Barefoot in Lace (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 2) (7 page)

Nice
. That was exactly the problem—only it was spelled differently, even if it was pronounced the same. “I don’t think you fully understand my—”

“You have a child in your care. We are completely aware of that,
monsieur
, and we will arrange for a full-time au pair unless you would prefer to bring your own, and we will cover her compensation as well. We will pay all transportation and costs, including the use of our president’s private jet to get you to and from France, and of course, we will increase your base fee.” She lowered her voice and whispered a number that made him mouth a dark and frustrated curse.

“In euro,” she added at his silence, adding even more dollars to the pot.

“Really.” He heard her murmur something in French to another person. Something that probably translated to “even DeMille has a price.”

But he was wide awake now. He’d never considered taking Alex to France. Would it be possible? Legal? Did she have a passport? Would she go?

“I’ll have to let you know,” he said.

“Our meetings with the advertising agency begin on Wednesday in Nice, and you must be there,” she replied. “We are brainstorming sets and locations and making final decisions on the models. The theme is ‘drink beautiful, be beautiful,’ and your advice will be invaluable.”

“I’ll think about it.” A lot.

“We want you there,” she urged. “It will be good for you. What better place for a grieving young girl to spend your summer than the exquisite city of Nice,
non
?”

She made a lot of sense, but something told him Alex wasn’t about to jump on a private jet and hit the Promenade des Anglais.

“While you decide, I will send you some of our concepts and storyboards for your consideration. And pictures of the apartment. It’s owned by LaVie, and I assure you, it is lovely.”

Oh, he bet it was.

“And only a short distance from the beach and Vieux Nice.”

The Old Town of Nice. One of his favorite places in the world.

A moment after signing off on the call, he was at the desk in Ruthie’s room where he’d stored all of her most important papers. Shuffling through the files, he found two passports, both valid.

He took a minute to look at Ruthie’s picture, seeing how she’d changed…and yet remained the same girl he’d worried about and worked to raise all those years. Her smile had always been easy, her heart surprisingly light for a girl who’d lost her parents so young.

But then she’d met that asshole Whitman and lost her mind, and Tom’s respect. Putting her passport away, he took Alex’s and let his hopes soar. He needed to get away, needed to travel and work and leave this little island. And now he could. If only he could get her to say yes.

Maybe, after last night, she’d be willing to be a little adventurous and come out of her funk. Surely he could make her do that, right?

After a shower, he pulled on some clothes and headed to the kitchen in search of coffee, surprised to find Alex’s bedroom door closed tight. She rarely slept late. He wondered if she slept at all some nights. He’d hear her moving about at one in the morning, then she’d be up and in front of that game before seven.

But last night had been different. She’d had an indescribable
connection
with Gussie.

And so had he.

Only he could describe it perfectly in one word: attraction. She’d driven herself home last night and denied him even the chance to steal a kiss good night, but that would change. It had to.

Coffee in hand, he lost himself in reading email after email from France.

By the time he’d finished, he was on fire for the idea of taking this job. They not only needed him, there wasn’t another photographer in the world who could make this ad campaign celebrate beauty the way he could. Images sprang to life already, his juices flowing at the thought of the resources, the possibilities, and the—

“Hey.”

It was the closest thing to a “good morning” he’d had in four weeks. “Hi, Alex. How’d you sleep?”

She shrugged a slender shoulder that slipped out of a ripped T-shirt and opened the pantry, reaching for her usual breakfast of chocolate-chip cookies and a side of Milky Way.

“Did your mom let you eat like that?” The minute the words were out, he regretted speaking.

Everything closed up—her eyes, her arms, her mouth. She started to leave without answering. Shit. He shouldn’t even
try
to be a parent.

“Wait, wait, Alex. Stay here for a minute.”

Slowing her step, she bit into a cookie but still didn’t make eye contact.

“I want to ask you something.”

“The answer is yes,” she said, so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.

“You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”

She finally turned, her dark eyes blank and cold. Ruthie had had those brown eyes, too, only they hadn’t been cold. “I meant yes, she let me eat junk food whenever I wanted. She knew it was a mistake, but since I’m so skinny, she’d let me eat anything.”

