A December Bride (A Year of Weddings Novella) (3 page)

L
ayla opened her front door to find her brother scowling on the stoop. She should’ve called him after lunch, but she’d wanted to scope out Murphy’s house and start a list of supplies.

“I can explain,” she said by way of greeting.

“By all means.” Beckett edged past her into the living room. At least he hadn’t brought Madison. This was embarrassing enough. She just hoped he could keep it to himself.

He followed her a few steps into her galley kitchen, where she gave the boiling pasta a stir.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“I’m going to Madison’s for dinner. What’s this about you and Seth Murphy, Layla?”

She really didn’t want to start there. “I’ll explain in a minute, but first I have good news.”

Beckett leaned against the counter and crossed his bulky arms, frowning.

“So you know it’s been an uphill battle, getting my business off the ground. Well, I’ve been able to make some inroads with Stanley Malcolm. He’s the man who—”

“I know who he is. He approached me about building a boat a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, nice. Well, anyway, we talked at the reception Saturday and had lunch again today. He really liked my portfolio. There’s a good chance he’ll hire me to stage his homes.” She injected enthusiasm into her voice. “You know what that means?”

Beckett’s frown relaxed. “That’s great, little girl.”

“I’ll be able to quit Cappy’s. Not only would I get to stage full-time, but I’d be doing some of the area’s most upscale homes. Can you believe it?”

One corner of Beckett’s mouth tipped up. “Yeah, I can.” He wasn’t much on words, but Beckett had always been there for her, believed in her.

He stirred the spaghetti sauce. “Want me to ask Madison’s dad to put in a good word for you?”

“Mr. McKinley?”

“They’re good friends. Stanley goes to our church.”

Layla bit the inside of her lip. This was too close for comfort. If she told Beckett the engagement wasn’t real, and he told Madison … Was it even fair to ask him to keep secrets from his fiancée? He hated secrets. One had nearly come between him and Madison. He wouldn’t keep another from her, not after that.

And if Madison knew the truth, how long before the other McKinleys knew, before her father found out? Before it made its way back to Stanley?

“So,” Beckett said. “You and Seth …”

Layla gave the spaghetti another stir.
Think, Layla.
Could she afford to tell the whole truth? “We met at the theater two summers ago, remember? I helped do the sets for
Nightingale.
”

“I remember. I also remember you started going out with Seth’s best friend, and I have a vague recollection of another engagement in there somewhere.” He lifted the big spoon to his mouth, tasting the sauce.

She swatted his arm and snatched the spoon. “Thanks for the refresher. I was getting to all that if you’d just be patient.” And give her time to figure this out.

“You’ve pretty much exhausted my patience over the past two days.”

She fished in the cabinet for a strainer. “So,
anyway.
We kind of connected at the theater. He made me laugh, was easy to talk to, and he treated me, I don’t know, as an equal.” All true.

“You are an equal.”

“You know what I mean.” She came up with the strainer and set it in the sink. “I was, you know, attracted to him.” Unfortunately, also true. “But then Jack asked me out. It was when I was working at the Quick Spin, and he’d come in weekly for his dry cleaning and flirt a little.” She shrugged. “When he asked me out, I said yes. I didn’t know he and Murphy were best friends.”

“And once you went out with Jack, Seth backed off.”

“Of course. Then there was the engagement—”

“And Jessica came between you—with a little help from Seth.”

Layla snapped up tall. “A
little
help? He practically threw her in Jack’s lap.”

Beckett arched a brow. Okay, so she was a little bitter. Better rein it in a little. He was her fiancé now, after all.

Layla poured the cooked spaghetti into the strainer. “Water under the bridge. I’ve forgiven him.” She flinched under the steam at the untruth.

Beckett gave the sauce a stir. “Glad to hear it. I always thought the blame was a little misplaced.”

Layla bit the inside of her lip. Hard.

“I guess your relationship with Seth was a little sensitive, with Jack and all. Still, why didn’t you tell me? I’m your brother.”

Layla turned off the heat and looked up at Beckett. Strong, sturdy Beckett who’d always been there for her. While their father had been out finding his next buzz, her brother had attended her volleyball games and cheered her on at track meets. He was the one person she could always count on.

“I can’t do this,” she said.

“Can’t do what?”

“It’s not real. The engagement’s a farce.”

Beckett frowned. “What are you talking about?”

She explained the situation with Stanley and how the engagement, which really wasn’t an engagement at all, had become a game changer. She tried her best to talk him over to her side, but the longer she talked, the deeper his scowl grew.

