“AREN’T you going to tell him he can kiss the bride?” Esther demanded. She’d gotten dressed for the occasion, and Matt had helped her to the living room, where the ceremony was performed.
Matt winced. The short ceremony had been difficult. Jo had trembled at his side—and she wasn’t the type to tremble at anything. He had specifically asked Justice Carlson to skip the kissing part, but Esther wasn’t about to be deterred.
He felt the tension radiate off Jo, heard her quick intake of breath at Esther’s question. She looked like she was standing on the gallows, not in her grandmother’s living room, which had been transformed by candles thanks to the Bridge Club. She was clutching the improvised bridal bouquet her grandmother had thrust into her hands—a hastily put together mixture of anything not wilted from Esther’s vases. Her “I do” had been a less-than-enthusiastic groan. His own vows had been quiet and calm—but the feeling that had accompanied the words had been a surreal one—as if this was something that was meant to happen.
“Well?” Esther demanded. “A kiss for the bride?”
It was more than obvious that Jo had no interest in being the kissed bride, but they had ambled onto this stage, and there was no choice now but to complete the play.
He turned to her, tried a reassuring and apologetic smile before planting a small kiss at the corner of her mouth, but she wasn’t even meeting his eyes. Her lips were cold, that much he could tell, even though the kiss lasted hardly a microsecond. Not even long enough for her to manage to flinch away.
There was scattered applause, and some sniffling into four handkerchiefs. The four ladies had bickered a bit over which two of them should be on the groom’s side, and which on the bride’s side, but in the end the issue had been resolved relatively peacefully—with everyone sitting more or less in the middle.
At least no one was throwing rice.
Nora clapped her hands, drawing everyone’s attention. “We brought some refreshments,” she announced loudly. “Cookies and pies and even a cake. Only two-tiered, but it will do. We even have champagne. We’ll set the table.” She trotted off, followed by Anna and Rose.
They’d known, Matt thought, narrowing his eyes to glare at Esther. It was obvious. So obvious that he could hardly believe he and Jo had both been fooled. The devious old lady had planned this all out, and had invited her friends to the wedding, sure that he and Jo would give in. And she’d been right.
He stared at Esther, wondering if he was the only one who saw that cunning little smile. He was itching to confront her, but not now. As soon as the old lady showed signs of improvement—and he’d no doubt that would be soon—he would give her a piece of his mind. If, on the other hand, he was wrong, and she wasn’t malingering—well, in that case he’d have no regrets over having made her last few days happy ones, no matter if it cost him and Jo some sleepless nights.
He couldn’t blame only Esther, though. He’d gone through with this willingly enough. He hadn’t even insisted on waiting a few days. He looked at Jo, her head bowed as she fiddled with her bouquet. Had he been so quick to agree to this entire thing because subconsciously he was looking for an excuse to get close to Jo again?
Maybe. But where would they go from here?
Jo’s sigh wasn’t loud, but it reached both him and Esther. His bride was pale and it didn’t seem that she was looking forward to the impromptu wedding reception.
“Love, you don’t look like a radiant bride,” Esther said in a low voice. “I know this is sudden, but you were getting married eventually anyway. I know you love the man.” Her gaze moved between “husband” and “wife”. “Then there is…you two need a honeymoon…”
“We’re not going anywhere until you’re better, Grandma,” Jo said, some color returning to her cheeks at last. At Esther’s insistence that nobody got married in jeans, not even at a deathbed, Jo was wearing the antique wedding dress originally made for Esther’s mother. It had hung at the back of the closet for over half a century, since Esther’s own wedding.
They hadn’t quite managed to iron out the wrinkles, and the dress was yellowed with age and smelled of mothballs, even with perfume sprayed on it, but Jo looked lovely, even pale and drawn as she was. He hadn’t pictured her in a wedding gown before, their relationship hadn’t progressed quite that far, but she looked as lovely as any man could want his bride to look. “There will be plenty of time for honeymoons when you’re up and about again.”
Esther smiled. “We’ll talk about this later. But I have a surprise for you. Just a little something to make up for how abrupt your wedding is. I know this isn’t what you’d have wanted for a wedding day.”
Uh-oh, Matt thought, and from the look on Jo’s face, her thoughts ran along a similar path. Surprises and Esther were not a good combination. “What is it, Esther?” he asked, bracing himself for the worst.
Esther smiled. “I would book you a honeymoon suite, but I don’t think we’re going to get one on such short notice.”
