In the Mood for Love (30 page)

“Are you sure you don’t want to invite Nash? He could walk you down the aisle.”

“I’ve got Elvis for that and besides Nash is in his gambling glory. Some sort of poker tournament.”

“There’s still time to call your friends. I’m sure if you invited them—”

“Normally I enjoy big shindigs and I know that’s what’s on your mind. Awfully sweet of you, Vincent, but I’d like this to be our special moment. We can celebrate with the girls later after we join them for that magic show.”

Vincent’s bushy beard split with a humongous smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Daisy gave his chunky arm a squeeze. “I can’t remember the last time I was this ecstatic and it’s not just because Elvis is in the building. It’s because I’m marrying you.”

Vincent framed her face and planted a mushy kiss on her lips.

Since he normally didn’t show affection in public, Daisy realized that his excitement matched hers. For the life of her, she didn’t know why her cheeks felt hot. She stifled a giggle. “You got sparkles on your lips.” She had applied a glittery lipstick to match her sparkly hair.

“I’ll wipe them off after,” he said. “I felt a little plain next to you and your snazzy silver jumpsuit. Now I don’t.”

Her faulty heart fluttered, and after a few preliminary whatcha-ma-whos, they moved into the interior chapel and the show began.

Daisy squealed a little as Elvis introduced himself and then complimented her jumpsuit, which wasn’t nearly as razzly-dazzly as his. Music kicked in and the King sang “Viva Las Vegas” as he escorted Daisy down the aisle. She swiveled her hips a little—like Elvis—ignoring the ache in her joints and adding a jig. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Vincent swiveling and jigging right behind.

Upon reaching the altar, Elvis handed her over to Vincent and then serenaded them with two songs. At one point, Daisy wasn’t sure she could stand it—all the hip swivels and sexy lip twitches—Vincent’s, not Elvis’s. Before she knew it they were exchanging vows, and since they’d requested the Elvis vows, it made her grin ear to ear.

“You’ll never know ‘Heartbreak Hotel,’” Vincent said.

“I’ll never step on your ‘Blue Suede Shoes,’” Daisy said.

“I’m your ‘Hunk of Burnin’ Love,’” Vincent growled, followed by his best lip twitch yet.

They were pronounced man and wife and Daisy got another one of those public smooches.

Because Vincent was such a quiet, grounded man, she marveled that he’d not only indulged her wish to be married by Elvis, he’d been better than a good sport, playing along to the max. Unlike her first wedding,
this
wedding had been
fun
.
Vincent
was
fun
.

“I’m the happiest woman in the world,” she said.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world.” His old eyes sparkled. “Let’s go celebrate, Mrs. Daisy Petunia Redding.”

*   *   *

“I now pronounce you man and wife.” The minster smiled. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Harper’s breath stalled as Sam gently cupped her cheeks and graced her with the most memorable kiss of her life. Sweet and spicy and infused with love. It shot through her body like wildfire, igniting every nerve, revving all her senses. She gazed up into his eyes, heart in throat. She wanted to say,
I love you, Sam
. But her brain cells had melted along with her knees and she couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence.

Sam just smiled.

She was glad he didn’t prompt her by saying the words first because that might have caused her to blurt,
I love you, too
. She didn’t want it to sound like an automatic or courteous response. She wanted to say it first. Why wouldn’t the words come?

Sam kissed the back of her hand and turned to thank the minister.

Gripping her lovely bouquet, Harper took in the beautiful surroundings one last time. She memorized every detail. The stone chapel with the stained-glass windows. Every plank of the two-story-high wooden terrace. The ceremony had taken place outside under an old-fashioned white gazebo decorated with twinkly white lights. Palm trees swayed in the soft, hot breeze. Early evening and the sky was a brilliant blue, the sun still shining, cheering Harper’s already beaming mood.

The chapel had provided witnesses. The music had been traditional, appealing to Harper’s fairy-tale sensibilities. The minister had been warm and jovial and had kept the service brief but meaningful.

Harper admired her platinum wedding band embedded with four small diamonds. Understated elegance. This marriage was supposed to be a business arrangement and yet Sam had approached every detail as though it were a labor of love.

She could scarcely breathe.

She wanted to keep her beautiful rose bouquet forever and she secretly rejoiced when they took a few photos. She would have thought Sam camera shy. If he was, he sucked it up for her. He did everything he could to make their simple wedding special.

