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Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
Dedication
About the Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Copyright
“Annabelle and I are…engaged,”
Adam announced, turning to face her family.
Then he swept Annabelle into his arms. He felt her gasp against his parted lips and decided he’d better keep the kiss reasonably chaste. The contact lasted only a few seconds, but for one charged moment, the room and the people in it - seemed to fade away, their exclamations of surprise sounding like a roll of very distant thunder.
Gaze locked with hers, he tried to convey the message Trust me, but to tell the truth, he was starting to feel a little disoriented himself.
Annabelle stared at him with fists bunched by her sides. Stunned could not describe how she felt Confused, breathless, furious and eager didn’t cut it, either. For one suspended moment as he kissed her, she had almost believed his announcement was real.
Engaged to Adam Garrett.
Just the idea of it caused her body to tingle in curious places.
Dear Reader,
This July, Silhouette Romance cordially invites you to a month of marriage stories, based upon your favorite themes. There’s no need to RSVP; just pick up a book, start reading…and be swept away by romance.
The month kicks off with our Fabulous Fathers title, And Baby Makes Six, by talented author Pamela Dalton. Two single parents marry for convenience’ sake, only to be surprised to learn they’re expecting a baby of their own!
In Natalie Patrick’s Three Kids and a Cowboy, a woman agrees to stay married to her husband just until he adopts three adorable orphans, but soon finds herself longing to make the arrangement permanent. And the romance continues when a beautiful wedding consultant asks her sexy neighbor to pose as her fiancé in Just Say I Do by RITA Award-winning author Lauryn Chandler.
The reasons for weddings keep coming, with a warmly humorous story of amnesia in Vivian Leiber’s The Bewildered Wife; a new take on the runaway bride theme in Have Honeymoon, Need Husband by Robin Wells; and a green card wedding from debut author Elizabeth Harbison in A Groom for Maggie.
Here’s to your reading enjoymentl
Melissa Senate
Senior Editor
Silhouette Romance
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Just Say I Do
Lauryn Chandler
www.millsandboon.co.uk
In loving memory of Vicki Triplett Lee, a woman of grace, intelligence and courage. Thank you for giving the world Judy, who is a woman like you and a wonderful friend to walk through life with.
LAURYN CHANDLER
Originally from California, Lauryn now lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, where she can look out her window and see deer walking down the street. She holds a B.A. in Drama and when not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and fiancé, going for long hikes with her dogs and finding new ways to cheat at Crazy Eights.
Lauryn is the recipient of the 1995 Romance Writers of America RITA Award for Best Traditional Romance.
Chapter One
Annabelle Simmons fixed an attentive smile on her face and commanded her eyes not to cross.
If headaches were dollar bills, she decided, I would be rolling in dough.
As the owner of Wedding Belles, Elegant Weddings for the Romance of a Lifetime, Annabelle knew that headaches were simply part of her job description. Far from rolling in dough, she was closeted in her office, gritting her teeth against the rhythmic pounding of her temples as Celeste Costello detailed the most recent in a seemingly endless series of last-minute ideas for her daughter’s May wedding.
“I’m thinking doves,” Mrs. Costello enthused. “One hundred snow-white doves released at the exact moment Maria and Rosario kiss.” She fluttered her hands toward the ceiling, an approximation, Annabelle supposed, of the effect she was after.
“Real doves.” The older woman pointed a redtipped finger in warning. “Don’t give me pigeons and try to pass them off as doves.” She sat back in her chair, holding her purse tightly against her ample stomach. “And money is no object.”
Mrs. Costello ended every request with “And money is no object.” Annabelle waited politely for her customary follow-up.
“You could do it for what?” Mrs. C. tapped acrylic nails on the Lucite clasp of her purse. “One, maybe two hundred dollars?”
Annabelle swallowed a sigh.
Generally, she was able to handle customer demands with grace and equanimity. After six years of coordinating weddings, she was used to requests ranging from the simple to the downright outrageous. She gave each bride’s needs her time, attention and very best efforts. She worked at challenging logistics with the tenacity of a dog chasing a flea.