“I’m not leaving you, Grandma,” Jo said. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me as a permanent houseguest until you’re feeling better.”
“Go upstairs and take a look,” Esther said mysteriously. “The room you’ve been staying in, Jo. Go take a look.”
“Oh, Grandma, what have you done?” Jo wailed, and Matt poked her softly with his elbow in an attempt to remind her of her role.
Pain shot up his arm as his elbow connected with—concrete?
What was she wearing?
He put his hand on her waist, gingerly exploring the hard, bony structure with his fingers. For once, Jo didn’t flinch away from his touch, and he assumed it was because she had to have lost all sensation in that part of her body. “What is this, a wedding dress or an exoskeleton?”
“It comes with a corset,” Esther primly informed him. “Do not refer to your bride’s dress as a bug’s anatomy, Matthew. It’s not flattering.”
“That thing can’t be comfortable.”
“Women’s clothes aren’t meant to be comfortable, Matt,” Jo said. “Emancipation hasn’t gotten that far yet. Ever tried heels?”
“Er…no.”
“You should. It’s an experience.”
“And I thought we had it bad enough with neckties,” Matt muttered.
Esther was smiling at their exchange, but she kept glancing back toward the stairs, and he was reminded of whatever was up there.
“Why don’t we go upstairs and see what Esther is talking about?” he suggested.
Jo nodded. Matt offered Esther his other arm and they made the laborious journey to the dining room where her friends were busy setting the table with the finest china. He left Esther at the head of the table, where she started barking out orders, and pulled Joanna with him toward the stairs. He looked back as they left the room, just in time to see Esther exchange a wink with one of her co-conspirators.
Yes, he was ninety-nine per cent sure she’d be back to her robust old self no later than tomorrow morning.
“You’re a terrible actress, Jo,” he said in a low voice as they mounted the stairs. “It’s a wonder your grandmother is buying this at all.”
“There is nothing to buy,” she retorted. “She knows I didn’t want to get married. She knows I’m just doing this for her.”
“Not quite,” Matt protested. “She thinks you just agreed to move the wedding forward a bit. She thinks we’re madly in love and were planning to get married anyway.”
“It’s okay that she knows I’m not happy about this. She’s manipulating us. I want her to know this isn’t what I wanted.”
“Fine. You can let her know this isn’t the wedding of your dreams. But if you don’t stop acting like a sacrificial virgin, that might be a clue to the fact that I’m the last man on earth you want to marry.”
Jo gave him a quick look, eyes narrowed, lips drawn together in a hard line. “I’m doing my best. We pretended to get married. Now what?”
“I don’t know. We play it by ear.”
Jo took a sudden deep breath—or as deep as that dress would allow—and stopped in the middle of the stairs. “This was a stupid idea. I can’t believe we actually went through with it.” She groaned and grabbed the banister, pulling herself up the rest of the stairs. “This was a mistake. We’re in deeper trouble than before.”
“Maybe,” Matt agreed. “But we did it, and it’s too late to back out now. Try to smile a bit.”
Jo reached her bedroom door ahead of him. She grabbed the doorknob and threw the door open, stalking in without even hesitating.
She stopped short, and even the back of her head told him of her shock. He stepped over the threshold himself, and found things to be worse than he’d imagined.
“Oh, no.” Jo brought her hands to her face and turned slowly around, peeking between her fingers at their “surprise”. “Oh, no,” she repeated.
“This is…very thoughtful of them,” Matt murmured. The room had been transformed into something out of A Thousand and One Nights, with candles and flowers everywhere and soft music playing.
“Grandma…” Jo groaned and slid down to sit on the edge of the bed. She bent her head. “Does she really think we’re going to have a blissful honeymoon up here while she’s dying in her bed downstairs?”
Feeling her grief, and knowing he would feel the same if he believed what she did, he reached toward her in a gesture of sympathy, but snatched his hand back as he remembered the way she’d recoiled at his touch the last time. “Don’t write her off yet. Did you see her just now? She doesn’t look like someone who’s dying. I wouldn’t be surprised to see her pull out of this tomorrow, now that she’s gotten what she wanted.”
Her head snapped up and she stared at him, tears making her cheeks glisten and the ferocity in her gaze causing him to take a step back. “Don’t you dare give me that now, Matt. It’s too late for you to try to weasel out of this! This is hard on both on us, but we’re doing this for Grandma. It’s not as if I want to be married to you any more than you want to be married to me. So just shut up and stop accusing Grandma of malingering!” Her voice fell again and her shoulders slumped. “She might die any day now. She doesn’t deserve our suspicions—not if there’s a possibility that she’s right.”
