Kitabı oku: «Here Comes the Bridesmaid»

Dedicated, with thanks, to my husband and @KdeR for absolutely everything.

To the astute, eagle-eyed Americans, Lisa McNair Palmer and Melinda Wirth, for knowing what’s good and what’s definitely not.

To Lloyd Quartermaine - great guy, great name!

And to each and every one of my marriage-minded friends.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Extract

Copyright

ONE

TO: Jonathan Jones

FROM: Sunshine Smart

SUBJECT: Bridesmaid meets Best Man

Darling Jon

I’ve met Leo and I adore him!

We are on the same page, so fear not—your wedding reception will be everything you ever dreamed of!

Wish we could have the actual marriage in Sydney too, but hooray for enlightened New York!

Hugs and kisses to Caleb.

Sunny xxx

TO: Caleb Quartermaine

FROM: Leo Quartermaine

SUBJECT: WTF??????

Caleb

What are you doing to me?

Sunshine Smart cannot be a real name. And she wants to friend me on Facebook! NOT JOKING!

Despite being dropped in it with the lunatic, I will ensure the dinner doesn’t turn into a three-ring circus.

Can’t wait to meet Jonathan—but please tell me he’s nothing like his bridesmaid.

LQ

Sunshine Smart was looking forward to her second meeting with Leo Quartermaine. Despite their introductory meeting two days ago, lasting just ten minutes and ending with him declining her request to be Facebook friends.

She loved Leo’s restaurants—well, what she’d read about them. Because she’d never actually eaten at one...which she was about to remedy.

She loved him on TV—tough but fair, judging those reality TV would-be chefs, and dreamy as when fronting Cook It Up With Leo.

She was predisposed to love anyone whose brother was smart enough to marry her best friend Jonathan Jones.

And she just—well, loved him. In that Isn’t he adorable? way of loving people who were just so solid and serious and a teensy bit repressed.

But his hair—or lack thereof—was a problem. There was no reason for Leo to shave his head. It wasn’t as if he had a comb-over issue. He could have a full head of hair if he wanted! Lush, thick, wheat-blond. She’d seen the ‘before shaved head’ photos on the internet. And the start of the regrowth at their first meeting. She’d read a comment in an article about it being easier in the kitchen without hair—but she wasn’t asking for a ponytail!

Anyway, that could be fixed. There was time for him to grow it. She would just drop a word in his ear.

Sunshine checked her make-up. Her new red lipstick looked fabulous. Her eyes...well, what could you do? The grey eyeshadow was heavily layered; mascara so thick each lash look like a tarantula leg—make-up intended to distract people from her ocular weirdness. About which there was nothing she could do—unlike Leo Quartermaine’s hair!

She got out of her car—a bright yellow 1970s relic—and walked purposefully towards Q Brasserie.

* * *

Leo Quartermaine heard Sunshine approach before he saw her.

He associated that tap-tapping rhythm on the polished concrete floor with her, despite only having met her once before.

He was betting she was wearing another pair of ankle-breaking high heels.

To be fair, she was a shoe designer. But shoe designers made flats, didn’t they? Like those ballet-slipper things. Not that he could picture Sunshine Smart in ballet slippers. Or trainers—crikey!

‘Leo!’ she called out, as though he were a misplaced winning lottery ticket, suddenly found. He was starting to think ‘ecstatic’ was her default setting.

‘Sunshine,’ he said, managing not to roll his eyes. Sunshine! How had her parents put that on the birth certificate without gagging?

‘So!’

He’d already clocked the fact that she often started her utterances with ‘So!’ As though an amazing revelation would be out of her mouth on the next breath.

‘News!’ she said, tap-tapping towards the window table where he was sitting.

And, yep, six inches of spike on her feet. In electric blue patent leather. God help his eyes.

She stripped off her trench coat as she made her way across the floor, causing her long necklace to swing. He’d noticed the necklace last time. Pretty. Three types of gold—a rose gold chain, with a yellow gold sun and white gold moon dangling from it.