Doves, she knew, were not impossible—just absurdly impractical in the formal traditional church ceremony Mrs. Costello and her daughter had planned. Father DiAngelo would be forced to dodge bird droppings while he blessed the happy couple.
Annabelle didn’t mind explaining the difficulties one hundred flapping birds would create, but Mrs. Costello was unlikely to stop at doves. Yesterday she’d called to discuss the possibility of a pumpkinshaped carriage pulled by six horses, and the day before that, a skywriter to scrawl, “We Love You, Maria and Rosario,” across an early May sky that would likely be too overcast to see the plane, much less the message.
To further complicate matters, Maria had requested a “simple” wedding, and Mrs. Costello might say that money was no object, but she didn’t mean it.
Annabelle’s headache expanded from her temples to the top of her head.
I’m losing my sense of humor, she thought. A few months ago, Mrs. Costello and her horses and planes and canapés shaped like Maria’s profile would have seemed cute. Unfortunately, Mrs. Costello wasn’t Annabelle’s only problem at the moment.
“I think doves are a lovely idea,” she began care-fully, folding her hands on the lap of her peach linen skirt. “They’re romantic and very dramatic.”
Mrs. Costello beamed and nodded as much as she could over the folds of her heavy chin.
“But it’s just not practical to include them at this point.”
The smile slipped from the other woman’s face, and Annabelle hastened to explain her reasoning.
“The plans for Maria and Rosario’s wedding are already so lovely. And the wedding is less than five weeks away. At this point, it’s really much wiser to set the ideas we’ve already discussed and to concentrate on executing them to the very best of our abilities.”
Mrs. Costello digested this advice. “No doves.” She pursed her lips when Annabelle shook her head. “Tell me, for your wedding, aren’t you going to have anything fancy? A little something extra?”
Annabelle froze. She had mentioned her wedding to Mrs. Costello and her daughter more than four months ago, back in the days when there was actually going to be a wedding. Steven had called a halt to the proceedings two weeks ago today. The “some-thing extra” at this point would be the groom.
Taking a conspicuous glance at her watch, Annabelle gasped loudly. “Oh, dear. The time…I had no idea…I have an appointment with the baker.” She rose, straightened her skirt and reached for the matching peach jacket she’d draped over the back of her chair. “We’re going to discuss your idea of shaping the top tier of the cake to resemble the Vatican.”
Mrs. Costello. smiled broadly as she remembered this bit of inspiration and hastened to rise, also. “Good, good. You tell me what the baker says. I’ll be home all afternoon. My cousin Sophia and I are working on the wedding favors. We’re thinking of using live oysters, so the guests can find their own pearls.”
Oh, dear God. Weakly, Annabelle put a hand to her aching temple. “Have you discussed this with Maria?”
Before Mrs. Costello could justify such a potentially aromatic idea, the door to Annabelle’s office burst open.
The Wedding Belles office was located on the first floor of the large Victorian house Annabelle shared with her sister, Lianne. Working at home had many advantages, but privacy—particularly with a gregarious seventeen-year-old in the house—was not one of them.
Lia stood in the doorway, full of the fire and drama only a teenager could project within the first five seconds of entering a room.
“Have you seen this?” she asked theatrically, holding up an issue of Collier Bay News and Views, the local throwaway paper that came out every Friday.
“Lia,” Annabelle admonished, her eyes darting meaningfully to Mrs. Costello, “I have a client…”
Lia looked at the silver-haired woman.
“Oh, hi, Mrs. Costello. Did you tell Annabelle my idea about the oysters?” Without missing a beat, she shook the paper at her sister and demanded again, “Have you seen this?”
Mrs. Costello craned her fleshy neck to get a glimpse at the newsprint. “Is that the ‘Ask Effie’ column? Is there anything in there about my Maria?”
Each week Collier Bay’s resident society maven— the ubiquitous Effie—chronicled the local doings in a column for her loyal readers. She was especially fond of weddings and frequently highlighted one of Annabelle’s clients. Mrs. Costello had been waiting with bated breath for Effie to focus on Maria.
