The Mistletoe Effect (5 page)

Uncanny, how easily Emily could read her subtext. Sometimes that intimacy was a pain in the butt, because Carina couldn’t get away with anything, but tonight Carina had a feeling Emily was going to be on board with Carina’s impetuous decision.

Alex snapped his fingers. “Pick up the pace. I need details before Mr. Briscoe starts his speech.”

“My father’s going to give a speech? Why?”

“Never mind that.” He waved one of the servers over who had a full tray of martini glasses sporting red Mistletoe Kiss martinis adorned with sticks of candied cranberries—the signature drink Carina had commissioned from the resort’s mixologist exclusively for this reception.

Emily handed one each to Carina and Alex, then took one for herself. “Ah, drinking on the job. My favorite perk of working here.”

Alex took a sip, then started snapping again at a rat-a-tat pace. “Keep going. What did you pledge to James Decker?”

“Twenty-five days of fidelity was the deal we made.” At Emily’s and Alex’s perplexed looks, Carina rushed through a retelling of Granny June’s proclamation and her father’s reaction. She skipped the part where she flashed her underwear to the congregation, as well as her frustration at her father for coercing her to embarrass herself by pretending to get married to whichever poor schlub he could manipulate into going along with the plan. What she focused on was Decker coming to her rescue on one very intriguing condition.

Emily gasped. “Did he actually use the term
wife
when he suggested you move in with him?”

Carina curled her toes. Next to the way he’d said “I do,” that
as my wife
line had been her favorite moment with him, even beating out the chaste kiss he’d laid on her during the ceremony and that silly dragon comment. “Mm-hmm.”

Eyes wide, Emily sipped her cocktail. Alex whistled under his breath, then braced a hand on Carina’s shoulder. “Listen to me carefully. Between all the weddings and the Mistletoe Effect anniversary events happening this month, you’re not going to have much free time. Here’s my only piece of advice. Forget sleep. Use every free moment you have to screw.”

Emily sprayed her drink, then broke into a coughing fit.

Alex shook Carina’s shoulder to reclaim her attention, then held his drink up as if in a toast. “I’m serious, Carina. Screw your big ol’ overworked, underappreciated brains out with James Decker like the fate of the free world depends on it. You can sleep in January.”

She wanted to know in what messed-up universe the fate of the free world would depend on her getting laid—repeatedly—but she did appreciate Alex’s point of view on the matter because it precisely matched her own.

“You’re just saying that because you’re a new parent, so you’re not getting any sex right now.”

He and his partner had adopted newborn fraternal twins the month before, and while Alex had longed to be a father since he’d first come to work for the resort, the timing couldn’t have been worse with the busy holiday season bearing down on them. But he and Xavier had been on the waiting list to adopt for years, so they jumped on the opportunity. Despite the dark circles under Alex’s eyes and his occasional grumbling about not getting laid, she’d never seen him so content.

Through his grimace, he sipped his martini. “That’s true, but if I can’t live vicariously through my boss, then what good is it to come to work every day?”

“Alex is right. You work your ass off around here and you deserve this. You can sleep in January.”

Carina snickered. “I’ve never done anything worthy of vicarious living before.”

Emily hooked Carina’s shoulders into a side hug. “All the more reason for you to grab this bull by his—”

“I’d like to say a few words,” her father’s voice boomed through the speakers on either side of the dance floor.

“Here we go,” Emily muttered.

Anxiety fluttered through Carina. What could there be left to say? Couldn’t they all just dance and drink and party the night away? What good was staging a fake wedding if she had to endure every silly, contrived ceremonial step of the reception that a real bride would?

Alex held up his martini like a shield in front of his mouth. “And here comes your new husband,” he said in a singsong voice.

Emily tugged Alex’s sleeve. “That’s our cue to get back to work. Good luck, sweetie. And try to relax and enjoy yourself tonight. You put together a bitchin’, top-tier reception.”

“With your help,” Carina called after them. They gave her one last finger wave and salute of their drinks before disappearing into the employee-only hallway.