Miraculously, her dress was an understated colour—pale grey-blue. But it fitted her like a second skin and had one of those things—pellums? Peplums? Whatever!—that dragged a man’s eyes to a woman’s waist and hips. She had a hell of a figure, he had to admit. Curvaceous, like the hourglass pin-up girls of the 1950s.

Leo got up to pull out a chair for her on the opposite side of the table. She took the opportunity to kiss him on the cheek, party-girl air-kiss style—except it wasn’t like any air-kiss he’d ever had—and he’d had plenty. It was a smacking, relishing kiss. Not the kind of kiss to slap on a person you barely knew.

Oblivious to his momentary shock, Sunshine tossed her trench coat carelessly onto a nearby chair, sat, and beamed up at him. ‘Did you hear? They’ve set the date. October twentieth. So we’ve got two months. A spring wedding. Yay!’

Yay? Who the hell said ‘yay’? Leo returned to his seat. ‘Not much time, but doable.’

‘Oh, it’s oodles of time,’ Sunshine assured him airily. ‘So! I’ve made a list of everything we need to do, and now we can decide who does what, give each task a deadline, and go from there.’

‘List?’ Leo repeated the word, apprehensive. He liked lists. He worked well with lists. The haphazard approach to life of his wastrel and usually wasted parents had made him a plan-crazy list junkie. But this was a simple dinner he could organise with his eyes closed while he whisked a chocolate soufflé.

For once in his life he didn’t need a list.

‘Yes.’ She reached down beside her to where she’d dumped the silver leather bag she’d been swinging when she walked over and pulled out a dazzling chartreuse folder. She removed some paper, peeled off two pages and held them out to him. ‘Your copy. I’m actually not really into lists,’ she confessed—surprise, surprise. ‘So it may need some work.’

He looked at the first page. At the big, bold heading: The Marriage Celebration of Jonathan and Caleb, October 20th.

Seeing the words was like a punch to the solar plexus. It was real. Happening. Imminent. His baby brother was getting married.

What were the odds? Two Aussie guys who’d never met in their own country moved separately to New York, met at a random party, and—bang!—happy-ever-after.

It didn’t matter that Leo didn’t know Jonathan, because Jonathan made Caleb happy. It didn’t matter that the ceremony was taking place on the other side of the world, because the place was just logistics. It didn’t matter that their marriage was only going to be legally recognised in a handful of countries, because they knew what it meant wherever they were.

Leo wondered if he would have had more luck meeting the love of his life if he were gay. Because it sure wasn’t happening for him on his side of the sexuality fence. The succession of glossy glamour-pusses who seemed to be the only women that came his way were certainly lovely to look at—but they didn’t eat, and they didn’t occupy his thoughts for longer than it took to produce a mutual orgasm.

He wanted what Caleb had. The one. Someone to get into his head, under his skin, to intrigue and dazzle and delight him. Someone who burrowed into his core instead of bouncing off his shell. Someone to belong to. And to belong to him.

He thought back to his last failure—beautiful, talented singing sensation Natalie Clarke. She’d told him on their second date that she loved him. But nobody fell in love in two dates! Nope—what she’d loved was the concept of Leo the celebrity chef. She’d wanted them to be part of ‘the scene’. And who said ‘the scene’ with a straight face? He couldn’t think of anything worse than ‘the scene’...except maybe her predilection for snorting cocaine, because apparently everyone on ‘the scene’ did it.

In any case, she was a relentless salad-with-dressing-on-the-side type. And she liked playing her own cheesy love songs in the bedroom way too much.

With a repressed shudder he brought his mind back to the present and ran his eyes down the list.

Budget

Wedding Party

Master of Ceremonies

Venue

Menu

Alcohol

Guest List

Invitations

Flowers

Lighting

Music

Cake

Clothing

Shoes

Hair and Make-up

What the hell...? Why did that need a subheading?

