‘SHALL we get on?’ Tom McFarlane prompted as he returned to his desk.
Sylvie silently fumed.
Why on earth was he putting himself through this? Putting her through it.
It couldn't be about the money. The amount involved, though admittedly large, had to be peanuts to a man of his wealth.
It was almost, she thought, as if with each tick approving payment, he was underlining the lesson he’d just been handed – the one about never trusting the word of someone just because they said they loved you. Presumably Candy had told him that she loved him. Or maybe, like Candy, he thought of marriage as a business deal, a mutually satisfying partnership arrangement. That love was just a lot of sentimental nonsense.
Maybe it wasn't his heart that was lying in shreds, but his pride. Or was it always pride that suffered most from this most public declaration that you weren’t quite good enough?
'The singing waiters?' he repeated, making sure they were on the same page.
‘I’m with you,’ she said, putting the glass down. There was a dangerously long pause and she looked up, anticipating some sarcastic comment. But he shook his head as if he’d thought better of it and placed a tick alongside the figure.
Her sigh of relief came a little too soon.
‘Doves? Are they in such demand, too?’ he enquired, a few moments later, but politely, as if making an effort. He couldn’t possibly be interested.
‘I’m afraid so. And corn is not cheap,’ she added, earning herself another of those long looks. She really needed to resist the snappy remarks. Especially as the gifts for the bridesmaids came next.
Candy had chosen bracelets for each of them from London's premier jewellers. No expense spared.
The nib of his pen hovered beside the item for a moment, then he said, ‘Send them back.’
‘What? No, wait.’ He looked up. ‘I can’t do that!’
‘You can’t? Why not?’
Was he serious? Hadn’t he taken the slightest interest in his own wedding?
‘Because they’re engraved with your names and the date?’ This was cruel, she thought. One of his staff should be dealing with this. Pride was a killer... ‘They’re supposed to be a keepsake,’ she added.
'Is that a fact?' Then, 'So? Where are they? These keepsakes.’
Could it get any worse? Oh, yes.
‘Candy has them,’ she admitted. ‘She was having them gift-wrapped so that you could give them to the bridesmaids at the pre-wedding dinner.' He frowned. 'You did know about the pre-wedding dinner?’
'It was in my diary. As was the wedding,' he added. Caught by something in his voice she looked up. For a moment she was trapped, held prisoner by his eyes and it was all she could do to stop herself from reaching out to squeeze his hand. Tell him that it would get better.
As if he saw it coming, he gathered himself, putting himself mentally beyond reach.
She tried to speak, discovered that she had to clear her throat before she could continue.
‘There are cufflinks for the ushers, too,' she said, deciding it would be as well to get the whole jewellery thing over at once. 'And for you.’
'Were they engraved with our names, too?'
'Just the date,' she replied.
‘Useful in case I ever manage to forget it,’ he said, and without warning something happened to his mouth. She thought it might be a smile. Not much of one. Little more than distortion of the lower lip, but Sylvie reached for the glass and took another sip of water.
It sizzled a little on her tongue, turning from ice cold to lukewarm as it trickled down her throat. If he could do that with something so minimal, what on earth could he achieve when he was actually trying?
No. She didn’t want to know. It didn’t bear thinking about.
Sylvie silently fumed.
Why on earth was he putting himself through this? Putting her through it.
It couldn't be about the money. The amount involved, though admittedly large, had to be peanuts to a man of his wealth.
It was almost, she thought, as if with each tick approving payment, he was underlining the lesson he’d just been handed – the one about never trusting the word of someone just because they said they loved you. Presumably Candy had told him that she loved him. Or maybe, like Candy, he thought of marriage as a business deal, a mutually satisfying partnership arrangement. That love was just a lot of sentimental nonsense.
Maybe it wasn't his heart that was lying in shreds, but his pride. Or was it always pride that suffered most from this most public declaration that you weren’t quite good enough?
'The singing waiters?' he repeated, making sure they were on the same page.
‘I’m with you,’ she said, putting the glass down. There was a dangerously long pause and she looked up, anticipating some sarcastic comment. But he shook his head as if he’d thought better of it and placed a tick alongside the figure.
Her sigh of relief came a little too soon.
‘Doves? Are they in such demand, too?’ he enquired, a few moments later, but politely, as if making an effort. He couldn’t possibly be interested.
‘I’m afraid so. And corn is not cheap,’ she added, earning herself another of those long looks. She really needed to resist the snappy remarks. Especially as the gifts for the bridesmaids came next.
Candy had chosen bracelets for each of them from London's premier jewellers. No expense spared.
The nib of his pen hovered beside the item for a moment, then he said, ‘Send them back.’
‘What? No, wait.’ He looked up. ‘I can’t do that!’
‘You can’t? Why not?’
Was he serious? Hadn’t he taken the slightest interest in his own wedding?
‘Because they’re engraved with your names and the date?’ This was cruel, she thought. One of his staff should be dealing with this. Pride was a killer... ‘They’re supposed to be a keepsake,’ she added.
'Is that a fact?' Then, 'So? Where are they? These keepsakes.’
Could it get any worse? Oh, yes.
‘Candy has them,’ she admitted. ‘She was having them gift-wrapped so that you could give them to the bridesmaids at the pre-wedding dinner.' He frowned. 'You did know about the pre-wedding dinner?’
'It was in my diary. As was the wedding,' he added. Caught by something in his voice she looked up. For a moment she was trapped, held prisoner by his eyes and it was all she could do to stop herself from reaching out to squeeze his hand. Tell him that it would get better.
As if he saw it coming, he gathered himself, putting himself mentally beyond reach.
She tried to speak, discovered that she had to clear her throat before she could continue.
‘There are cufflinks for the ushers, too,' she said, deciding it would be as well to get the whole jewellery thing over at once. 'And for you.’
'Were they engraved with our names, too?'
'Just the date,' she replied.
‘Useful in case I ever manage to forget it,’ he said, and without warning something happened to his mouth. She thought it might be a smile. Not much of one. Little more than distortion of the lower lip, but Sylvie reached for the glass and took another sip of water.
It sizzled a little on her tongue, turning from ice cold to lukewarm as it trickled down her throat. If he could do that with something so minimal, what on earth could he achieve when he was actually trying?
No. She didn’t want to know. It didn’t bear thinking about.
From the book THE BRIDE'S BABY by Liz Fielding Miniseries: A Bride for all Seasons
ISBN 978-0263865066 (UK)Imprint: Romance TM & Harlequin Romance (R)(R) & TM are trademarks of the publisher
ISBN 978-0263865066 (UK)Imprint: Romance TM & Harlequin Romance (R)(R) & TM are trademarks of the publisher
The Bride's Baby is available in April 2008 and can be ordered from the following websites online:
From Mills & Boon ~ From Amazon UK ~ From Eharlequin ~ From Amazon USA
~ Home ~ Behind The Scenes ~ Spring Weddings ~ Author ~
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