The Wedding Planner and the CEO

‘It’s only a simple dance,’ he muttered. ‘We’ve been here for an hour and we have only covered the first twenty seconds of the song. Do you know how long Monsieur Legend’s “All of Me” goes for?’ He didn’t wait for Penelope to respond. ‘Five minutes and eight seconds—that’s how long. C’est de la torture.’

Blake’s expression morphed from anger to irritation and finally defeat. ‘I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean it. Really.’ He put his arms around Clarissa. ‘I just meant we could have eloped or something and got away from all the fuss.’

‘You did mean it.’ Clarissa struggled enough to escape his embrace. ‘You don’t want to marry me.’ She turned her back on him and hugged herself tightly.

‘I do. I love you, babe. All of me, you know, loves all of you.’

Clarissa only sobbed louder. This was Penelope’s cue to enter stage left. She walked briskly across the polished wood of the floor and put an arm around her client’s shoulders.

‘It’s okay, hon. We just need to take a break.’ She gave a squeeze. ‘It’s such an emotional time in the final run-up to such a big day. Things can seem a bit overwhelming, can’t they?’

Clarissa nodded, sniffing loudly.

‘And we’ve got a whole week to sort this dance out. Just a few moves that you can repeat for the whole song, isn’t that right, Pierre?’

Pierre shrugged. ‘As you say. Only a few moves.’

Penelope turned her most encouraging smile on the groom-to-be. ‘You’re up for that, aren’t you, Blake? You do know how incredibly sexy it is for a man to be able to dance, even a little bit, don’t you?’

‘Dancing’s for pansies,’ Blake muttered.

Penelope’s smile dimmed. She could feel a vibe coming from Pierre’s direction that suggested she might be about to lose her on-call dance teacher.

‘How ’bout this?’ she suggested brightly. ‘We’ll put the music on and Pierre will dance with Clarissa to show you what you’ll look like on the night. So you can see how romantic it will be. How gorgeous you’ll both look.’

Blake scowled but Clarissa was wiping tears from her face with perfectly French-manicured fingertips. The sideways glance at the undeniably good-looking dance teacher was flirtatious enough for Penelope to be thankful that Blake didn’t seem to notice.

‘Fine.’ He walked towards the tall windows that doubled as doors to the flagged terrace. Penelope joined him as Pierre set the music up and talked to Clarissa.

‘Gorgeous view, isn’t it?’

‘I guess. The lake’s okay. I like those dragons that spout water.’

‘The whole garden’s wonderful. You should have a look around while the weather’s this nice. There’s even a maze.’

The notes of the romantic song filled the space as Pierre swept Clarissa into his arms and began leading her expertly through the moves. Blake crossed his arms and scowled.

‘It’s easy for her. She’s been doing salsa classes for years. But she expects me to look like him? Not going to happen. Not in this lifetime.’

Penelope shook her head and smiled gently. ‘I think all she wants is to be moving to the song she’s chosen in the arms of the man she loves.’

A sound of something like resignation came from Blake but Penelope could feel the tension lift. Until his head turned and he stiffened again.

‘Who’s that?’ he demanded. ‘I told you I didn’t want anyone watching this lesson. I feel like enough of an idiot as it is. If that’s a photographer, hoping to get a shot of me practising, he can just get the hell out of here.’

Penelope turned her head. The ballroom of Loxbury Hall ran the length of the house between the two main wings. There were probably six huge bedrooms above it upstairs. Quite some distance to recognise a shadowy figure standing in the doorway that led to the reception hall but she knew who it was instantly. From the man’s height, perhaps. Or the casual slouch to his stance. That shaft of sensation deep in her belly had to be relief. He’d kept his word.

She could trust him?

‘It’s Ralph Edwards!’ she exclaimed softly. ‘I told you he was coming some time today. To discuss your fireworks?’

‘Oh...yeah...’ Blake’s scowl vanished. ‘Fireworks are cool.’ He brightened. ‘Does that mean I don’t have to do any more dancing today?’

‘Let’s see what Pierre’s schedule is. We’d have time for another session later. After the meeting with the florist maybe. Before the rehearsal.’

