Seduced and Betrayed (17 page)

"La Chaumiere? Is that the restaurant in the Century Plaza Hotel?"

"Yes, it's—"

"Mom. Dad." Cameron squeezed between them, linking an arm in each of theirs. "Everyone is here now, so Leslie thinks we should get started," she said, propelling them back down the wide center aisle toward the rear of the church. She squeezed their arms against her sides, turning to smile up at each of them in turn. "Have I told you both how happy and grateful I am that you're doing this for me?"

Her parents glanced at each other over the top of Cameron's head, the same guilty thought in both their minds.
Grateful?
Their adored only child was
grateful
that her parents were cooperating for her wedding?

"Darling, you don't have to be grateful to us. We're your parents," Ariel said, finding her voice before Zeke had quite managed to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. "You're the most important thing in the world to both of us."

"Oh, I know that," Cameron said breezily, with the self-confidence of a well-loved, well-adjusted child. "It's just that I'm happy to see you together, is all."

"Could we have everyone in the vestibule, please?" the wedding consultant called, beckoning them toward the back of the church with both hands. "We need to get started if we're going to get you out of here on time. No, not you, Michael. You and your best man... Gordon, is it? You and Gordon should already be up there—" she waved toward the altar at the front of the church "—with Reverend Nolan. Cameron, dear, you and your bridesmaids need to get in the proper order over here, please."

"Should we have tried to make a go of it for her sake?" Ariel whispered achingly, her gaze pensive and guilt-ridden as she watched Cameron and her bridesmaids scramble to get into position. "Would it have been better for her to have had two full-time parents?"

"She had—has—two full-time parents," Zeke said, his gaze soft as he watched his ex-wife watch their daughter.

"But maybe we should have—"

"Look at her," Zeke interrupted gently. "Could she have turned out any better? Be any happier?" Without thinking, he put his arm around Ariel's shoulders and gave her a little squeeze. "We did a good job, sweetheart."

Unconsciously, her eyes still on their daughter, Ariel reached up and touched his hand where it lay on his shoulder. "Yes," she agreed, "in spite of everything, I think maybe we did."

"I
know
we did," Zeke said vehemently, and Ariel toned her head to smile gratefully up at him.

Their eyes met over a distance of inches, a foot at most, and neither of them looked away. If she tilted her head, just a little, it would have been resting on his shoulder. If he tightened his arm, even a tiny bit, she would have been tucked securely against his side. For a moment, both of them ached to do just that.

"Zeke, we need you over here," Leslie Fine said.

And they remembered where they were. And who they were. And what had gone on before. Suddenly self-conscious, like two kids who'd been caught doing something they shouldn't, they averted their eyes and quickly stepped away from each other.

"I'm sorry, Leslie, where am I supposed to be?"

"Standing next to the bride, on her right. Yes, that's fine," she said approvingly, as Zeke bowed from the waist with a flourish and gallantly offered his elbow to his daughter.

She twinkled up at him. "Maybe you and Mom will turn out to be friends, after all," she said, letting him know she'd seen their brief exchange of glances.

"Maybe." He gave her a sideways look and a small, noncommittal shrug. "Stranger things have happened."

Although, at the moment, he couldn't think of anything stranger than being friends with Ariel.
Friend
was a paltry, lukewarm word to describe the hot, chaotic mix of feelings he felt for his ex-wife. He'd loved her passionately once. Then he'd hated her for a time, just as passionately. For years now, he'd tried not to feel anything for her at all—and most of the time he thought he'd succeeded. But now? One look, one touch, one earth-shaking, brain-numbing, soul-searing kiss, and he was as worked-up and confused as a teenager in the throes of his first love affair.

"We need the mother of the bride at the front of the line with one of the groomsmen," Leslie said briskly.

And Zeke watched Ariel smile her lovely, gracious smile and take the arm of the young groomsman. What was she thinking behind that smile? he wondered. What was she feeling? He didn't know, couldn't tell. Hell, he'd never been able to tell. But he resolved to find out, once and for all, before the evening was over.

"And then the mother of the groom with the other groomsman," Leslie continued, marshaling everyone into order. "That's right. And then, Mr. Everett, if you'll just stand right behind your wife here. That's fine. Now, listen up, everyone. After the soloist has finished singing, there'll be a few moments of quiet and then the organist will start to play. We let a few bars go by, to build up the anticipation, and then we start. Mother of the bride with her escort first, at just a slightly slower than normal walking pace. You'll seat Ms. Cameron on the bride's side of the aisle and take your place next to the best man," she said to the groomsman. "Is that clear?"

The young man nodded.

"When they're about halfway down the aisle, the mother of the groom will start down with her escort, and the groom's father right behind, with the same procedure down at the other end, except that you seat them on the other side of the aisle, with the groom's relatives. The bridesmaids will be next, each of you waiting for my signal to start. And then, when everyone is in place at the front of the church, the first bars of the 'Wedding March' will begin, signaling the guests to stand up and turn to watch the bride. I'll be here to arrange your veil and train, dear, and cue you when to start," she said to Cameron, "and your father will be right by your side to set the pace and keep you going in a straight line, so all you have to do is smile and look radiant. Has everyone got that? Good, then let's give it a try."

* * *

They made their eight-thirty reservation at La Chaumiere with ten minutes to spare, and were immediately seated at a large round table that had been specially set up for them amid the alderwood paneling and eighteenth century French paintings. The dinner was lavish and beautifully served, with silver buckets of vintage champagne and a superlative seafood in lobster saffron sauce that was one of the specialties of the house.