“I know, I know,” she blurted before he said anything. “But it’s just for a little while.” She shot him a pleading look. “You think you could not mention any of this to Madison?”

He crossed his arms. “I’m not keeping secrets from my fiancée.”

Layla slouched. She’d figured as much. “All right, I get it. But can you at least swear her to secrecy? If this gets back to Stanley, I’ll be working at Cappy’s until I retire.”

His scowl let up a smidge. “Fine. But this isn’t going to be as easy as you think. Dad’s wanting us all to get together Friday. He wants to make sure Seth’s good enough for you.”

“Now he decides to be a dad.” She sighed. Since her father had gone through rehab, he was like a different man. But she never knew what to expect from him. She’d distrusted him for too many years to take a chance like that.

“Better late than never.”

“Fine. I’ll check with Murphy. But you can’t tell Dad.”

“All right. But I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Me too,” she said as she gave the sauce another stir.

“Where do you want these?” Seth shifted the boxes of white Christmas lights in his arms.

Layla looked small standing in front of the grand fireplace in her fitted jeans and fuzzy red sweater. He could get used to seeing her in his home.

“Just set them anywhere,” she said without turning.

He set the boxes by the mounds of fresh greenery in the middle of the room. The place already smelled like Christmas. She’d given him a list last night, saying she’d like to start in the morning. He’d never seen anyone in such a hurry to break an engagement.

“Do you have some Christmas catalogs I can look at?” she asked.

“Sure, back at the store.”

She turned to him, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulder. “What kind of budget are we on?”

“Spend what you need to. I’m not worried about it.”

“This could get expensive.”

He wasn’t going to let a few dollars come between her and her dream job. “This is your time to shine. Besides, I’ll probably get suckered into doing the tour again next year.”

Her eyes sparkled with excitement. She glanced around the room. She may not have wanted this job, but she was in her element now. Seemed almost giddy at the work in front of her.

“It’s in great shape,” she said.

“I refurbished it after I moved in.” He’d painted the walls in the rich tones popular for the era. Removing the layers of paint from the trim and chair rail had taken months, but now the oak gleamed with a honey-colored stain. The wood floors had been another time-consuming challenge, but worth the work. Especially now.

“I’m glad you used authentic colors. I love the high ceilings and molded tiles. And the draperies are perfect.”

“They came with the house.”

“Even the furnishings are perfect. Antique but still masculine. I didn’t know what I’d have to work with.”

“Most of it came from Grandma’s Attic.” He hadn’t sacrificed the modern amenities, though. The sofas were new. They blended with the style but were built with comfort in mind. He also had a sweet audiovisual system hidden away in the vintage entertainment center.

“I know it’s kind of bare. I’m not much on the … doodads. And you might have to move stuff around to make it look better.”

She shrugged. “That’s fine. It’s part of what I do. Take something ordinary and make it special.”

He let his gaze roam over her. “It’s already pretty special.”

She looked away, a blush blooming on her cheeks.

The floorboards gave a squeak as she moved across the room. “I’m just glad I’ll be able to use the theme I wanted.”

“Which is …?”

“An old-fashioned Christmas. I want the decorations to be simple, organic.” She meandered over to the built-in bay that faced the street. “The tree will go here. Maybe eight foot, decorated with strung popcorn, old-fashioned ornaments, and candles. Not too big, though. It’s not the focal point.”

“What is, then?”

She turned. “The fireplace.”

Floor-to-ceiling, it was unarguably the room’s main event.

“I’m going to put an old sled up there.” She pointed over the mantel. “A pair of skates draped here, some greenery to dress it up. A nice fat garland running across the mantel with candles, and homemade stockings hanging down. A cozy fire crackling—” She turned to him. “It’s a working fireplace?”

“Yeah.” He would’ve paid to see the smile that lit her face.

“Perfect.” And then the smile slid away as she seemed to remember who she was talking to. She looked away, kneeling on the rug, and began picking through the boxes from the store.

“I have a couple empty rooms upstairs …”

“I saw them. I thought I’d ask Madison’s mom if I can borrow some things from Grandma’s Attic.”

“Good idea.”

She picked up her iPad and made some notes. Seth shifted on his feet. “Guess I should get back to work. No reason for me to hang around. Is there?”

“No, I’m good,” she said without looking up from her tablet.

He remembered the way it used to be between them. The way conversation had flowed like the river. The way she’d touch him on the arm as she laughed. Now there was a cold shoulder wedged between them.

