Paper Wedding, Best-Friend Bride

Mama was rife with strange emotions, with crazy behaviors, but she was warm and loving, too, cuddling Lizzie at night. Without her sweet, dreamy mother by her side, Elizabeth “Lizzie” McQueen had been crushed, like a bug on a long white limousine’s windshield.

After Mama killed herself, Dad sold their Savannah home, got a new job in Los Angeles and told Lizzie that she was going to be a California kid from then on.

But by that time she’d already gotten used to imitating her mother’s lady-of-the-manor ways, presenting a rich-girl image that made her popular. Nonetheless, she’d lied to her new friends, saying that her socialite mother had suffered a brain aneurysm. Dad told his new workmates the same phony story. Lizzie had been coaxed by him to protect their privacy, and she’d embraced the lie.

Until she met Max.

She’d felt compelled to reveal the truth to him. But he was different from her other peers—a shy, lonely boy, who was as damaged as she was.

The doorbell rang, and Lizzie caught her breath.

She dashed to answer the summons, and there he was: Max Marquez, with his longish black hair shining like a raven’s wing. He wore it parted down the middle and falling past his neck, but not quite to his shoulders. His deeply set eyes were brown, but sometimes they looked as black as his hair. His face was strong and angular, with a bone structure to die for. The gangly teenager he’d once been was gone. He’d grown into a fiercely handsome man.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Sorry. No. I’m still packing.”

He entered her condo. “That’s okay. I’ll text my pilot and tell him we’re running late.”

Lizzie nodded. Max’s success provided him the luxury of a private jet. She’d inherited her mother’s old Savannah money, but she was nowhere as wealthy as he was. He wasn’t the only Native American foster kid in LA who’d made good. He remained close to two of his foster brothers, who’d also become billionaires. Max had been instrumental in helping them attain their fortunes, loaning them money to get their businesses off the ground.

He followed her into her room, where her suitcase was on the bed, surrounded by the clothes she’d been sorting.

He lifted a floral-printed dress from the pile. “This is pretty.” He glanced at a lace bra and panty set. “And those.” Clearly, he was teasing her, as if making a joke was easier than anything else he could think of doing or saying.

“Knock it off.” She grabbed the lingerie and shoved them into a pouch on the side of her Louis Vuitton luggage, glad that he hadn’t actually touched her underwear. As for the dress, she tugged it away from him.

“Did you really have a thing for me in high school?” he asked.

Oh, goodness. He was bringing that up now? “Yes, I really did.” She’d developed a quirky little crush on him, formed within the ache of the secrets they’d shared. But he’d totally blown her away when she returned from university and saw his physical transformation. He’d changed in all sorts of ways by then. While she’d been hitting the books, he’d already earned his first million, selling an app he’d designed, and he hadn’t even gone to college. These days, he invested in start-ups and made a killing doing it.

“It never would have worked between us,” he said.

Lizzie considered flinging her makeup bag at him and knocking him upside that computer chip brain of his. “I never proposed that it would.”

“You were too classy for me.” He gazed at her from across the bed. “Sometimes I think you still are.”

A surge of heat shot through her blood. “That’s nonsense. You date tons of socialites. They’re your type.”

“Because you set the standard. How could I be around you and not want that type?”

“Don’t do this, Max.” He’d gone beyond the realm of making jokes. “You shouldn’t even be in my room, let alone be saying that sort of stuff.”

“As if.” He brushed it off. “I’ve been in your room plenty of times before. Remember last New Year’s Eve? I poured you into bed when you got too drunk to stand.”

She looked at him as if he’d gone mad. But maybe he had lost his grip on reality. Or maybe she had. Either way, she challenged him. “What are you talking about? I wasn’t inebriated. I was coming down with the flu.”

“So you kept telling me.” He gave her a pointed look. “I think it was all those cosmopolitans that international playboy lover of yours kept plying you with.”

Seriously? His memory couldn’t be that bad. “You were tending bar at the party that night.” Here at her house, with her guests.

“Was I? Are you sure? I thought it was that Grand Prix driver you met in Monte Carlo. The one all the women swooned over.”

