Four Weddings and a Fiasco: The Wedding Caper (5 page)

“Or the home-life. Or lack thereof,” he said.

She blinked, surprised at his openness.

“The apartment wasn’t my style, but it was what Hilary wanted. What she thought she wanted. Walked in, and she was dazzled by the staging. She wanted things to look nice on the outside, but never much cared for what it took to get them looking that way. And if sweeping stuff under the rug was easiest, that was the way to go for her."

K.D. wanted to know more about his ex, their marriage. Because it was important background for their role-playing.

Whether she would have asked became moot in the next breath, when Myrna arrived.

“Give me your questionnaires. I’ll copy them, and we’ll get started.”

“Good morning to you, too, Myrna,” Eric said with a glint in his eyes, dishing up the eggs.

“You don’t have time for a good morning,” his redoubtable assistant replied. “You’re going to be out of time before you know it. Better eat those eggs fast, too. No time to waste.”

M
yrna certainly wasted no time.

“Let’s go over that again. You need to have this perfect.”

Eric groaned. K.D. stifled an urge to echo him, then, because Myrna was correct, she said, “Okay, Eric Joshua Larkin, no food allergies, sleeps on the left side of the bed, mint floss, Merlot not Riesling, football to watch, tennis to play, classic rock, country music, classic — is there any music you don’t like?”

“Not that fond of elevator music.”

“No elevator music. Fruit but not fruit salad. Tomato juice, not orange juice. Believes he makes the best scrambled eggs ever.”

“I do.”

“They really are good.” She held up a hand as if he’d been the one to wander off topic. “Son of James and Serena Larkin, who now live in New Mexico. Close with his sister Mariana, although she lives in Virginia. Mariana and her husband, Dan, have two kids, Seth, 4 and Emma, 8. Loves being an uncle—”

“Would like to be a father.” He met her gaze squarely, and started his catalogue. “Katherine Denver Hamilton. Middle name because mother loves John Denver’s music.”

“You don’t need to volunteer that, you know.”

“Nothing wrong with his music.”

“I meant the complete name.”

His mouth didn’t move, yet his face lightened. “But a husband would know. No food allergies. Seafood, red meat, and Tex-Mex, no sushi. Only child of a single mom. Things were tight financially. Earned impressive academic scholarships. Mother married for the first time while you were away at college.”

She withstood the temptation to repeat that he didn’t need to volunteer that last part.

“Good. Now, how’d you meet?” Myrna asked.

“On the job. I was an insurance investigator—”

“You shouldn’t make a face when you say that,” Myrna said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Eric said. “It would explain why she married me. To get away from a job she didn’t like.”

“Great. I’m not only
not
a cop, I
am
a gold-digger.”

“All part of the role.”

“Says the man who gets to keep his profession, his home, and his stellar assistant.”

“Hah! She’s only known me a day and she appreciates me,” Myrna shot at Eric. She turned back to K.D. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you plenty to make you want to divorce him. Next is about living here . . . .”

T
oday, Anne commandeered Rose’s office at the Rose Chalet for the wedding dress fitting. It held no mirrors, so K.D. couldn’t be tempted to look.

Not even when a smile lit Rose’s face, Phoebe sighed, and Julie whistled.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Phoebe asked after Julie’s response.

“Sure is.”

K.D. glared at them. “I think you’re all rubbing it in that Anne’s not letting me look.”

“Turn,” said the woman with the pins. “Now, hold still.”

Julie chuckled. “Maybe a little. But I’m here for a reason, too. We need you to taste some samples.”

“Hey, I’m here for a reason, too,” Phoebe protested.

But K.D. nearly drowned her out with a moan. “More samples? Everything was so delicious last night, I’m still stuffed. And we said to serve whatever you thought best. You said you were good with that.”

“I am. And we’ve got that all covered. But this is to sample cakes.”

“Cakes?” K.D. looked toward Julie.

“Hold still,” ordered Anne. “Face the desk, not us.”

“Wedding cakes,” Julie clarified.