Decker appeared by her side holding two rocks glasses filled with what looked like vodka tonics, if she had to guess. He offered her one of the rocks glasses, then spotted the martini glass in her hand. “Hi again. Looks like you already found a drink.”

It was such an unusual pleasure to have a man buy her a drink that she set the Mistletoe Kiss martini on a passing waiter’s tray and took one of the rocks glasses. “This looks better. Thank you.”

“What’s your dad going to say?”

She sipped the drink. “No idea, but I hope it’s brief and impersonal.”

Grinning, he clinked glasses with her. “That’s getting into the romantic spirit of things.”

After a shared smile, they turned toward the DJ booth where her dad was standing, waiting for the crowd’s noise to simmer down.

“Uh, thank you all for coming tonight to this special occasion for our family. I’m sure Haylie and Wendell will find a way to work things out for their marriage. In the meantime, we have my eldest daughter, Carina, to congratulate.”

While the crowd applauded, Decker leaned in. “Did he just say ‘congratulate’? I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”

“Me, too.”

Her dad continued. “Not only did she plan this incredible winter wonderland you’re standing in, but she kept the magic of our beloved Mistletoe Effect alive and well for all the other brides and grooms marrying at Briscoe Ranch Resort by marrying her fiancé earlier than she’d planned.”

Carina swung her face toward Decker so fast, she was grateful she didn’t strain her neck. Their wide, panicked gazes locked. “That wasn’t part of the plan,” Carina said.

“Uh, no.” He blinked, looking past her. Then he smiled and put his arm around her. “Game face on. There are three hundred people watching us right now, not to mention the cameras.”

Of course there were. Carina forced a smile as the
Wedding World
photographer and the wedding photographer jockeyed for position in front of her and Decker, snapping away and illuminating the throngs of guests with every flash. Out of the side of her mouth, she said, “What’s he going to tell people in January—that we’re divorcing?”

“No idea. But there’s nothing we can do about it right now.”

She held up her vodka tonic. “Drink. We can drink.”

They each drank deeply, tuning back in to her dad’s speech.

“In doing so, she and her new husband have shown our guests from
Wedding World
magazine how committed the Briscoe family is to ensuring that at our resort, weddings aren’t just events, but part of a legacy passed from our family to yours.”

The crowd went wild with applause. As always, Carina was impressed by how her dad could turn it on when duty required, even tacking on the resort’s byline with seamless ease.

Dad raised his glass in a toast, with the rest of the room joining him, including Carina and Decker. “Here’s to the Mistletoe Effect and another fifty years of wedding magic at Briscoe Ranch Resort.”

Decker leaned in again. “And here’s to Carina Briscoe, wedding planner extraordinaire,” he said for her ears only. “Your dad’s baldfaced lies aside, this is a kick-ass party. The fanciest I think I’ve ever been to.”

“My indoor winter wonderland garden did turn out well, didn’t it?” she said as they clinked glasses again. “And here’s to you, because if you hadn’t stepped up, then I shudder to think who I would have ended up faux-married to.”

He frowned into his drink. “You didn’t have to go through with that, you know. You let your family push you around too much.”

They were back to that, were they? “That’s easy for you to say. My dad’s heart is in the right place. It’s not easy to run a family company. It magnifies all the usual family dynamics and quirks I see in my friends’ families. We work together; we live near each other. We’re together all the time. It’s not a simple situation.”

His expression turned chiding. “Carina …”

“I’m the third-generation Briscoe in line to run this place, okay? Multimillion-dollar businesses don’t thrive for fifty years because the owners only do what feels good or what’s easy. Sacrifices have to be made.”

“Then why is it that you’re always the one making the sacrifices?”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. It was sweet that he was worried about her, that clearly he’d paid attention to her life and work before today. It was sweet and sexy … and damned annoying for him to pretend he had a right to pass judgment when they barely knew each other. “You know, I’d already decided that it wasn’t such a sacrifice, pretending to be married to you. Are you trying to convince me otherwise?”

He took a breath, his features softening again. He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “You’re putting me in my place. That’s good. You should do that more often to people.”

“Well, you deserved it.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. The way you let your family treat you is a sore point for me. Always has been. I want you to be happy.”

