Penelope could see guests starting to move. Reaching for those bags of confetti stars and preparing them-selves to shower the bride and groom as they went down the aisle together.

She stepped away to move closer, but Rafe’s voice stopped her.

“That promise,” he asked quietly. “The one you believe in. What is it, exactly?”

Startled, she turned her head. “Security,” she responded. “Family. It’s the promise of a safe place, I guess. Somewhere you know you’ll always be loved.”

There was something soft in his eyes now. Something sad?

“You’re one of the lucky ones, then.”

“Because I believe in marriage?”

“Because you know what it’s like to have a family. Parents. You know what it’s like to live in that safe place.”

And he didn’t? Something huge squeezed inside her chest and made her breath come out in a huff. She understood that yearning. Her life might look perfect from the outside but she wanted him to know that she understood. That they had a connection here that very few people could have. They might be complete opposites, but in that moment, it felt like they were on opposite sides of the same coin.

The Wedding Planner and the CEO

Alison Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ALISON ROBERTS is a New Zealander, currently lucky enough to live near a beautiful beach in Auckland. She is also lucky enough to write for Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™ and other lines. A primary schoolteacher in a former life, she is also a qualified paramedic. She loves to travel and dance, drink champagne and spend time with her daughter and her friends.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘NO?’

The smile was sympathetic but the head-shake emphasised the negative response and the receptionist’s raised eyebrows suggested that Penelope must have known she was dreaming when she thought her request might be considered reasonable.

‘There must be someone I could speak to?’ It was harder to say no face to face than over the phone, which was, after all, why she’d taken time out of her crazy schedule to fight London traffic and come to the company’s head office in person.

In desperation?

‘There’s really no point.’ The receptionist’s smile faded slightly. ‘You might be able to engage a cowboy to let off a few fireworks on a week’s notice but to get the kind of show the best company in the country has to offer, you have to book in advance. Months in advance.’

‘I didn’t have months. My bride only decided she wanted fireworks this morning. I’m talking Bridezilla, here, you know?’

There was a wary edge to the receptionist’s gaze now. Was she worried that Penelope might be capable of following her client’s example and throwing an epic tantrum?

‘I understand completely but I’m sorry, there’s still nothing I can do to help. For future reference, you can book online to make an appointment to talk to one of our sales reps.’

‘I don’t want to talk to a sales rep.’ Penelope tapped into the extra height her four-inch heels provided. ‘I want to talk to your manager. Or director. Or whoever it is that runs this company.’

The smile vanished completely. ‘We have a chief executive officer. All Light on the Night is an international company. An enormous international company. We do shows like the Fourth of July on the Brooklyn Bridge in New York. New Year’s Eve on the Sydney Harbour Bridge in Australia.’ Her tone revealed just how far out of line Penelope had stepped. ‘You might very well want to talk to him but there’s no way on earth Ralph Edwards would be interested in talking to you.’

‘Really? Why not?’

The curiosity sounded genuine and it came from a male voice behind Penelope. The effect on the young woman in front of her was astonishing. The receptionist paled visibly and her mouth opened and closed more than once, as if she was trying to recall all the vehement words that had just escaped.

Penelope turned to see a tall man and registered dark hair long enough to look tousled, faded denim jeans and...cowboy boots? One of the sales reps, perhaps?

‘She...doesn’t have an appointment.’ The receptionist was clearly rattled. ‘She just walked in and wants to book a show. A wedding...’

The man’s gaze shifted to Penelope and made her want to smooth the close fit of her skirt over her hips even though she knew perfectly well it couldn’t be creased. Or raise a hand to make sure no errant tresses had escaped the French braiding that described a perfect crescent from one side of her forehead to meet the main braid on the back of her head.

‘Congratulations.’ His voice had a rich, low timbre. It made Penelope think of gravel rolling around in something thick and delicious. Like chocolate.

‘Sorry?’ Was he congratulating her on her choice of this company?

‘On your engagement.’

‘Oh...it’s not my wedding.’

That was a dream too distant to be visible even with a telescope at the moment. And there was no point even picking up a telescope until she knew what it was she was looking for, and how could she know that until she discovered who she really was and what she was capable of? Come to think of it, this was the first step towards that distant dream, wasn’t it? The first time she was taking a leap out of any known comfort zone. Doing something she wanted—just for herself.

‘I’m an event manager,’ she said, after the barely perceptible pause. ‘It’s my client who’s getting married.’

‘Ah...’ The spark of polite interest was fading rapidly. ‘You’ve come to the right place, then. I’m sure Melissa will be able to help you with whatever arrangements you want to make.’

Melissa made a choked sound. ‘She wants the show next Saturday, Mr Edwards.’

Mr Edwards? The terribly important CEO of this huge international company wore faded jeans and cowboy boots to work? Penelope was clearly overdressed but she couldn’t let it faze her enough to lose this unexpected opportunity.

One that was about to slip away. She saw the look that implied complete understanding and went as far as forgiving the company receptionist for her unprofessional exchange with a potential client. She also saw the body language that suggested this CEO was about to retreat to whatever top-floor executive sanctuary he’d unexpectedly appeared from.

‘I’ll give her a list of other companies that might be able to help,’ Melissa said.

‘I don’t want another company.’ The words burst out with a speed and emphasis that took Penelope by surprise. ‘I...I have to have the best and...and you’re the best, aren’t you?’

Of course they were. The entire wall behind the receptionist’s desk was a night sky panorama of exploding fireworks. Pyrotechnic art with a combination of shape and colour that was mind-blowing.

The man’s mouth twitched. Maybe he’d been surprised, too. ‘We certainly are.’ Amusement reached his eyes with a glint. Very dark eyes, Penelope noticed. As black as sin, even. Her pulse skipped and sped up. There was only one thing to do when you found yourself so far out of your depth like this. Aim for the surface and kick hard.

‘It might be worth your while to consider it.’ She snatched a new gulp of air. ‘This is a celebrity wedding. The kind of publicity that can’t be bought.’ She managed a smile. ‘I understand you specialise in huge shows but New Year’s Eve and the Fourth of July only happen once a year, don’t they? You must need the smaller stuff as well? This could be a win-win situation for both of us.’

An eyebrow quirked this time. Was he intrigued by her audacity? Was that a sigh coming from Melissa’s direction?

‘You have a managerial board meeting in fifteen minutes, Mr Edwards.’

‘Give me ten,’ Penelope heard herself saying, her gaze still fixed on him. ‘Please?’

* * *

She looked like some kind of princess. Power-dressed and perfectly groomed. The spiky heels of her shoes looked like they could double as a lethal weapon and he could imagine that the elegant, leather briefcase she carried might be full of lengthy checklists and legally binding contracts.

