WHAT WAS IT ABOUT being a bride, Rebecca Murphy wondered, that turned the most rational and pleasant young woman into a raving, unreasonable tyrant? As for what it did to a bride who wasn’t the most pleasant person to begin with…
She had been a wedding coordinator for almost two years now, since shortly before her twenty-sixth birthday. As much as she enjoyed her work, the transformation that occurred in so many of her clients never ceased to amaze her. It wasn’t always drastic—a few moments of selfishness, a small tantrum or two, a panic-driven attack against a caterer, florist, musician or, in some cases, the coordinator. She’d become quite skilled at deflecting those minicrises with such aplomb that she had developed a reputation for handling the most out-of-control bride-to-be.
But that was before she had starting working with Melanie Warner, the youngest child and only daughter of Rebecca’s mother’s first cousin, Coleen.
Rebecca hadn’t spent much time with Melanie. They had grown up in different Texas towns, Rebecca in Lubbock, Melanie in Plainview. Yet she’d known that Melanie was more than a bit spoiled, somewhat impetuous, often temperamental with her adoring and indulgent parents. No worse than other challenging brides Rebecca had worked with in the past—or so she had assumed.
But as the months passed, Melanie had turned into a “Bridezilla” of reality-TV proportions. With the wedding only four days away, Rebecca would consider it a miracle if she managed to finish this job with her professional reputation—not to mention her sanity—intact.
“Now, Melanie,” she said, trying to keep her voice both soothing and firm, “you know it’s too late to change your theme. Besides, you love lavender and sage. They’re your favorite colors.”
“They’re too pastel,” Melanie protested tearfully, her big, blue eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill down her overly salon-tanned cheeks. “I should have chosen something bolder to better suit the tropical setting. That’s what Hannah said, anyway.”
“Hannah is just jealous because you’re getting married before she is,” Melanie’s mother, Coleen, crooned to her pampered daughter. “She’s been saying all these things just to shake your confidence, Mellie, you know that.”
“She can be a real pain,” Melanie agreed slowly.
Rebecca tried to guide the topic back to the original discussion. “The lavender and sage are perfect for an April wedding, Melanie. It will be a beautiful ceremony.”
“You’re sure I shouldn’t have chosen tropical colors?” the bride fretted, refusing to be so easily pacified. “Maybe a Mexican theme instead of a spring gala? We could still change the decorations…maybe find new dresses…”
The very thought made Rebecca’s stomach knot. There was no way she could change the spring gala wedding into a Mexican fiesta with four days’ notice, even though she had no doubt that the bride’s indulgent parents would somehow find a way to foot the bill. They weren’t a particularly wealthy family, but they would sacrifice everything they had to keep their daughter happy. Rebecca suspected they had already taken a second mortgage on their home just to pay for the wedding arrangements thus far.
Melanie’s parents had talked her out of the Caribbean wedding she had at first demanded, but they’d managed to appease her with a painfully expensive week at the San Gabriel Hotel and Spa in Galveston, Texas, on the Gulf of Mexico. She had resisted at first, because Galveston was not exactly the glamour destination wedding she’d had in mind, but they’d finally slipped enough incentives into the offer to satisfy her. Eager to reclaim tourist business after the devastating Texas-coast hurricane a year earlier, the luxury resort had offered the family a good deal for all the wedding festivities. The resort and spa provided a full slate of amenities, and Melanie was taking advantage of all of them.
It was the third Tuesday in April and the wedding was scheduled for the following Saturday afternoon. Four of the ten bridesmaids were already at the resort, and the others would arrive during the next few days. The groom was due later that afternoon. Rebecca had been told that some of the groomsmen were also coming early. Daytime diversions included a fishing excursion, golf and tennis tournaments, shopping and sightseeing outings, along with the amenities of the day spa. Other events were planned for the evenings, much of the work on those having fallen to Rebecca.
She had met the groom, Charlie O’Neill, only a couple of times. He seemed nice, but he had been almost entirely excluded from the wedding preparations, leaving the decisions up to Melanie and her mother.
Rebecca had asked about the mother of the groom, but she’d been informed in no uncertain terms that the groom’s mother was not included in the planning. It seemed that Coleen Warner and Shelley O’Neill had taken an instant dislike of each other at an engagement party for their offspring the year before and hadn’t spoken since. Which should make the occasion even more festive, Rebecca thought with an exasperated shake of her head.
It was at times like this that she sometimes wondered why she hadn’t followed her father’s advice and gotten a more normal job. Or at the least, listened to her mother and claimed she was too busy to coordinate her cousin’s wedding. Never work with family, she’d been told. Why hadn’t she listened?
She knew why, she answered herself in resignation. Because she couldn’t stand to be told what to do. Especially when it was for her own good. Blame that on being the sheltered only child of parents who hadn’t expected to be able to have even one baby. With only one daughter to focus on, they had micromanaged her until she had firmly asserted her independence when she went away to college in Nashville. It was a wonder, she thought, that she hadn’t turned out as self-absorbed and spoiled as Melanie—not that her own parents would have allowed that.
Craving peace and quiet, she slipped away for some precious alone time on the beach at dusk. It was still a little early in the year for this first tourist season after the hurricane to be in full swing, so the beach wasn’t crowded. Only a few people wandered across the sand around her, staying just out of range of the lapping waves.
It was a little chilly, but not uncomfortably so. Her hands in the pockets of the long sweater she wore with a white T-shirt and khaki pants, she turned her face into the gentle wind off the gulf and drew a deep breath of salty air, letting the soothing sounds ease her frayed nerves. The breeze caught her dark, straight, collar-length hair, tossing it around her face, forcing her to reach up occasionally and remove a strand from her mouth or eyes.