Gift Registry

Photographer

Videographer

Wedding Favours

Order of Proceedings

Toasts and Speeches

Printing

Seating Plan

Each item was bullet-pointed with a little box that could be ticked, and accompanied by questions, comments and suggestions.

Good thing she wasn’t into lists!

Sunshine must have noticed the stunned look on Leo’s face, because she asked, ‘Have I screwed it up?’

‘This is...’ he started, but words actually failed him.

‘Exciting?’ Sunshine suggested, looking as if she were about to celebrate Christmas, her birthday and the wedding all at once.

‘Comprehensive,’ Leo corrected. He ran a hand across his scalp. Her eyes followed his hand. She was frowning suddenly. He wondered what was going through her mind.

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it. Closed it. Sighed.

Then, ‘So!’ she said. ‘The venue is the first thing. Because it’s bound to be tricky, securing somewhere wonderful with only two months’ notice.’

‘It may have escaped your notice, but I am a restaurateur,’ Leo said. ‘I have venues. I am venues. And menus. And booze.’

Sunshine seemed startled. ‘Oh. I just assumed we’d be too late to get a large group booked into one of your places. That’s why I’ve suggested somewhere like the hotel on—’

‘My brother is not celebrating his marriage in a hotel.’

‘Okay. Well, there’s that lovely place that used to be a stately home in—’

‘Or in an old house.’

‘Then perhaps the new convention space—which is not as tragic as it sounds. In fact it has a—’

He slammed his hand on the table. ‘No!’ He stopped, reined in the spurt of annoyance. ‘No.’ Better. Calmer. ‘We have a perfectly...’ Reaching, reaching... ‘Perfectly perfect...’ hmm, thesaurus required ‘...private room in this restaurant.’

The only sign that Sunshine had noted his ill-tempered hand-banging incoherence was a tiny twitch at one side of her mouth. He feared—he really feared—she was trying not to laugh.

‘Which seats...?’ she asked, her head on one side like a bird, with every indication of deep interest.

‘Seats?’

‘How many people does the private room seat?’

‘Twenty-five.’

Sunshine crossed her arms—seemingly unaware of how she was framing her rather spectacular breasts—and looked at him, apologetic. ‘See? Me and lists! I got the order wrong. “Guest List” should have come before “Venue”. So! Let’s take a step back. I have Jon’s invitation list. Do you have Caleb’s?’

‘It’s coming today some time.’

‘Because there are seventy-five people on our side.’

He stared. ‘You are not serious.’

‘I assure you, I am. And that’s with a savage cull.’ She shuddered theatrically as she uncrossed her arms. ‘Savage.’

‘Caleb wants an intimate dinner.’

‘That’s not my understanding, but I’ll tell you what—you check with Caleb overnight, and we can reconvene tomorrow.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I hate it when people try to soothe me.’

Sunshine bit her lip. ‘Oh, dear, and I was trying to sound like I was keeping an open mind. But...okay. I’ll tell you straight out, if you prefer: there is no way this is going to be a dinner for twenty-five people. And there’s no use getting in a snit about it—it’s just the way it is.’

‘I’m not in a snit.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do. Say so.’

‘All right.’

‘I’m not.’

‘All right.’

Another mouth-twitch. She was definitely trying not to laugh.

And Leo had had enough. ‘I have to go,’ he said, despite not being needed in the kitchen for fifteen minutes.

‘Yes, I can see everything’s getting under way here. I love the buzz of restaurants. Jon and I used to try a new restaurant every other week. I miss him. He’s so...so important to me.’ Her voice wobbled the merest fraction as she added the last bit.

Uh-oh, tears. Leo didn’t do tears. He felt himself shrink back. Wanted to run.

But her face morphed into something tortured, right before his eyes, and he froze. It was as if a layer had been ripped off her in one half-second. Her eyes were strained and yet also vacant, as if she were seeing...emptiness. Her lips trembled. Her skin looked ashen. Every trace of happiness was obliterated. The contrast with her normal exuberance was dramatic—almost painful to see.