“But—”

“No buts. It’s a wedding. There has to be a wedding cake. Eric’s waiting for you to sample so you can make a decision together.”

K.D. heard a thread in Julie’s tone that made her glad she’d been ordered not to look at the other women.

“Anything’s okay with me, as long as it’s not banana.”

“Why not banana?” Julie asked immediately.

“My mother got horribly sick on a banana when she was pregnant with me and I’ve hated them all my life. The smell, the taste, everything about them.”

“How strange,” Anne said. “Turn again.”

“Good. Now I can measure.” Phoebe stepped forward with a measuring tape and something that resembled a wedding bouquet made out of metal hangers.

“Measure?”

“Have to see you in the dress to see the ideal proportions for the bouquet. I can adjust the form for a visual, but I like to measure, too.”

K.D. frowned. “Really, there’s no need for all this. We only need a few photos.”

“We’re going to do this right,” Julie said.

“If that place is doing what we think they’re doing, it’s just so wrong,” added Phoebe. “You and Eric are doing the real work. All we can do is give you a realistic wedding so the photos and video help your cover story, so we want to do the best we can.”

The others added their agreement. K.D. didn’t know what to say. The guys she worked with would lay down their lives for each other and for her. But support in something less drastic wasn’t really their way. Not unless they could hammer, shovel, or rev it.

Anne saved her from needing to respond.

“Got it,” she announced. “Let’s get you out of this — carefully — and go eat cake.”

“T
his is beyond sinful,” K.D. said after the first bite of the last cake option. “I’d turn in my badge for a full-time career in cake-sampling. Your cakes, anyway,” she said to Julie and Andrew, then closed her eyes again so she could concentrate on the next bite.

“Forget the cakes. You just like the icing,” Eric said.

Her eyes popped open. How had he known?

He was smiling at her. A slow, easy smile. She felt its lure pulling her mouth into an answering smile.

“I do have a sweet tooth,” she admitted.

“Tooth? Try a sweet mouth.” Eric winked at her.

“What a line,” Tyce said. “Wish I’d come up with it.”

“But you still haven’t said which cake,” Julie protested.

“Any of them, truly. As long as there’s some of this butter cream frosting. It’s amazing.”

“Chocolate for me,” Eric said.

“Okay, then one white cake and one chocolate —”

“Two cakes? They’ll go to waste.”

“Cake never goes to waste,” Tyce said. Ella nodded.

“But they’re going to be so few people —”

“They still won’t go to waste,” Tyce said with a grin.

“Okay. I get that. But what about the few people attending? Every shot Ella takes will show the same few supposed guests. And they’ll all be you guys. We can’t invite more because of the secrecy, but won’t it look strange?”

“I’ve had an idea about that,” Ella said. “If everybody has a different outfit for the top and the bottom, I’ll shoot mostly waist-up or waist down, and that’ll double the guests. Add a few costume changes, some creative angles, only slices of faces, and it’ll be fine. As long as I’m careful with the editing.”

“What a great idea,” Phoebe said. “This is all working out splendidly.”

A
s she and Eric walked around the neighborhood after leaving the Rose Chalet, K.D. thought about all the hard work going into making this effort possible . . . and how much more would be needed for it to turn out
splendidly
.

Especially Eric’s hard work.

They’d already been to the post office, dry cleaners, book shop, a tiny antiques store, and now they walked down the earthy smelling aisles of a greenhouse where the woman behind the counter greeted Eric by name. So the geraniums on his deck were his doing, rather than Myrna’s.

“What do you think about sending each of the folks we’re working with a plant as a small thank you from us?”

Her mouth opened to form a pointed
Us
? She caught herself in time. “That’s a nice thought.” Except did people who thought they might be heading for a divorce praise each other for nice thoughts? “Because I’m sure they never get plants, especially Phoebe. Not exactly original.”

He winked at her, which very nearly shattered her disapproving façade.

“Considerate’s more important than original,” he said, turning away.

For a heartbeat, she wanted to wrap her hands around his arm and tug him back to face her. Wanting the Eric who winked to replace the Eric who turned away.