Her shoulders were shaking again and the urge to hold her was getting stronger. He couldn’t. She didn’t want him to, and he had no right. She wouldn’t listen to his reassurances—fine, that had to be her choice. She’d find out soon enough. Esther would probably be signing up for water ballet or horseback riding next week. “Jo, please don’t cry. We’ll get through this. Let’s go downstairs and thank her. Then we’ll eat our cake, drink our champagne and chat with the old ladies and then it’s over.”
His words seemed at least to pull Jo out of her misery for a moment.
“Over? She’s expecting you to sleep in there!” Jo was pointing at her queen-sized bed, sprinkled with rose petals, scented candles crowding the nightstand. “She’s expecting us to have a wedding night up here!” She stood up, pacing in agitation. “We’ve made a dreadful mistake.”
Matt flipped the lights on to banish the romantic candle glow, and Jo blinked. There was a tear on her chin, a silver path showing its crooked route from the corner of her eye. He found himself longing to reach out and rescue the tear. His lips almost itched to kiss it away.
He thrust his hands in his pockets and looked away from temptation. “She doesn’t have a spy inside your closet, Jo. We’ll go downstairs and thank her, and since she’s sleeping downstairs, I’ll sleep in her room tonight. After that, we work something out. It won’t be a problem.”
Jo didn’t answer. She shook her head and left the room.
What a mess. Matt cast one last glance at the bed before leaving. Rose petals? A basket of God-knows-what on the bedside table?
He shook his head as he followed Jo back downstairs. Those old ladies had to have been reading something more risqué than Reader’s Digest.
“Did you like what they did to the room?”
“It’s lovely, Grandma.” One truth among a plethora of lies. The room was lovely. She didn’t know if she could bear sleeping in there tonight, alone. It seemed such a waste.
“I didn’t go upstairs myself, but the girls described everything to me. They had some brilliant ideas. You know, Joanna,” she mused, “between the four of us, we’ve got over 350 years. Quite a lot of living.”
Jo was used to hearing her grandmother refer to her eighty-something buddies as ‘the girls,’ and the thought of the three sneaking old biddies arranging flowers and candles and putting satin sheets on her bed wasn’t too absurd. They’d done worse.
“Everything’s just lovely, Grandma.” She bent down to hug the old woman and kissed her cheek. “Thank you. I love it.”
“Did Matt like it, love? Men don’t always appreciate romance.”
“Matt loves it,” Matt said, coming up behind them. “Thank you, Esther.”
“It’s the least I can do. I’m pushing you. I know. And depriving you of a proper wedding and a honeymoon. But I feel much better,” she added. “Knowing the two of you will be together, I feel much better.”
“Do you?” Matt’s suspicions were contagious, despite her own conviction that Grandma couldn’t possibly have the motivation to pull something like this off on a lie. For one thing, Esther hadn’t mentioned dying at all in the half hour since the ceremony. Considering the frequency of death talk before, this was an unusually long reprieve.
“I do. I know you’ll be safe with each other, and that’s such a relief.” Grandma was sitting at the head of the table, and she patted the tablecloth at each side. “Sit down. Have some cake. It’s a bit squashed from being carted across town, but the taste hasn’t changed.”
Matt held the chair out for Jo, and helped her sit without too much damage to the gown. “You mean you didn’t wait for us to cut the cake?” he asked. Grandma’s hand paused on its way to her mouth.
“We forgot,” she said. “We were hungry after all the excitement and we thought you two might be too busy…counting rose petals. Oh no.” She peered over the table and her face brightened. “There’s an untouched pecan pie. Maybe you could cut that instead?”
Matt reached for the pecan pie and put it in front of Jo. He grabbed a knife and put it in Jo’s hand, and enveloped it with his own. Heat shot up her arm, and suddenly it wasn’t only the corset that was constricting her breathing. His other hand was on her shoulder, and she felt the touch all over.
Why was he doing this? she thought in distress. Nobody had even suggested they cut the cake—the pie—together. He took this charade far too seriously.
He took his duty to Esther seriously. Of course he did. So should she. Bravely she raised her head and smiled up at him, even though it hurt her cheeks.