She’d never been so touched or felt so cherished.

Sam moved in beside her and handed her a flute of champagne. “Part of the package,” he said with a teasing roll of the eyes. “We get to keep the glasses.”

Harper grinned and clinked her flute to his. Again the words stuck.

“To us,” he said. “To happy.” Simple.
Special
. They sipped and then Sam asked, “How do you feel?”

Words bumped past the lump in her throat. “On top of the world.”

“Funny you should say that.”

*   *   *

Sam didn’t think of himself as a romantic man, but there was something about Harper—the Harper he’d come to know—that inspired romantic gestures. Interesting, considering their relationship had started out as a purely sexual affair—emphasis on fast and dirty.

She’d kept him thinking and guessing and fascinated every step of the way. She twisted him up, tried his patience, mangled his perceptions.

Everything had come naturally with Paula.

Nothing came easily with Harper.

It was different territory and, God help him, Sam liked a challenge. Looking beyond, looking deeper, he was determined to make Harper happy. Therein lay the path to his own joy.

He’d reflected on everything she’d ever shared and everything he’d had to surmise. He surmised that, deep down, even though she didn’t think she deserved it, Harper yearned for a traditional wedding. The kind of wedding most girls dream of. The hearts-and-flowers wedding he’d shared with Paula. The fairy-tale event Harper had planned but never shared with Andrew.

So Sam had improvised.

The dress, the shoes, the flowers, the venue.

He wanted to make her smile. He wanted to gift her with a hearts-and-flowers memory. This moment would be the launching point of their life together and, even if they didn’t make it past the two-year green card mark, Sam wanted this to be a day she’d never forget.

He knew she’d been overwhelmed and touched and he’d sworn she’d been on the verge of telling him that she loved him. Something held her back and that was okay, because he felt it, but Christ, it would be nice to hear. He would have declared his own feelings, but he sensed she wasn’t ready to hear them, so he’d pulled back.
No rush
, he’d told her.
No pressure. No expectations
. He’d promised to take it slow.

Slow,
he’d thought as they’d kissed under the gazebo, just might kill him.

Beyond the romantic ceremony, he’d made reservations for dinner at the Top of the World, a restaurant suspended eight hundred feet above Las Vegas, an award-winning restaurant with unparalleled views of the city. The ambience, the food, the wine—all top-notch. The only thing missing was Harper’s smile.

“Where did I go wrong?” Sam asked as he sliced into his sizzling center-cut filet mignon.

Harper looked up from her Mediterranean sea bass. “What do you mean?”

“You’re awfully somber. Would you have preferred to join the gang for dinner and a show? I know how committed you are to your job and—”

“Oh, no, Sam. It’s not that at all. The CLs are in good hands with Sebastian.” She smiled a little, reached over and touched his hand. “I’m exactly where I want to be tonight. With you. It’s just … There’s something I need to tell you.”

Sam set aside his knife. There was something he needed to tell her, too, and he’d been wrestling all evening with the when and where. Some time after dinner, he’d thought, not during, but she’d opened the door for some sort of serious conversation, so he’d see where she led this and take it from there.

She leaned back in her chair, focused back on her plate and sighed. “This is horrible timing on my part. I don’t want to ruin dinner. I don’t want to ruin today.” She met his gaze, spearing his heart with affection. “Everything’s so perfect.”

“The only way you could ruin today, honey, is by holding back whatever’s bothering you. Just say it so we can fix it.”

“
We
. That sounds nice.”

“Yes, it does.”

Blowing out a breath, she gestured to him to continue eating then picked up her own fork. “It’s not a bad thing. It was, but I fixed it. I think I fixed it anyway. I wasn’t going to tell you because I didn’t want to worry you, and then you made today so incredible, so perfect, except while riding up in the elevator I realized it isn’t perfect because I’m withholding something from you and that isn’t fair because, although I think I fixed it, maybe I didn’t. And what if it pops up in the future, what if it gets worse, what if…”

“Harper.” Now Sam reached across the table and touched her. “Breathe.”

“Right.” She nodded, tasted her sea bass, smiled. “It’s delicious,” she said, then sipped her Chablis. She rolled back her beautiful bare shoulders and breathed. “There’s a man. Edward Wilson. Andrew’s father.”

Sam met her gaze and she paused.