“He and I were over by then.” She wagged a finger at him. “You’re the one who kept adding extra vodka to my drinks.”

“I must have felt sorry for you, getting dumped by that guy.”

“From what I recall, it was around the same time that department store heiress walked out on you.”

“She was boring, anyway.”

“I thought she was nice. She was hunting for a husband, though.”

“Yeah, and that ruled me out. I wouldn’t get married if the survival of the world depended on it.”

“Me, neither. But what’s the likelihood of us ever having to do that, for saving mankind or any other reason?”

“There isn’t. But I still say that you were drunk last New Year’s, and I was the gentleman—thank you very much—who tucked you into this very bed.” He patted her pillow for effect, putting a dent in it.

“Oh, there’s an oxymoron. The guy feeding me liquor is the gentleman in the story?”

“It beats your big-fish tale about having the flu.”

“Okay. Fine. I was wasted. Now stop taking it out on my pillow.”

“Oops, sorry.” He plumped it back up, good as new. “Are you going to finish packing or we going to sit here all day, annoying each other?”

“You started it.” She filled her suitcase, stuffing it to the gills. She only wished they were going on a trip that didn’t include a child she was nervous about meeting.

“Are you still worried about whether or not Tokoni will like you?” he asked, homing in on her troubled expression. “I already told you that I think you’re going to impress him.”

“Because he might regard me as a princess? That feels like pressure in itself.”

“It’ll be all right, Lizzie. And I promise, once you meet him, you’ll see how special he is.”

She didn’t doubt that Tokoni was a nice little boy. But that didn’t ease her nerves or boost her confidence about meeting him. Of course for now all she could do was remain by Max’s side, supporting his cause, like the friend she was meant to be.

Two

Lizzie awakened inside a bungalow, with a tropical breeze stirring through an open window. Alone with her thoughts, she sat up and stretched.

Yesterday afternoon she and Max had arrived at their destination and checked in to the resort he’d booked for their weeklong stay. They had separate accommodations, each with its own colorful garden and oceanfront deck, equipped with everything they needed to relax, including hammocks. The interiors were also decorated to complement the environment, with beamed ceilings, wood floors, cozy couches and canopy beds.

Nulah consisted of a series of islands, and the sparsely populated island they were on was a twenty-minute boat ride to the mainland, the main island within the nation, where the capital city and all the activities in that area were: the airport, the orphanage they would be visiting, shopping and dining, dance clubs and other tourist-generated nightlife, nice hotels, cheap motels, burgeoning crime, basically what you would find in any city except on a smaller scale.

Of course at this off-the-grid resort, things were quiet. Max had stayed here before, during his sabbatical, and now Lizzie understood why it appealed to him.

With another body-rolling stretch, she climbed out of bed. She suspected that Max was already wide awake and jogging along the beach. He preferred early-morning runs. Typically, Lizzie did, too. But she’d skipped that routine today.

She showered and fixed her makeup and hair, keeping it simple. She didn’t want to show up at the orphanage looking like a spoiled heiress. Or a princess. Or anything that drew too much attention to herself.

Returning to her bedroom, she donned the floral-printed dress Max had manhandled when she was packing yesterday, pairing it with T-strap sandals.

Lizzie made a cup of coffee, with extra cream, and headed outside. With a quiet sigh, she settled into a chair on her deck and gazed out at the view—the pearly white sand and aqua-blue water.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, Max appeared along the shore, winding down from his run. For a moment, he almost seemed like an apparition, a tall, tanned warrior in the morning light.

He glanced in her direction, and she waved him over. But before he strode toward her, he stopped to remove his T-shirt, using it like a towel to dry the sweat from his face and chest. Lizzie got a sexy little pulse-palpitating reaction from watching him. He’d already told her that his shower was outside, located in a walled section of his garden. He’d requested a bungalow with that type of amenity. So now she was going to envision him, naked in the elements, with water streaming over his sun-bronzed skin.

“Hey.” He stood beside her chair. “What happened? I was expecting to see you out there. I figured you would’ve joined me at some point.”