All this because her best friend had moved overseas and she missed him?

Huh?

Leo wanted to touch her. Pat her hand or...something. Say...something. He who never touched, never comforted, because he didn’t know how. His hands fisted uselessly.

Then Sunshine blinked. Shook her head—tiny, tiny movement. And in another half-second everything clicked back to normal and Leo breathed a silent sigh of relief.

‘Um...’ he said. Yep, he was super-articulate today.

But she was smiling blindingly, as though that moment had never happened, so he did the sensible thing and shut up.

‘We haven’t got far down the list,’ she said. ‘What about if I shortcircuit a few things? You know, invitations, et cetera.’

‘What do you mean, “shortcircuit”? And “et cetera”?’ he asked, still a little shaken. Everything about her was throwing him off kilter.

‘I’ll get some options together for us to look over tomorrow. Nothing scary!’

She was completely back to normal. Full-strength perky. Better than the tragic facemask she’d freaked him out with—but only marginally. Leo didn’t like perky. And if he were being made to board Sunshine Smart’s good ship Lollipop for this wedding he would be the one at the tiller.

‘I thought we’d be emailing the invitations,’ he said.

She gave him what could only be termed a pitying smile. ‘Did you?’

That was all. She wasn’t even going to bother arguing.

Um...no. That was not how it was going to work. ‘It’s the twenty-first century,’ he said. ‘And time is short. I’ve seen some brilliant cutting-edge online invitations.’

‘Well, why don’t you bring one of those examples to our meeting tomorrow on your tablet/device/notebook/whatever you’ve got, and I’ll bring some hard copy snail mail samples appropriate for a chic but traditional wedding celebration.’

‘You’re doing the soothe thing again.’

‘Oh, dear, am I? I’ll have to work on that,’ she said.

It was obvious to Leo that she had no intention of doing anything of the sort. But he wasn’t going to waste his breath pointing that out. He was tired enough from just looking at her.

‘We’ll talk tomorrow—after I’ve checked with Caleb,’ he said shortly, and stood abruptly.

‘Just one more thing, Leo, before you rush off.’

He looked down at her and she cleared her throat.

‘What?’ Leo asked, trying not to feel a sense of impending doom.

‘Just...something that’s going to have to start now, like right this second, if it’s going to be ready in two months.’

‘And are you going to share with me exactly what this all-important thing is?’

‘Promise you won’t get mad?’

‘No.’

‘It’s important.’

‘Waiting.’

‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t absolutely vital. It’s just...’ She stopped, ran her hand through her long hair, widened her eyes at him as though she were trying to impart something telepathically. Ran her hand through her hair again.

And he—

God! The eyes. Why hadn’t he noticed her eyes before?

She huffed out a breath and pursed her lips. Exasperated because he hadn’t read her chaotic mind, probably.

But all he could think about were her eyes.

‘Hair,’ she explained. ‘It only grows one-point-two-five centimetres a month. One-point-three if you’re lucky.’

‘So?’

‘You have to start growing your hair.’

He had no answer. Might well have been gaping like a hooked fish.

‘Sorry—but if I didn’t raise it now you might have shaved your head tonight and it would be a shame to lose those few millimetres.’

‘I don’t want to grow my hair,’ Leo said. Ultra-reasonable. The way you talked to a person who was certifiably insane.

‘But you will look so much better in the photos. And you have lovely hair.’

‘And you know this...how?’

‘I looked you up online and saw the photos from the launch of this place, when you had hair. Now, I’m not saying you’re not very good-looking even with the shaved head. Tall, but not in a carnival freaky way. Lean—which is amazing, for a chef, if you ask me. Wonderful sharp cheekbones, brilliant smile— All right, I’m guessing the smile bit, since I haven’t actually seen it, but I’m a good guesser. And really lovely eyes—amber is such an unusual colour, you know? Tigerish. But if you look quite delectable now, you will be absolutely, irresistibly gorgeous with hair.’