It was another couple of minutes before the song ended. Clarissa was following Pierre’s lead beautifully and Penelope tried to focus, letting her imagination put her client into her wedding dress. To think how it was going to look with the soft lighting of hundreds of candles. The song was a great choice. If Blake could end up learning the moves well enough to look a fraction as good as Pierre, it was going to be a stunning first dance.

Details flashed into her mind, like the best places to put the huge floral arrangements and groups of candles to frame the dance floor. Where the photographers and cameramen could be placed to be inconspicuous but still get great coverage. Whether it was going to work to have the wrist loop to hold the train of Clarissa’s dress out of the way. She scribbled a note on the paper clipped to the board she carried with her everywhere on days like this so that none of these details would end up being forgotten.

The dress. Candles. Flowers. There was so much to think about and yet the thing she was most aware of right now was the figure standing at the ballroom doorway, politely waiting for the music to finish before interrupting. Why did his presence make her feel so nervous? Her heart had picked up speed the moment she’d seen him and it hadn’t slowed any since. That initial twinge of relief had shattered into butterflies in her stomach now, and they were twisting and dancing rather like Clarissa was.

Not that the feeling was altogether unpleasant. It reminded her of the excitement that strong physical attraction to someone could produce.

Was she physically attracted to Ralph Edwards?

Of course not. The very idea was so ridiculous she knew that wasn’t the cause. No. This nervousness was because the fireworks show wasn’t a done deal yet and there could be another tantrum from Clarissa to handle if the meeting didn’t go well.

It had to go well. Penelope held the clipboard against her chest and clutched it a little more tightly as the music faded.

* * *

Rafe was quite content to have a moment or two to observe.

To bask in the glow of satisfaction he’d had from the moment he’d driven through the ornate gates of this historic property.

A property he now owned, for heaven’s sake.

Who would have thought that he’d end up with a life like this? Not him, that’s for sure. Not back in the day when he’d been one of a busload of disadvantaged small children who’d been brought to Loxbury Hall for a charity Christmas party. He’d seen the kind of kingdom that rich people could have. People with enough money to make their own rules. To have families that stayed together and lived happily ever after.

Yes. This was a dream come true and he was loving every minute of it.

He was loving standing here, too.

This room was stunning. A few weeks ago he’d had to use his imagination to think of what it might be like with music playing and people dancing on the polished floor. Reality was even better. He was too far away to get more than a general impression of the girl who was dancing but he could see enough. A wild cascade of platinum blonde waves. A tight, low-cut top that revealed a cleavage to die for. Enhanced by silicone, of course, but what did that matter? She was a true WAG and Blake Summers was a lucky young man.

What a contrast to Ms Collins—standing there clutching a clipboard and looking as tense as a guitar string about to snap. You’d never get her onto a dance floor as a partner, that’s for sure. His buoyant mood slipped a little—kind of reminding him of schooldays when the bell sounded and you had to leave the playground and head back to the classroom.

Never mind. As she’d pointed out herself, this could well be the last time the reception rooms of Loxbury Hall would be used as a public venue and there was a kind of irony in the idea that he could be putting on a fireworks show to mark the end of that era for the house and the start of his own occupation.

Remarkably fitting, really.

Rafe walked towards her as the music faded. Was her look supposed to be more casual, given that it was a weekend? If so, it hadn’t worked. Okay, it was a shirt and trousers instead of a skirt but they were tailored and sleek and she still had that complicated rope effect going on in her hair. Did she sleep like that and still not have a hair out of place in the morning?

Maybe she didn’t sleep at all. Just plugged herself in to a power point for a while.

Good thing that he was close enough to extend a hand to the young man standing beside Penelope. That way, nobody could guess that his grin was due to private amusement.

‘I’m Rafe Edwards,’ he said. ‘Saw that winning goal you scored on your last match. Good effort.’

‘Thanks, man. This is Clarissa. Clarrie, this is Ralph Edwards—the fireworks guy.’

‘Rafe, please. I might have Ralph on my birth certificate but it doesn’t mean I like it.’ His smile widened as Clarissa batted ridiculously enhanced eyelashes at him and then he turned his head.

‘Gidday, Penny. How are you?’

‘Penelope,’ she said tightly. ‘I actually like the name on my birth certificate.’