“I wasn’t in the mood to run today.” She glanced past him, making sure that she wasn’t ogling his abs or giving him the look. Instead, she checked out a foamy wave breaking onto the shore. This island was a certified marine reserve, allowing guests to snorkel off the beach from the front of their bungalows. Lizzie hadn’t been in the ocean yet, but according to Max there were heaps of fish, clams and coral reefs.

“You look pretty,” he said.

His compliment gave her pulse another little jump start, prompting her to meet his gaze. “Thank you.”

“I like your hair that way.”

All she’d done was tie a satin ribbon around a carefully fastened ponytail, creating a girlish bow. “It’s nothing, really.”

“I think it gives you an interesting quality. Like a socialite trying to be incognito.”

So much for her plan to be less noticeable. She changed the subject. “You must be hungry by now. I can get us something and bring it back here.” Although room service was available, there was also an eat-in or takeout breakfast buffet. She didn’t mind packing up their food to go. The restaurant and bar that provided their meals was a short walk along the beach.

She waited while he balled up his sweaty T-shirt and pondered her suggestion.

Finally he said, “I’ll take bacon and eggs and a large tumbler of orange juice. Last time I was here, they served seafood crepes in this mouthwatering wine-cheese sauce, so fill my plate with those, too. I’m pretty sure they’ll have them again. It’s one of their specialties.”

Apparently he’d worked up an appetite. “Anything else?”

“No. But I have to shower first.”

Damn, she thought. The outdoor shower she shouldn’t be thinking about. “Go ahead, and I’ll see you in a few.”

He left, and she watched him until he was out of sight. She finished her coffee, then headed for the buffet.

As she made the picturesque trek, she admired the purple and pink flowers she passed along the way. They flourished on abundant vines, growing wild in the sandy soil. The garden attached to her bungalow was also filled with them, along with big leafy plants and tall twisty palms.

After she got their food, she set everything up on her patio table. Inspired by the flora that surrounded her, she used a live orchid from her room as the centerpiece.

Max returned wearing a Polynesian-print shirt, board shorts and flip-flops. His thick damp hair was combed away from his face, but it was already starting to part naturally on its own. He smelled fresh and masculine, like the sandalwood soap he favored. Lizzie had used the mango-scented body wash the resort gave them.

He said, “This looks good.” He sat across from her and dived into his big hearty breakfast.

For herself, she’d gotten plain yogurt and a bowl of fresh-cut fruit. But she hadn’t been able to resist the crepes, so she was indulging in them, too.

He glanced up from his plate and asked, “Do you want to see a picture of Tokoni? I meant to show it to you before now. It’s of the two of us.”

“Yes, of course.” She waited for him to pull it up on his phone, which took all of a second.

He handed it to her. The photo was of an adorable little dark-haired, tanned-skinned boy, expressing a big toothy grin. Max looked happy in the picture, too. She surmised that it was a selfie, snapped at close range. “He’s beautiful.”

“He’s smart as a whip, too. Kindergarten starts at six here, so he isn’t in school yet. But they work with the younger ones at the orphanage, preparing them for it.” He took the phone back and set it aside. “I’m glad that you’ll get to meet him today.”

“What time are we supposed to be there?”

“We don’t have an appointment. Losa said we can come any time it’s convenient for us.”

“That’s her name? Losa? The woman who runs the orphanage?” The lady Lizzie would be interviewing today.

He nodded. “The kids call her Mrs. Losa.”

“So is that her first or last name?”

“Her first. It means Rose in their native tongue.”

That seemed fitting, with all the other flowers Lizzie had encountered today. “Is there a mister? Is she married?”

“She’s widowed. She started the orphanage after her husband died. They were together for nearly forty years before he passed away.”

She couldn’t imagine being with the same person all that time. Or losing him.

“She has five kids,” Max said. “They had three of their own, but they also adopted two from their village, orphaned siblings whose extended family wasn’t able to care for them. But those children weren’t adopted in an official way. Losa and her husband just took them in and raised them.”

“Really? That’s legal here?”

