Wedding Bell Wishes: It Started at a Wedding... / The Wedding Planner and the CEO / Her Perfect Proposal

‘Hangover on top of jet lag. Nice,’ Claire teased. ‘It’s so good to see you, Sammy.’

‘You, too. And oh, my God. How amazing is that dress? You’ve really surpassed yourself this time, Claire.’

Claire smiled in acknowledgement. ‘I’m just glad we got it back.’

The hotel’s hairdresser and make-up artist cooed over the dress, too, and then Claire submitted to being prettied up before putting on her own dress and then helping Ashleigh with hers.

Sammy posed them both for photographs on the balcony. ‘Righty. I need to do the boys, now,’ she said when she’d finished. ‘See you at the town hall.’

‘OK?’ Claire asked when Sammy had gone.

Ashleigh gulped. ‘Yes. Just thinking.’

‘I know.’ It would be similar for Claire, if she ever got married: she’d be missing her mum, though her dad would be there—if he approved of Claire’s choice of man—and her mum’s family would be there, with Ashleigh and Sammy to support her.

Not that Claire thought she’d ever get married. All the men she’d ever been involved with had turned out to be Mr Wrong. Men she’d thought would share her dreams, but who just couldn’t commit. Men who’d been so casual with her emotions that she’d lost trust in her judgement.

‘But I think they’re here in spirit,’ Claire said softly. ‘They loved you so much, Ash. And Luke can’t wait to make you his bride. You’ve got a good guy, there.’

‘I know. I’m lucky.’ Ashleigh swallowed hard.

‘Hey. If you cry and your make-up runs, Sean will have my guts for garters,’ Claire said. She went into a dramatic pose. ‘Help! Help! Save me from your scary big brother!’

To her relief, it worked, and Ashleigh laughed; she was still smiling when Sean knocked on her door to say they needed to go.

CHAPTER FOUR

SEAN HAD ALREADY seen the dress—albeit not at its best—but seeing his little sister wearing it just blew him away. The ivory dress emphasised Ashleigh’s perfect hour-glass shape by skimming in at the waist, then falling to the floor in soft folds. Her dark hair was drawn back from her face and pinned at the back as a base for her veil, and then flowed down in soft curls. She wore a discreet and very pretty tiara with sparkling stones and pearls to reflect the pearls in the bodice. And finally she was carrying a simple posy of dusky lavender roses, the same colour as Claire’s dress; the stems were tightly bound with ivory ribbon.

‘You look amazing, Ashleigh,’ he said. ‘Really amazing.’

Then he glanced at Claire. Again, he was shocked. He hadn’t seen the bridesmaid’s dress before, though he’d had a fair idea that it would be dusky lavender, the same colour as his waistcoat and the rose in his buttonhole. Although it, too, was strapless and had a sweetheart neckline, it was much plainer than Ashleigh’s dress and ended at the knee. Claire’s hair was dressed in a similar style to his sister’s, though without a veil and with a discreet jewelled headband rather than a tiara. Her roses were ivory rather than lavender, as a counterpoint to the bride’s bouquet, and her satin high heels were dyed to match her dress.

If he’d seen her across a crowded room as a complete stranger, he would’ve been drawn to her immediately. Approached her. Asked her out.

He pushed the thought away. This was Claire. He did know her. And, if they hadn’t made a truce for Ashleigh’s sake, they would’ve been sniping at each other within the next five minutes. She was absolutely not date material.

‘Ready?’ he asked.

‘Ready,’ they chorused.

The official civil ceremony was held at the town hall in Anacapri. Only the main people from the wedding party were there: Ashleigh and Luke, with Luke’s best friend, Tom, as the best man, Claire as the bridesmaid and one of the witnesses, and himself as the other witness. Sammy was there, too, to take photographs.

After everything had been signed, the two open-topped cars took them to the private villa where the symbolic ceremony was being held and the rest of their family and friends were waiting to celebrate with them.

Luke and Tom went ahead to wait at the bridal arch, which was covered with gorgeous white flowers.

Then Ashleigh stood at the edge of the red carpet, her arm linked through Sean’s. He could feel her trembling slightly. Nervous, excited and a little sad all at the same time, he guessed. ‘Ashleigh, you’re such a beautiful bride,’ he said softly. ‘Our parents would be so proud of you right now.’

