A December Bride (A Year of Weddings Novella) (2 page)

T
he rumble of the engine cut through the silence inside the cab. Seth gave the Silverado some gas as he eased onto 65 North. Snow covered the road and traffic had slowed, but he drifted to the left lane and accelerated, the tension in the truck driving him faster.

He was afraid to look at Layla. Could almost feel the steam coming off her. Once he uncapped the bottle, she was going to blow. He hadn’t thought he could make things worse between them, but somehow he’d managed.

They’d slipped from the reception hall shortly after the announcement. What else could they do? They had to figure out how to handle this. But so far she was uncharacteristically speechless.

“Layla … listen, I know you’re mad—”

“You think?”

“—but I’ll figure something out. Maybe we can just say it was a misunderstanding and—”

“My whole family was there!”

He let out a breath. “Okay. Let’s think this through. Beckett and your dad are the only family who live in town. I’ll call them tonight and—”

“Don’t forget Jessica. And what about Daniel? The town
mayor
? And Stanley Malcolm and his wife? And William and Francis Wellington? It was a flipping Who’s Who of Chapel Springs in there!”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ll call them all tomorrow. I’ll … tell them it was a mistake. A misunderstanding. My fault.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. Everyone’ll be at church, and the gossip will fly.”

She was probably right. “Well … good news doesn’t spread as fast,” he offered.

She gave a wry laugh. “Are you kidding? You and
me
? This is the juiciest kind of gossip.”

She was so jaded. “I’ll call tonight. I’ll stay up until I’ve reached everyone.”

“And wake them? That’ll make them happy.”

“I don’t care about them.” He cared about her. More than she’d ever know. More than he’d ever admit—what good would it do?

He dared a glance at her in the darkened cab. The glow of a streetlight streaked across her face, lighting her rigid features. There was something in her eyes. More than anger. She crossed her arms over her stomach, a protective gesture, and lifted her chin.

Wasn’t it bad enough she was looked down on for reasons
beyond her control? Now she had to face another humiliation because he couldn’t control his big mouth.
You’re an idiot, Seth.

Layla white-knuckled the dashboard. “Can you slow down, please?”

“Relax, this isn’t your car. It’s a—”

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?”

He couldn’t win with her. He sighed. “It means it’s a four-wheel drive, and it handles just fine in the snow. If you could just take that chip off your shoulder for two seconds.”

He remembered earlier when Stanley Malcolm had all but snubbed her, and he went a little soft inside. He eased off the gas. “You have a pen and paper?”

“What for?”

“We have a list to make.”

Layla was shedding her dress when another text came in. Her brother had already blown up her phone. She hadn’t responded yet. Didn’t know what to say.

She ignored the text and checked her e-mail instead. A few had come in since she’d left home. Her eyes honed in on one from Stanley Malcolm.

Layla gaped at the words. He wanted to meet her for lunch! He hadn’t seemed interested at the reception—or the other time she’d spoken to him. She’d felt like a nuisance, but maybe he’d given it more thought. Or maybe he was just standoffish by nature.

She reread the e-mail, smiling, then noticed the part about Murphy. Why would he ask her to bring him along? No doubt they ran in the same circles, but—

Layla frowned. Had her supposed engagement to Murphy somehow lifted her in Stanley’s eyes? Made her worthy of his attention?

She thought back to the two times she’d stopped into his office. The first time he’d spoken with her briefly, and she’d felt brushed off. The second she’d been told he was in a meeting. Their conversation earlier tonight had been pretty one-sided. He hadn’t even glanced at her business card. He’d seemed only too eager to part ways when Daniel Dawson had approached. And now he suddenly wanted to have lunch. Now that she was engaged to the wealthy and reputable Seth Murphy.

She flung her dress onto the bed and jabbed her feet into her pajamas. She should be used to it by now. Still, it wasn’t right. Her work should be taken at face value. She was good. She’d worked hard to earn her credentials. Her four clients had sold their homes quickly and had given her excellent references. She’d spent all her free time on her business, every spare dime on props.

But there were always some people who couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t see her for who she was, only where she’d come from. Never mind that her dad had gone through rehab and
come out sober. Never mind that she now lived on the right side of the tracks. Barely.

She picked up her phone and stared at the e-mail, then scowled as she dug her phone book from the junk drawer in the kitchen. Seth couldn’t have started making his calls yet. She hoped.