She was the epitome of everything Rafe avoided like the plague so why on earth was he ushering her into his office and closing the door behind them? Perhaps he was trying to send a message to the junior staff that even difficult clients needed to be treated with respect. Or maybe there had been something in the way she’d looked when he’d suggested it was her own wedding she’d come here to organise.

A flicker of...astonishment? He’d probably have the same reaction if someone suggested he was about to walk down the aisle.

Maybe not for the same reasons, though. The kind of people he had in his life were as non-conformist as he was, whereas this woman looked like she’d already have the preferred names picked out for the two perfectly behaved children she would eventually produce. One girl and one boy, of course. She might have them already, tidied away in the care of a nanny somewhere, but a quick glance at her left hand as she walked past him revealed an absence of any rings so maybe it had been embarrassment that it was taking so long rather than astonishment that had registered in that look.

No. More likely it was something about the way she’d said ‘please’. That icy self-control with which she held herself had jarred on both occasions with something he’d seen flicker in her face but the flicker that had come with that ‘please’ had looked like determination born of desperation and he could respect that kind of motivation.

‘Take a seat.’ He gestured towards an area that had comfortable seating around a low coffee table—an informal meeting space that had a wall of glass on one side to show off the fabulous view of the Wimbledon golf course.

Not that she noticed the gesture. Clearly impressed to the point of being speechless, she was staring at the central feature of the penthouse office. A mirror-like tube of polished steel that was broken in the middle. The layer of stones on the top of the bottom section had flames flickering in a perfect circle.

He liked it that she was so impressed. He’d designed this feature himself and he was proud of it. But he didn’t have time for distractions like showing off.

‘Ms...?’

‘Collins. Penelope Collins.’

‘Rafe Edwards.’ The handshake was brief but surprisingly firm. This time she noticed his invitation and he watched her seat herself on one of the couches. Right on the edge as if she might need to leap up and flee at any moment. Legs angled but not crossed.

Nice legs. Was that subtle tug on the hem of her skirt because she’d noticed him noticing? Rafe glanced at his watch and then seated himself on the opposite couch. Or rather perched on his favourite spot, with a hip resting on the broad arm of the couch.

‘So...a celebrity wedding?’

She nodded. ‘You’ve heard of Clarissa Bingham?’

‘Can’t say I have.’

‘Oh... She’s a local Loxbury girl who got famous in a reality TV show. She’s marrying a football star. Blake Summers.’

‘I’ve heard of him.’

‘It’s a huge wedding and we were lucky enough to get the best venue available. Loxbury Hall?’

‘Yep. Heard of that, too.’

Her surprise was evident in the way she blinked—that rapid sweep of thick, dark eyelashes. He could understand the surprise. Why should he know anything about a small town on the outskirts of the New Forest between here and Southampton? Or an eighteenth-century manor house that had been used as a function venue for the last decade? He wasn’t about to tell her that this location did, in fact, give him a rather close connection to this upcoming event.

‘It could be the last wedding ever held there because the property’s just been sold and nobody knows whether the new owner will carry it on as a business venture.’

‘Hmm.’ Rafe nodded but his attention was straying. This Penelope Collins might not be remotely his type but any red-blooded male could appreciate that she was beautiful. Classically beautiful with that golden blonde hair and that astonishing porcelain skin. Or maybe not so classical given that her eyes were brown rather than blue. Nice combination, that—blonde hair and brown eyes— and her skin had a sun-kissed glow to it that suggested an excellent spray tan rather than risking damage from the real thing. She was probably no more than five feet three without those killer heels and her drink of choice was probably a gin and tonic. Or maybe a martini with an olive placed perfectly in the centre of the toothpick.

‘Sorry...what was that?’

‘It’s the perfect place for a fireworks show. The terrace off the ballroom looks down at the lake. There’ll be six hundred people there and major magazine coverage. I could make sure that your company gets excellent publicity.’

‘We tend to get that from our larger events. Or special-effects awards from the movie industry. There are plenty of smaller companies out there that specialise in things like birthday parties or weddings.’

‘But I want this to be spectacular. The best...’

She did. He could see that in her eyes. He’d had that kind of determination once—the need to get to the top and be the very best, and it hadn’t been easy, especially that first time.

‘Is this your first wedding?’

Her composure slipped and faint spots of pink appeared on her cheeks. ‘I run a very successful catering company so I’ve been involved in big events for many years. Moving to complete event design and execution has been a more recent development.’

‘So this is your first wedding.’

She didn’t like the implied putdown. Something like defiance darkened her eyes and the aura of tension around the rest of her body kicked up a notch.

‘The event is running like clockwork so far. Everything’s in place for the ceremony and reception. The entertainment, decorations and catering are locked in. Clarissa is thrilled with her dress and the photographers are over the moon by the backdrops the venue offers. We even have the best local band playing live for the dancing. You must have heard of Diversion?’

Rafe’s breath came out in an unexpected huff. Another connection? This was getting weird.

‘It was all going perfectly until this morning, when Clarissa decided they had to have fireworks to finish the night. She had a complete meltdown when I told her that it was probably impossible to organise at such late notice.’

Rafe had dealt with some meltdowns from clients so he knew how difficult it could be, especially when your reputation might be hanging by a thread. Maybe Penelope was reliving some of the tension and that was what was giving her voice that almost imperceptible wobble. A hint of vulnerability that tugged on something deep in his gut with an equally almost imperceptible ‘ping’.

‘When it got to the stage that she was threatening to pull the plug on the whole wedding, I said I’d make some enquiries.’

‘So you came straight to the top?’ The corner of Rafe’s mouth lifted. ‘Have to say your style is impressive, Ms Collins.’

He’d done the same thing himself more than once.

‘I know I’m asking a lot and it probably is impossible but at least I can say I tried and...and maybe you can point me in the direction of an alternative company that might be able to do at least a reasonable job.’

There was a moment’s silence as Rafe wondered how to respond. Yes, he could send her hunting for another company but nobody reputable would take this on.

‘Have you any idea what’s involved with setting up a professional fireworks show?’

She shook her head. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, too, and the childlike gesture of trepidation was enough to make Rafe wonder just how much of her look was a front. And what was she trying to hide?

‘Long-term planning is essential for lots of reasons. We have to have meetings with the client to discuss budgets and the style and timing of the show.’

‘The budget won’t be an issue.’

‘Are you sure? We’re talking over a thousand pounds a minute here.’

‘I’m sure.’ She sounded confident but he’d seen the movement of her throat as she’d swallowed hard.

‘The show gets fired to music. That has to be chosen and then edited and correlated to the pyrotechnic effects. The soundtrack has to be cued and programmed into a computer.’