Leo stood there, gobsmacked. ‘I’ve got to get to work,’ he said when he could trust himself to speak.

‘But you’ll think about the hair, won’t you?’ she asked anxiously. ‘And while you’re thinking, maybe keep the razor off your scalp...just in case you do decide to look absolutely, irresistibly gorgeous at your brother’s wedding.’

He looked at her. Noted her eyes again. Really stunning eyes. She would look absolutely, irresistibly gorgeous herself if she—

Aha.

Leo could have crowed, he was so pleased with himself. ‘Let’s make a deal—you go into the bathroom and wash off that eye-goop right now, and I will not shave my head...unless I see that crap all over your eyes again. The minute I see it, I’m reaching for the razor.’

And, yes! He’d stumped her. She was the gaping fish now.

He watched as she processed what he’d said. She lifted her bag off the floor and rummaged inside, pulled out a compact. Flipped it open, looked in the mirror. Widened her eyes, then squinted. Turned her head to peer sideways, then switched sides and did it again. ‘You know that I have strange eyes, right?’ she asked.

‘Beautiful eyes.’

‘Evil eyes.’

‘Yeah, maybe lay off the sci-fi.’

‘Oh, it’s a real condition. It’s called heterochromia iridum, and there are various theories about how you get it. Genetics, melanin levels, trauma, chimerism—which is kind of creepy because it means another foetus has merged with you in the womb, which in my case would mean there were initially three of us, because— Well, anyway, I don’t like the idea of absorbing a sibling in the womb—hello, Dr Frankenstein!’ Pause for breath. ‘All that aside, I’m pretty sure they used to burn people like me at the stake as witches back in the day.’

‘Nobody is going to burn you at the stake in modern-day Australia for having one blue and one green eye.’

‘I’ve tried contact lenses, but there is nothing that makes you panic quite like a contact lens that’s slipped up under your eyelid and you think it’s going to be there for eternity unless you race off to the emergency room and have someone stick some implement in there against your poor squishy eyeball. Talk about bloodshot!’ She pursed her lips. ‘But I guess I could try them again—maybe some amber ones.’ She looked into his eyes, considering. ‘Because your eyes really are lovely, and I think I’d look kind of interesting with amber eyes.’

‘You do that and I’m shaving my head.’

Sunshine took another look in the mirror, then snapped the compact shut. ‘All right. Deal. I may need a little make-up on the actual day of the reception, just so I don’t look Plain Janerama, but no camouflage paint in the meantime. I’m keeping the lipstick, though—I can’t go completely naked. So! Where’s the bathroom?’

Plain Janerama? Leo, speechless, pointed.

Sunshine got to her feet. ‘No need to wait,’ she told him.

‘Oh, I’m waiting.’

She squared her shoulders. ‘This is going to be weird,’ she said, and tap-tapped away.

Leo checked that everything was in order in the kitchen, then returned to the table. He went through the checklist again. Swore under his breath. He suspected Sunshine Smart usually got her way in all things. Which meant she was in for a surprise, because just on principle he wasn’t going to let that happen. He hadn’t got where he was today by doing what people told him. His survival instinct told him always to go his own way, to get his own way.

He started jotting down menu ideas—appropriate for a dinner for twenty-five people—but hadn’t got far when he heard the tap-tap of Sunshine’s returning high heels.

She plonked herself into the chair opposite and did an over-the-top eyelash-bat at him.

Leo stared at her. He couldn’t help it. Without the exaggerated eye make-up she looked fresh and clean and sweet as suckable candy. Her dark chocolate hair against the ultra-white skin of her face seemed more dramatic. With the edge of her heavy fringe now damp and misplaced, he could see how fine and dark her eyebrows were, and that they arched intriguingly towards the outer edge. Her eyelashes were thick and black enough to form a fine line around her eyes. And her eyes were simply spectacular. Heavy-lidded, slightly tilted, the colour difference so dramatic without the dark shadow and over-clumped lashes that he couldn’t seem to stop looking at them.