Jo picked at her cake and pie and sipped the champagne without noticing any taste. She was married to Matt, and he was sitting across the table, eating a squashed wedding cake and chatting with Grandma and her bridge club. The marriage wasn’t legally binding, and no documents had been signed, but she felt married. The plain band on her finger—another item Grandma’s buddies had just happened to bring over—felt real and heavy despite its slimness.
Yes. She felt married. And when this was over, she’d probably feel divorced.
What a mess.
Matt was handling this much better than she was, laughing as he chatted to Esther and her friends, and he had enough of an appetite to sample each of the three pies they’d brought. He acted as though pretending to get married was something he did every day, Jo thought irritably. It didn’t hurt him as it was hurting her, but then he’d probably never spent their nights together staring at her face, wondering what she’d look like on their wedding day. They’d only been together a couple of months, but she’d already been having silly fantasies about them getting married. It had never been mentioned, of course. Much, much too soon for that, but she’d already secretly been dreaming of a church wedding and the way Matt would look in a tux.
She’d been so silly. So young—only a few weeks ago.
It was already getting late, and the bridge trio sampled each other’s pies relatively quickly and left, along with Justice Carlson. Esther also retired to her room, after giving them both a hug and a kiss, and something that Jo refused to believe had been a wink.
Then they were alone, sitting on opposite sides of the table, and the house was so quiet.
“Well,” Matt said, bracing his elbows on the table and staring across to her. “It’s over.”
“Over? It’s only just beginning,” Jo snapped back at him.
There was silence. Matt was swirling the inch of champagne left in his glass and studying the sheen it left on the inside as if it held the key to the secrets of existence. “This is weird, isn’t it?” he asked unexpectedly and looked up. “It feels weird. Like we really did get married.”
Jo nodded. “Yeah. It is.” That probably meant he was feeling trapped and cornered. Well, good. He deserved it. This was all his fault. She’d never even have considered going through with this if he hadn’t planted the idea in her mind, if he hadn’t made it look like the simplest, easiest, most humane way out of the tight spot Grandma had thrown them into.
She couldn’t define her own feelings. They’d been drowned in a burning concern for Esther—and she had no idea right now how she felt about Matt. He still hadn’t apologized for what he’d done to her. He didn’t even seem sorry.
“Will you be okay?” Matt asked. He was looking concerned, and for some reason that made her furious. Where had his concern been before?
“Of course I will be okay, Matt. I was okay when you threw me out of your life and your company, wasn’t I? If I can handle getting dumped and fired the same day, my reputation and my career trampled on by the man I was falling in love with—I can handle one stupid pretend marriage.”
Matt’s eyes closed and he looked tired. “Jo…”
“Forget it, Matt. Don’t tell me once more that there was nothing else you could have done. It’s over. Ancient history.” Jo started clearing the table, avoiding Matt’s look. The anger hadn’t left her, it seemed. It had been simmering, waiting for the right moment to erupt. She’d regained control of her temper just in time, but nevertheless the china made alarming noises as her trembling hands stacked the pieces together.
“Don’t do this now,” he said at last, stopping her as she tried to take his plate away. “Your grandmother won’t be pleased if you break her best china or get stains on that gown. We’ll clean up tomorrow.”
“I’m working tomorrow,” she barked. “If this doesn’t get cleaned up now, my grandmother will try to do it, and she’s not strong enough.”
“I’m not working tomorrow. I already said I’d be away a few days. I’ll clean this up in the morning.”
Jo dropped the plates back on the table. “Great. Far be it from me to object when a man offers to clean. So you’ll be staying here tonight?”
“There is no choice, is there?”
“I suppose there isn’t.” She headed for the stairs. “Grandmother is in the guest room, so you’ll have to take her room. The linen’s in the closet. Good night.”
“Night.”
Jo had just managed to calm down enough to untangle herself from the straitjacket of a wedding gown and throw on a robe in preparation for a shower, when there was a knock on her door.
“Where did you say the sheets were?” Matt asked when she opened the door a scant inch. He’d rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his shirt and the sight stabbed her in the heart again. She hadn’t seen him so casually dressed since before they’d broken up. It felt far too intimate now.
“In the closet closest to the window,” she replied and started to pull the door shut.
“There’s nothing there. The shelves are empty.”
“The bed linen is right there, Matt. Three full shelves of it.” Jo sighed, and stomped to his room. Men! When it came to finding things in closets, cupboards and refrigerators, their IQ was on a level with single-cell organisms. It was cute when you were in love and had your head in the clouds—but at other times it could be damned annoying.