Ashleigh nodded, clearly too overcome to speak, and squeezed his arm as if to say, ‘You, too.’

‘Come on. Let’s get the party started,’ he said, and gave the signal to the traditional Neapolitan guitar and mandolin duo.

Their version of Pachelbel’s ‘Canon’ was perfect. And Sean was smiling as he walked his little sister down the aisle to marry the man she loved.

* * *

Claire had seen the photographs and knew that the garden where Ashleigh and Luke were getting married was spectacular, but the photographs really hadn’t done the place justice. The garden was breathtaking, overlooking the sea; lemon trees grew around the edge of the garden, their boughs heavy with fruit, and the deep borders were filled with rhododendrons and bougainvillea. There seemed to be butterflies everywhere. A symbol of good luck and eternal love, she thought.

She took the bouquet from Ashleigh and held it safely during the ceremony, and she had to blink back the tears as Ashleigh and Luke exchanged their vows, this time in front of everyone. She glanced at Sean, who was standing beside her, and was pleased to see that for once he was misty-eyed, too. And so he should be, on Ashleigh’s wedding day, she thought, and she looked away before he caught her staring at him.

Everyone cheered when the celebrant said, ‘You may now kiss the bride,’ and Luke bent Ashleigh back over his arm to give her a show-stopping kiss.

‘Let them have it, guys,’ Sammy called as Ashleigh and Luke started to walk back down the aisle, and the confetti made from white dried flower petals flew everywhere.

Once the formal photographs had been taken, waiters came round carrying trays filled with glasses of Prosecco. Ashleigh and Luke headed the line-up to welcome their guests; and then, finally, it was time for the meal. Ashleigh had chosen a semi-traditional top table layout, so Claire as the chief bridesmaid was at one end, next to Luke’s father. As Sean was standing in for the bride’s father, he was at the other end, between Ashleigh and Luke’s mother. And there were enough people between them, Claire thought, for them to be able to smile and hide their relief at not having to make small talk.

It was an amazing table, under a pergola draped with white wisteria. Woven in between the flowers were glass baubles, which caught the light from the tea-light candles set in similar glass globes on the table, and reflected again in the mirrored finish of the table. The sun was already beginning to set, and Claire had never seen anything so romantic in her life. And the whole thing was topped off by the traditional Neapolitan guitar and mandolin duo who played and sang softly during the meal.

If she ever got married, Claire thought, this was just the kind of wedding she’d want, full of love and happiness and so much warmth.

Finally, after the excellent coffee and tiny rich Italian desserts, it was time for the speeches. Luke’s was sweet and heartfelt, Tom’s made everyone laugh, but Sean’s made her blink back the tears.

He really did love Ashleigh. And, for that, Claire could forgive the rest.

The cake—a spectacular four-tier confection, which Claire knew held four different flavours of sponge—was cut, and then it was time for the dancing.

Ashleigh and Luke had chosen a song for their bridal dance that always put a lump in her throat—‘Make You Feel My Love’—and she watched them glide across the temporary dance floor. The evening band played it in waltz time, and Claire knew that Luke had been taking private lessons; he was step-perfect as he whirled Ashleigh round in the turns. The perfect couple.

Tradition said that the best man and the chief bridesmaid danced together next, and Claire liked Tom very much indeed; she was pleased to discover that he was an excellent dancer and her toes were perfectly safe with him.

‘I love the dresses,’ Tom said. ‘If I wasn’t gay, I’d so date you—a woman who can create such utter beauty. You’re amazing, Claire.’

She laughed and kissed his cheek. ‘Aww, you’re such a sweetie, Tom. Thank you. But I wouldn’t date you because I have terrible taste in men—and you’re far too nice to be one of my men.’

He laughed. ‘Thank you, sweetie. You’ll find the right guy some day.’

‘If I could find someone who’d make me as happy as Luke makes Ash,’ she said softly, ‘I’d consider myself blessed.’

‘Me, too,’ Tom said. ‘And the other way round. They’re perfect for each other.’

‘They certainly are,’ she said with a smile, though at the same time there was a nagging ache in her heart. Would she ever find someone who’d make her happy, or was she always destined to date Mr Wrong?