Whoa...could she get any more uptight? Rafe turned back to the delicious Clarissa and turned on the charm.

‘How ’bout we find somewhere we can get comfortable and have a chat about what I might be able to do for you?’

Clarissa giggled. ‘Ooh...yes, please...’

‘Why don’t we go out onto the terrace?’ Penelope’s tone made the suggestion sound like a reprimand. ‘I just need to have a word with Pierre and then I’ll join you. I’ll organise some refreshment, too. What would you like?’

‘Mineral water for me,’ Clarissa said. ‘Sparkling.’

‘A cold beer,’ Blake said. ‘It’s turning into a scorcher of a day.’

‘I’m not sure we’ve got beer in the kitchen at the moment.’

Blake groaned.

‘My apologies,’ Penelope said. ‘I’ll make sure it’s available next time.’ She scribbled something on her clipboard.

‘Coffee for me, thanks,’ Rafe said. ‘Strong and black.’

The look flashed in his direction was grateful. ‘That we can do. Would you like a coffee, too, Blake?’

‘Have to do, I s’pose. At least we’re gonna get to talk about something cool. Do we get to choose the kind of fireworks we want?’

‘Sure. We need to talk about the music first, though.’ Rafe led the way through the French doors to the terrace. ‘I’m guessing you want something romantic?’

* * *

Music wasn’t being discussed when Penelope took the tray of drinks out to the group. Rafe had a laptop open and Blake and Clarissa were avidly watching what was on the screen.

‘Ooh...that one. We’ve got to have that. What’s it called?’

‘It’s a peony. And this one’s a chrysanthemum. And this is a golden, hanging willow. It’s a forty-five-shot cake so it goes for a while.’

‘Nice. I like them loud.’ Blake was rubbing his hands together. ‘Man, this is going to be epic.’

‘With it being your wedding, I was thinking you might want something a bit more romantic.’ Rafe tapped his keyboard. ‘Look at this for an opening, maybe.’

‘OMG.’ Clarissa pressed a hand to her open mouth. ‘You can do love hearts? For real?’

‘Sure can. And look at this. Horsetails look a lot like bridal veils, don’t you think?’

Clarissa hadn’t looked this happy since the first fitting of her wedding dress. Before she’d started to find tiny imperfections that had to be dealt with.

‘I want it to be romantic,’ she breathed. ‘And I’ve got the perfect song. Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You”.’

Blake rolled his eyes and shook his head. Rafe lifted an eyebrow. ‘Nice, but the tempo could be a bit on the slow side. Maybe a better song to dance to than accompany fireworks?’

‘It’s soppy,’ Blake growled. ‘We need something loud. Fun. Wasn’t the whole idea to end the night with a bang?’

Clarissa giggled. ‘Oh...we will, babes, don’t you worry about that.’

Blake grinned. ‘You’re singing my song already.’

Rafe’s appreciative grin faded the moment he caught Penelope’s gaze. He took a sip of his coffee.

‘What about Meat Loaf?’ Blake suggested. ‘“I’d Do Anything For Love”?’

‘Not bad. Good beats to time to effects.’

‘No.’ Clarissa shook her head firmly.

Penelope was searching wildly for inspiration. ‘Bon Jovi? “Livin’ On A Prayer”? Or the Troggs? “Wild Thing”?’

‘Getting better.’ Rafe nodded. The look he gave her this time held a note of surprise. Did he think she wasn’t into music or something? ‘Let’s keep it going. Bon Jovi’s a favourite of mine. What about “Always”?’

The words of the song drifted into Penelope’s head. Along with an image of it being passionately sung. And even though it was Rafe she was looking at, it was no excuse to let her mind drift to imagining him with wild, rock-god hair. Wearing a tight, black singlet and frayed jeans. Saying he would cry for the woman he loved. Or die for her...

Phew...it was certainly getting hot. She fanned herself with her clipboard and tried to refocus. To push any image of men in frayed jeans and singlets out of her head. So not her type.

She liked designer suits and neat haircuts. The kind of up-and-coming young attorney look, like her last boyfriend who’d not only graduated from law school with honours but was active in a major political party. Disappointing that it had turned out they’d had nothing in common—especially for her grandparents—but she didn’t have time for a relationship in her life right now anyway.