“No.” Lia shook her head broadly, and Annabelle had to marvel at her sister’s gift for ominous fore-shadowing. “There isn’t anything about Maria. It’s all about Annabelle.”
“Annabelle?”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Lia nodded. “And it amazes me after everything we’ve been through that I would be the last to know!”
“What are you talking about?” Annabelle took a nervous step forward. “What’s in the paper?”
Normally, Annabelle clipped the “Ask Effie” column and posted it on her bulletin board Friday evening. She hadn’t gotten around to it last night. “What does it say?”
Lia handed the newspaper over with a slight frown. “You haven’t seen it?” She watched Annabelle unfold the crackly pages. “I thought you’d seen it and you just weren’t telling me.”
Annabelle scanned the large print. “What are you talking about? Telling you wha—” Her eyes widened and her jaw fell, then clamped shut again. “Oh, my God,” she whispered.
“What? What is it?” Never one to bow to discretion, Mrs. Costello huddled next to Annabelle and peered around her shoulder. “What does Effie say? Is there any news about—Oh, my Go-od.” Her painted lips pursed. She pressed a hand to her chubby cheek.
Silently, Lia and Mrs. Costello waited while Annabelle scanned the awful story:
After a nearly yearlong engagement, local wedding coordinator Annabelle Simmons and city councilman Steven J. Stephens have called it quits barely two months before D day. If you Ask Effie, this turn of events is a blow to Collier Bay, which would have been host to one of the loveliest weddings of the year had the councilman and Ms. Simmons tied the knot. Already local florists are calling this a major financial setback. But not to worry. Councilman Stephens has been seen squiring a striking new lady. A romantic dinner, a stroll along the boardwalk… Perhaps wedding bells will ring by year’s end, after all. Just don’t look for the lovely Ms. Simmons to coordinate the wedding!
The silence that followed was pregnant until Lia offered weakly, “I thought you saw it already.”
Mrs. Costello clucked her tongue. She patted Annabelle’s arm. “Listen, darling, about the cake…So what if the top tier looks like a cake and not the Vatican? The Pope, God bless him, gets enough publicity. Better you shouldn’t get too worked up.”
She shook her head and edged to the door, practically vibrating with the need to share the awful news—with everyone she could find. “When I think of what you’re going through…” She put a hand to her head. “And with the whole world watching yet! It’s a wonder you can plan what to eat for breakfast, much less someone else’s wed—” She stopped herself, pressing her lips together, miming locking them and tossing away the key. “No. I won’t even say the word. Not today. Today we’ll pretend the whole world is single.”
With a fervent “God Bless You,” she opened the door and bustled out.
Annabelle stared at the paper until her vision grew blurry. Two weeks ago Steven had told her he feared they were mismatched and already he’d been seen with a “striking new lady.”
“I’m sorry, Belle.”
Remembering abruptly that Lia was watching her, Annabelle looked up from the paper. Her sister’s pretty face was awash with pity and guilt; she looked miserable. Taking a deep breath, Annabelle tried to muster a smile. The corners of her mouth trembled.
“Steven and I broke up…a while ago.”
“A while ago?” Lia took a moment to digest this information. “Then you were keeping it from me?”
“No, I just didn’t tell you right away, because I didn’t want to upset you.”
“Didn’t want to upset me? Do you think I’m that shallow?” Lia flapped a hand in frustration. “I want to be there for you, like you’ve always been there for me. You’re going through this horrible, painful, awful time, and you can’t even confide in your sister?”
“Lia—”
“I’ve failed you!” Tears sprang to her eyes.
“Lia, please, you’re exaggerating this whole situation. It is not that awful. Steven and I were… mismatched.”
Lianne shook her head, disgusted to the core. “That’s ridiculous. You can stand there and act brave if you want to, Annabelle. I know you’re crumbling inside.”
“I am not crumbling!”
