “Can’t be any worse than when you parted.”

Sierra cringed, remembering her last words to the man she loved.

Fuck you
didn’t exactly inspire a romantic reunion and if she hadn’t been so damn angry at the time she would’ve applauded his quick comeback,
done that too
.

He’d done it all right.

And it had rocked her world.

Maybe Belle was right. Maybe it was worth another shot. What’s the worst that could happen?

She remembered the disappointment warring with fury in his disbelieving glare before she’d flounced out of his place and thought,
plenty
.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cupid’s Dating Tips for the Enlightened Male

Don’t expect her to dress like a Victoria Secret girl if you won’t act like a soap opera guy
.

“Thought you might like to see this.”

Hank strolled into Sierra’s kitchen and placed a newspaper clipping in front of her.

“Hello to you too,” she said. “Or does the fact you’re Mister Moneybags mean you lose your manners?”

“Watch it, kid.”

He ruffled her hair, like he used to when she was ten, and sat at the table. “Now read.”

“Okay, okay.” She picked up the clipping. “What’s so interesting about the Los Angeles Business Journal’s Top 100?”

Hank stabbed a finger at the small print. “Read that part.”

“
California has a new number one acquisitions company. A-Corp
…” her voice petered out as she wondered whether it’d be best to read the rest quietly so her voice wouldn’t quiver and give away the secret feelings she harbored.

“Keep going.”

She poked her tongue out at Hank and returned to the article. “
Headed by business dynamo Marc Fairley, the company recently wrested the top spot from Fairley Enterprises, run by Marc’s father George. When interviewed about his recent stint away from company headquarters and the reason behind his visit to Love, Mr. Fairley confirmed it had nothing to do with business. ‘Apart from visiting a relative, I was in Love on a personal matter. An important personal matter and I’d like to keep it that way
.’”

“The rest of it rambles on about the company but you’ve got the general gist of it?”

Hank grinned and dusted his hands as if he’d just solved all her problems.

“Uh…no. Your point?”

Hank muttered something about
youngsters of today
before pointing at the clipping again. “It says right there in black and white. A
personal matter
. What else could he mean but you?”

“So?”

Maybe the article did make a statement. Marc hadn’t come out and named her but he’d implied she was the reason he’d been in Love—figuratively speaking, of course.

If he literally loved her, he wouldn’t have fled town over a little thing like her accusing him of being a lying bastard. He would’ve stood up for what he believed in and made her see reason.

But he hadn’t. He’d been all too happy to pack his bags and flee which could only mean one thing. It had been good while it lasted, and when she’d given him an easy out he’d taken it.

Hank scratched his head and stared at her. “I don’t understand you young people. You throw yourselves headlong into a relationship yet at the first sign of trouble you bail out.”

He placed a hand over hers and squeezed gently. “Nothing ever comes easy. You need to work at it. If this were your business you’d be throwing every last ounce of energy into it, fighting tooth and nail to save it. Why should you and Marc be any different?”

Great. Now Hank had joined the
let’s interfere in Sierra’s screwed up life
brigade.

She knew she was miserable without City Boy and it would be oh-so-easy to pick up the phone and apologize, but she couldn’t do it. What if he rejected her? It wouldn’t be the first time a man she loved left her in the lurch.

Though Marc was nothing like her father. He meant so much more and the pain of losing him again would completely demoralize her. She couldn’t risk it, despite her heart screaming otherwise. She’d listen to cool, hard logic. Screw emotion.

She forced a smile and withdrew her hand. “Marc and I wouldn’t have worked out. It’s better this way. I’ll see him at the wedding, we’ll patch things up and stay friends.”

Hank’s dubious expression spoke volumes. He didn’t believe a word of her concocted spiel. “It’s that red hair.”

She smiled, knowing what would come next. She’d heard him say this a hundred times growing up, not to mention the many times Flo had echoed the sentiment.

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Makes you too fiery. Stubborn. Like a damn mule.”

“I love you too. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ve got work to do.”

Frowning, he dropped a kiss on her head. “See you at the rehearsal?”

“Sure. Thanks for stopping by.”

She waited until he left before re-reading the article, the words ‘
an important personal matter
’ resonating.

Couldn’t get much more personal, the way they’d clicked on every level. Too bad they’d unclicked just as fast.

She had to admit the article had softened her up a bit. He’d left her business alone and implied she’d been the reason behind his sojourn here.

Easy to issue a statement like that in hindsight. It didn’t change the fact he’d probably backed off after their showdown, that she’d been justified in accusing him of using her to get what he wanted.

