Stand-in Groom (20 page)

“So maybe by next May we’ll be doing well enough with the business that you can take a three-month leave of absence and go to Paris with him.”

“He didn’t ask me if I wanted to go.”

“Give the man a chance. He hasn’t been accepted into the program yet.”

“And what if the business needs me here?” “Then you’re going to have to make some choices. Chels, if you love this guy—”

“No,” Chelsea said, trying hard to convince herself that her words were true. “I don’t love him that much. I refuse to love anyone that much.”

“There are a million options. We could hire someone to fill in for you temporarily—”

“Do you know what John’s specialty is?”

Moira snickered. “I can guess, but then again, you probably don’t mean
that
. You probably mean his specialty as a chef.”

Chelsea threw a telephone notepad at her friend. “Of course I mean his specialty as a chef.”

“No, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

“Veal and lamb. Baby cows and baby sheep. I will never eat the food that
The Boston Globe
describes as ‘culinary heaven,’ and ‘edible art.’ I
can’t
eat it, Mo. I
won’t
eat it. And just how long do you really think he’s going to want me hanging around,
not
eating his specialty?” Chelsea put her head in her hands again. “And the really stupid thing is, I keep finding myself thinking, well, maybe I can be a vegetarian only part of the time. Maybe I could eat his veal dishes every now and then.” She lifted her head and looked miserably at Moira. “I’m actually considering giving up being a vegetarian—something I truly, honestly believe in for health reasons and for humanitarian reasons—just to please some guy who’s good in bed.”

“Some guy who’s good in bed, whom you happen to be in love with,” Moira pointed out.

“What am I going to do?”

“Whatever you do,
definitely
don’t tell
him
how you feel,” Moira said sarcastically, then ducked to avoid being hit with more flying office supplies.

C
HELSEA’S FATHER DEFINITELY
knew. Johnny had known from the look in his eyes when the man shook his hand, right when he and Chelsea had walked in the door of the stately Tudor-style house.

So it was no real surprise when Howard Spencer pulled him away from the other guests to ask, “So, who are you, really?”

“Giovanni Anziano,” Johnny said. “My friends call me Johnny.”

“And from where exactly did Chelsea dig you up?”

Johnny tried to smile pleasantly despite the rude tone of Mr. Spencer’s voice. He could understand how a father might be a little bit upset to find out his daughter had married a man who was a complete stranger to her family. “Actually, we met as a result of Chelsea getting her purse snatched.”

“Her purse …” Something flickered in Spencer’s eyes. “She never told me about that.”

“I’m sure most children don’t tell their parents about a lot of things.”

“And she met you when?”

“No, I wasn’t the one who mugged her,” Johnny said, his words only half-joking. “I got her purse back for her and helped her get cleaned up.”

“So naturally, in gratitude, she married you.”

Johnny laughed. “Hey, that’s a good one, Mr. S.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

Johnny gave up trying to play nice. He lowered his voice and stepped closer to the older man. “Look, the fact is, I’m married to your daughter. I
like
being married to your daughter, and I intend to treat her really well, so you don’t have to—”

“The
fact
is,” Howard Spencer interrupted, “Chelsea married you solely to acquire her inheritance. I applaud her ingenuity but question her
choice of … business partners. I’m just warning you, in one year, when this farce of a marriage is over, you will take whatever deal she’s made with you and quietly slink back to whatever hole you came out of. If you don’t attempt to stay married to her, or to contest the divorce in
any
way, I’ll triple whatever payment she gives you. And I’m prepared to make you that offer in writing.”

Triple. Just like that, one truckload of money could become three. But what good would three truckloads of money be without Chelsea to share it with him?

“You know where to reach me when you decide to take the money,” Mr. Spencer said with smug certainty, then walked away.

Johnny’s heart was pounding and his mouth was dry. God, what he would have given to deck that guy. Just one punch, that’s all he wanted. Of course, that guy was his father-in-law, and in most circles, decking your father-in-law was considered bad form. But, damn, he wanted to. He’d also wanted to shout that if in a year Chelsea wanted him to stick around, dammit, he was going to stick around, and there was
no
amount of money in all
the world that would convince him to do otherwise.