S
eth spotted Layla in a darkened corner of the café and made his way to her. He blew on his cold hands as he wove between full tables. The snow had stopped sometime during the night, but the temperatures hadn’t made it into the double digits yet this morning.

After Layla’s call last night he’d hardly slept. She’d raised more questions than she’d answered. His mind had spun all night with the kind of restless hope that could only lead to heartache. But that didn’t stop him from dreaming.

He shrugged from his coat as he neared the booth. Judging by the shadows under Layla’s eyes, he guessed she hadn’t slept well either.

But her eyes brightened at the sight of him.

It was enough to give a guy a little hope.

“Morning.”

“More like afternoon,” she said.

“I overslept, missed church.”

She squeezed a lemon into her water. “I didn’t go at all. Too many questions I’m not ready to answer.”

“Speaking of questions …”

Her eyes found his. Something he’d never seen flickered in the green depths. Uncertainty? Vulnerability? She looked away before he could decide.

A waitress approached, and they quickly settled on the special.

When she left, Seth tucked the menus behind the condiment caddy. “So what’s this all about?” All she’d said last night was not to make those calls just yet.

Layla plucked the saltshaker from the caddy and balanced it on its beveled edge. Her long dark lashes swept down over her olive skin. She bit the inside of her lip, making it pucker. What he’d give for just one taste of those lips.

He longed for the summer they’d worked together on the play. Back when she talked to him. Back when she laughed with him and touched him, however fleetingly. Back before his best friend had beaten him to the punch.

Layla moved the shaker in circles. “I need a favor.”

“What is it?”

Her eyes bounced off him, then focused on the saltshaker. “I got a text from Stanley Malcolm last night. He wants to meet me for lunch tomorrow to discuss doing some work for him.”

“That’s great, Layla. Your networking paid off.” He couldn’t help feeling a little proud of her.

“He, uh, wondered if you might like to come along.”

“To your business lunch?” He lifted a shoulder. “You want me to?”

The saltshaker thwacked the table as it fell on its side. Grains of salt scattered.

Layla set the shaker in the caddy and brushed the salt into a tidy pile with her long, slender fingers. “Here’s the thing. I, uh, think his interest in Superior Staging hinges on something else.”

“Like …”

She nailed him with those big green eyes. When she looked at him like that, he’d do anything for her. Lunch. Yard work. Armed robbery …

“Like our being a couple.”

The server set down his OJ and bustled away, but Seth couldn’t take his eyes off Layla’s face. Off the color blooming on her cheeks.

“Come again?”

Her fingers flittered around the salt pile, taking all her attention. “I’ve been thinking about it all night. He didn’t give me the time of day until our … engagement was announced. I think he sees our association, such as it is, like some kind of endorsement. If I’m good enough for you, I’m good enough for him, I guess.” Her chin notched up.

He didn’t even like
her
thinking that way, much less anyone else. He frowned. “That’s ridiculous.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Well, it’s the truth. Otherwise, why the sudden change?”

“He probably just wants to keep it friendly. Comfortable for you.” But Seth was never going to change Layla’s mind. And why should he? Another hour with her was another hour. “Sure, I’ll go. No problem.”

“That’s not all.” She swallowed hard. Turned a sheepish
look on him. “I might need you to, uh … hold off on breaking our engagement.”

He turned his head to the side, eyeing her. “Hold off …”

“Just until I …” She swept the salt off the table and curled her arms over her stomach. “Look, I need to get my business off the ground. I need a realty group to hire me, and there’s none more prestigious than Malcolm’s. He specializes in the big stuff—the fancy historical homes and riverside estates.”

“I bought my home two years ago from one of his agents.”

“So you know what I’m talking about.”

“But how’s this going to work? People will think we’re—”

“Just for a little while. If the lunch goes well, and he hires me, I’ll be able to show him what I can do. Once he sees my work, he’ll be satisfied.”

There was nothing he’d like more than an extended fake engagement. Unless it was a real one. How much time would this give him? He remembered the hardened look on her face when she’d first spotted him in Cappy’s yesterday.

Not nearly long enough, Seth.

“Maybe only a few days,” Layla said. “I mean, once he gives me an assignment, I’ll get right on it. He’ll give me a contract, and
poof
—engagement over.”