She set down the pad and sorted through the fresh evergreens, stirring up smells of Christmas past.

Maybe he should address the elephant in the room. Otherwise it was going to be a long three weeks. Besides, how could he hope to win her over unless she forgave him?

He cleared his throat. “Layla … I’m really sorry about my part in what happened between you and Jack.”

Her hands stopped, the garland draped between her arms. He watched her face for some signal, but got nothing.

“I never saw Jessica as a potential threat,” he said.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, set the greenery aside, and began picking at the berries on a wreath.

“She was your cousin. Why would he want her when he had
you
?”

She fixed him with a look. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

Why couldn’t she see he hadn’t meant any harm? That if Jack couldn’t see what he’d lost, he wasn’t worth the tears? Seth just wanted her forgiveness, but he could see that wasn’t going to happen.

“We’re going to be together a lot the next few weeks. Can we at least call a truce?”

Her lips pressed together. She went back to the wreath, her slender fingers working the sprigs of evergreen and the pinecones.

“Maybe you’re not ready to forgive me. Okay. But can we put the past aside for a while? If memory serves, we got along pretty well before all this happened.”

Her hands paused. Her eyes dropped to the floor. He knew she was remembering those long nights working on the sets. Laughing, teasing, flirting.

Man, he missed those days. For the hundredth time he wanted to slap himself for waiting too long.

“Fine. We’ll put it aside.”

He let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Thanks. That’ll make this a lot more pleasant for the both of us.” A text came in from an employee. Seth replied and pocketed his phone. “Have you told your brother yet?”

“Yeah. And he’s going to tell Madison.” She explained about Mr. McKinley’s connection with Stanley and her fear that it would get back to him. “Beckett, Madison, and my dad want to get together Friday for dinner or something.”

“Sounds good.”

Two tiny crescents appeared between her brows. “You know what that means. Going out in public together. A whole
evening of pretending. My dad’ll probably give you the third degree. No, I’m going to put it off.”

“We’re supposed to get married in three weeks, right after the Tour of Homes. He’s not going to put it off.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“Let’s invite them here for dinner. I’ll cook. Keep it private, at least.”

“I won’t be anywhere near done by then. The house’ll be a mess.”

He shrugged. “Your call. But I make a mean lasagna. It’s your favorite, right?”

She bit her lips, her eyes drifting around the room before settling on him again. “All right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

H
ow did we get sucked into this?” Layla finished lacing her ice skate and tied a bow. Beckett and Madison were already gliding around the frozen pond in the center of the town square. Dad was bumbling around the edge of the ice.

“What?” Murphy said. “It’ll be fun. I can’t remember the last time I went ice skating.”

She picked at the knot on her other skate. Fat flakes of snow drifted down, settling on her hair and on the backs of her bare hands, making them stiff and clumsy. And the stupid knot wouldn’t budge.

“I’m freezing, Murphy. I can’t even work out this knot.”

“Here, let me.” He knelt in front of her. She was tempted to refuse his help, but what the heck. Let him do it. Her nerves were frayed from the long dinner, from the third degree—and she hadn’t even been the recipient. It was a side of her dad she hadn’t seen before.

She watched Madison and Beckett skating hand in hand. Madison lost her footing. Beckett caught her by the elbow, and they spun awkwardly until they came to a standstill, laughing. Nearby, Dad’s arms windmilled before he steadied himself.

“You think he suspects anything?” Layla asked.

Murphy had loosened the knot and had her boot halfway laced. “Nope. Layla, you need to relax. Let’s just go out there and have fun, okay?” A second later he tied a bow and patted her skate.

The music was nice—an upbeat Christmas tune. White lights twinkled from nearby pine trees, dancing in the breeze. And though it was snowing, it wasn’t all that cold. He held out her gloves, and she stuffed her hands inside them.

He gave her a hand up. “Come on.”

They skated side by side around the rink with a couple dozen others, mostly strangers. Layla was glad for that. The fewer people they knew, the better.

Awhile later Beckett and Madison joined them. They talked about her progress on the house. Dad skated up to them, a little steadier now that he’d practiced.

“How are the wedding plans going?” he asked Layla. “I don’t know how you’re finding time, what with staging the house and working at Cappy’s.”

“Sometimes wedding planning seems like a full-time job,” Madison said.

Guilt pricked Layla. She couldn’t wait for this night to end. “We’re keeping it very simple.”

“And I’m helping with whatever she needs,” Murphy said.

“Hey, man,” Beckett said. “You’re making me look bad.”