Even at a restaurant like La Chaumiere, which wasn't particularly known for celebrity table-hopping, their party managed to attract attention. Three times during dinner people stopped by to say hello and, finding out what the celebration was about, lingered a moment to offer their congratulations to the bride-and groom-to-be. One of the three well-wishers was Tom Selleck, who paused by their table as he entered the restaurant for a quiet dinner with his family. The other two were women.

One was a flashy young starlet in a skintight black Gianni Versace minidress and leopard print stiletto heels. She had achieved a small measure of fame from the part she'd had in Zeke's last movie, and wanted to thank him "one more time" for his part in her success. The other female table-hopper was an elegant soigné French actress who, it was rumored, had once cherished not unfounded hopes of becoming the third Mrs. Blackstone.

"Laure," Zeke murmured, getting to his feet to greet her as she approached the table. They kissed cheeks, three times, in the French way. "What a surprise to see you here," he said, after he had introduced her around the table. "What are you doing in Los Angeles?"

"Business," she said in charmingly accented English. "I may finally be convinced to make an American movie."

"Oh?" Zeke's gaze sharpened with interest. "With whom? And why not with me?"

The actress gave a soft laugh and shook her head. "Not even for you will I be so indiscreet as to name names before it is settled." She gave him an arch look from under her lashes. "When it is all arranged, then I will tell you all about it. Maybe."

"Lunch?" he suggested. "Tomorrow?"

"C'est selon."
She lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. "I may not know by tomorrow, but you may call me,
oui
?" The look she gave Zeke seemed, to Ariel—who was sitting across the table watching the exchange—to be rife with suggestion. "I am staying here in the Tower."

"I'll call and we'll set something up," Zeke said.

"Not too early, hmm,
cher ami?"
She reached up and patted his cheek lightly, like a woman who'd made the same gesture many times before. "You know how I like to sleep late." Then, dropping her hand, she turned to smile at the soon-to-be-married couple. "Congratulations on your
manage.
I wish you much happiness." Her lovely smile widened to include the rest of the people seated around the table. "It was a great pleasure to meet all of you," she said, and lifted her hand in farewell.
"Bon soir."

The celebration was uninterrupted after that, except for discreet waiters clearing away plates and bringing the
croquembouche,
a classic French wedding cake in the shape of a pyramid, made of cream puffs drizzled with caramelized sugar and decorated with glazed almonds that had been specially ordered for dessert.

After dinner, in the pleasant confusion of goodbyes and leave-takings, while everyone stood waiting for the various cars to be brought around by the valets, Zeke began to wonder how he was going to maneuver it so that he and Ariel would have some time alone for that discussion he was determined to have with her. The thought of inviting her out for a private drink and being rejected had him as nervous as a schoolboy. And he'd never been nervous around a woman before—not even as a schoolboy. Maybe, instead of asking her out for a drink, it would be better to just follow her home and confront her there. His daughter simplified things by making his move for him.

"Would you mind letting Dad drive you home?" she said to her mother as one of the valets pulled up in the three-year-old red BMW coupe that had been her college graduation present from her father. "Michael and I and the rest of us—" she made a gesture that took in the young bridesmaids and groomsmen "—are going over to this new club in Venice that Gordon says has a great blues band and, well..." She shrugged prettily, the wayward child asking a favor of an indulgent parent. "You're in the opposite direction."

"No problem," Zeke said, before Ariel could answer for herself. "I'll be happy to drive your mother home."

"Oh, great! Thanks, Dad," Cameron said, with perhaps a touch more gratitude and enthusiasm than the situation called for. She went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, then offered the same caress to her mother. "I'll see you at the dressmaker's on Monday for the final fitting," she said gaily, and then ducked into her car before her mother could say a word in reply.

Ariel stood there for a moment, dumbstruck, and stared after the rapidly disappearing taillights of Cameron's car. Zeke stuck his hands in the front pockets of his Armani slacks and tried not to grin.

"Is it just my imagination," Ariel said, turning to her ex-husband, "or have we just been set up by our own daughter?"

"Oh, surely not," Zeke said, knowing that they had, indeed, been set up. "Cameron's not that devious."

"I don't know." Ariel shook her head slightly. "She made a big deal about how there wasn't any need to drive my car to the church, since she and Michael could pick me up on the way there. And she didn't say a word about going out with her friends after dinner."

"Maybe it was a last-minute thing," Zeke suggested, subtly shouldering the valet out of the way to open the passenger door of the Jaguar for Ariel himself.

"Maybe," Ariel said doubtfully as she slipped into the car.

Zeke took a minute to watch her smooth the skirt of her elegant coral pink suit over her thighs as she settled into the bucket seat, then shut the door and circled around to where another valet already had the driver's door open for him. Ariel turned her head to look at him as he slid behind the wheel, the expression on her face shifting from motherly suspicion to one of maternal concern.

"You don't think Cameron's weaving some sort of ridiculous fantasy about the two of us getting back together after all this time, do you?"

Zeke put the car into gear. "I think the only fantasy Cameron's weaving has to do with us finally being friends," he said as he nosed the Jag out of the parking lot and into the flow of traffic on the Avenue of the Stars.

"Friends?"

"Yeah." Zeke glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his expression both wry and rueful. "It surprised the hell out of me, too, when she mentioned it."

"She mentioned it?" Ariel demanded. "When?"

"At the church when we were lining up for the procession down the aisle. I guess the fact that you weren't looking through me anymore made her think we might be able to bury the hatchet." The quick look he gave her was speculative and faintly challenging. "Was she right?"

Was she?
Ariel wondered as she sat there beside him, wrapped in the dark, artificial intimacy of the car's plush leather interior. Could she be friends with her ex-husband? Did she even want to be? The word
friend
didn't begin to cover all the myriad ways she'd felt about him over the years. Or the way she felt about him now.

"There's been a lot of unhappiness between us," she said, finally.