‘Well?’ she asked, batting away.

‘Better,’ Leo said, with impressive understatement. He got to his feet. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then—an hour earlier, if you can make it. But you’ll have to come to Mainefare—it’s in the Pig and Poke pub. Do you know it?’

‘Yes, I know it—and, yes, that’s fine. But before you go can I ask just one more favour?’

Leo eyed her suspiciously.

‘I’m staying for dinner,’ she explained. ‘Don’t worry—I have a booking. It’s just that my date—Gary, his name is—is a massive foodie, and he’d really love to meet you. Perhaps you could just pop out and say hello...?’

‘Oh, sure,’ Leo agreed easily. He’d been expecting something worse—maybe that he have a shot of Botox!—and, anyway, speaking to his customers was part of his routine.

‘And do you think I could have this exact table? It has a lovely view over the park. If it’s reserved I’ll understand, but—’

He caught his impatient sigh before it could erupt. ‘You can have the table, Sunshine.’

‘And could I have a Campari and soda while I wait for Gary?’

‘Fine,’ Leo said, irritated that it made him curious about her—because he would have pegged her for a Cosmopolitan girl. And who the hell cared what she liked to drink? ‘I’ll get one sent over.’

‘And—’

‘Good God, what else?’

‘Just that it’s Gary’s birthday...so if there’s a special dessert or something...?’

‘Yes. I. Will. Send. Out. A. Special. Dessert. Now, are you all right for socks and undies, or do you need me to get you some of those too?’

‘Actually, I never wear socks.’ Sunshine smiled serenely. ‘And I’m not wearing undies tonight—not under this dress!’

Leo could feel his eyes bug out of his head. ‘Thanks for that mental picture, Sunshine. Anything else you’d care to share?’

‘Well...’

‘Yeah, hold that thought,’ he said, and made a bolt for the kitchen. Where he leant against the wall and burst out laughing.

His sous chef looked at him as if he’d grown a gigantic unicorn horn.

Clearly it had been a long time since he’d laughed.

* * *

Yum.

That was the word that had been popping into Sunshine’s head with monotonous regularity from the moment Leo had sent out a bowl of polenta chips with a gorgonzola dipping sauce to snack on while she drank her Campari.

Q Brasserie had an open kitchen, so she could not only smell but also see the magic being wrought on an array of seafood and meat—and, okay, vegetables too, although they were a lot less interesting if you asked her.

She rubbernecked as a steady stream of mouthwatering dishes was whisked past her en route to other diners, agonised over the menu choices and wished she could eat everything.

Sunshine basically Hoovered up her entrée of six plump, perfectly sautéed scallops, served with a Japanese-style dressing of cucumber, rice vinegar, mirin, and ginger. And it took great willpower not to beg a taste of Gary’s mushrooms with truffle custard. She wouldn’t normally covet a vegetarian dish but, come on, truffle custard? Yum!

The main meals were sublime. She ate every bite of her Angus beef brisket, served with smoked bone marrow and potato confit, and, giving in to her inner piglet on the date-taste issue, was in the process of polishing off one of Gary’s divine king prawns—chargrilled with coriander and lime, yum, yum, yum—when up bowled Leo.

He’d changed from his jeans, T-shirt and way cool brown leather lace-ups into a spotlessly clean, double-breasted chef’s jacket, finely checked pants and classy black slip-ons, and he looked sigh-worthy.

Leo looked at her well-cleaned plate. At Gary’s. At the tiny piece of prawn on the end of her fork. His eyebrows shot up.

Sunshine knew she was presenting as a glutton—but so what? She liked food! Sue her! She calmly finished the last bite of prawn and laid her fork on her plate.