Nice. A few days wouldn’t buy him nearly enough time. A few years was probably pushing it. And after the lunch there’d be no need for her to come around.

He needed to leverage this somehow. This was his chance to make things right, earn her trust, maybe even see if someday she could feel the same for him.

Layla’s eyes darkened. Her arms shifted, crossing higher, over her chest. She leaned into the table, her eyes sparking. “Look. You got us into this mess. The least you can do is this tiny little favor.”

Favor.

An idea formed in his head. One that would keep Layla around awhile. Maybe long enough to shift things between them. Only sheer willpower kept a triumphant smile from forming on his lips.

“Okay then,” he said. “I’ll make you a deal.”

She pressed her lips together, narrowed her eyes. Her trust in him was overwhelming. “What kind of deal?”

“Remember when we talked about the Tour of Homes last night? I really could use your help.”

“How much help?”

He shrugged. “I’ll do the heavy lifting …”

“In other words, all of it. Do you have any idea how many hours a project like that takes? I think you’re forgetting that you already owe me.”

She didn’t have to spell out all the reasons why. “Think of your portfolio. Decorating a home for the tour is prestigious. People come from all over the region, and they’d see your work.” He was making this up as he went, loving that it was a win-win.

She leaned back, considering.

“You can even put up signage and leave business cards. No telling how much work you could get off this alone.”

She took a sip of her water. Rearranged her silverware. “Do you have the decorations? I don’t have any Christmas
props.”

He wasn’t going to mention the mildewed cardboard box in his attic. “I’ll buy whatever you need.”

“You have any idea how much that’s going to cost?”

“I own a hardware store—I’ll get everything wholesale. What do you say?”

She cocked her head, regarding him. “You don’t have a girlfriend who’s going to pitch a fit about this?”

He lifted his shoulders. “Free as a bird.”

“And you’ll hang with me, even if it takes more than a few days.”

“As long as it takes.”

She regarded him steadily, quietly. For so long that Seth was about to explode before she finally extended her hand across the table.

“Fine. It’s a deal.”

S
tanley Malcolm was somewhere in his fifties, slender, with thinning gray hair. His winter-white skin creased around his eyes when he managed a smile, calling attention to his hazel eyes.

Layla bit into her club sandwich, barely tasting it as she listened to Stanley’s monologue on the housing market. In the background a soothing rendition of “White Christmas” played over the restaurant’s speakers, mingling with the clinking of silverware and the buzz of idle chatter.

Her nerves were already shot, and they hadn’t even discussed her working with Malcolm Realty. Stanley was leading up to it in a slow, methodical way that was about to send her over the edge.

Beside her in the booth, Murphy finished off his BLT. He’d been quiet once the greetings and congratulations were out of the way. His jean-clad thigh pressed against hers,
making her too warm. She wished she could ditch the suit coat, but the sleeves of her blouse were frayed.

“So you’re new to the staging business, Layla?” Stanley pushed his salad plate back. The server removed it before he could lean back in the booth.

“Technically I opened in October, but I staged a few homes before that.” They’d been friends’ homes, and payment had been pizza and chocolate, but he didn’t need to know that. “The four homes I’ve done since opening have sold within two months.”

He gave her a nod. “That’s impressive in this market.”

She presented him with the statistics on staged homes, adding that it increased the value by three to four thousand, in effect paying for itself.

After viewing the chart, he handed it back to her. “I’m intrigued. Have you a portfolio I can see?”

“Actually, I have photos with me.”

She pulled her iPad from her bag. The expenditure for the tablet had been painful, but now she was thinking it was worth every penny. She opened the photos and slid the iPad toward him, making an effort to breathe deeply.

Stanley swiped through the photos, nodding appreciatively at a couple. She wished the homes had been nicer. They were nowhere near the price range of most Malcolm homes.

“You’re so talented, baby.” Murphy edged closer, wrapping an arm around her.

She barely refrained from elbowing him in the gut.

“Thank you, Murph.” She blinked innocently, using the nickname he hated.

Layla sipped her water, trying to hide her trembling fingers. Never mind that Stanley held her future in his hands. Never mind that he could make or break her business with the next words he uttered.

His business would keep her busy year-round. No more scrimping. No more Cappy’s. No more cheapest apartment on the good side of town. She could buy a house of her own. She could do what she loved full-time. She could finally make a good name for herself.