He’d admitted his ruthless streak in the business arena; she hadn’t known how ruthless until he’d come after hers.

So he’d had an attack of the guilts? Showed he had a conscience and in a small way she’d like to think his remorse indicated he felt a smidgen more than lust for her.

She stuffed the article under a stack of bills and headed for the stairs. Facing Marc in a few days would be hard enough and she needed all the help she could get, starting with a killer outfit designed to make his eyes pop.

Trailing her hand across the crimson tinsel strung along the banisters, she stopped on the fifth step, glancing at the Christmas tree Flo had insisted she put up.

It looked the same as every other year: color coordinated gold and emerald balls, scarlet tear-drops, miniature verdigris presents hanging from gold ribbon, the first paper chain she’d made after arriving in Love looped over branches, with a lop-sided angel perched jauntily on the top.

The angel was the only thing she had from her dad. She remembered how he’d held her up as a three year old so she could place it on top of their monstrous tree.

Those had been good times, safe times, happy times, but nothing lasted forever. She’d released some of her resentment following his death; maybe she owed Marc the same courtesy?

Angel reminded her of Angel Face…Blinking rapidly to stem the sting of tears, she continued up the stairs.

Christmas was a time for charity, for forgiveness, for second chances.

With a little luck, maybe this year Santa would bring her what she wished for.

Marc hummed along to muted jazz as he eased his Jag along the main street of Love, happier than he’d been in weeks.

What was it about this crazy town that made him feel like he’d come home?

He’d hated the place on first sight, so he knew it had more to do with the inhabitants than the in-your-face romance on every corner.

“You’re in a good mood,” William said, sounding pleased.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Marc cruised past the Love Shack, memories of his first dinner with Sierra bringing a smile to his face. “It’s great to get out of LA for a few days, my mom’s marrying a good guy who loves her and I’m giving you a lift to see your woman. And it’s almost Christmas.”

“You’ve never been big on the tradition before,” William said, his blunt assessment of the situation indicative of the change in relationship between them.

Since the screw-up with Sierra, William had been more forthcoming in lending a sympathetic ear, offering advice, and lately Marc had let him.

It felt good to depend on someone, to talk to someone who knew the players in the drama, and William had kept him informed of Sierra’s comings and goings. Not that he’d asked him to spy or anything but his butler had supplied him with regular updates on her life.

Now he’d decided to get a first hand update. “I’m broadening my horizons. Taking time to live a little.”

“Good to hear. Do you mind dropping me off at Flo’s before you head to the farm?”

“Fine.”

Marc bit back a grin. William had been like an eager schoolboy the whole trip, talking about
Flo this
and
Flo that
. Looked like the two were getting along famously despite their differences, with talk of a trip to Sydney next year.

Had to be something in the water in this place. Maybe that was the solution to his problems. Get Sierra to drink a gallon of the stuff.

“Here we go.”

Marc pulled up outside Flo’s Californian bungalow and instinctively scanned Sierra’s house. All the lights were off which meant she’d gone out or had turned in early and as much as he’d like to pound on her door he’d wait until morning to confront her.

She hadn’t wanted to listen before, he’d be damned sure he wouldn’t leave town without her hearing him out this time.

“Thanks. See you at the rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Behave.”

“We’re just friends.” William blushed as he leaped from the car and grabbed his carryall from the back.

“
Friends
. Riiight.”

Chuckling, Marc accelerated away before Flo could waylay him and give him an earful. He’d taken the coward’s way out and written to her about William’s Christmas present rather than ringing her and he knew she’d take him to task over it. As much as he liked her he hadn’t wanted to face an interrogation over Sierra or worse, listen to her blabber about who was keeping Sierra company.

He had to do things his way.

Seeing Sierra face to face was the first step.

Olivia fussed over the table arrangements for the hundredth time. For a woman who’d presided over some of the largest charity events in Beverly Hills, this wedding had her in a flap.

She fiddled with the place cards, the flowers and the wine glasses, her hands hovering in a nervous flutter. If she was this bad at the rehearsal dinner, she’d be certifiable at the wedding.

Hugging her arms around her middle, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, the air whooshed out of her lungs at the beauty of this special evening.

While they’d gone with a Christmas theme for the wedding, they’d chosen understated elegance for the rehearsal. Ivory tablecloths and chair covers tied with pale gold bows, silver candelabras with alabaster candles, Tiffany crockery edged in gold. Beautiful.