Once upon a time, Rafe had done all these jobs himself. Long, hard nights of getting everything perfect on an impossible schedule. The memories weren’t all bad, though. That kind of hard work had got him where he was today.

‘The fireworks have to be chosen and sourced. The site has to be mapped and the display layout planned for firing points. There are safety considerations and you have to allow for a fallout range that could be over a hundred metres. You have to get permits. And this all has to happen before you start setting up—fusing all the fireworks together in the correct sequence, putting electric matches in each fuse run, and then testing the whole package to make sure it’s going to work.’

‘I understand.’ There was a stillness about her that suggested she was preparing to admit defeat. ‘And you were right. I had no idea how much work was involved. I’m sorry...’ She got to her feet. ‘It was very kind of you to take the time to explain things.’

The door to the office opened as she finished speaking. Melissa poked her head around the edge.

‘They’re waiting for you in the boardroom, Mr Edwards.’

Rafe got to his feet, too. Automatically, he held out his hand and Penelope took it. It was a clasp rather than a shake and, for some bizarre reason, Rafe found himself holding her hand for a heartbeat longer than could be considered professional.

Long enough for that odd ping of sensation he’d felt before to return with surprising force. Enough force to be a twist that couldn’t be dismissed. A memory of what it was like to be struggling and then come up against a brick wall? Or maybe articulating all the steps of the challenge of delivering a show had reminded him that he’d been able to do all that himself once. Every single job that he now employed experts in the field to do on his behalf.

He could do it again if he wanted. Good grief, he ran one of the biggest pyrotechnic companies in the world—he could do whatever he wanted.

And maybe...he wanted to do this.

He had everything he’d always dreamed of now but this wasn’t the first time he’d felt that niggle that something was missing. Wasn’t the best way to find something to retrace your footsteps? Going back to his roots as a young pyrotechnician would certainly be retracing footsteps that were long gone. Had he dropped something so long ago he’d forgotten what it actually was?

‘There is one way I might be able to help,’ he found himself saying.

‘A personal recommendation to another company?’ Hope made her eyes shine. They had a dark outline to their pupils, he noticed. Black on brown. A perfect ring to accentuate them. Striking.

‘No. I was thinking more in terms of doing it myself.’

Her breath caught in an audible gasp. ‘But...all those things you said...’

‘They still stand. Whether or not it’s doable would depend on cooperation from your clients with any restrictions, such as what fireworks we happen to have in stock. The site survey and decisions on style and music would have to be done immediately. Tomorrow.’

‘I could arrange that.’ That breathless excitement in her voice was sweet. ‘What time would you be available?’

‘It’s Saturday. We don’t have any major shows happening and I make my own timetable. What time would your clients be available?’

‘We’ll be on site all day. They have a dance lesson in the morning and we’re doing a ceremony rehearsal in the afternoon. Just come anytime that suits. Would you like me to email you a map?’

‘That won’t be necessary. By coincidence, I’m familiar with the property, which is another point in favour of pulling this off. The site survey wouldn’t be an issue.’

* * *

The massive image of exploding fireworks was impossible to miss as Penelope left the office but it was more than simply a glorious advertisement now. For a heartbeat, it felt like she was actually there—seeing them happen and hearing the bone-shaking impact of the detonations.

Excitement, that was what it was. Ralph Edwards might look like a cowboy but he was going to help her get the biggest break she could ever have. Clarissa’s wedding was going to finish with the kind of bang that would have her at the top of any list of desirable wedding planners. On her way to fame and fortune and a lifelong career that couldn’t be more perfect for her. She would be completely independent and then she’d be able to decide what else she might need in her life.

Who else, maybe...

Thanks to the traffic, the drive back to Loxbury was going to take well over two hours, which meant she would be up very late tonight, catching up with her schedule. She could use the time sensibly and think ahead about any potential troubleshooting that might be needed.

Or she could think about fireworks instead. The kind of spectacular shapes and colours that would be painted against the darkness of a rural sky but probably seen by every inhabitant of her nearby hometown and have images reproduced in more than one glossy magazine.

As the miles slid by—despite an odd initial resistance—Penelope also found herself thinking about the tousled cowboy she would have to be working with in the coming week to make this happen. He had to be the most unlikely colleague she could have imagined. Someone she would have instinctively avoided like the plague under normal circumstances, even. But if he could help her make this wedding the event that would launch her career, she was up for it.

Couldn’t wait to see him again, in fact.

CHAPTER TWO

‘NO, NO, MONSIEUR BLAKE. Do not bend over your lady like that, or you will lose your balance and you will both end up on the floor. Step to the side and bend your knee as you dip her. Keep your back straight.’

Blake Summers abruptly let go of his bride-to-be but Clarissa caught his arm. ‘Don’t you dare walk out on me again. How are we ever going to learn this dance if you keep walking away?’

He shook his arm free. ‘I can’t do it, babe. I told you that. I. Don’t. Dance.’

‘But this our wedding dance.’ The tone advertised imminent tears. ‘Everyone will be watching. Taking photos.’

‘This whole thing is all about the photos, isn’t it? I’m up to here with it.’ Muscles in the young football star’s arm bunched as he raised a fist well above head level. ‘You know what? If I’d had any idea of how much crap this would all involve I would have thought twice about asking you to marry me.’

‘Oh, my God...’ Clarissa buried her face in her hands and started sobbing. Penelope let out a long sigh. She felt rather inclined to follow her example.

The dance teacher, Pierre, came towards her with a wonderfully French gesture that described exactly how frustrated he was also becoming.

‘It’s only a simple dance,’ he muttered. ‘We’ve been here for an hour and we have only covered the first twenty seconds of the song. Do you know how long Monsieur Legend’s “All of Me” goes for?’ He didn’t wait for Penelope to respond. ‘Five minutes and eight seconds—that’s how long. C’est de la torture.’

Blake’s expression morphed from anger to irritation and finally defeat. ‘I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean it. Really.’ He put his arms around Clarissa. ‘I just meant we could have eloped or something and got away from all the fuss.’

‘You did mean it.’ Clarissa struggled enough to escape his embrace. ‘You don’t want to marry me.’ She turned her back on him and hugged herself tightly.

‘I do. I love you, babe. All of me, you know, loves all of you.’

Clarissa only sobbed louder. This was Penelope’s cue to enter stage left. She walked briskly across the polished wood of the floor and put an arm around her client’s shoulders.

‘It’s okay, hon. We just need to take a break.’ She gave a squeeze. ‘It’s such an emotional time in the final run-up to such a big day. Things can seem a bit overwhelming, can’t they?’

Clarissa nodded, sniffing loudly.

‘And we’ve got a whole week to sort this dance out. Just a few moves that you can repeat for the whole song, isn’t that right, Pierre?’