She didn’t have time to pander to this group’s inability to reach an agreement either, but she couldn’t think of any way to speed things up and half an hour later they were still no closer to making a definitive choice.

Further away, perhaps, given that both Clarissa and Blake were getting annoyed enough to veto any suggestion the other made and getting steadily snarkier about it. Any moment now it would erupt into a full-blown row and the hint of annoyance in Rafe’s body language would turn into disgust and he’d walk away from a job he didn’t actually need.

Penelope was increasingly aware that time was running out. They had a meeting with the florist coming up, Pierre was going to return for another dance lesson and there was a rehearsal with the celebrant in the garden at four p.m.

‘Did you have anything else you needed to do while you’re here?’ she asked Rafe.

‘A bit of a survey.’ He nodded. ‘I need to get a feel for the layout and check where I’d position things. I’m thinking a barge on the other side of the lake but I’ll be able to get a good view if I go upstairs and—’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘We’re not allowed upstairs,’ Clarissa confided. ‘Apparently it’s one of the biggest rules about using this venue.’

‘Is that right?’

It was no surprise that Rafe wasn’t impressed by a set of rules and his tone suggested he wouldn’t hesitate in breaking them. She could imagine how well it would go down if she forbade the action and she certainly didn’t want to get him offside any more than he was already, thanks to the sparring young couple.

If he had to go upstairs in order to be able to do his job, maybe she’d just have to turn a blind eye and hope for the best. At least she could plead ignorance of it actually happening if word got out and she could probably apologise well enough to smooth things over if the owners were upset.

‘How long will your survey take?’ The words came out more crisply than she’d intended.

‘Thirty-nine minutes.’ He grinned. ‘No, make that forty-one.’

He wasn’t the only person getting annoyed here. ‘In that case, let’s meet back here in forty-five minutes,’ Penelope said. ‘Blake—take Clarissa to the Loxbury pub and you can get your cold beer and a quick lunch and see if you can agree on a song. This fireworks show isn’t going to happen unless we lock that in today. Isn’t that right, Ralph?’

His look was deadpan.

‘Sorry. Rafe.’

‘That’s right, Penelope. We’re on a deadline that’s tight enough to be almost impossible as it is.’ He smiled at Clarissa. ‘You want your red hearts exploding all over the sky to start the show. What if I told you we could put both your names inside a love heart to finish?’

Clarissa looked like she’d just fallen in love with this new acquaintance. She tugged on Blake’s arm with some urgency. ‘Come on, babes. We’ve got to find a song.’

‘I’ll have a think, too,’ Penelope called after them. ‘I’ve got my iPod and I need a bit of a walk.’

* * *

There was a third-floor level on each of the wings of the house, set back enough to provide an upstairs terraced area. Rafe fancied one of these rooms as his bedroom and that was where he headed. He already knew that he’d have the best view of the lake and garden from that terrace. It took a few minutes to get there. Was he crazy, thinking he could actually live in a place this big?

By himself?

He had plenty of friends, he reminded himself as he stepped over the braided rope on the stairs marking the boundary of public access. The guys in the band would want to make this place party central. And it wasn’t as if he’d be here that much. He had his apartments in New York and London and he was looking at getting one in China, given that he spent a lot of time there sourcing fireworks. He’d need staff, too. No way could he manage a house this size. And he’d probably need an entire team of full-time gardeners, he decided as he stepped out onto the bedroom terrace. Just clipping the hedges of that maze would probably keep someone busy for weeks.

In fact, there was someone in there right now. Rafe walked closer to the stone pillars edging the terrace and narrowed his eyes. The figure seemed to know its way through the maze, moving swiftly until it reached the grass circle that marked the centre.

Penelope. Of course it was. Hadn’t she said she needed a walk? She stopped for a moment with her head down, fiddling with something in her hand. Her iPod? And then she pressed her fingertips against her ears as though she was listening carefully to whatever music she had chosen.

Rafe should have been scanning the grounds on the far side of the lake and thinking about positioning things like the scissor lift he’d need to hold the frame for the lancework of doing the names in fireworks to end the show. Instead, he found himself watching Penelope.