The longer she looked into his sincere, dark eyes, the more her defenses melted. He cared about her. It seemed incredible because she’d thought he’d barely known she existed until an hour ago. “Oh, I’m sure you’re going to make me very happy.”

Bold, Carina.
So unlike her. Then again, until an hour ago, she’d never been able to get out more than a few flustered words to him, so maybe both of their true selves were finally coming out.

His arm curved around her side, pulling her close. His gaze dipped to her lips. “I’ll consider that my personal goal for the month.”

She felt it all the way to her toes that he was going to kiss her again, for real this time. No chaste altar kiss of two strangers in front of a crowd of hundreds and a preacher. She’d fantasized for a long time about what his lips and perpetual five o’clock shadow would feel like, what his tongue would feel like, and what he’d taste like when their mouths were locked together.

He bent toward her. She closed her eyes, waiting, her whole body tense with anticipation. He was so close she could feel the heat of his skin, the prickle of his stubble.

“Mmm, Carina.” His voice rumbled, low and sexy. “I think you spilled a little vodka on my tux.”

Her eyes flew open, then went straight to the glass she clutched in her left hand. She’d forgotten she was holding it, and sure enough, it was tipping precariously to the side. A tiny wet spot darkened his jacket sleeve.

Before she could apologize or utter a beguiling,
Where were we?
Granny June’s voice boomed through the speakers.

“Now before you get to the dancing, we have a few more formalities for the newlyweds. Where are they?”

Carina’s and Decker’s attention snapped to the DJ booth. Where her father had stood only minutes earlier, Granny June commanded the room, squinting into the crowd with a microphone in her hand.

“Uh-oh,” Carina said under her breath. “I don’t think I can take this anymore.”

Decker rubbed a circle on her back. “Ditto that.”

The next second, a spotlight was shining on the two of them. Carina blinked into the brightness. Maybe the temporary blindness was a blessing, because there was no telling what Granny had up her sleeve now.

“A Briscoe Ranch wedding wouldn’t be complete without all the trimmings.”

“Ma, this isn’t Thanksgiving dinner,” Carina’s dad hollered from the sidelines.

“Oh, hush,” Granny scolded. “It’s time for the first dance. And nobody’s getting dessert until we have a proper cake-cutting ceremony.”

Decker bent close to Carina’s ear. “We should have eloped.”

She pressed her lips together, but a snort of laughter still erupted through her nose.

The dreamy opening notes of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” drifted through the air in the ballroom.

Carina barely stifled a physical reaction to the song. She didn’t have enough fingers to enumerate the number of wedding receptions she’d attended in which that very song was the bride and groom’s first dance.

“You have a problem with this song or are we back to your reluctance to dance with me?”

“This song is so creepy.”

“It’s a classic. Bing Crosby and Doris Day. How could you not like it?” Decker said.

“Have you ever listened to the lyrics? The lady wants to leave, but the guy won’t let her out of his house. What was up with that? And that line with her wondering what’s in her drink because she’s a little too relaxed? Hello, date rape drugs.”

Decker tipped his head to the side, listening, as he escorted her to the center of the dance floor. “Damn, you’re right. You’re not going to ruin the rest of Christmas for me like that, are you?”

“Only the bad parts.”

“I was under the impression that, to you, they’re all bad parts.” He turned to face her but couldn’t seem to decide where to put his hands.

“Good point. Look, I’m sorry my dad is spreading it around that we’re really married. That shouldn’t have happened.”

He shrugged it off and wrapped his arms around her ribs into a middle school slow dance position. “It’s you who I feel sorry for right now. Well, your feet, really.”

“Hold on. You can’t dance?”

“Not if our lives depended on it. No, wait. More than that. Not if George Strait himself was standing on the stage serenading us right now.”

Decker started them moving in a stiff rocking motion that more than proved his point.

“That would be a serious problem except neither can I,” she said. “I mean, I can do the Y.M.C.A. and the Macarena, but I can’t slow dance worth a lick.”

He backed his face up, looking nervous. “You’re not going to make me do the Macarena, are you?”