* * *

Sean knew it was his duty—as the man who’d given the bride away—to dance with the chief bridesmaid at some point. For a second, he stood watching Claire as she danced with Luke’s father. She was chatting away, looking totally at ease. And then Sean registered what the band was playing: ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’. He was shocked to realise that it was true: he couldn’t take his eyes off Claire.

Which was absolutely not a good thing.

Claire Stewart was the last woman he wanted to get involved with.

And yet he had to acknowledge that he was drawn to her. There was something about her. He couldn’t pin it down, which annoyed him even more—he couldn’t put his feelings in a pigeonhole, the way he usually did. And that made her dangerous. He needed to stay well away from her.

Though, for tonight, he had to do the expected thing and make the best of it.

As the song came to an end, he walked over. ‘I guess we need to play nice for Ashleigh.’

‘I guess,’ she said.

Even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew he was saying the wrong thing, but he couldn’t stop himself asking, ‘So is one of your awful boyfriends joining you later?’

‘If that’s your idea of nice,’ Claire said, widening her eyes in what looked like annoyance, ‘I’d hate to see how caustic your idea of snippy would be.’

He grimaced, knowing that he was in the wrong this time. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have put it quite like that.’

‘Not if you were being nice. Though,’ she said, ‘I do admit that I have a terrible taste in men. I always seem to pick Mr Wrong.’ She shrugged. ‘And the answer’s no, nobody’s joining me. I’m happily single right now. And I’m way too busy at work right now to get involved with someone.’

Was that her way of telling him she wasn’t interested? Or was she just giving him the facts?

Her perfume wasn’t one he recognised; it was something mysterious and deep. Maybe that was what was scrambling his brain, rather than her nearness. Scrambling his brain enough to make him think that she was the perfect fit. The way she felt, in his arms...

‘So isn’t one of your sweet-but-temporary girlfriends joining you later?’ Claire asked.

Ouch. Though Sean knew he deserved the question. He’d started it. ‘No. Becca and I broke up three months ago. And I’m busy at work.’ Which was his usual excuse for ending a relationship before things started to get too close.

‘Two peas in a pod, then, us,’ she said with a grin.

‘I always thought we were chalk and cheese.’

She laughed. ‘I was going to say oil and vinegar. Except they actually go together.’

‘And we don’t,’ Sean said. ‘So would you be the vinegar or the oil?’

‘Difficult to say. A bit of both, really,’ she said. ‘I make things go smoothly for my clients. But I’m sharp with people who have an attitude problem. You?’

‘Ditto,’ he said.

This was weird.

They were actually laughing at themselves. Together. Not sniping at each other.

And this felt sparky. Fun. He was actually enjoying Claire’s company—something that he’d never thought would happen in a million years.

This was the second song in a row they were dancing to. The music was slower. Softer. And, although he knew it was a seriously bad idea, he found himself drawing Claire closer. Swaying with her.

* * *

Oh, help, Claire thought. She’d been here before. Today, she’d paced herself and only drunk a couple of small glasses of Prosecco, well spaced out with sparkling water. But she could still remember the first night she’d kissed Sean Farrell. The way his mouth had felt against hers before he’d pulled away and given her a total dressing-down about being seventeen years old and in a state where an unscrupulous man could’ve taken advantage of her.

And again, at Ashleigh and Luke’s engagement party, where they’d ended up dancing way too close and then Sean had kissed her, his mouth warm and sweet and so tempting that it terrified her.

Right now, it would be all too easy to let her hands drift up over his shoulders, curl round the nape of his neck, and draw his mouth down to hers. Particularly as they were no longer on the dance floor, in full view of the rest of the guests; at some point, while they’d been dancing together, they’d moved away from the temporary dance floor. Now they were in a secluded area of the garden. Just the two of them in the twilight.

‘Claire.’ His voice was a whisper.

And she knew he was going to kiss her again.

He dipped his head and brushed his mouth against hers, very lightly. It felt as if every nerve-end had been galvanised. He did it again. And again. This time, Claire gave in and slid her hands into his hair. His arms tightened round her and he continued teasing her mouth with those light, barely there kisses that made her want more. Maybe she made some needy little sound, because then he was really kissing her, and it felt as if fireworks were exploding all around them.

When he broke the kiss, she was shaking.

‘Claire.’ He sounded dazed.

That made two of them.