A few minutes later Stanley handed the tablet back, his thin lips turned up in an almost-smile. “I like what I see here, Layla.”

Yes
. Her heart felt like it buzzed with caffeine. “Thank you.”
Come on, Stanley. Make me an offer.
She was so close. “I’d love to work together.”

A frown puckered between his brows. She wondered if he was thinking of her father. Of her lack of a college degree.

“I’m a hard worker, and I’m dependable. I can get you references if you’d like. My clients were more than satisfied.”

The server came and removed the remainder of their plates. After they refused dessert, he left the bill.

Stanley set down his credit card, and an instant later it was removed. “My only qualm at this point is your lack of experience. Are you prepared to stage larger homes? Historicals? They require a different touch.”

“I understand. Historicals have a certain authentic appeal. My strategy is to enhance the natural character of older homes. In fact, I’m starting work on a historical this week. I’m staging Murphy’s home for the Silent Night Tour of Homes.”

His eyebrows ticked up. “Very nice.”

Murphy squeezed her shoulder. “Only the best.”

Layla called upon her theater skills, trading a loving smile with Murphy.

“That’ll give me the perfect opportunity to see what you can do,” Stanley said.

See what she could do? The tour was almost three weeks away. She couldn’t keep up this engagement that long. It had been all she could do to avoid her brother for a day and a half.

Layla worked to keep the smile on her face. “I’d be happy to give you a free sample with one of your existing homes.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Stanley signed the credit card slip and tucked the credit card back in his wallet. “I’m sure you’ll have your hands full with Seth’s home.” He took his coat and slid from the booth. “I’m afraid I have a one o’clock, so I have to run.”

Layla shook his hand. “Thank you so much for lunch. And for the opportunity.”

“I look forward to seeing what you can do, Layla.” He took Murphy’s hand. “Always good to see you, Seth. We should set up a tee time once all this winter muck clears away. I sure miss playing with your father. He was a heck of a golfer.”

“That he was. Let’s do it.”

Only when Stanley had slipped out the door did Layla let the smile fall from her face. She tried to tell herself it had gone well. He liked her portfolio. He was going to give her a chance. But she’d hoped to walk away with a contract.

How could she maintain this engagement charade for
almost three weeks? Word had already spread. She’d hoped to get this squared away today. She had a dozen unanswered texts and four missed calls; she couldn’t avoid them forever.

Murphy squeezed her shoulder. “Come on now, it went well.”

She shrugged his hand away. “This hinges on the tour now, Murphy.”

“You’ll knock it out of the park and get the contract.”

She nailed him with a look. “It also hinges on our engagement.”

He shrugged. “So we ride it out a little while.”

“We’re supposed to be getting married in three weeks. It’s going to look pretty suspicious when the invitations don’t go out and no gets asked to be in the wedding party.”

“I’m fine with a small wedding.”

She jabbed him in the ribs, her elbow meeting a set of taut muscles. He let out a grunt. Why wasn’t he the least bit concerned? She was glad her mom’s side of the family was far away in Louisville. And she didn’t have to worry about Jack and Jessica until they returned from their honeymoon.

There was another pleasant thought. Jessica would stir it all up. She wasn’t happy unless she was making trouble. Wasn’t it enough that she’d stolen Layla’s fiancé?

And what was Layla going to tell Beckett? This wasn’t going to work.

“I can’t lie to my brother.” They’d been through too much together. She didn’t want to lie to her friends either. And she couldn’t tell them the truth for fear it would get back to Stanley. If he found out they’d faked the engagement, he’d never hire her.

“Hey …” Murphy hooked a finger under her chin and turned her head until her eyes caught in his. “It’s going to be fine. It’s just a few weeks. Tell your brother the truth. He won’t say anything. As for everyone else, it’ll mostly just be putting up with a bunch of congratulations. Say thanks and move on. Mostly you’ll be holed up at my place stringing lights and draping green stuff.”

“Garlands,” she said absently. That was true. She’d be busy. Maybe she could even cut her hours at Cappy’s so she could focus on Murphy’s house, not to mention avoid the general public. Financially it would be a challenge, but she knew how to stretch a dime.

She looked into his blue eyes, noticing subtle flecks of silver. They were nice eyes. Really nice. He had a fringe of dark lashes that would make most women jealous. “You think so?”

When he tweaked her chin, she wasn’t even tempted to swat his hand away. “Piece of cake.”