Pierre shrugged. ‘As you say. Only a few moves.’

Penelope turned her most encouraging smile on the groom-to-be. ‘You’re up for that, aren’t you, Blake? You do know how incredibly sexy it is for a man to be able to dance, even a little bit, don’t you?’

‘Dancing’s for pansies,’ Blake muttered.

Penelope’s smile dimmed. She could feel a vibe coming from Pierre’s direction that suggested she might be about to lose her on-call dance teacher.

‘How ’bout this?’ she suggested brightly. ‘We’ll put the music on and Pierre will dance with Clarissa to show you what you’ll look like on the night. So you can see how romantic it will be. How gorgeous you’ll both look.’

Blake scowled but Clarissa was wiping tears from her face with perfectly French-manicured fingertips. The sideways glance at the undeniably good-looking dance teacher was flirtatious enough for Penelope to be thankful that Blake didn’t seem to notice.

‘Fine.’ He walked towards the tall windows that doubled as doors to the flagged terrace. Penelope joined him as Pierre set the music up and talked to Clarissa.

‘Gorgeous view, isn’t it?’

‘I guess. The lake’s okay. I like those dragons that spout water.’

‘The whole garden’s wonderful. You should have a look around while the weather’s this nice. There’s even a maze.’

The notes of the romantic song filled the space as Pierre swept Clarissa into his arms and began leading her expertly through the moves. Blake crossed his arms and scowled.

‘It’s easy for her. She’s been doing salsa classes for years. But she expects me to look like him? Not going to happen. Not in this lifetime.’

Penelope shook her head and smiled gently. ‘I think all she wants is to be moving to the song she’s chosen in the arms of the man she loves.’

A sound of something like resignation came from Blake but Penelope could feel the tension lift. Until his head turned and he stiffened again.

‘Who’s that?’ he demanded. ‘I told you I didn’t want anyone watching this lesson. I feel like enough of an idiot as it is. If that’s a photographer, hoping to get a shot of me practising, he can just get the hell out of here.’

Penelope turned her head. The ballroom of Loxbury Hall ran the length of the house between the two main wings. There were probably six huge bedrooms above it upstairs. Quite some distance to recognise a shadowy figure standing in the doorway that led to the reception hall but she knew who it was instantly. From the man’s height, perhaps. Or the casual slouch to his stance. That shaft of sensation deep in her belly had to be relief. He’d kept his word.

She could trust him?

‘It’s Ralph Edwards!’ she exclaimed softly. ‘I told you he was coming some time today. To discuss your fireworks?’

‘Oh...yeah...’ Blake’s scowl vanished. ‘Fireworks are cool.’ He brightened. ‘Does that mean I don’t have to do any more dancing today?’

‘Let’s see what Pierre’s schedule is. We’d have time for another session later. After the meeting with the florist maybe. Before the rehearsal.’

It was another couple of minutes before the song ended. Clarissa was following Pierre’s lead beautifully and Penelope tried to focus, letting her imagination put her client into her wedding dress. To think how it was going to look with the soft lighting of hundreds of candles. The song was a great choice. If Blake could end up learning the moves well enough to look a fraction as good as Pierre, it was going to be a stunning first dance.

Details flashed into her mind, like the best places to put the huge floral arrangements and groups of candles to frame the dance floor. Where the photographers and cameramen could be placed to be inconspicuous but still get great coverage. Whether it was going to work to have the wrist loop to hold the train of Clarissa’s dress out of the way. She scribbled a note on the paper clipped to the board she carried with her everywhere on days like this so that none of these details would end up being forgotten.

The dress. Candles. Flowers. There was so much to think about and yet the thing she was most aware of right now was the figure standing at the ballroom doorway, politely waiting for the music to finish before interrupting. Why did his presence make her feel so nervous? Her heart had picked up speed the moment she’d seen him and it hadn’t slowed any since. That initial twinge of relief had shattered into butterflies in her stomach now, and they were twisting and dancing rather like Clarissa was.

Not that the feeling was altogether unpleasant. It reminded her of the excitement that strong physical attraction to someone could produce.

Was she physically attracted to Ralph Edwards?

Of course not. The very idea was so ridiculous she knew that wasn’t the cause. No. This nervousness was because the fireworks show wasn’t a done deal yet and there could be another tantrum from Clarissa to handle if the meeting didn’t go well.

It had to go well. Penelope held the clipboard against her chest and clutched it a little more tightly as the music faded.

* * *

Rafe was quite content to have a moment or two to observe.

To bask in the glow of satisfaction he’d had from the moment he’d driven through the ornate gates of this historic property.

A property he now owned, for heaven’s sake.

Who would have thought that he’d end up with a life like this? Not him, that’s for sure. Not back in the day when he’d been one of a busload of disadvantaged small children who’d been brought to Loxbury Hall for a charity Christmas party. He’d seen the kind of kingdom that rich people could have. People with enough money to make their own rules. To have families that stayed together and lived happily ever after.

Yes. This was a dream come true and he was loving every minute of it.

He was loving standing here, too.

This room was stunning. A few weeks ago he’d had to use his imagination to think of what it might be like with music playing and people dancing on the polished floor. Reality was even better. He was too far away to get more than a general impression of the girl who was dancing but he could see enough. A wild cascade of platinum blonde waves. A tight, low-cut top that revealed a cleavage to die for. Enhanced by silicone, of course, but what did that matter? She was a true WAG and Blake Summers was a lucky young man.

What a contrast to Ms Collins—standing there clutching a clipboard and looking as tense as a guitar string about to snap. You’d never get her onto a dance floor as a partner, that’s for sure. His buoyant mood slipped a little—kind of reminding him of schooldays when the bell sounded and you had to leave the playground and head back to the classroom.

Never mind. As she’d pointed out herself, this could well be the last time the reception rooms of Loxbury Hall would be used as a public venue and there was a kind of irony in the idea that he could be putting on a fireworks show to mark the end of that era for the house and the start of his own occupation.

Remarkably fitting, really.

Rafe walked towards her as the music faded. Was her look supposed to be more casual, given that it was a weekend? If so, it hadn’t worked. Okay, it was a shirt and trousers instead of a skirt but they were tailored and sleek and she still had that complicated rope effect going on in her hair. Did she sleep like that and still not have a hair out of place in the morning?

Maybe she didn’t sleep at all. Just plugged herself in to a power point for a while.

Good thing that he was close enough to extend a hand to the young man standing beside Penelope. That way, nobody could guess that his grin was due to private amusement.

‘I’m Rafe Edwards,’ he said. ‘Saw that winning goal you scored on your last match. Good effort.’

‘Thanks, man. This is Clarissa. Clarrie, this is Ralph Edwards—the fireworks guy.’