He grabbed a glass of champagne off a tray as a server went past, then turned to look for Chelsea.

He found her almost instantly. She was standing out on the sundeck, leaning against the railing, sipping a sparkling water and talking to Benton Scott.

“They look good together, don’t they?”

Johnny glanced up to see Chelsea’s brother Troy standing next to him, watching his friend and his sister through the glass in the French doors. They did look good together—both slim and blond and elegant.

“Bent told me just yesterday that he and Nicole have finally called it quits. He filed the divorce papers last week.” Troy looked questioningly at Johnny. “I’m sorry—what was your name again?”

“It’s Johnny,” he answered flatly, then added, “Does everyone know?”

“That you’re not Emilio? Pretty much. It’s hard to keep a secret in this family, especially one of that magnitude.” Troy laughed. “It was funny how it slipped out, actually. The real groom—I mean, the
former
groom—had a mutual friend who knew my brother Michael, and that friend kind of let slip the
news that Emilio was getting married next month to a girl from Greece, and Michael thought, gee, that’s odd, this is the same guy who just married my little sister. Not long after that the cat was totally out of the bag.” He paused for breath. “So I hear Grandpa went overboard with the amount he left for Chelsea. What’s your share?”

“That’s not your business,” Johnny said evenly.

“I’ll find out sooner or later, but suit yourself.” Troy turned to look at Chelsea and Bent. “I think those two are going to end up together—you know, after she divorces you.”

Johnny tried to stay cool despite the fact that with every beat of his heart, rage-heated blood was surging through his veins. Somehow, again, he managed to stay silent, and after a moment Troy faded away.

As Johnny watched, Chelsea gave Bent a smile and walked toward the house. The man’s eyes followed the soft sway of her hips, and Johnny knew that if it were up to Benton Scott, he’d steal Chelsea back in a heartbeat. He swore silently. Could this situation possibly get any worse? Chelsea’s family obviously thought Johnny was beneath her, her father had tried to buy him off, and
now the man whom she confessed had at one time been the love of her life was clearly interested in rekindling their romance.

He had a sick feeling that when he got home and finally went through yesterday’s mail, he was going to find a notice of an impending IRS tax audit. The day was going
that
well.

But then Chelsea spotted him, her eyes warm with pleasure. She hadn’t looked at Benton Scott that way, had she?

But instead of coming over to him, she took a left turn as she approached, veering away from him and toward the front hallway. She glanced back over her shoulder, gesturing slightly with her head for him to follow her.

Johnny set his glass down on a passing server’s tray and trailed slightly behind her. In the entry-way, she went quickly up a flight of thickly carpeted stairs, glancing back again to see if he was following.

“What’s up here?” he asked, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up with her at the top landing.

She put her finger on her lips in a gesture of silence and looked carefully down the hallway in either
direction. She glanced back down the stairs, then she stepped into a dark doorway, pulling him with her and shutting the door behind him.

Johnny laughed as she locked the door, and just like that, his unpleasant conversations with Chelsea’s father and brother were instantly worth it. Johnny literally had to hold his tongue between his teeth to keep from telling her, right then and there, how deeply he loved her.

Because they were in the bathroom. Out of all the places they could have gone to talk privately, Chelsea had chosen this one because she knew it would make him laugh—and make him wonder if she was bold enough actually to make love to him with the party going on downstairs. He was wondering. Boy, was he wondering. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, but she pulled away.

“My sister told me everyone knows you’re not Emilio,” she told him, “but my father hasn’t said anything to me yet.”

“He said something to me,” Johnny told her.

Chelsea winced, her blue eyes filled with worry. “I’m so sorry. Was it awful?”

“It was … educational,” he said diplomatically, deciding not to tell her about her father’s offer of
money. He didn’t want to talk about what was going to happen when this year was over. He didn’t want Chelsea even thinking about it until she had a real chance to see that being married to him wasn’t a threat to her independence. He didn’t want to talk about it until she’d gotten used to him being around, and maybe—please, God—even loved him a little. “But I survived intact.”