Part of her wanted to do this. To go with him—her room or his, it wouldn’t matter. She knew they both needed a release from the tension of the last few days.

But the sensible part of her knew that doing that would make everything so much worse. How would they face each other in the morning? They certainly didn’t have a future. Yes, Sean was reliable, unlike most of her past boyfriends—but he was also too regimented for her liking. Everything had to go within his twenty-year plan. Which was fine for a business, but it wasn’t the way she wanted to live her personal life. She wanted to take time to smell the roses. Spontaneity. A chance to seize the day and enjoy whatever came her way. Live life to the full.

‘We need to stop,’ she said. While she could still be sensible. If he kissed her once more, she knew she’d say yes. So she’d say the word while she could still actually pronounce it. ‘No.’

‘No.’ He looked at her, his eyes haunted. For a second, he looked so vulnerable. She was about to crack and place her palm against his cheek to comfort him, to tell him that she’d changed her mind, when she saw his expression change. His common sense had snapped back into place. ‘You’re absolutely right,’ he said, and took a step back from her.

‘I have bridesmaid stuff to do,’ she said. It wasn’t strictly true—the rest of the evening was all organised—but it was an excuse that she thought would save face for both of them.

‘Of course,’ he said, and let her go.

Even as she walked away, Claire regretted it. Her old attraction to Sean had never quite gone away, no matter how deeply she thought she’d buried it or how much she denied it to herself.

But she knew it had been the right thing to do. Because no way could things work out between her and Sean, and she’d had enough of broken relationships and being let down. Keeping things platonic was sensible, and the best way to avoid heartbreak.

* * *

Claire spent the rest of the evening socialising with the other guests, encouraging the younger ones to dance. All the time, she was very aware of exactly where Sean was in the garden, but she didn’t trust herself not to make another stupid mistake. She’d got it wrong with him in the past. She couldn’t afford to get it wrong in the future.

Finally, she went back to the hotel with the last few guests, kicked off her high heels, and curled up in one of the wrought iron chairs on the balcony of her room, looking out at the moon’s sparkling path on the sea. She’d been sitting there for a while when there was a knock at her door.

She wasn’t expecting anyone, especially this late at night—unless maybe someone had been taken ill and needed help?

She padded over to the door, still in bare feet, and blinked in surprise when she saw Sean in the doorway. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

She went cold. ‘Ash?’

‘No.’

Then she saw that he’d removed his jacket and cravat. He looked very slightly dishevelled, and it made him much more approachable. And much, much harder to resist.

He was also carrying a bottle of Prosecco and two glasses.

‘Sean?’ she asked, completely confused.

‘I think we need to talk,’ he said.

Again, for a split second, she glimpsed that vulnerability in his eyes. How could she turn him away when she had a good idea of how he was feeling—the same way she was feeling herself? ‘Come in,’ she said, and closed the door behind him.

‘I saw you sitting on your balcony,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘I was a bit too wired to sleep, so I thought I’d look out over the sea and just chill for a bit.’

‘Good plan.’ He gestured to her balcony. ‘Shall we?’

Sean, the sea and moonlight. A dangerous combination. It would be much more sensible to say no.

‘Yes,’ she said.

He uncorked the bottle with a minimum of fuss and without spilling a drop of the sparkling wine, then poured them both a glass.

Claire held hers up in a toast. ‘To Ashleigh and Luke,’ she said, ‘and may they have every happiness in their life together.’

‘Absolutely,’ he said, clinking his glass against hers. ‘To Ashleigh and Luke.’

‘So you’re too wired to sleep, too?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘I was walking in the hotel gardens. That’s when I saw you sitting on the balcony.’

‘So why do we need to talk, Sean?’

He blew out a breath. ‘You and me.’

The idea sent a shiver of pure desire through her.

‘I think it’s been a long time coming,’ he said softly.

‘But we don’t even like each other. You think I’m a flake, and I think you’re...well...a bit too organised,’ she said, choosing her words carefully.

‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘because it’s easier for us to think that of each other.’

She took a sip of Prosecco, knowing that he was right but not quite wanting to admit it. ‘You turned me down.’

‘Nearly ten years ago? You know why,’ he said. ‘I think we’ve both grown up and got past that.’

‘I guess.’ She turned her glass round. ‘Though I’m not in a hurry to put myself back in that situation.’