“What?” she asked.

“I know about Edward.”

She blinked and Sam decided to cut to the chase. “I was going to broach the subject later tonight, but what the hell. Let’s address the bullshit so we can get back to perfect.”

As calmly and as succinctly as possible, Sam shared how he’d learned about Edward’s taunting post two days prior from Rocky and Rae, the message he himself had received from the bastard, and how Sam had handled it from there. To her credit, Harper didn’t freak out or lash out nor did she interrupt until he got to the part where Sam told her Jayce provided him with Edward’s cell number.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “Don’t tell me you called Edward.”

“Spoke with him this morning.”

Wide-eyed, she palmed her forehead. “I … What did you say? What did he say?”

Sam gave her the rundown of the discussion, watching her every expression. “I can’t tell if you’re angry or relieved that I addressed the situation. I took the lead without asking for your input. I’m sorry about that, Harper, but the way it all went down…”

“It’s okay. To be honest I don’t know how I feel exactly. I’m a little flattered that you played the knight in shining armor and a little disturbed that you considered me a damsel in distress. I know I’ve been unreliable lately, shaky, but I need you to know that I’m capable of fighting my own battles.”

She told him about the letter she’d written and e-mailed. “When I hit the send button,” she said, “I felt an exhilarating sense of closure. I put the past in perspective and took control of my future. I haven’t heard back from Edward. I’m hoping I finally got through to him. Knowing you spoke with him as well…” She smiled now, that happy smile that jerked Sam’s heart every which way. “Surely he wouldn’t mess with Rambo and now that I’m Mrs. Rambo…” Her smile faltered. “What?”

“This is where it gets tricky.”

THIRTY-THREE

Something clicked inside of Harper when Sam told her Edward was en route to Vegas. It wasn’t panic. It wasn’t fury. More like a dangerous calm. It hummed along her veins, kicking her crisis-solving mentality into gear, igniting her penchant for saving the day. That click would be Edward Wilson’s downfall.

“Are you all right?” Sam asked when he finished laying out everything he knew and everything he and Jayce had projected.

“I’m fine.” She sipped her wine then reached for her purse. “I’m going to step into the foyer. I need to make a phone call.”

“I’ll come with you.” Sam motioned to their waiter, asking him to keep their food warm, then he escorted Harper out of the main restaurant.

She didn’t protest. In fact, she reconsidered her strategy, deciding to share her plan with Sam before putting it into action. After all, now they were a
we
.

The foyer was crowded with tourists waiting for their chance to move inside and dine. Several people noted Harper’s and Sam’s attire, his boutonniere, and offered their congratulations. Harper flashed her practiced PR smile as she thanked them. Not that she wasn’t thrilled to be Mrs. Sam McCloud, but right now she was fixated on a menace named Wilson.

Finding privacy was an effort but Sam located a space and Harper talked fast and just a notch above a whisper.

“Obviously, Edward wants to crush me. He wants to ruin my relationship with you. He wants to damage my professional reputation. He wants me to return to Canada with my tail tucked between my legs so he can continue to beat me up as a way of making himself feel better. None of that is going to happen.”

Sam slid his hands in his pockets. “Go on.”

“I agree with you and Jayce. I think Edward means to make a scene during the show. Mind you, you can’t attend without a ticket and seating is limited.”

“Maybe he snagged one,” Sam said. “Or maybe he plans on crashing. You said the show is shooting from a different casino every day this week, right? And that tomorrow’s shoot, the one taking place here, will be poolside. Outdoors. We’re talking an open environment as opposed to a controlled showroom. Easier to slip past security.”

Harper nodded. “Knowing Edward, I’m sure he has a plan. Let’s assume he gets in, gets close. If he wants to hurt me, what better way to stir up gossip and speculation regarding my character than by accusing me of ruining his son’s life, a traumatized solider, no less, on national television. Brice and Kaylee always take questions from the audience. Someone screens those questions ahead of time. Since the Cupcake Lovers’ mission is to support soldiers, all Edward has to do is mention his military background along with his son’s, following up with some bogus harmless question for the club. That’s gold. I’m pretty sure he’d be selected and given his few seconds of fame. If not, he could always rush the stage during the cupcake segment and shoot his verbal bullets as rapidly as possible before security whisked him away. If the show were taped instead of live, we’d have more options. But it is what it is, so here’s what we’re going to do.