She was kicking her shoes off, which was probably sensible given that heels would sink into that grass. But then she did something that made Rafe’s jaw drop. Blew whatever it was he’d been thinking of her right out of the water.

She started dancing.

Not just the kind of unconscious jiggle along with the beat either. She was dancing like she thought no one could see her which was probably exactly what she did think, tucked into the centre of that maze with its tall, thick hedges.

Rafe leaned into the corner of the terrace, any thoughts of planning a show escaping irretrievably. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the slim figure moving on her secret stage.

An amused snort escaped him. No wonder she needed to hide herself away. She was rubbish at dancing. Her movements were uncoordinated enough to probably make her a laughing stock on a dance floor.

But then his amusement faded. She was doing something she believed was private and she was doing it with her heart and soul. Maybe she didn’t really know how to dance but she was doing more than just hearing that music—she was a part of it with every cell of her body.

Rafe knew that feeling. That ability to lose yourself in sound so completely the rest of the world disappeared. Music could be an anaesthetic that made even the worst kind of pain bearable.

Impossible not to remember wearing headphones and turning the sound level up so loud that nothing else existed. So you couldn’t hear the latest row erupting in the new foster home that meant you’d be packed up before long and handed around again like some unwanted parcel.

Impossible not to still feel grateful for that first set of drums he’d been gifted so many years ago. Or the thrill of picking up a saxophone for the first time and starting the journey that meant he could do more than simply listen. That meant he could become a part of that music.

It was another world. One that had saved him from what this one had seemed doomed to become.

And he was getting the same feeling from watching Penelope being uninhibited enough to try and dance.

What was that about?

He’d sensed that what you could see with Penelope Collins wasn’t necessarily real, hadn’t he? When she’d admitted she knew nothing about setting up a fireworks show. Watching her now made him more sure that she was putting up a front to hide who she really was.

Who was the person that was hiding?

Or maybe the real question here was why did he want to know?

He didn’t.

With a jerk, Rafe straightened and forced his gaze sideways towards the lake and the far shore. Was there enough clearance from the trees to put a scissor lift or two on the ground or would the safety margins require a barge on the water? He’d bring one of the lads out here first thing tomorrow and they could use a range finder to get accurate measurements but he could trust his eye for now. And he just happened to have an aerial photograph of the property on his laptop, too. Pulling a notepad and the stub of a pencil from the back pocket of his jeans, he started sketching.

By the time he’d finished what he’d wanted to do he was five minutes late for the time they’d agreed to meet back on the terrace. Not that it made him hurry down the stairs or anything but he wouldn’t have planned to stop before he turned into the ballroom and headed for the terrace. The thought only occurred to him when he saw the iPod lying on the hall table, on top of that clipboard Penelope carried everywhere with her.

If he took a look at what she’d played recently, could he pick what it was that she’d been dancing to? Get some kind of clue to solve the puzzle of who this woman actually was?

* * *

Clarissa and Blake were late getting back from lunch and, judging by the looks on their faces, they hadn’t managed to agree on the music to accompany their fireworks show.

Which meant that Rafe would most likely pull the plug on doing it at all.

He came through the French doors from the ballroom at the same time as the young couple were climbing the stairs from the garden.

‘Did you decide?’ Rafe asked.

‘We tried,’ Clarissa groaned. ‘We really did...’ Her face brightened. ‘But then we thought you’re the expert. We’ll let you decide.’

Penelope bit back the suggestion she’d been about to make. Throwing ideas around again would only take them back to square one and this was a potentially quick and easy fix.

But Rafe lifted an eyebrow. ‘You sure about that? Because I reckon I’ve found the perfect song.’

‘What is it?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Blake growled. ‘You promised you wouldn’t argue this time.’

‘Have a listen,’ Rafe said, putting his laptop on the table and flipping it open. He tapped rapidly on the keyboard. ‘I think you might like it.’

It only took the first two notes for Penelope to recognise the song and it sent a chill down her spine. The very song she’d been about to suggest herself. How spooky was that?

‘Ohhh...’ Clarissa’s eyes were huge. ‘I love this song.’

‘Who is that?’ Blake was frowning. ‘Celine Dion?’

Rafe shook his head. ‘This is the original version. Jennifer Rush. She cowrote “The Power of Love” in 1984.’