Kiss the Bride (47 page)

Elysee clapped her hands. “That’s so great. I’m so excited!”

“Right, right.” Tish nodded. “Leading up to the wedding, I’ll need several sessions with you and your fiancé, interviewing you on your childhoods, going through old family photo albums and scrapbooks. Talking with your family and friends to get a real sense of who you are and what your union is all about. I want to capture the spirit of you both. I spend a lot of time on research, but it pays off in the quality of your video. This is a once in a lifetime affair and we want it to be something you’ll cherish and show your children and your grandchildren. I charge by the job, not by the hour, so you don’t have to worry that the clock is ticking.”

“Absolutely. That’s exactly what I want. I’m so happy we’re on the same page.” Elysee grinned.

“Me, too.”

“I want to introduce you to my fiancé. I don’t think he’ll have any objections, but since you will be working closely with him for the reception video, I want to make sure you guys click as well.”

“Certainly.” Tish nodded and prayed Elysee’s fiancé loved her as much as Elysee seemed to.

“Could you stay for dinner?”

Dinner at the Benedict ranch or Ramen noodles in her apartment? Jeez, what a dilemma.

“I can stay.”

“Excellent. Let me just get my secretary, Lola, to write you out a retainer check and we’ll be good to go.”

His physical therapy session had gone badly and Shane was in a foul mood. Determined to get the use of his hand back, he’d told the physical therapist, Pete Larkin, to challenge him. Larkin had been reluctant, insisting it was too soon, but Shane had been adamant.

And he’d failed miserably.

Not only had he been unable to complete the exercises, he’d ended up straining the muscles in his wrist and forearm as well, setting back his progress for days, and bringing on a fresh round of red-hot pain.

He’d suffered his defeat in stoic silence, but a dark cloud of anger gathered thickly over him. He hated being weak. And the therapy session had brought home an ugly truth.

He would never be the same again.

It was a disturbing realization that shook him to the very center of his masculinity. He had been a tough, strong man, with lightning-fast reflexes and deadly aim. But that was before the accident.

Who was he now?

What would he be if he couldn’t be a bodyguard? His family history had indoctrinated him to be a hero. He’d never considered any other professional role. With these disparaging thoughts circling his brain he walked into the ranch house, telling himself he had to put on a cheery face for Elysee’s sake. None of this was her fault.

“Honey, is that you?” Elysee’s voice called to him from the sitting room.

He wanted to slide under the carpet and wait for his dark
mood to pass before facing his bubbly bride-to-be, but he didn’t have that option. She caught him in the hallway, took him by the left hand and, chattering like a three-year-old at her birthday party, dragged him toward the sitting room.

“I’ve found our videographer. She’s the most dynamic, creative, interesting person and I know you’re just going to love her.”

“If you love her…” Shane intended on finishing the sentence with “I’ll love her,” but when he saw the woman sitting in front of the window, his heart just stopped.

No, it couldn’t be.

Elysee hooked her elbow around his arm. “Honey, this is Tish Gallagher. Tish, meet my fiancé, Shane Tremont.”

Tish stared into Shane’s eyes. Time evaporated and the years fell away.

Her face instantly went ice cold as blood drained from her cheeks. Her heart rate dropped and she heard the slow, loud
boom, boom, boom
of blood beating against her eardrums. Dumbly, she stood there, mouth hanging open. Unable to speak. Unable to move. Unable to breathe.

Shane looked different now—older, leaner, with a hollow cast to his cheeks—but wiser, and if possible, even more handsome than she remembered. His hair was clipped close to his head in a precision military cut. When they had been married, she’d coaxed him into growing it out, but she had to admit the very short cut suited him.

And then she saw the scar at his temple.

Tish felt a sharp, sudden pain in her own temple at exactly the same spot as his wound. He was hurt. He’d had brain surgery. That was why his hair was so short.

She thought of what Elysee had said about her bodyguard saving her life. The full impact hit her then. Elysee
Benedict’s fiancé was her ex-husband. For one microsecond, her heart just stopped. She’d told herself that she was over Shane, that she was no longer in love with him. But one look into his eyes and she knew it was all a vicious lie she’d been telling herself—a fairytale falsehood to keep the demons at bay.

Her initial impulse was to turn and flee as far from this house and her past as possible. But running was a luxury she could ill afford. If she wanted to achieve her life-long ambition and pay off her maxed-out credit cards, she had to stick this out.

Silence stretched into the room. It seemed to go on forever, until Tish was almost convinced she’d been ensnared in some sort of cosmic time warp. His gaze was on her face and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. What to do?

Her right hand fluttered to her throat. This would be a very good time to faint. Unfortunately she wasn’t the fainting type. Shane, her Shane, was engaged to marry the daughter of the President of the United States.

Snap out of it. You can’t let Elysee know who you are or you’ll lose the job and with it, all your cherished dreams. So what if she’s engaged to Shane? He doesn’t belong to you anymore.

Tish swallowed hard and pasted an artificial smile on her face. Honestly, someone should nominate her for a frickin’ Oscar. She cleared her throat, put her hand out, and stepped the short distance between them.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Tremont.”

Shane didn’t smile, didn’t take her hand. It was only then she realized he had his right hand tucked into the pocket of his trousers.

Why wouldn’t he shake her hand? Oh, God, was he going to make a big deal of this and ruin her chances at the opportunity of a lifetime, just because they were once married to each other?