“She doesn’t look like she’s crumbling.” The smooth baritone that interupted into the girls’ conversation was richly ironic. Annabelle’s attention snapped to its source, but Lia spoke first.
“Adam!”
Just inside the French doors that led to the patio, Adam Garrett stood like a tawny-haired Mel Gibson, tall and lean, with a wicked smile that looked as if he’d just heard a blue joke.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Lia rushed to his side. “When did you get home?”
“Last night. Good to see you, scruff.” He ruffled her hair, the only person who could still treat Lia like a twelve-year-old and get away with it. “I missed you.”
Unconsciously tightening her grip on “Ask Effie,” Annabelle watched her sister and her neighbor, one thin and fair, the other tall and imposing and more deeply tanned from the time he spent at sea than anyone else she knew in Oregon. As always when she saw Adam after he’d returned from one of his adventures, she felt a strange combination of conflicting emotions: exhilaration, resentment, curiosity and relief.
His career as a marine videographer kept him moving all over the world, and his latest expedition had kept him away for five months.
“Hello, Belle.” He met her gaze with eyes as green as the trees dividing their two properties. “How are you?”
Her heart hammered in a way it should not have, not from a question so banal. “Fine,” she said, striving for nonchalance. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you.”
“Where were you this time?” Lia asked, keeping her arms around his lean waist, evincing none of the awkwardness Annabelle felt, but then, Lia’s relationship with Adam had never been as complex as her sister’s.
“New Zealand,” Adam responded, and Lia gasped in awe.
“Wow. What’d you bring me?”
“Lia!” Annabelle admonished, but Adam merely laughed.
“Not so fast,” he said, glancing at Annabelle with a raised brow. “Mind if I sit?”
He moved to the chair, and for the first time Annabelle noticed that his right foot was encased by an ungainly rubber shoelike contraption with straps that buckled up the front of his leg from ankle to knee.
“What happened?” Lia exclaimed, noticing, too, and following him to the chair. “Did you break it?”
“One bone.” He shrugged, wagging his head with good humor over the indignity of such an injury. “Not even enough for a good cast.”
“Can you still dive?”
“Not if I want it to heal.”
“How did you do it?” Lia breathed, ready to be impressed. “Were you stung by a man o’ war? Chased by a shark that didn’t want to be photo-graphed?”
Adam grinned. “I slipped while I was swabbing the deck.”
Lia’s expression was so crestfallen he laughed out loud. “I’m a wharf rat for the time being, ladies. Will you take pity on me?” He cocked a brow, addressing the question to both the women, but keeping his eyes on Annabelle.
“Sure.” Lia plopped her jean-clad tush on the edge of Annabelle’s desk, answering for them both. “How?”
Adam pretended to consider the possibilities. “You could have dinner with me one night this week.”
Quickly, Annabelle turned to fiddle with some papers on her desk. She wanted to say yes—immediately. The intensity of the urge no longer surprised her—wanting to say yes to Adam had long been a habit with her, a bad one. She ducked her head, unwilling to let him read the response on her face.
He could charm the leaves from the trees; it had always been that way. Fortunately for her, she no longer gave in to impulses that were better off checked.
In high school Adam had wooed the very teachers who ought to have suspended him for some of the pranks he’d pulled: riding his motorcycle into the morning assembly and offering a ride to the principal—for a dollar; turning the senior lunch area into “Senior Bay,” carting in sand and flooding the center with a garden hose. He’d been Collier Bay’s answer to James Dean in Rebel without a Cause.
For a hopelessly level-headed girl like Annabelle, who for her freshman class project had taught her homeroom how to organize a day planner, Adam’s bold impetuosity had been irresistible.
“I warn you,” Adam said now, “I intend to take no prisoners. If you’re sticking to salad and diet soda, you can forget it. I’m in the mood for the biggest cheesiest Italian meal we can find.”
Lia offered a mock groan. “If you insist, but just this once.” Italian food was her all-time favorite.
“Which evening is good for you?”