She was losing it. Absolutely losing it.

He was doing exactly what needed to be done. She did the same as she lounged with clear boredom by the cash register while he and the clerk roamed the greenhouse, selecting a plant and arranging its delivery for each of the people who’d been so helpful to them.

After he paid, they started down the hill toward the main commercial area in the neighborhood.

“I’ll never be able to show my face around here again,” she said.

“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “You should be proud of what a good job you did. Shar is one of the biggest gossips in the area. Our marital problems will be all over in short order. You’ll be mostly to blame, of course.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No problem. Just so you know, you’re the superficial, only interested in clothes and status type. I’ve been shattered to discover that about you when I thought you were my true soul mate.”

She fought a grin, since people having marital problems didn’t stroll along grinning at each other. “I don’t think I have the wardrobe for that role.”

They walked another block, with Eric being friendly to everyone they passed and K.D. honing her haughty demeanor before they had another pocket of solitude that allowed for private conversation.

“Why are you doing this?” K.D. asked him abruptly. As with Rose, she surprised herself by asking. Especially now. She would have gotten around to it, because his motives mattered. But she’d jumped the gun. Given in to her curiosity. She shouldn’t have—

“Lawyers have enough of an image problem, without something like this.”

She looked up at him. The crinkle at the corners of his eyes invited her to smile. She didn’t. There was more to it than that.

“People who are trying to work out their differences and stay married shouldn’t become crime victims.”

He clearly meant it. So that was another element to file away for later examination. Only because his motives could affect her investigation.

“Or, more simply, people I like asked for my help.”

That was part of it, too. Though of his three responses, the middle one rang the most true to her. And she’d bet there was more.

Although, he
did
like people, and they liked him.

She was less sure about her own feelings.

About people. Not about Eric Larkin. She had no feelings — no real feelings — about him. This was an assignment. Unorthodox, true, but an assignment.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.” Eric’s words pulled her out of her thoughts. They’d reached the stretch of shops. “This lawyer and her conspirators are after money. So the more money it looks like we have, the more likely they’ll zero in on us. Your clothes don't have that look.”

She was glad he said it bluntly, didn't try to sugarcoat it or lead up to it. That kept it as an issue with the operation. Nothing personal. “You're right. I could have done a little better packing if I’d known what was ahead, but not much. A cop’s wardrobe tends toward uniform and casual.”

“It suits you.”

Such a simple thing for him to say, yet it warmed her in a way other compliments never had.

“I have a solution,” he added. “A manager of the store up there with the green awning does wardrobe consulting. A client's wife swears by her. C’mon, we’ll put you in her hands.”

“I can’t afford—”

“Operational expense. I’ll cover it and get reimbursed.”

He opened the door and ushered her in, allowing no time to argue.

H
e knew he’d rushed K.D. He’d done it on purpose. It gave her less time to call on her considerable defenses.

He’d left the shop for the same reasons. She’d have argued about the expense, about his paying. And she would have been uncomfortable modeling clothes for him.

Depending on what she tried on, he might have been uncomfortable, too, but for other reasons.

The woman had no idea what she was doing to him. He couldn’t quite believe it, either.

He should be running the other way. Scared of getting burned again.

He wasn’t.

If he’d had any doubts left that K.D. was not Hilary, they ended when he’d purposefully been untactful about her wardrobe not fitting the style needed for Marriage-Save.

Hilary would have been in a snit for a month. K.D. didn’t blink, and dealt with the situation.

Yet he’d seen her pleasure when he’d said her clothes suited her.

He’d meant it. Yes, her clothes fit her just fine. And his libido enjoyed that tremendously. There was more, though. There was a practicality, a reliability, a sure-heartedness to what she wore . . . .

Okay, he was getting whacky, thinking clothes had a sure-heartedness.

He’d completed necessary business at the bank. Found some cookies at the bakery for dessert tonight. Wandered into a gift shop with way too many cat statues for his taste. Wasted time in the drug store. Surely, he could return to the dress shop now. If he happened to catch K.D. trying on a couple things . . .