‘You won’t be,’ he said softly. ‘Because you’re not seventeen any more, you’re not drunk, and I’m not responsible for you.’

The three barriers that had been in the way, back then. It had hurt and embarrassed her at the time, but later Claire had appreciated how decent he’d been. Not that they’d ever discussed it. It was way too awkward for both of them.

But, now he’d said it, she needed to know. ‘Back then, if I hadn’t been drunk, if I’d been eighteen, and if you hadn’t been responsible for me—would you have...?’

‘Let you seduce me?’ he asked.

She nodded.

His breath shuddered through him. ‘Yes.’

Heat curled in her belly. That night, she’d wanted him so desperately. And, if the circumstances had been different, he would have made love with her. Been her first lover.

All the words were knocked out of her head. Because all she could think about was the way he’d kissed her tonight in the garden, and the way he looked right now. Sexy as hell.

‘Ashleigh’s engagement,’ he said softly. ‘You turned me down, that time.’

‘Because I was being sensible.’ She paused. ‘This isn’t sensible, either.’

‘I know. But your perfume’s haunted me all evening,’ he said, his voice low and husky and drenched in desire. ‘Your mouth. And you’ve been driving me crazy in that dress.’

She made a last-ditch attempt at keeping the status quo. ‘This is a perfectly demure bridesmaid’s dress,’ she said. ‘It’s down to my knees.’

‘And I can’t stop thinking about what you might be wearing under it.’

Her breath hitched. ‘Can’t you, now?’

The same heat that curled in her belly was reflected in his eyes. ‘Going to show me?’ he invited.

‘We’re on my balcony. Anyone could see us. You saw me,’ she pointed out.

‘Then maybe,’ he said, ‘we should go inside. Draw the curtains.’

She knew without a shadow of a doubt what was going to happen if they did.

There would be repercussions. Huge ones.

But the old desire had lanced sharply through her, to the point where she didn’t care about the repercussions any more. ‘Yes.’

Without a word, he stood up and scooped her out of her chair. Carried her into the room and set her down on her feet. He turned away just long enough to close the curtains, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her

That first kiss in the garden had been tentative, sweet. This was like lighting touchpaper, setting her on fire. By the time he broke the kiss, they were both shaking.

‘Show me,’ he said softly.

She reached behind her back to the zip and slid it down; then she held the dress to her.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Shy?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m waiting for you to get rid of your waistcoat and undo your shirt.’

He looked puzzled, and she explained, ‘Because, if we’re going to do this, it’s going to be equal. Both of us. All the way.’

‘All the way,’ Sean repeated huskily. He removed his waistcoat, then undid his shirt and pulled it out of the waistband of his trousers. ‘Better?’

‘Much better. It makes you look touchable,’ she said.

‘Good—because I want you to touch me, Claire. And I want to touch you.’ He gestured to her dress. ‘Show me.’

She felt ridiculously shy and almost chickened out; but then took a deep breath and stepped out of the dress before hanging it on the back of a chair.

‘Now that I wasn’t expecting—underwear to match your dress.’ He closed the gap between them and traced the outline of her strapless lacy bra with the tip of his finger.

‘I had it dyed at the same time as my shoes,’ she said.

‘Attention to detail—I like that,’ he said approvingly.

She slid her palms against his pectoral muscles. ‘Very nice,’ she said, and let her hands slide down to his abdomen. ‘A perfect six pack. I wasn’t expecting that.’

‘I don’t spend the whole day in a chair. The gym gives me time to think about things,’ he said.

‘Good plan.’ She slipped the soft cotton from his shoulders.

‘So now I’m naked to the waist, and you’re not. You said we were in this together, Claire.’

‘Then do something about it,’ she invited.

Sean smiled, unclipped her bra and let the lacy garment fall to the floor. Then scooped her up, carried her to the bed, and Claire stopped thinking.

CHAPTER FIVE

CLAIRE’S MOBILE SHRILLED. Still with her eyes closed, she groped for the phone on the bedside table. ‘Hello?’

‘C’mon, sleepyhead! You went to bed before I did—you can’t still be snoozing,’ Sammy said cheerfully. ‘There’s a pile of warm pastries and a bowl of freshly picked, juicy Italian peaches down here with our name on them. And the best coffee ever.’