“Yes, but mostly it’s the country folks, the traditionalists who still do that. They live in small communities where the people are tightly knit, so if there’s a child or children in need, they band together to help. Losa and her husband used to be farmers. But she sold her property and moved to the capital to open the orphanage when she learned how many kids on the mainland were homeless. Her entire family supported her decision and relocated with her. All of her children and their spouses work there, along with their kids. She has two grown granddaughters and three teenage grandsons.”

“They must be quite a family, taking on a project like that. Do they have any outside help?”

“At first it was just them, but now they have regular volunteers. And some who just pitch in when they can.” Max drank his juice. “I volunteered when I was here before. That’s how I spent the last three months of my sabbatical, helping out at the orphanage.”

Lizzie hadn’t realized the extent of his commitment. She’d assumed he’d merely visited the place. “No wonder you know so much about it.”

He offered more of his knowledge by saying, “Nulah didn’t used to allow international adoptions. But they finally decided it was in the best interest of the children. Otherwise, finding homes for these kids would be even more difficult. There aren’t enough local families who have the means to take them. The older folks are dying off, and most of the younger ones are struggling to raise their own children.”

He paused to watch a pair of colorful seabirds soaring along the shore. Lizzie watched them, too, thinking how majestic they were.

Then he said, “Not all of the kids at the orphanage are up for adoption. Losa is fostering some of them, keeping them until they can return to their families. But either way, she devotes her life to the children in her care, however she can.”

“She sounds like a godsend.”

“She is. She spent years lobbying for the international adoption law here. Without her, it might never have happened.”

Clearly, Losa had strength and fortitude, seeing things through to the end. “When we’re on the mainland, I’d like to stop by a florist and get her a rose.”

“You want to give her a flower that matches her name?”

“Mama always taught me that you should bring someone a gift the first time you visit.” She paused to reflect. “I should bring something for the kids, too. Not just for Tokoni, but for all of them. How many are there?”

“The last time I was here, it was around thirty. It’s probably still about the same.”

“And what’s the age range?”

“It varies, going from babies to young teens.”

“That’s a wide margin. I’m going to need a little time to shop for a group like that. We should leave for the mainland soon.” Lizzie was anxious to get started. “We can take the next boat.”

He grinned. “Then maybe we should eat a little faster.”

She knew he was kidding. He’d already wolfed down most of his meal. Hers was nearly gone, too. “It’s delicious.” She raised her fork. “These crepes.”

“This island is paradise.” He stopped smiling. “If only everything on the mainland was as nice as it is here.”

“Yes, if only.” She’d caught glimpses of the capital city yesterday and had seen how poverty-stricken some of the areas were, the places where the kids from the orphanage had come from. And if anyone could relate to their ravaged beginnings, it was Max. He’d been born in South Dakota on one of the poorest reservations in the States, before his mother had hauled him off to an impoverished Los Angeles neighborhood.

As lonely as Lizzie’s childhood had been, she’d never known the pain and fear of being poor. But that hadn’t stopped her and Max from becoming friends. They’d formed a bond, regardless of how different they’d been from each other.

Trapped in emotion, she said, “Thank you.”

He gave her a perplexed look. “For what?”

For everything, she thought. But she said, “For inviting me to take this trip with you.”

“I’m glad you’re here, too.”

Their gazes met and held, but only for a moment.

Returning to their food, they fell silent, fighting the ever-present attraction neither of them wanted to feel.

* * *

Max and Lizzie got to the mainland around eleven, and he hailed a cab. Taxis weren’t metered here, so they had to agree on the price of the fare before departure. Max arranged to keep the taxi at their disposal for the rest of the day. Their driver was a big, broad-shouldered twentysomething with a brilliant smile. As pleasant and accommodating as he was, he drove a bit too fast. But tons of cabbies in the States did that, too. As for the car, it was old and rickety, with seat belts that kept coming unbuckled. But it was better than no transportation at all, Max thought.

As they entered the shopping district, the car bumped and jittered along roughly paved roads. The still-smiling cabbie found a centrally located parking spot and told them he would wait there for them. To keep himself occupied, he reached for his phone. Max, of course, was consumed with technology, too. It was his world, his livelihood, his outlet. But he never buried his face in his phone when he was with Lizzie. She hated it when people ignored each other in favor of their devices, so he’d made a conscious effort not to do that to her.