“I don’t shake hands,” he said. “An accident.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling relieved that she didn’t have to touch him, but at the same time sorry not to feel the heat of his hand against hers.

“So you’re the best wedding videographer in the business?” he said.

“Yes,” she replied and proudly raised her chin. “I am.”

They used to have fights over her business. He claimed she spent too much money on camera equipment while they were trying to get a fledgling household started. He’d wanted her to take a part-time job to pay for her overhead. She’d accused him of not supporting her artistic vision.

Ha, so there. I made it without you.
She’d gotten good enough at her craft to bag the President’s daughter’s wedding.

Hell, Tish, he’s one-upped you again. Shane’s bagged the President’s daughter and you’re going to have to film the whole ceremony.

Misery crawled through her, but she’d be damned if she’d let him see how this development affected her. “Congratulations on your impending marriage,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Thank you,” he replied, sounding equally as tense.

“Did I tell you Shane saved my life?” Elysee interjected. She was gazing at Shane’s face as if he’d created the sun.

“Yes, you did.” Not surprising. He seemed to make a habit of rescuing damsels in distress and then asking them to marry him. “You sound like a real-life Sir Galahad, Shane.”

Better watch out, honey. There’s a real downside to these big burly guardian types.

“Oh, he is. Shane saved my life and now I’ve been nursing him back to health.” Elysee stroked Shane’s upper arm.

Yes, this story was sounding decidedly familiar. Tish thought of that first night she and Shane had spent together. How she’d tended the wounds he’d acquired in a bar fight while defending her honor. Far, far too familiar.

She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. “Um, Elysee,” she said. “Is there a powder room I could use?”

“Oh, yes, sure, this way. Please make yourself at home.”

Tish followed Elysee down the hallway, never looking back at Shane even though she could feel the heat of his gaze burning the back of her neck. She had to get by herself, calm down, and decide what she was going to do about this mess.

She stepped into the bathroom, shut the door, and took a deep breath. Stepping up to the washbasin, she dampened a washcloth and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her throat was tight, her stomach even tighter as she assessed herself.

What had Shane seen when he’d looked at her? How had she changed over the course of the last two years? Was he sorry that he’d let her go? Or was he perfectly happy with sweet little Elysee?

Feeling short of breath and slightly disoriented, Tish closed her eyes. She pressed the damp cloth to her lips and then opened her eyes again.

Her mass of unruly corkscrew curls was longer now than when they’d been married, but they were still the same shade of burnished auburn. Thick ginger-colored lashes framed her kelly green eyes. Her peaches-and-cream
complexion was still clear, but when she smiled she could see the faintest beginnings of crinkle lines around her mouth. Not old by any means at nearly twenty-six, but time was marching on.

People often told her she looked like a young Nicole Kidman, but she didn’t think she was nearly that pretty. Her style was too funky and eclectic, from the four earrings in each ear to the henna tattoo scrolling around her upper right arm. Shane had liked her Bohemian flare, if not her Bohemian lifestyle. They’d been a severe case of opposites attracting.

And colliding.

Ha, that was the underassessment of the century.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Just a minute,” she said.

“I’m coming in.” The voice was dark, masculine.

Shane!

Her heart leapfrogged into her throat. She spun for the doorknob, determined to flip the lock and keep him out, but she was too slow.

T
he bathroom door opened and Shane slipped inside. He reached behind him, clicking the lock in place.

Tish, who was already fumbling for the lock, ended up touching his hard, flat belly instead.

Electricity.

Hotter and quicker than ever. Lightning in a hail storm. It scared the hell out of her. She jerked her hand back at the contact. It gave her little satisfaction that Shane looked as unnerved as she. Being this close to him felt more dangerous than juggling fire.

“What are you doing in here?” she demanded. “You have to get out. What if I was using the toilet? You can’t just barge in. We’re divorced, remember?”

“We have to talk.”

“Now? You want to talk now? Two years ago I wanted to talk, but you clammed up. Now you want to talk?”

“Yes, now.”

“Where’s little Miss Sunshine?” Tish tossed her head, trying to stall, trying to identify her emotions and figure out exactly how she felt without letting it show on her face.

“Elysee went to tell the cook to set an extra plate for you,” he said.

“Aren’t you worried what she’s going to think when she catches us in here together?” Tish crossed her arms over her chest, both to stop her hands from trembling as well as putting up a barrier between them.

The room was claustrophobically small now with him in it. She’d forgotten just how masculine he was, with his big biceps and manly-smelling cologne.

“She’s not going to catch us, because you’re going to go tell her that while you’re flattered by the offer, you just realized you have a scheduling conflict and can’t serve as her wedding videographer,” he said firmly.

“Don’t you mean ‘our’ wedding videographer?”

He looked startled. “What?”

“You said ‘her’ wedding videographer. You’re getting married, too. Shouldn’t it be ‘our’ wedding videographer?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“No, I’m not. I’m talking about
your
impending wedding.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“But not the irony.”

His eyes flared and her breath caught. She felt the old flutter in her chest. Divorced two years and with just one look he could still send her heart reeling.

But Shane had moved on with his life. He had someone else. A very nice someone else. Tish had absolutely no right to feel envious.

It sounded rational and well thought out. The problem was that her emotions weren’t having any of it. She was jealous and angry and hurt. She wanted to throw back her head and howl for everything she’d let slip through her
fingers. No, no, she wanted to run right out and buy the most expensive pair of shoes she could find.

What? You expected he would pine over you forever?

No, no. Yes.