Which was only fair, considering that I didn’t quite believe me, either.
Chapter 3
He is a rogue of course, but a civil one.
“What do you say, Elizabeth? Let’s make it a double wedding.”
We were standing in the back room of Richmond’s most romantic restaurant. The private room boasted dark paneling on three of its walls with a polished bank of windows making up the fourth. The city below shimmered silver and white against the dusky, indigo sky. The low melody from a strings ensemble mingled with the occasional clink of crystal and murmured laughter. It was the perfect place and moment for a proposal. Unfortunately, these words were whispered to me not by Peter but by Bridget’s cousin, Harry Matthews. Ten years ago I would have jumped at a proposal from Harry. Hell, who am I kidding? I would have jumped at a mere proposition from the man. Harry is three years older than me and for a long time had been my idea of perfection. Tall, with light blond hair, cobalt blue eyes, and a cleft that rivaled Cary Grant’s, he was easy to fall for. But as I grew older, I realized he had a bad-boy streak a mile wide. Trouble didn’t just follow Harry; it stalked him.
I gently unclasped my hand from his. “Harry, please. What makes you think I want to marry you? I asked you to put a fried scallop on my plate.”
“Yes, but it was the way you asked that gave away your true feelings.”
“I think I should tell you, fried food and I have a very special relationship.”
“We could be good together,” he persisted. “Don’t you know I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen? It’s always been you.”
“And all those other girls, they were... ?”
“Mere distractions.”
“Apparently you get distracted mighty easily,” I scoffed, thinking of the endless parade of girls through Harry’s door over the years.
“Not anymore,” he said softly. He took a step closer to me and I could smell his spicy aftershave. Like most of the other men in the room, he was wearing the standard Southern uniform: a blue blazer with khaki pants. Unlike the other men, Harry’s clothes were, as usual, slightly rumpled. Rather than making him look unkempt, it only gave him the look of an errant little boy. Over the years, Harry had cultivated this look to great advantage.
“Really?” I said, closing my eyes. “Then tell me, what color are my eyes?”
There was a pause. “Blue?”
I laughed. “Nice try. They’re green.” I thrust my plate forward. “May I have my scallops now?”
Harry sighed and took my plate, deftly spearing three large scallops from the hors d’oeuvre table next to us. After he handed it back to me, he said, “It’s because of this Peter fellow, isn’t it? Is it true you two are getting married?”
I paused in surprise, my fork halfway to my mouth. “Who told you that?”
“Elsie. She said it was a done deal.”
“She actually
Harry shrugged. “Well, not in so many words, but she inferred it.”
“Implied it.”
“Whatever. Is it true?”
“Not as far as I know. Elsie appears to know more about it than I do,” I said with what I hoped was casual indifference.
“Well, are you going to marry him?” Harry pressed.
I made a noncommittal gesture. What was it about being in a wedding that made people feel they had the right to query you on your own matrimonial plans? Since Bridget had gotten engaged, everyone around me felt quite free to ask if Peter and I had any plans of our own. From my mother (who stated outright that I wasn’t getting any younger) to my sister (who kept hinting that I’d better not “blow this relationship, too”) to my boss (who flat out told me that she didn’t want me to run off and get married and pregnant and leave her “high and dry”), the subject of Peter and me was a popular one. The only person who
“Well, if he’s so wonderful,” Harry persisted, “then why isn’t he here?”
“I’ve told you, he should be here any minute. His flight only got in at six.”
As if on cue, a tall man walked into the room, pausing uncertainly in the doorway. With his presence, the room suddenly seemed a brighter place. His dark brown hair curled slightly at the ends. His nose was patrician, his eyes were an unusual shade of amber, and he had a large mole on his right forearm. Not that this was visible underneath his tailored pin-striped suit; I just knew it was there. My heart gave a happy leap. Smoothing the folds of my navy blue sheath dress, I shoved my plate into Harry’s hand, turned, and rushed over to him.
“Hey, stranger,” I said as I approached. Peter smiled and pulled me into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you,” he said into my ear. “Are people watching or can I ravish you right here?”
“People are indeed watching, but don’t let that stop you.”
Peter gave an appreciative growl but gave me only a chaste kiss. He talks big, but at heart he’s an old- fashioned guy.
Before I could respond with a kiss of my own, I heard a shriek of excitement behind me and was abruptly pushed aside by Bridget. “Peter!” she cried, enveloping him in a bear hug. “I’m so glad you could make it. Thanks again for coming: I know you must be tired.”
“A little,” admitted Peter. “But I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
“Did you get my fax?” Bridget asked.
A small smile played on Peter’s lips. “I did. Thank you.”
“What fax?” I asked. “Why did you send him a fax?”
“For the reading he’s doing tomorrow,” Bridget explained. “I sent him a copy and underlined the words that he needs to emphasize.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked. Ever since Bridget and Colin had asked Peter to give one of the readings at the mass, Bridget had constantly been on Peter’s case to add more “dramatic flourish.” She felt his usual style of delivery was too tame.
“They’re only suggestions,” Bridget said defensively.
“Bridget! Peter reads just fine!” I said. “It’s a church reading, not a recital of Cowper!” Bridget rolled her eyes at the reference but did not look convinced.
Colin appeared next to Bridget, putting an end to the debate. With his curly brown hair and soft brown eyes, Colin resembles an enormous teddy bear. He is six two, but he looks taller. This is probably due to Bridget more than anything else. Even in the spiked heels that she considers a mandatory element of every outfit, Bridget is only about five three. “Thanks for coming, Peter,” Colin said, extending his hand. “It’s good to see you. How was L.A.?”
“Great. The opening went really well, but I’m a bit jet-lagged. I hope I’m not too late.”
“Not at all,” I said. “Are you hungry? They have scallops, if you’re interested.” Peter nodded, and with Colin and Bridget in tow, I led him back to the hors d’oeuvre table where Harry stood, still holding my plate.
“You must be Peter,” Harry said, handing me back my plate so he could shake hands. “I’m Harry. I’ve just been trying to get Elizabeth to run away with me, but to no avail. I’m told you’re the reason.”
“Well, that and good common sense,” I added.
“Oh, yes.” Harry nodded affably. “That goes without saying.”
Peter looked blankly at me and then at Harry before shaking his head. “I think I need a drink before I can do this conversation justice,” he said.
Harry laughed. “A man after my own heart. Let me get you something from the bar. I’m in need of a refill