‘Rafe, please. I might have Ralph on my birth certificate but it doesn’t mean I like it.’ His smile widened as Clarissa batted ridiculously enhanced eyelashes at him and then he turned his head.

‘Gidday, Penny. How are you?’

‘Penelope,’ she said tightly. ‘I actually like the name on my birth certificate.’

Whoa...could she get any more uptight? Rafe turned back to the delicious Clarissa and turned on the charm.

‘How ’bout we find somewhere we can get comfortable and have a chat about what I might be able to do for you?’

Clarissa giggled. ‘Ooh...yes, please...’

‘Why don’t we go out onto the terrace?’ Penelope’s tone made the suggestion sound like a reprimand. ‘I just need to have a word with Pierre and then I’ll join you. I’ll organise some refreshment, too. What would you like?’

‘Mineral water for me,’ Clarissa said. ‘Sparkling.’

‘A cold beer,’ Blake said. ‘It’s turning into a scorcher of a day.’

‘I’m not sure we’ve got beer in the kitchen at the moment.’

Blake groaned.

‘My apologies,’ Penelope said. ‘I’ll make sure it’s available next time.’ She scribbled something on her clipboard.

‘Coffee for me, thanks,’ Rafe said. ‘Strong and black.’

The look flashed in his direction was grateful. ‘That we can do. Would you like a coffee, too, Blake?’

‘Have to do, I s’pose. At least we’re gonna get to talk about something cool. Do we get to choose the kind of fireworks we want?’

‘Sure. We need to talk about the music first, though.’ Rafe led the way through the French doors to the terrace. ‘I’m guessing you want something romantic?’

* * *

Music wasn’t being discussed when Penelope took the tray of drinks out to the group. Rafe had a laptop open and Blake and Clarissa were avidly watching what was on the screen.

‘Ooh...that one. We’ve got to have that. What’s it called?’

‘It’s a peony. And this one’s a chrysanthemum. And this is a golden, hanging willow. It’s a forty-five-shot cake so it goes for a while.’

‘Nice. I like them loud.’ Blake was rubbing his hands together. ‘Man, this is going to be epic.’

‘With it being your wedding, I was thinking you might want something a bit more romantic.’ Rafe tapped his keyboard. ‘Look at this for an opening, maybe.’

‘OMG.’ Clarissa pressed a hand to her open mouth. ‘You can do love hearts? For real?’

‘Sure can. And look at this. Horsetails look a lot like bridal veils, don’t you think?’

Clarissa hadn’t looked this happy since the first fitting of her wedding dress. Before she’d started to find tiny imperfections that had to be dealt with.

‘I want it to be romantic,’ she breathed. ‘And I’ve got the perfect song. Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You”.’

Blake rolled his eyes and shook his head. Rafe lifted an eyebrow. ‘Nice, but the tempo could be a bit on the slow side. Maybe a better song to dance to than accompany fireworks?’

‘It’s soppy,’ Blake growled. ‘We need something loud. Fun. Wasn’t the whole idea to end the night with a bang?’

Clarissa giggled. ‘Oh...we will, babes, don’t you worry about that.’

Blake grinned. ‘You’re singing my song already.’

Rafe’s appreciative grin faded the moment he caught Penelope’s gaze. He took a sip of his coffee.

‘What about Meat Loaf?’ Blake suggested. ‘“I’d Do Anything For Love”?’

‘Not bad. Good beats to time to effects.’

‘No.’ Clarissa shook her head firmly.

Penelope was searching wildly for inspiration. ‘Bon Jovi? “Livin’ On A Prayer”? Or the Troggs? “Wild Thing”?’

‘Getting better.’ Rafe nodded. The look he gave her this time held a note of surprise. Did he think she wasn’t into music or something? ‘Let’s keep it going. Bon Jovi’s a favourite of mine. What about “Always”?’

The words of the song drifted into Penelope’s head. Along with an image of it being passionately sung. And even though it was Rafe she was looking at, it was no excuse to let her mind drift to imagining him with wild, rock-god hair. Wearing a tight, black singlet and frayed jeans. Saying he would cry for the woman he loved. Or die for her...

Phew...it was certainly getting hot. She fanned herself with her clipboard and tried to refocus. To push any image of men in frayed jeans and singlets out of her head. So not her type.

She liked designer suits and neat haircuts. The kind of up-and-coming young attorney look, like her last boyfriend who’d not only graduated from law school with honours but was active in a major political party. Disappointing that it had turned out they’d had nothing in common—especially for her grandparents—but she didn’t have time for a relationship in her life right now anyway.

She didn’t have time to pander to this group’s inability to reach an agreement either, but she couldn’t think of any way to speed things up and half an hour later they were still no closer to making a definitive choice.

Further away, perhaps, given that both Clarissa and Blake were getting annoyed enough to veto any suggestion the other made and getting steadily snarkier about it. Any moment now it would erupt into a full-blown row and the hint of annoyance in Rafe’s body language would turn into disgust and he’d walk away from a job he didn’t actually need.

Penelope was increasingly aware that time was running out. They had a meeting with the florist coming up, Pierre was going to return for another dance lesson and there was a rehearsal with the celebrant in the garden at four p.m.

‘Did you have anything else you needed to do while you’re here?’ she asked Rafe.

‘A bit of a survey.’ He nodded. ‘I need to get a feel for the layout and check where I’d position things. I’m thinking a barge on the other side of the lake but I’ll be able to get a good view if I go upstairs and—’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘We’re not allowed upstairs,’ Clarissa confided. ‘Apparently it’s one of the biggest rules about using this venue.’

‘Is that right?’

It was no surprise that Rafe wasn’t impressed by a set of rules and his tone suggested he wouldn’t hesitate in breaking them. She could imagine how well it would go down if she forbade the action and she certainly didn’t want to get him offside any more than he was already, thanks to the sparring young couple.

If he had to go upstairs in order to be able to do his job, maybe she’d just have to turn a blind eye and hope for the best. At least she could plead ignorance of it actually happening if word got out and she could probably apologise well enough to smooth things over if the owners were upset.

‘How long will your survey take?’ The words came out more crisply than she’d intended.

‘Thirty-nine minutes.’ He grinned. ‘No, make that forty-one.’

He wasn’t the only person getting annoyed here. ‘In that case, let’s meet back here in forty-five minutes,’ Penelope said. ‘Blake—take Clarissa to the Loxbury pub and you can get your cold beer and a quick lunch and see if you can agree on a song. This fireworks show isn’t going to happen unless we lock that in today. Isn’t that right, Ralph?’

His look was deadpan.

‘Sorry. Rafe.’