Chelsea ran her hands up his chest and down his shoulders. “Maybe I should check, just to make sure.”

Her touch had the power to make him crazy, so he pulled away slightly, needing to look into her eyes as he asked a question he knew he shouldn’t ask. “I saw you talking to Benton Scott. Did he tell you he’s getting divorced?”

She gazed back at him. “He did. Apparently it’s been rather nasty. He wanted to have lunch sometime this week to talk about it.”

Johnny felt his insides twist. He kept his face and his voice carefully neutral. “Oh?”

“What do you think?” she asked. “Should I go?”

Both her voice and the pure wideness of her eyes were far too innocent, and Johnny realized she had
worked very hard to hide the smile that now slipped out.

“Only if you want me to kill him,” he told her.

Her smile turned into a laugh of disbelief. “Oh, my God, you
are
jealous!”

“I can’t help it,” he admitted. “I know your history with this guy and …” He caught her beautiful face between his hands and looked searchingly into her laughing blue eyes. “I need to hear you tell me you don’t want him anymore.”

“I don’t want him anymore,” Chelsea said. “I stopped wanting him the first time you kissed me.” She smiled at him, bewitchingly. “I think you know what I do want, though. It has something to do with you and me and the guest bathroom during one of my parents’ parties …” Her smile turned to a grin, heat and devilment sparkling in her eyes. “I believe the expression is: Put up or shut up.”

Pulling her into his arms, giddy with relief and desire, Johnny did both.

“He was really jealous of Bent. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

Moira looked at Chelsea in obvious exasperation as she poured the grounds for their morning pot of coffee into the filter. “Have you asked him how he feels? When grown-ups want to know how other grown-ups feel, they usually
ask.”

“I
know
how he feels. He likes me. He
really
likes the physical side of our relationship. But the biggest attraction for him is the money he’s going to get when the year is over.” Chelsea closed her eyes. “Sierra called to tell me that Daddy offered Johnny a huge amount of money—provided that at the end of the year he really does divorce me and disappear.”

“And Johnny didn’t mention that to you?” Moira added water and clicked the coffeemaker on.

“Nope.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“In that case, okay, I can understand why you might not want to take the risk of telling him that you love him.”

Chelsea sighed, gazing out her window at the early-morning sunshine already warming the city street. “I have a year to figure out how to make him fall in love with me.”

“A lot can happen in a year,” Moira said reassuringly.

“Maybe if I offer him even
more
money, he’ll stay,” Chelsea said morosely. “God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

In the outer office, the bell tinkled. Someone had come in.

“Hey, how’d they get in without buzzing?” Moira asked, frowning. The building had an outer door that locked. People coming into the offices had to be screened through an intercom before they were buzzed in.

“The lock’s not working again,” Chelsea said. “At least it wasn’t when I came in. I already called the landlord.”

“Are you expecting a client?” Moira asked.

Chelsea shook her head. “No.” Her heart leaped. Maybe it was Johnny, stopping in after his Meals on Wheels rounds. It was still a little early, but maybe … Eagerly, she pushed herself out of her chair and followed Moira into the outer office.

“Hey!” she heard Moira say in outrage. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The man rifling through the drawers of Moira’s desk definitely wasn’t Johnny.

He was ragged and dirty, his short hair matted against his head, his face streaked with grime as if he’d slept, facedown, in the back alley. His hands were shaking and his eyes were red and tearing. He looked up, teeth bared in a growl of anger and frustration that made him seem more animal than human, an enormous handgun tightly clenched in one trembling hand. “Where the
hell
is your cash register?”

Chelsea’s heart was pounding, but she spoke calmly as she gently took hold of the waistband of Moira’s pants and slowly, an inch at a time, began backing them both away from that deadly looking gun. “We don’t keep any money here. This is an
office
, not a retail store. We don’t have a cash register.”