Kiss the Bride (46 page)

Shane blamed circumstances—his injury, their forced proximity, the beautiful autumn day. He blamed his job, his role as her hero. He blamed the way her eyes, blue as a robin’s egg, promised to ease the loneliness he hadn’t realized ran so deep. He blamed the earnestness on her face, her sweet scent, and her open honesty that made him want to tell her everything.

But most of all, he blamed himself. For missing being married so badly he wanted to do it again, and for failing Tish so spectacularly that he felt a burning need to make some kind of amends. He was crossing all kinds of boundaries, violating oaths, breaking taboos. Bottom line of the bodyguard’s code—never, ever get emotionally involved with the person you’re protecting.

What had he done?

“Elysee,” he said, and then stopped. How did you go about taking back an impromptu marriage proposal? “Listen to me a minute, sweetheart, I…”

“I’m calling Daddy!” she cried and whipped her cell phone from her pocket. “I can’t wait to tell him the good news. He really, really likes you. Oh, Shane, I’m so happy.”

He looked down into her face, her eyes brimming with joyous tears, and his heart stilled with confusion and tenderness and a strange sort of peace. He liked taking care of people and Elysee let him take care of her. That was important for a man. To feel needed. It was something independent-minded Tish had never understood.

This was suddenly too real.

Tell her it was a mistake. Tell her you didn’t mean to ask her to marry you just yet. Tell her you jumped the gun, spoke too soon. You don’t even have a ring.

But he couldn’t. She looked so happy and making her happy made him feel good. This was the right thing to do. No second-guessing. He’d made his decision and he was sticking with it.

“Daddy,” Elysee bubbled into the phone, “guess what? Shane and I are getting married!”

And that’s how Shane Tremont, middle-class boy from small-town America, found himself engaged to the President’s daughter.

T
ish was sitting cross-legged on her couch, staring at the new Stuart Weitzman sandals propped on her coffee table and feeling like a binge eater who had just downed two boxes of double-stuffed Oreos, when the telephone rang.

She let it ring.

What if it’s a job?

Forcing a smile so the caller couldn’t tell she’d overindulged on shoes two days ago and had the grand total of three dollars and seventy-eight cents in her checking account, she picked it up, answering with the name of her business. “Capture the Moment Videos.”

“Tish Gallagher?”

“Yes. How may I help you?” Tish uncoiled her legs and sat up straight.

“Amber Wilson gave me your name. You videotaped her wedding and she can’t stop raving about how great you are.”

“Thank you.” Her spirits soared on the praise.

“I’m getting married this Christmas Eve and while I know it’s rather short notice, I’m on the hunt for the best videographer in Houston.”

“You’ve found her,” Tish said with a smile.

“My name is Elysee Benedict—”

“Whoa, wait a minute.
The
Elysee Benedict?”

“That’s my name.” There was amusement in her voice.

“Elysee Benedict? As in the President’s daughter?”

“Well, yes, but I’m going to have to ask you for complete confidentiality.”

Tish couldn’t believe it. The daughter of the President of the United States was calling?

Her bravado vanished and she was left breathless. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. If she snagged this job, she was set. All the fame and fortune she’d been dreaming of would fall right into her lap.

“Totally. Zipped lip. Tick a lock. Throw away the key.”

Elysee laughed. “I’m interviewing videographers this afternoon at my father’s ranch in Katy. Are you available to drop by, say, three o’clock–ish?”

“Absolutely.” Tish would have found a way to go to the moon for Elysee Benedict. She couldn’t believe it. The President’s daughter.

“I’ll tell security to expect you. Just check in at the front gate and they’ll direct you around.”

Several hours later, Tish arrived at the Benedict ranch, her heart filled with hope. She had changed outfits several times before deciding to go with a Bohemian style reflecting her personality—fresh, creative, fun. She wore a multi-colored circle skirt made of crinkle cloth with an expensive but simple turquoise V-neck tee. She put earrings in all four piercings in each ear, piled on the bracelets, and finished the ensemble with turquoise ballet-style slippers. She felt a hundred times more comfortable than in the Chanel suit she’d worn to meet Addison James.

After making it past the security checkpoints, Tish found herself standing on the front steps of a sprawling
ranch house that put her in mind of Southfork, from the old television show
Dallas
. Her body tingled. She was here. At the Benedict ranch, about to have a meeting with the President’s daughter.

A woman dressed in a simple black pantsuit and a stern expression met her at the door. “I’m Lola Zackary,” she said, “Elysee’s executive secretary.”

“Good to meet you.”

Lola ushered her into a sitting room furnished with polished antiques. “A female Secret Service agent will frisk you for weapons, ma’am.”

The Secret Service agent came into the room and frisked her. The woman nodded at Tish’s purse and the backpack containing her DVD player, video camera, and other equipment. “I’ll need to look through your bags.”

Tish surrendered her things and stood watching while the agent leafed through them.

“Take a seat, ma’am,” Lola said when the agent had finished her job and left the room. “Miss Benedict will see you shortly.”

Tish sat on a high-backed chair near the window and knotted her fingers in her lap. The minute the Secret Service woman had vanished from the room, doubts crowded in. They were the same doubts that had occasionally overwhelmed her in the middle of the night when she was married to Shane.

You’re out of your element. Out of your league. For Pete’s sake, you grew up on the south side of Houston. Who would want the likes of you?

But she’d come so very far from her early background and, excluding her problem with impulse shopping, she was a pretty decent person. She was loyal to her friends, volunteered at the local battered women’s shelter a couple
of hours a week. She was good at her job. But most of all, she genuinely cared about people.