He nodded, not sure what to say to that. Like so many aspects of her life, he had no clue how to discuss what she ate, what she weighed, how she lived. Hadn’t Ruthie given one second’s consideration to how woefully ill-equipped he was to raise a young girl?

He turned on the barstool to face her and figure out how to introduce the idea of a long, long trip. Other than
carefully
.

“Did you have fun with Gussie last night?”

She gave a single nod. “She’s nice.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“Do you like her?” Alex asked.

The question threw him, and not because it was possibly the first personal thing she’d ever asked. He couldn’t believe she cared.

Again, he chose every word like a well-timed shot, getting his angle and aperture just right. “What’s not to like? She’s funny and”—adorable and sexy—“great.”

“I meant do you
like
her. You know, how you like a girl.”

Yes, he knew. But did she? How much did twelve-year-olds know, anyway? He had no clue.

“Well, I’d call her more of a woman than a girl, but yes, I do. Don’t like the idea of wedding photography,” he added, “but no getting out of it now.”

She nodded, backing away, that state of semidiscomfort and semidistrust already enveloping her. Why couldn’t he talk to her? What was it that created the weird barrier between them, and would it ever come down? It had come down last night. But Gussie wasn’t here now to provide that buffer of some kind of female game-playing connection. Without it, he had no idea how to approach this.

But he had to. “I want to ask you a question, Alex,” he said.

She stared back at him.

“How would you like to get away for a while?”

Another shrug. “I guess. I’m not doing anything today.”

That was a bit of progress. “I actually meant for a long time.”

Her eyes widened, and her translucent skin paled.

“I have an opportunity to spend a couple weeks in the south of France.”

Her jaw slipped ever so slightly, encouraging him.

“In Nice,” he said, adding a grin. “How about I take my niece to Nice?”

The rhyming joke fell flat between them as she blinked in surprise. “France? You can’t make me go to France.”

“I wouldn’t make you, Alex, but—”

“No.” She shook her head. Hard. “No way. No. I don’t speak French.”

“You don’t speak much English, either.” At her look, he added, “I mean you don’t talk a lot, and I thought it might help you forget—”

“Forget?” She whipped the word at him. “Forget my Momma? Is that what you mean?”

“No, I—”

“’Cause I don’t plan to.” Her voice rose with emotion. “Why don’t you just go and leave me? I know you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Alex.” Only the situation they were in. Maybe she couldn’t see the difference. He tiptoed back into the white water. “And if we go, we could take a private plane, and we could talk to—”

“That would be kidnapping.”

Kidnapping? Not if she’s his ward. He’d just done the research and there were no restrictions on taking her anywhere, but he raised his hand, hoping to calm her. “I thought you might like to visit the Riviera and—”

“You thought wrong.” She pivoted and headed down the hall, closing her bedroom door with enough force to qualify as a slight temper tantrum. Shaking his head, he pulled out his buzzing phone to read a text from Gussie McBain.

Can you come to the resort for some planning and prep today?

Anything would be better than staying here and staring at Alex’s closed door, even fluffing tulle for the wedding. He texted back immediately, then put the phone down, rinsed his cup, and headed down the hall to let Alex know where he was going. Because God forbid he
leave
and
live
and not have any damn responsibilities.

He tapped, making an effort not to let his frustration come through in an angry knock.

“Come in.”

He opened the door, unsure what he’d find. He’d spent about zero minutes in this room since he got here. It was her sanctuary, and a twelve-year-old girl’s bedroom was about as foreign to him as the moon.

The first thing that struck him was how neat it was. For some reason, he’d assumed all teenage or near-teenage girls were slobs. But this room, with deep-purple walls and a snow-white bedspread, was practically pristine.

Alex sat on the floor, leaning against the bed, stuffing a notebook under a blanket on her lap. He’d probably walked in on private diary time. Something twisted in his gut when she looked up and her eyes appeared suspiciously damp.

“I’m going out for a while,” he said.

She nodded, her blank expression firmly in place.