‘That’s right, Penelope. We’re on a deadline that’s tight enough to be almost impossible as it is.’ He smiled at Clarissa. ‘You want your red hearts exploding all over the sky to start the show. What if I told you we could put both your names inside a love heart to finish?’

Clarissa looked like she’d just fallen in love with this new acquaintance. She tugged on Blake’s arm with some urgency. ‘Come on, babes. We’ve got to find a song.’

‘I’ll have a think, too,’ Penelope called after them. ‘I’ve got my iPod and I need a bit of a walk.’

* * *

There was a third-floor level on each of the wings of the house, set back enough to provide an upstairs terraced area. Rafe fancied one of these rooms as his bedroom and that was where he headed. He already knew that he’d have the best view of the lake and garden from that terrace. It took a few minutes to get there. Was he crazy, thinking he could actually live in a place this big?

By himself?

He had plenty of friends, he reminded himself as he stepped over the braided rope on the stairs marking the boundary of public access. The guys in the band would want to make this place party central. And it wasn’t as if he’d be here that much. He had his apartments in New York and London and he was looking at getting one in China, given that he spent a lot of time there sourcing fireworks. He’d need staff, too. No way could he manage a house this size. And he’d probably need an entire team of full-time gardeners, he decided as he stepped out onto the bedroom terrace. Just clipping the hedges of that maze would probably keep someone busy for weeks.

In fact, there was someone in there right now. Rafe walked closer to the stone pillars edging the terrace and narrowed his eyes. The figure seemed to know its way through the maze, moving swiftly until it reached the grass circle that marked the centre.

Penelope. Of course it was. Hadn’t she said she needed a walk? She stopped for a moment with her head down, fiddling with something in her hand. Her iPod? And then she pressed her fingertips against her ears as though she was listening carefully to whatever music she had chosen.

Rafe should have been scanning the grounds on the far side of the lake and thinking about positioning things like the scissor lift he’d need to hold the frame for the lancework of doing the names in fireworks to end the show. Instead, he found himself watching Penelope.

She was kicking her shoes off, which was probably sensible given that heels would sink into that grass. But then she did something that made Rafe’s jaw drop. Blew whatever it was he’d been thinking of her right out of the water.

She started dancing.

Not just the kind of unconscious jiggle along with the beat either. She was dancing like she thought no one could see her which was probably exactly what she did think, tucked into the centre of that maze with its tall, thick hedges.

Rafe leaned into the corner of the terrace, any thoughts of planning a show escaping irretrievably. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the slim figure moving on her secret stage.

An amused snort escaped him. No wonder she needed to hide herself away. She was rubbish at dancing. Her movements were uncoordinated enough to probably make her a laughing stock on a dance floor.

But then his amusement faded. She was doing something she believed was private and she was doing it with her heart and soul. Maybe she didn’t really know how to dance but she was doing more than just hearing that music—she was a part of it with every cell of her body.

Rafe knew that feeling. That ability to lose yourself in sound so completely the rest of the world disappeared. Music could be an anaesthetic that made even the worst kind of pain bearable.

Impossible not to remember wearing headphones and turning the sound level up so loud that nothing else existed. So you couldn’t hear the latest row erupting in the new foster home that meant you’d be packed up before long and handed around again like some unwanted parcel.

Impossible not to still feel grateful for that first set of drums he’d been gifted so many years ago. Or the thrill of picking up a saxophone for the first time and starting the journey that meant he could do more than simply listen. That meant he could become a part of that music.

It was another world. One that had saved him from what this one had seemed doomed to become.

And he was getting the same feeling from watching Penelope being uninhibited enough to try and dance.

What was that about?

He’d sensed that what you could see with Penelope Collins wasn’t necessarily real, hadn’t he? When she’d admitted she knew nothing about setting up a fireworks show. Watching her now made him more sure that she was putting up a front to hide who she really was.

Who was the person that was hiding?

Or maybe the real question here was why did he want to know?

He didn’t.

With a jerk, Rafe straightened and forced his gaze sideways towards the lake and the far shore. Was there enough clearance from the trees to put a scissor lift or two on the ground or would the safety margins require a barge on the water? He’d bring one of the lads out here first thing tomorrow and they could use a range finder to get accurate measurements but he could trust his eye for now. And he just happened to have an aerial photograph of the property on his laptop, too. Pulling a notepad and the stub of a pencil from the back pocket of his jeans, he started sketching.

By the time he’d finished what he’d wanted to do he was five minutes late for the time they’d agreed to meet back on the terrace. Not that it made him hurry down the stairs or anything but he wouldn’t have planned to stop before he turned into the ballroom and headed for the terrace. The thought only occurred to him when he saw the iPod lying on the hall table, on top of that clipboard Penelope carried everywhere with her.

If he took a look at what she’d played recently, could he pick what it was that she’d been dancing to? Get some kind of clue to solve the puzzle of who this woman actually was?

* * *

Clarissa and Blake were late getting back from lunch and, judging by the looks on their faces, they hadn’t managed to agree on the music to accompany their fireworks show.

Which meant that Rafe would most likely pull the plug on doing it at all.

He came through the French doors from the ballroom at the same time as the young couple were climbing the stairs from the garden.

‘Did you decide?’ Rafe asked.

‘We tried,’ Clarissa groaned. ‘We really did...’ Her face brightened. ‘But then we thought you’re the expert. We’ll let you decide.’

Penelope bit back the suggestion she’d been about to make. Throwing ideas around again would only take them back to square one and this was a potentially quick and easy fix.

But Rafe lifted an eyebrow. ‘You sure about that? Because I reckon I’ve found the perfect song.’

‘What is it?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Blake growled. ‘You promised you wouldn’t argue this time.’

‘Have a listen,’ Rafe said, putting his laptop on the table and flipping it open. He tapped rapidly on the keyboard. ‘I think you might like it.’

It only took the first two notes for Penelope to recognise the song and it sent a chill down her spine. The very song she’d been about to suggest herself. How spooky was that?

‘Ohhh...’ Clarissa’s eyes were huge. ‘I love this song.’

‘Who is that?’ Blake was frowning. ‘Celine Dion?’

Rafe shook his head. ‘This is the original version. Jennifer Rush. She cowrote “The Power of Love” in 1984.’

It was the version that Penelope preferred. The one she had on her iPod. The one she’d been dancing to in her private space in the centre of the maze only half an hour or so ago, when she’d taken that much-needed break.

‘It’s got some great firing points. Like that...’ Rafe’s hands prescribed an arc as the crescendo started. ‘And we can use the extended version to give us a good length of time. Fade it away to leave your names in the heart hanging over the lake.’

He wasn’t looking at Penelope. He didn’t even send a triumphant glance in her direction as Clarissa and Blake enthusiastically agreed to the song choice.