Her enjoyment of the moment was shattered when she realized that this was the first time she’d walked on a beach since she’d left Hawaii two and a half years ago. Her heart clenched. Maybe this walk hadn’t been such a good idea, after all.
If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was back on that beach in Maui with Ryan. She could almost feel his hand reaching out to brush her hair away from her face. Could almost sense his warm breath mingling with the tropical breeze on her skin, his lips hovering just above her own.
She wondered how the memories could still hurt this badly after more than two years. After all, she’d made a good life for herself since their painful goodbyes. She hadn’t completely stopped loving him, and wasn’t sure she ever would, but she had moved on. She had accepted that her wistful fantasies about him would never come true. She’d put her efforts into arranging weddings for other couples, and she took pride in what she had accomplished. So why was she standing here moping about Ryan? she asked herself impatiently.
She turned to retrace her steps to the resort. It was getting darker, and she still had several things to do that evening before she could go to bed. She didn’t like to be away for very long, anyway. Heaven only knew what sort of crazy new ideas Melanie would come up with if Rebecca wasn’t there to keep her in check.
Smiling wryly, she glanced ahead, then felt her steps falter in the damp sand when she spotted a male figure silhouetted against the bright resort lights. Something about the way he stood, the way he walked…
But no. It was ridiculous to think that Ryan would be here. It was only because she’d been thinking of him that she saw such a powerful resemblance in this shadowed figure.
The man stopped a few feet in front of her, close enough now that she could see his face. She realized even before he spoke that her imagination had not been playing tricks on her, after all.
“Hello, Rebecca. It’s good to see you again.”
RYAN COULDN’T TELL if the blood had drained from her face or if it was the artificial lighting that leached the color from Rebecca’s cheeks. Her face looked as pale as the pearly inside of a seashell when she stared up at him. Her eyes appeared very dark this evening, but he knew them to be a clear hazel, surrounded by long, lush lashes. She’d changed her hairstyle since he’d seen her last; it had been sort of choppy and trendy then, but was now styled in a more classic bob. It looked good on her. But then, anything would.
“I just found out you’re coordinating the Warner-O’Neill wedding,” he said when she remained silent. “I ran into Charlie and Melanie in the lobby when I was checking in, and they mentioned your name. Melanie said she saw you leave the hotel for the beach.”
He didn’t tell her what a shock it had been for him to find out that she was here, or how hard it had been for him to hide that reaction from his old friend.
Her voice was only slightly husky when she finally responded, and he figured she must have silently cleared her throat before speaking. “What are you doing here, Ryan? How do you know Charlie and Melanie?”
So she hadn’t known he would be here. He’d wondered if she had. “I’m one of the groomsmen. Charlie’s an old friend from UT. He was my roommate for a couple of years there. Quite a coincidence, huh?”
“Yes, I guess it is,” she said after a rather lengthy pause.
“You didn’t know I was coming?”
“No. I haven’t seen the list of groomsmen’s names. I was only given a number. I’ve met the best man and two others, but that’s all. I had no idea you were in this wedding. Or that you even knew Charlie.”
He shrugged. “You know what they say. Texas is a big state, but a small world. Six degrees of separation and all that stuff.”
Their mutual Texas background was one of the things that had drawn them together two and a half years ago at that big blowout of a wedding in Hawaii. One of her sorority sisters from Vanderbilt had married one of his Army buddies from Georgia, where he was stationed. Rebecca and Ryan had been in the wedding party. Ryan had been on leave, having planned all along to spend extra time in the islands after the wedding. Rebecca extended her own trip to spend time with him there. They had shared an amazing two weeks together, which had, to his enduring regret, ended with a bitter quarrel.
“Is the bride a friend of yours?” he asked to distract himself from those painful memories.
“She’s a relative, actually. Her mother and my mother are first cousins.”
“Oh.” So he would do well to keep his too-quickly formed opinions about Melanie Warner to himself.
“My business is actually doing very well,” she added as if she wasn’t sure how to interpret his monosyllabic response. “I’m solidly booked for several months ahead. I even have a full-time assistant back in Lubbock to help me handle everything.”
“That’s great. I know you always wanted to go into business for yourself.”
Nodding, she glanced at his sandy-brown hair, which he kept militarily short. “You’re still in the Army?”
“Yes. I’m a captain now. Looking to make major soon.”
“Should I salute?”
Ignoring the sarcasm, he answered lightly, “That’s not necessary. I’m not in uniform.”
She glanced at his long-sleeve, blue twill shirt and jeans, but didn’t otherwise respond to his attempt at a joke.
They stood there a few moments longer, staring at each other, the memories of those other nights on a beach hanging between them. A strand of wind-whipped hair blew across her mouth, and his fingers itched to reach out and brush it away. He pushed his hands into his pockets to keep himself from giving in to that temptation.
“I’d better go in,” she said, making an abrupt move to walk past him. “I have things to do this evening.”
He swiveled to watch her. “I guess we’ll be seeing each other around this week,” he called after her.
She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll be very busy. But yes, we’ll see each other in passing. That shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”
It was almost a challenge. He responded in a murmur, “No, not a problem. See you, Becks.”
Did she flinch in response to the nickname? If so, she hid it behind a cool nod as she turned and hurried away. Not quite running, but very close.
Seeing him had shaken her more than she’d wanted him to see, he realized. Unclenching his fists, he released a long, low, unsteady breath, a sign that she hadn’t been the only one affected by that awkward reunion.