Annabelle glanced around in time to see a hint of satisfaction in Adam’s chiseled features. He knew that without Lia she would find a reason to say no.
Sliding off the desk, Lia shrugged. “I’m free. You and Belle can decide.” She shot her sister an uncomfortable look, a silent reference to the argument they’d been having before Adam walked in. “She’s in charge,” the girl mumbled as she crossed to the door leading into the main part of the house. “I’m going for the mail.”
She closed the door behind her and, paradoxically, the room seemed smaller after she left.
“Good to see you, Belle. It’s been a while.” Adam’s voice flowed like Southern Comfort, mellow and rich.
The air between them crackled.
“A few months.” Annabelle shrugged, forcing a breezy smile. “You’ve been gone longer than that before.”
“True.” Relaxing back in the chair, Adam folded his arms and regarded her through lazy, half-closed eyes. “But you were avoiding me for at least two months this time before I left.”
“No, I wasn’t!” Telling the lie made her face feel hot. “Not intentionally. I was very busy. There’s a lot of work to do around here.”
“Mmm. What were you and Lia arguing about when I came in?”
The Collier Bay News And Views seemed to ignite in Annabelle’s hand. “Nothing,” she mumbled. “We weren’t.”
Mutinously, she clamped her lips together. Adam walked in and out of their lives and thought he could pick up again wherever they left off. But for Annabelle, his comings and goings made her feel like an earthquake survivor who was too dumb or too reckless to move away from the epicenter.
He would find out soon enough about Steven, either from Lia or from the paper, but he wouldn’t hear it from her. She kept her troubles to herself. She could handle her life just fine; she was merely experiencing a temporary setback.
“All right,” Adam said, his gaze at once lazy and challenging, “if there’s nothing wrong between you and Lia, then tell me, what’s the matter with your desk?”
“What?” The strange question had her gaze bouncing from Adam to the big mahogany secretary. “What’s wrong with it?”
“There’s something on it.” Relaxing in the well-upholstered chair, he waved a hand, indicating the paperwork lined in precise piles along the outer edge of the desk. “I’ve never seen anything on your desk except lemon oil.” One golden-brown brow, a match for his hair, arched in an ironic compliment. “Annabelle Simmons you’re practically cluttered.”
Ooh, she hated it when he did that—noticed every-thing around him like a hawk! It made her feel like a plucked chicken, naked and goose-pimply. Annabelle’s gaze skittered to the stacks of paper, neatly aligned and organized, and she felt a rush of anxiety, like a whirlpool inside her.
For years, Adam had teased her about her penchant for neatness, but she liked order; it provided comfort in an otherwise chaotic world.
Unfortunately, this time no amount of organization could buffer reality. Unpaid bills, invoices with out-standing balances—the truth stared her in the face: her business was in the red.
For five years she’d struggled to support herself and her sister following their parents’ death in an auto accident. Now the stability she had worked so hard to reestablish was slipping away like rain through her fingers.
But she would get it back. She had to.
With her own wedding on the horizon Annabelle had accepted too few assignments this entire last year; she’d been too preoccupied helping Steven plan parties and benefits in his bid for city councilman.
Annabelle rubbed her throbbing temples. If she didn’t know better, she would say her headache was pounding to the beat of “The Wedding March.”
“What’s wrong, Belle?”
Lowering her hand to her lap, she smiled blandly at Adam. “Nothing. Everything’s fine.”
And it would be. All she needed were a couple of more aspirin to chase the two she’d taken this morning and an hour alone to come up with a game plan. She and Lia would have to tighten their purses, but other than that, they would be fine. Everything would be fine.
Flushing under Adam’s sharp gaze, Annabelle decided it was time to take an Excedrin break. She was about to make her excuses when the office door opened again, and Lia burst in, looking dazed and flushed.
“What’s the matter?” Annabelle’s heart began its maternal worrywart thump. “Honey, are you all right?”
Lia nodded. She held up two sheets of paper, stapled in the corner, the opened envelope in her free hand. “I got it,” she said, her tone weak and amazed.