Madison elbowed her fiancé, trading a mock scowl. “Yes,
some
people can’t make a simple phone call.”

“I keep getting voice mail,” Beckett said.

“Are you sure Christmas Eve’s a good idea?” Dad asked. “A lot of people have family plans.”

“We want to keep it small anyway,” Layla said. So small no one would be there.

“You don’t have a ring yet?” Dad must’ve noticed over dinner.

Murphy turned backward and skated in front of Layla. He took her gloved hands, holding eye contact. “We haven’t found the right one yet, have we, baby?”

Murphy’s cheeks were flushed, the tip of his nose red. Fog plumed in front of his face with each breath, and his blue eyes sparkled under the lighting. A fat flake landed on his eyelashes.

Layla unconsciously reached out and wiped it away with her gloved thumb. The look in his eyes shifted. She couldn’t break away from his gaze. His hand tightened around hers. Suddenly she felt warm. Too many layers. She needed to ditch the scarf. Maybe the coat. What was wrong with her?

“You guys are cute together,” Madison said.

Layla tore her eyes from Murphy. Her cheeks went warm under his stare.

“When did you realize you loved my girl, Seth?” Dad asked.

Layla stiffened.
Change the subject.
Her thoughts spun for a topic and came up empty. Her eyes flew to Murphy.

“It was at Cappy’s, actually,” Murphy said.

Layla frowned at him. What was he doing?

“At Cappy’s?” Madison said.

“I was watching her work. She was waiting on the table next to mine, and the customer said something that made her laugh.” His eyes held her hostage. “I thought, I could listen to that sound for the rest of my life.”

Layla’s breath caught. His breath plumed between them on an exhale. He’d been wasting his time on the sets. The guy should’ve had the lead role.

“That’s sweet,” Madison said. Layla could feel her eyes on them.

How was he doing this? Making stuff up off the cuff like that? Looking at her like she held his world in her hands? Wasn’t this getting to him at all? Dad was eating it all up, and it was lies—all of it.

She had to get away from this—from them. “I … need a break. My ankles …” Layla pulled her hands from Murphy’s and skated toward the bench. She was shaking and wasn’t sure why. The stress of pretending? The look in Murphy’s eyes? So disconcerting.

She wanted this night to be over. She wanted to flop into bed and pull the quilt over her head and pretend none of this was happening. But they’d only been here fifteen minutes.

On the shore, she passed the first bench and headed toward the one farther back in the shadows, shuffling along the frozen ground.

Her heart pounded and her limbs quaked. She just wanted to hide for a while. She didn’t want to face Dad and his questions. Or Beckett and Madison and their knowing eyes.

She couldn’t sit, even when she reached the bench. Even though her ankles throbbed. She perched on the seat back, facing away from the ice, glad for the cover of darkness.

The strains of “Santa Baby” floated through the air, suddenly cooler in the shadows of the night. Overhead, skeletal branches stretched across the darkened sky like icy fingers. In the distance someone laughed, and she remembered what Murphy had said. About realizing he loved her, about wanting to hear her laughter for the rest of his life.

“You okay?”

She jumped at the sound of his voice, so close.

“No, I’m not okay.”

He stood in front of her, his face too shadowed to read.

“I can’t stand this anymore. I’m lying to my father, and our friends think we’re planning a wedding but we aren’t, and someone’s going to figure that out, and even if they don’t, how are we going to get out of this when it’s over?” Her voice rose as she went.

He set his hands on her shoulders. “Come on, baby, you’ve got to pull it together.”

She shrugged his hands off. “What’s with the baby stuff?” She didn’t like it. And she didn’t want to think too hard about why.

“Just hang in there awhile longer. We can’t quit now. There’s too much at stake.”

Like her whole career. If they called off the engagement now, Stanley Malcolm would probably drop her like a hot potato even if she staged Murphy’s home like the Biltmore Mansion.

“How can you stand this? How can you field questions and look all … swoony, and do it with a straight face?”

He stilled. And didn’t speak for so long she was ready to shake the answer out of him. She regretted the shadows now because she couldn’t see his eyes and didn’t have a clue what he was thinking. But she could feel his tension in the rigid way he held himself. Could hear the stress of his shallow breaths.

“It’s easy,” he said so softly she strained to hear.

The last notes of the song rang out, fading into the night. Only her heartbeat, thumping hard and heavy, punctuated the silence.

“I just tell the truth,” he whispered.

A soft, soulful tune began. The strains of the violins wove around them, casting a sweet spell. Layla couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

Murphy turned and walked away, leaving her to stare after him.