Which was probably just as well. Penelope had no idea what her expression might look like but it had to include an element of shock. Surely it had to be more than coincidence and she didn’t believe in telepathy but it was impossible not to feel some sort of weird connection happening here. How awful would it be if she looked like Clarissa had when he’d told her he could finish the show by putting their names in a love heart? As though she’d just fallen head over heels in love with the man?

Not that it really mattered. The pièce de résistance of the wedding that was going to launch her new career was starting to come together and the choice of song was perfect.

With a lot of hard work and a little bit more luck, this whole wedding was going to be perfect.

CHAPTER THREE

SO FAR, SO GOOD.

They couldn’t have wished for a better day weather-wise for what the local media was already billing the wedding of the year. The blue stretch of summer sky was broken only by innocent cotton-wool puffs of cloud and it was warm enough for the skimpy dresses most of the women seemed to be wearing. More importantly, the breeze was gentle enough not to ruin any elaborate hairdos or play havoc with a bridal veil.

The vintage champagne every guest had been offered on arrival was going down a treat and people were now beginning to drift towards the rows of chairs draped with white satin and tied with silver bows. Penelope saw someone open the small gauze bag she’d found on her seat and smile as she showed her partner the confetti that was made up of tiny, glittery silver stars.

How much bigger were those smiles going to be when they were watching the kind of stars that would explode across the sky as the finale to this event? Rafe had arrived as early as Penelope had, driving onto the estate in the chill mist of a breaking dawn. She’d seen him and the technicians he’d brought with him, in their fluorescent vests, working in the field on the far side of the lake at various times over the hectic hours since then. Just orange dots of humanity, really, at this distance, but she was sure it was Rafe who was directing the forklift manoeuvring the pallets from the back of a truck at one point and, much later, the towing of a flat barge to float on the lake.

Because that was the kind of job a boss would do, she told herself. It had nothing to do with that odd tingle of something she had no intention of trying to identify. A tingle that appeared along with that persistent image of the man in frayed jeans and a black singlet she had conjured up. An image that had insisted on haunting her dreams over the last week, leaving her to wake with the odd sensation that something was simply not fair...

Heading back inside the house, she popped into the kitchen to check that her team was on top of the catering. Judging by the numerous silver platters of hors d’oeuvres lined up ready for the lull while photographs would be taken after the ceremony, they were right on schedule.

‘Any worries, Jack?’

‘Apart from an eight-course sit-down dinner for two hundred and supper for six hundred? Nah...it’s all good.’ The older man’s smile was reassuring. ‘I’ve got this side of the gig covered. Go and play with your bride.’

‘I do need to do that. But I’ll be back later. Keep an apron for me.’

‘Are you kidding? That dress is far too fancy to get hidden by any apron.’

‘It’s not too much, is it?’ Penelope glanced down at the dark silver sheath dress she had chosen. A lot of effort had gone into what she hoped would be her signature outfit as she occupied an unusual space in a wedding party that was more than simply hired help but less than invited guest. The dress was demure with its long sleeves and scooped neckline that only showed a hint of cleavage. The skirt was ballet length and fell in soft swirls from thigh level but it did fit like a glove everywhere else and it had a soft sparkle that would probably intensify under artificial or candle light.

Jack grinned. ‘You look like the director of the nation’s most successful event managing company. Make sure they get some photos of you for one of those flash magazines. Now—stop distracting me. Get out of my kitchen and go and keep our first event ticking. Isn’t Princess Clarissa about due for another meltdown?’

‘Oh, God, I hope not.’ With a worried frown, Penelope headed for a ground-floor room in the west wing that had been set aside for the bride and bridesmaids to get dressed in. A room in the east wing was where the groom and his entourage were waiting. That would be the next stop, to make sure they were in position on time. Penelope checked her watch. Only twenty minutes away. The countdown was on.

She took a deep breath. At least she didn’t have to worry about the catering side of things. Jack—her head chef—had worked with her ever since she’d advertised for someone to come on board with a fledgling catering company nearly ten years ago. His own restaurant might have failed despite his talent with food but together they’d built a company to be proud of and it had been his idea for her to take the risky move of taking on event management.

Dreaming about something and even making endless lists of the things that she’d have to keep on top of hadn’t really prepared her for the reality of it, though. The catering was only one aspect. Had the celebrant arrived yet? Were the photographers behaving themselves? How were the band going in setting themselves up? She’d seen the truck parked around the back an hour or more ago and people unloading a drum kit and amplifiers but what if they couldn’t find enough power points? There was a lighting expert who was coming to supervise the safe positioning and lighting of all those candles and would then be in charge for any spotlighting of key people. He hadn’t arrived as far as she knew but they weren’t due to meet until after the actual ceremony.

At some point, she would have to find Rafe, too, and make sure that he was happy with his set-up. The fireworks were scheduled to go off at one a.m. to mark the end of the party and there was plenty of security personnel discreetly in place to make sure nobody went into forbidden areas and that everybody left Loxbury Hall when they were supposed to.

It was possible that this was the moment when the tension was at its highest. The moment before the carefully timed show that was going to be the wedding of the year kicked off. With her heart in her mouth, Penelope opened the door of the bride’s dressing room. Clarissa—in a froth of white—was standing serenely in the centre of the room with a champagne flute in her hand. She was surrounded by her six bridesmaids who were in same shade of orange as one of the colours of Blake’s football club. One of the girls sent another champagne cork hurtling towards the ceiling with a loud pop and the shriek of happy giggles was deafening. The flash of the camera from the official photographer showed he was capturing every joyous moment.

The hairdresser and make-up artists and their teams were packing up an enormous amount of gear. Hair straighteners, heated rollers and cans of spray went into one set of suitcases. Pots of foundation, dozens of brushes and cards of false eyelashes were heading for another. Penelope smiled at the women.

‘I think you deserve to join the celebration. They all look fabulous.’ She stepped closer and lowered her voice, although it was hardly necessary as the chatter and laughter as the glasses were being refilled were enough to make any conversation private. ‘Any problems?’

Cheryl’s smile said it all. ‘Bit of a mission to get every one of Clarissa’s curls sitting just right but we got there in the end. Thank goodness for industrial-strength hairspray.’

The spirals of platinum blonde hair hung to the bride’s waist at the back, easily visible through the sheer mist of an exquisitely embroidered veil. Tresses at the front had been twisted and clipped into a soft frame that supported the tiara holding the veil, as well as offering an anchor for a dozen or more small silver stars. A star made of diamonds sparkled on the perfect spray tan of Clarissa’s décolletage—a gift from Blake that had inspired one of the themes for the wedding. Beneath that, the heavily beaded corset bodice of the dress made the most of what had to be close to the top of the bride’s assets.