“You’re Tish?” Elysee Benedict came through the door with a warm, welcoming smile. She wore a simple pair of beige slacks and a black silk blouse that washed all the color from her skin. Her hair was pulled back with a headband. It wasn’t a look that flattered her narrow face.

“You’re too young to be getting married,” Tish wanted to tell her, because she’d been Elysee’s age when she’d gotten married. But instead she enthusiastically shook her hand and said, “Hi, I’m Tish.”

“I love your outfit,” Elysee said.

“Thank you.”

“And such gorgeous hair.” She gazed enviously at Tish’s mass of corkscrew curls.

“It’s an untamed terror, is what it is.”

“Try working with this thin, fine mess.” Elysee touched a poker-straight lock of mousy brown hair. “I’d kill for curls like yours.”

“No one is ever satisfied with their hair. I bet Jennifer Aniston hates hers.”

“Oh, I’ve met Jennifer,” Elysee said.

“Really?” Tish widened her eyes. “She’s my favorite actress.”

“Mine, too.”

“Is she going to be at the wedding?” Excitement made Tish’s palms grow sweaty. She’d never thought that movie stars might be attending the ceremony.

“We’re hoping to keep things fairly small. Two hundred guests. I don’t have room for a celebrity list, plus it becomes such a security nightmare. Please, sit down.” Elysee waved at the chair Tish had just vacated and took the adjacent seat.

Tish sat.

“So tell me a little about yourself.” Elysee seemed so poised; but of course, growing up in the public eye, she’d received lots of coaching. Tish wished she’d had someone to coach her through the bumps in life.

Tish took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “I started my own wedding video business five years ago. I’m slowly starting to gain a reputation locally.”

“No, no.” Elysee shook her head. “Tell me about Tish the person. I already know you have gorgeous red hair and Jennifer Aniston is your favorite actress. I googled you so I know that you went to college at Rice. Are you married?”

“Divorced.”

“That’s a shame. I’ve gone through three broken engagements and while I’m not presuming to compare that to a divorce, I do know how painful breakups can be.”

Tish wanted to tell her,
Honey, you don’t know nothing until the love of your life ends your marriage on your first anniversary by walking out on you because you couldn’t live up to his expectations
. Instead she said, “Three?”

“It’s a lot, I know.” Elysee shifted in her seat. “My father tells me I’m in love with love, and maybe I am. But my main problem has been that I have trouble sorting out the men who really like me for myself from those who want to be with me for who I am and what I can do for them.”

Tish clicked her tongue in sympathy. “That’s got to be rough.”

“It is.” Elysee smoothed imaginary wrinkles in the fabric of her slacks. “But that’s the way it goes.”

“How did you know this fiancé was a keeper?”

Elysee blushed. “For one thing, he saved my life.”

“Literally?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a good start.” Tish laughed. “At least you know he cares enough to put his life on the line for you.”

Elysee leaned in and whispered, “He’s my bodyguard.”

“You’re marrying one of your Secret Service agents?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Just like Susan Ford?”

“Uh-huh.” This time she giggled, absurdly happy. Tish remembered being that giddy once.

“How romantic.”

“It is.” Elysee reached over and touched Tish’s forearm. “But the best part is that what I feel for him isn’t the kind of crazy, off-the-wall, gotta-have-him-or-I’ll-die kind of love like I had with the other three fiancés. It’s a steady and strong and mature love.”

“Um, that’s good.” Tish struggled to keep her opinion from showing. She would never have married Shane if there hadn’t been such seething chemistry between them. For one thing they were just too different. For another, without chemistry, well, what was the point? You might as well just marry your best friend. If every time she’d looked at him her knees hadn’t gone weak and the breath hadn’t squeezed from her lungs, if her womb hadn’t ached and her mouth hadn’t yearned for his kisses, she would never have taken the risk.

Even now, she would occasionally wake up in the middle of the night still burning for Shane’s touch. Her body still craved him with a certain kind of wildness she’d never felt for another man before or since.

Then again, she was divorced. Maybe Elysee was on to something. Maybe steady, sweet, and mature was the way to go.

They talked for over an hour, discussing everything under the sun before they watched Tish’s wedding montage DVD. They just seemed to click—she and the President’s daughter. And it was easy, without any of the tension and need to prove herself that Tish had felt with Addison James.

“Oh my goodness.” Elysee laughed. “I love how you humanize the guests by catching them in vulnerable moments. The sleeping baby. The canoodling grandparents. The teens sneaking kisses in the rectory. The friends of the groom opening up about their feelings for their buddy as they tie cans to the getaway car.”

Elysee’s words sent a warm pool of pride sliding into her belly. Even if Tish didn’t get the assignment, she would come away from this interview feeling much better about her work. “Thank you for saying so.”

“My father’s warned me against making snap decisions,” Elysee said. “Three broken engagements by age twenty-two and all that, but Tish, I like you. I like your work. And I want to hire you as my wedding videographer. What do you say? Can you do it? Are you available for Christmas Eve? It’s already late October so I know that doesn’t leave you much time for production, but I have my heart set on getting married on Christmas Eve. It would have been my parents’ thirtieth anniversary if my mother had lived.”

Every dream she’d ever had was coming true. Not only would Elysee’s wedding go a long way toward getting Tish out of debt, but also, once word got out that she was the videographer to the President’s daughter, the telephone would never stop ringing. “Oh, Elysee, that’s so sweet and romantic.”

“You don’t have to answer right away. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to think about. This assignment isn’t going to
be easy with all the security details and confidentiality issues. Would you like a day or two to think it over?”

“I suppose I shouldn’t make snap decisions either,” Tish said, “but I can tell you’re going to be such a dream to work with and I can’t imagine a greater honor than videoing your Christmas Eve wedding. I can rise to the challenges. I’d be honored.”