“I’m going to see Gussie at the resort.” He didn’t know why he felt compelled to tell her, but the slight spark of interest in her eyes made him glad he did. “Do you want to go with me?”

She didn’t move for a beat or two, and he was certain she was about to say yes. Then she shook her head. “I’m busy,” she said.

“Doing what?”

Her fingers slid to the notebook she’d barely hid. “Just…writing.”

Should he ask what she was writing? Try for a connection? Or—

“You can leave now.”

Or do as he was told. With a single nod, he stepped out of the room, eager to get back to the woman with whom they’d both connected. Maybe Gussie could give him some advice or help.

Because God knew he needed some.

Chapter Six

“We divide and conquer.” Willow opened the giant binder that held the Bernard-Lyons Master Wedding Plan and turned it so Ari and Gussie could see. They were on the “final seventy-two,” as they called the last three days before the main event, and details could be missed if they didn’t track everything. “Since we all know the sane thing to do is separate this bride from her mother.”

“So smart.” Ari lifted a packet of files and photos in front of her. “You take the mother to the kitchen, Willow, and do a final tasting of the key menu items. I’ll walk Hailey through the event and calm nerves with some outside air and soothing talk.” She handed the files to Gussie. “I would normally do this since it’s more about setting than styling, but since you roped him into helping us, why don’t you take this prop checklist to the storage space in town with the photographer and start hauling some of the pieces? The most complicated one is the gazebo, but it fits in our van with some ingenuity and muscle power. I’m assuming this guy has a little of both.”

Gussie imagined Tom hauling the gazebo in the Barefoot Brides’s van. “He has both in spades, though I’m not sure he’ll fall in love with the idea of hauling gazebo parts in ninety-two degrees.”

“You’ll make it fun,” Ari said, and then caught herself. “You don’t mind going over to the warehouse in Fort Myers with him, do you?”

A day alone in the warehouse? “Couldn’t be more treacherous than walking the beach in the moonlight with him.”

“You did?” The question came in unison from both Ari and Willow.

“Yup.”

Ari and Willow shared a look that Gussie instantly analyzed. They didn’t mind that there was more to the dinner than wedding planning, but they sure as heck minded not being told about it.

“And you were going to spill these beans, when?” Willow asked, leaning across the conference table as if ready to physically pull the details out of Gussie.

“It’s not like anything major happened. We talked for a while, and I hung out with his niece and played a Wii game,” she said. “After I told him I wouldn’t go in the gulf in my underwear.”

Ari gasped, but Willow started laughing. “That sounds familiar.” She was referring to her fiancé, of course, a former Navy SEAL who loved nothing more than the water…with very few clothes on.

“This is different,” Gussie assured them.

“Sounds like it,” Willow said dryly. “Nick never stops at underwear.”

“I talked him out of it and convinced him to get back to his twelve-year-old niece.” She’d told them about the girl when she’d first closed the deal with Tom, and mentioned today that he had guardianship of her, but hadn’t elaborated on what had happened last night.

“Did Rhonda and Hailey witness the stripping photographer?” Willow asked.

“They’d gone already,” Gussie said.

“And nothing else happened but talking?” Willow prodded.

Gussie shrugged. “Not really. Well, I wigged out. Literally.”

They both gasped. And Willow shot up from the table and walked to the office door, closing it with a solid thud. “Every word. Every detail. Now.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Gussie said.

“Coy is one accessory you don’t wear well,” Ari finally replied, crossing her arms and giving that look that reminded everyone that her sixth sense was as uncanny as her ability to read “the universe” and its vibes.

“I’m not being coy,” Gussie insisted. “I mean, there’s really nothing to share except we talked and made a, you know, nice connection, and he asked me why I wear wigs, and I showed him. No biggie.”

“No biggie?” Willow asked, reaching her hand out to put a light touch on Gussie’s arm. “You don’t show that scar to many people, Gus. I think I knew you for five or six months before you explained the reason you love wigs and hats. Which is perfectly reasonable. You know this guy for, what, half a day, and you reveal your most personal truth?”