‘What d’ya think, Penelope?’

‘I think you couldn’t look more perfect, Clarrie. It’s just as well Blake’s got all those groomsmen to hold him up when he sees you walking down the aisle.’ She took another quick glance at her watch. ‘Five minutes and we’ll need you all in position in the reception hall. I’m just going to make sure the boys are out of the building and that those photographs as you come out will be the first glimpse of your dress that the world gets.’

It was Penelope who waited with Clarissa in the main entrance, signalling each pair of bridesmaids when it was their turn to walk out of the huge doorway, down the sweep of wide steps and start the journey along the carpet that led to the raised gazebo where the celebrant was waiting, flanked by the males of the wedding party. Clarissa’s song choice of Whitney Houston that had been rejected for the fireworks show was perfect for this entrance but it needed careful timing to make sure the bride arrived beside her groom before the song finished.

Penelope waited until all the heads turned to watch Clarissa take her final position, facing Blake and holding both his hands. Nobody saw her as she quietly made her way to the shade of an ancient oak tree, well away from the audience but close enough to hear the ceremony, thanks to the lapel microphone the celebrant was wearing.

A brief respite from the tension of the day was more than welcome. A private moment to collect her thoughts and remember to breathe.

Except it didn’t stay private for long. A figure materialised beside her in the shade. A dark figure. And Penelope forgot to breathe for rather too long.

Had Rafe dressed up for the occasion? He was wearing black jeans today, and a black T-shirt that had a faded image of what was probably an album cover from a forgotten era. The cowboy boots were the same, though, and they were in harmony with a battered, wide-brimmed leather hat that any cowboy would have treasured.

He was dressed for his work and clearly comfortable with being on the hired-help side of the boundary Penelope was balancing on but right now her position in this gathering was unimportant. This short period of time was a limbo where nothing mattered other than the vows the wedding couple were exchanging. This tiny patch of the famous Loxbury Hall gardens was a kind of limbo as well. An island that only she and Rafe were inhabiting.

He was as dark as she was pale. As scruffy as she was groomed. As relaxed as she was tense. Black and white. Total opposites.

It should be making her feel very uncomfortable but it wasn’t.

There was a curl of something pleasant stealing through Penelope’s body. Try as she might to deny it, the surprise of his company was sprinkled with a condiment that could—quite disturbingly—be delight.

* * *

He’d had something on the tip of his tongue to justify the choice of joining Ms Collins in the shade of this tree. Had it been something about it being the best vantage point to observe the ceremony and that he had the time because everything else that could be a distraction in the background had to be put on hold for the duration? Not that his team had much else to do. Everything was in place and all that was needed between now and about midnight was a rehearsal to check that all the electronic components were in functioning order.

Or maybe it had been something about how well the event was going so far. That it was everything the perfect wedding should be.

No wonder the ability to produce words seemed to have failed him for the moment. This was everything the perfect wedding shouldn’t be. The epitome of the circus that represented conforming to one of society’s expected rules of declaring commitment and faithfulness. A rule that was rarely kept, so why bother with the circus in the first place?

Or perhaps the loss of a conversational opening had something to do with being this close to Penelope?

He’d spotted her discreet position from the edge of the lake where he’d initially positioned himself to be out of sight of the guests. That silvery dress she was wearing shone like a new moon in the dense shade of this ancient tree and...and it was possibly the most stunning dress he’d ever seen. Weird, considering there was no more cleavage to be seen than a tiny, teasing line just where that sun-kissed skin began to swell.

Rafe dragged his gaze away, hopefully before she was aware of his appreciation because the glance had been so swift. Her hair looked different today, too. Softer. She still had those braids shaping the sides of her head but the length of it was loose at the back, falling in a thick ringlet instead of another braid. It was longer than he remembered, almost touching the small of her back in that second, silver skin. What would happen, he found himself wondering, if he buried his fingers in that perfect silky spiral and pulled it apart? Would her whole back get covered with golden waves?

What was more likely to happen was that he would infuriate this would-be queen of event management by messing up her hair. She might not be holding a clipboard right now but the tension was still palpable. She was in control. On top of every moment and ready to troubleshoot any problem with the efficiency of a nuclear blast.

Clarissa’s breathlessly excited whisper was being amplified by strategically placed microphones. ‘I, Clarissa Grace Bingham, take thee, Blake Robert Summers, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold...’

Finally, he found something to say.

‘Sounds like she’s the happiest girl on earth right now.’

‘Of course she is. This is her wedding day. Every girl’s dream.’

‘Really?’ Rafe couldn’t help the note of scepticism. ‘Does anyone really believe that those vows mean anything these days?’

Uh-oh... Maybe he should have ruffled the spiral of hair down her back instead of dropping some kind of verbal bomb. The look he received made him feel like he’d just told a kid that Santa Claus didn’t really exist.

‘I believe it,’ Penelope said.

She did. He could see it in her eyes. A fierce belief that it meant something. Something important. He couldn’t look away. He even found himself leaning a little closer as a soft word of query escaped his lips.

‘Why?’

* * *

Oh, help... His eyes weren’t really as black as sin, were they? The mottled light sifting down through the leaves of the tree was enough to reveal that they were a dark brown, with flecks of gold that made them more like a very deep hazel. And the way he was looking at her...

The eye contact had gone on far too long to be polite but Penelope couldn’t break the gaze. It felt physical—almost as though he was holding her in his arms. No...it went deeper than that. He was holding something that wasn’t physical. Touching something that was deep inside. The part of her that couldn’t be seen.

But Rafe was seeing it and it made her feel...vulnerable?

Nobody had ever looked at her like this. As if they could see that dark, secret part of her. As if the world wouldn’t end if the door got opened and light flooded in.

And he wanted to know why she believed in something he clearly had no time for. Marriage. Could he see that she had to believe in it? Because there was something about it that held the key to putting things right?

The exchange of vows had been completed on the stage of the gazebo and the applause and raucous whistling told her that the first kiss was happening. The flash of cameras going off was there, like stars in the periphery of her vision, but Penelope still couldn’t look away from Rafe’s gaze.

‘It’s about the promise,’ she found herself saying softly. ‘It’s not about the dress or the flowers or...or even the fireworks.’

He raised an eyebrow.

‘I don’t mean they’re not important. That’s what weddings are all about. Celebrating the promise.’ Penelope drew in a breath. She’d said enough and she should be using the time to make sure the photographers had everything they needed for the next part of the programme. And that Jack was ready to keep the guests entertained with food and wine for as long as it took. ‘I can’t wait to see the show,’ she added with a placating smile. ‘I know it’ll be fabulous.’

‘Oh, it will.’ Rafe nodded. ‘I’ll make sure you get the best spot to watch it, shall I?’

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