Behaving like tourists, they wandered the streets, going in and out of small shops. Some of the vendors were aggressive, trying as they might to peddle their wares. But Max didn’t mind. He understood that they had families to feed. He went ahead and purchased a bunch of stuff to ship back home, mostly toys and trinkets for his nieces—his foster brothers’ adorable little daughters.

Lizzie wasn’t faring as well. Although she’d already gotten a stack of baby goods for the infants and toddlers at the orphanage and placed them in the taxi for safekeeping, she couldn’t make up her mind about the rest of the kids.

Finally she said, “Maybe I can put together a big box of art supplies that all of them can use.”

“That’s a great idea. Tokoni would appreciate it, too, since he loves to draw. There’s an arts and crafts store around the corner. They also have a little gallery where they sell works by local artists. I always wanted to check it out.”

“Then let’s go.” She seemed interested in the art, too. “But first I want to get what I need for the kids.”

They walked to their destination. The sun was shining, glinting beautifully off her ponytailed hair. He’d teased her earlier about her looking like a socialite who was trying to go incognito. In his opinion, Lizzie wasn’t the type who could downplay her breeding. She’d already spent too many years perfecting it, and by now it was ingrained into the woman she’d become.

When they came to the arts and crafts store, they went inside, and she gathered paints, brushes, crayons, markers, colored pencils, paper, blank canvases and whatever else she could find. She added crafts, too, like jewelry-making kits and model cars. The man who owned the shop was thrilled. He was a chatty old guy who introduced himself as George. Max figured it was the English translation of his birth name.

After Lizzie made her purchases, she and Max browsed the work that was for sale in the gallery section. George followed them. Hoping, no doubt, that Lizzie was an art collector.

Only it was Max who got curious about a painting. It depicted a ceremony of some sort, where a young couple was cutting pieces of each other’s hair with decorative knives. In Native American and First Nations cultures, shearing one’s hair was sometimes associated with death and mourning. But the people in this picture didn’t appear to be grieving.

While he inspected the painting, Lizzie stood beside him. George was nearby, as well.

“What are they doing?” Max asked him.

The owner stepped forward. “Preparing for their wedding. It’s an old custom, chopping a betrothed’s hair. Doing this symbolizes their transitions into adulthood.”

Max frowned. “I’d never do that.”

“Do what? Cut your lady’s hair?” By now George was gazing at Lizzie’s bright red locks.

“I meant get married.” Max shook his head. “And she isn’t my lady. She’s my friend.”

“Hmm.” George tapped his chin. “Is this true?” he asked Lizzie. “You’re only friends with this man?”

“Yes, that’s all we are,” she assured him.

“It’s different for me,” he said. “I have a wife.” He took her hand and tugged her toward the other side of the gallery. “You come, too,” he told Max. “I’ll show you something else.”

As soon as Max spotted the painting George wanted them to see, he stopped to stare at it. The nearly life-size image depicted a wildly primitive young woman on a moonlit beach, dancing with a male partner, only he was made completely of fire. She swayed in his burning-hot arms, with her long slim body draped in a sparkling gold dress. Her flame-red hair blew across her face, shielding her mysterious features from view.

“It’s called Lady Ari,” George said.

Max sucked in his breath. “After the royal goddess of fire.” He hadn’t known her name until now.

“Yes,” George said. “With hair like your friend’s.” He glanced over at Lizzie.

Max shifted his attention to her, too, but she didn’t acknowledge him. She continued looking at the painting. Was she as captivated by it as he was, or was she focusing on the picture so she didn’t have to return his gaze?

He couldn’t be sure. But the feverish feeling Lady Ari gave him was too overpowering to ignore. “I’m going to buy it.” Now, he thought, today.

With a sudden jolt, Lizzie jerked her head toward his. “And do what with it?”

“I’ll hang it in my house.” He considered where to put it. “Above the fireplace in my den.”

“You already have a nice piece of artwork there.”