But in this case he was right. The three shelves usually filled with bed linen and extra blankets were all empty. She stood on tiptoe to peer at the back of the top shelf. “I don’t understand. Could Grandma have lent them to someone?” She shrugged and turned away, walking straight into Matt’s chest. She scurried back, then squeezed past him as he didn’t seem about to move out of her way. “I’ll just get you some from the closet in my room, then.”
She threw her closet door open and reached up to fetch the linens.
Nothing.
“I don’t understand,” she said with a frown, pulling the other closet doors open to check, just in case. “All the sheets are gone.”
“Laundry?” Matt suggested.
Jo shook her head. “No. I changed the beds last Wednesday, and there was a whole pile of linen in both closets back then. Grandma owns enough bed linen for a whole army.”
“She must have moved them, or lent them. Or the bridge ladies did, when they came up here to change our…your bed.”
Jo nodded. “I don’t know why, or where they might have put them though. I’ll go ask Grandma. She’s probably still awake, she likes to watch late-night movies on television.” She shuffled past Matt again—why was he always in her way?—and started heading downstairs.
“Yeah. That’s a good idea, Jo.” Matt’s voice floated to her as she was halfway down the stairs. “Tell her we won’t be sharing a bed on our wedding night, and therefore need more sheets.”
She stopped. “Dammit.”
“Yeah.” She looked up to find him standing at the banister, peering down at her. “I guess we could always tell her we didn’t feel like sleeping on rose petals.”
She ignored him. “There’s a blanket downstairs on the sofa,” she said, shuffling back up the stairs and tightening the belt on her robe. She didn’t like the thought of Matt sleeping under her favorite comforter—it would probably never feel the same to her—but it was the only thing that came to mind. “It’s only four feet long, and not very thick, but it’s the only thing I can think of for you to use tonight.”
Matt grimaced, and she remembered how he liked to huddle under the covers, using every inch of their length, pulling her into the curve of his body, his arm like a vise around her waist, even when he was fast asleep. He radiated warmth like nothing else on the planet.
“What about a sleeping bag?” he asked, hurtling her out of the memory.
“Maybe,” she managed to get out, despite the lump in her throat. “There might be one up in the attic.” She climbed the rest of the stairs and gestured at the ceiling where the hatch was. “The attic is up there, but I’ve no idea where Grandma keeps a flash-light. I don’t feel like crawling up there with only a scented candle as a light source, do you?”
Matt shook his head. “The blanket will do. Good night.”
“Night.”
Jo shut the bathroom door before the echo of that single word had died out. She took a quick shower, then pulled on a ratty old nightgown she’d dredged up from the bottom of a shelf, something that definitely didn’t belong on anyone’s wedding night. When she returned to her darkened room, the scent of the candles still permeated the air, and she opened her window wider to get rid of the smell. The soft moonlight spilled onto the bed, glistening on the sheets. Satin. She didn’t think she’d ever slept on satin before.
Probably slippery.
She brushed the rose petals together and held them for a while in her cupped hands, close to her face.
They smelled lovely. Far too lovely.
She grabbed her jewelry box off the dresser and let the petals filter between her fingers and settle on top of the contents. They looked beautiful against the silk, with the sparkle of her silver things peeking through. She left the box open on the nightstand and crawled into the satin sheets. They were cool—and very slippery—but warmed quickly against her skin. She pulled the duvet up to her neck and buried her face in the pillow, feeling a sense of relief. Finally the day was over, and she had survived.
Even though she’d not only had to see Matt again, but had had to marry him.
The feelings that had swamped her the moment she’d heard his voice on the phone had only been reinforced by seeing him again. She wasn’t over him yet. The anger was still there, the hurt—but also feelings for him, an attraction that hadn’t faded at all during their weeks apart, and the aching realization of how much she’d missed him—something the bitterness had concealed from her before.
Maybe time did heal—but it sure didn’t hurry.
Her last action, as usual for the past couple of weeks, was to check if the electronic bell was on. If Grandma needed her in the middle of the night, she was only a few seconds away, one push of a button.
The sweet scent of the rose petals tantalized her nose, and she reached out and slammed the box shut. Her last half-crazed thought before exhaustion disintegrated into sleep was, that if she’d nothing else to show for her wedding night, at least she’d have sweet-smelling jewelry.