“An actual phone call. To what do I owe the honor?” Jonathan asked, gripping the phone so tightly he actually worried he might break it.
“I’ve been busy,” Thomas said, defensively.
Was he serious? Jonathan didn’t know the measurement of his arms from one hand to the other, but if Thomas had been anywhere within his wingspan, he would’ve wrung his brother’s fucking neck.
He tiptoed over to the railing and heard the water running in the hallway bathroom. Good, Leighton was still in the shower. Abandoning the ingredients for the breakfast he’d planned to make her before heading to the restaurant, he stepped out onto the back porch, closing the door behind him. He leaned against the wrought-iron railing and stared at the alleyway that divided the back of his house from the back of the neighboring Victorians a block over.
This had been going on long enough.
“So have I, and yet I’ve found the time to update you on the progress of your fiancée who has amnesia.”
“I’ve responded.”
Jonathan slid one arm across his chest, tucking that hand against his side beneath his elbow. “I’d hardly call ‘Got it’ a viable response.”
Silence.
Was he getting through to Thomas? Good. His brother needed to book the next flight to DC. Jonathan couldn’t continue to do this. It wasn’t even about the time away from Sedici. It was the time he spent with Leighton. She was sexy, smart, funny and quite unlike any woman he’d ever known. He’d lost all objectivity and his final desperate hope was that Thomas’s physical presence would be enough to extinguish his growing feelings. Other than a rejection from Leighton, it was the only thing that could.
“It’s not too late.” Jonathan pitched his voice low, melodic and persuasive. “We don’t have to make this worse. Come home.”
Please.
“Not yet. Things are going well for me. That partnership will be mine. I just need to hang in here a little while longer.”
That open window to freedom slammed shut. On Jonathan’s neck.
“This is bullshit! When you left you said you’d come back in a week. It’s been over that. Are you coming home this weekend?”
“No.”
Fury at Thomas for not returning home flooded through Jonathan almost felling him. That selfishness meant Jonathan would have to continue this charade. It wasn’t fair to him, but it was doubly unfair to Leighton.
Though his anger was fierce, it was no match for the guilt shredding his insides and daring him to complain. His intense initial attraction had progressed into genuine feelings for the woman who was going to marry his brother. The doctor said there was no reason to believe her memories wouldn’t return. Was he willing to betray Thomas and risk her going back to him once that happened?
“You’ve placed me in an impossible position,” he said.
His brother wasn’t the only one to blame for this situation. Jonathan could’ve said no. He should’ve said no. But he’d let the belief of his culpability for her accident lead him to make a reckless decision.
What about now? What’s stopping you from making the right choice now?
“Then it can’t get any worse, right?” Thomas asked.
Cold fingers traipsed down Jonathan’s spine. “What in the hell does that mean?”
“Kimberly Reed.”
Why did that name sound familiar? “Your wedding planner?”
“She can see you and Leighton this afternoon.”
“You’re unbelievable!”
“She’s doing us a favor.” His brother’s voice was calm, as if they were discussing the banalities of the day, not furthering their conspiracy to lie to Leighton. “We would’ve lost her services, but she’s willing to squeeze us in even though we missed the last appointment.”
This had to be an elaborate joke.
“Leighton had been in an accident.” He enunciated each word carefully, as if talking to a toddler.
“At your restaurant.” There was no mistaking the accusation in his tone.
And he doesn’t even know the full story.
“I’ve explained our circumstances,” Thomas continued, “and made her swear on her reputation that she’d keep it confidential.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her about the accident, Leighton’s memory loss and that you would be there acting as my . . . proxy.”
Proxy? Jonathan threw up in his mouth a little.
“And this Three’s Company caper wasn’t enough to turn her off?”
“Apparently not. She’s expecting you at four. Please don’t be late.”
A week ago he’d thought the worst thing that could happen to him was the delayed opening of his restaurant. He’d give anything to go back to that time.
“Thomas, we’re digging a hole so deep, we’ll never get out of it with our integrity intact.”
“This amnesia thing is a tiny setback. When she remembers, she’s going to be happy that I stayed on course with our plans.” Thomas disconnected the call.
Jonathan didn’t move. He was starting to wonder if his brother knew Leighton at all.
Pink walls, pink pillows, pink area rugs on the hardwood floor. He’d taken a meeting in a Pepto-Bismol bottle.
“What do you think, Jonathan?” Leighton tilted her head to the side and her hair cascaded over her shoulder.
He loved the way she said his name, loved watching her mouth and tongue utter the word.
So not appropriate right now.
He dragged his focus away from her beauty to the two elaborate flower arrangements on the table in front of them.
“Uhhh . . . Are you sure you want to do this now?” he asked her.
Kimberly Reed slid her glasses from her pale, round face. “I understand your situation and ideally, we would wait. But when we spoke previously and I agreed to do your wedding, you were adamant it happen in the spring of next year. That’s only eight months away. If you’re still sticking with that timeline, there are some decisions we have to make now.”
She’d directed her response to Leighton, as she’d done since they’d shown up for the appointment. Ms. Reed had done everything possible to resist speaking to him or even looking in his direction. He didn’t blame her. He couldn’t imagine what she must think about him, his brother and this entire fucked up situation.
“Like the flowers?” Leighton confirmed.
“Exactly. You said you wanted your wedding to be luxurious, grandiose. A showstopper. Your choice between these two bouquets will point me in the right design direction.”
Jonathan eyed the arrangements. Bouquet wasn’t the word he would use. More like three feet tall floral behemoths. They screamed conspicuous extravagance to him.
“Now this one,” Kimberly said with reverence, touching the stark white arrangement on the left, “would fit in with an elegant, soft-color palette. Think white, blush, coral.”
He looked over to gauge Leighton’s reaction. She’d tilted her head back, lips parted, to stare at the decoration.
“This one,” Kimberly continued, patting the jewel-toned arrangement, “is more vibrant. You can go neutral and let it bring the pop of color or pull your palette from these blooms.”
A woman came over to the table and showed Kimberly something on a tablet.
“Excuse me a moment.” Kimberly stood, smoothed the fabric of her black dress with large pink blossoms over her hips, and left the office.
Leighton placed her hand on his thigh and leaned close. “I picked her? I keep wanting to call her Elle Woods. What’s up with all this pink?”
Her touch seared through his jeans and her sweet whispered breath tickled his ear.
He cleared his throat. “She’s the premiere planner for the under forty crowd in DC,” he said, parroting Leighton one point oh.
“What the hell was I thinking?”
Very good question. If he knew, he’d tell her.
She gestured to the botanic monstrosities. “Seriously, what do you think?”
He held his hands up, palms facing outward. “I’m a chef. You have questions about food, I’m your man. But flowers . . .”
“What kind of details did I give her at our first meeting?” Leighton pulled her lower lip between her teeth, leaving a sheen of moisture behind.
Good God, what had he done to justify such torture?
Oh, that’s right.
He rubbed his nose and looked away. “I don’t know. I didn’t come with you.”
“Why not? It’s your wedding, too.”
Fucking Thomas.
He exhaled and leaned forward. “The flowers look fine to me, but isn’t it more important if you like them?”
She fingered a deep purple petal. “Something I said to her made her think I’d love these. They’re so pretentious.”
Great minds think alike.
Kimberly strode back into the room, grabbing a leather portfolio off her desk. “I apologize. Questions about the wedding we’re doing next weekend. Let’s talk venues. You said you were anticipating three hundred plus?”
Leighton’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of people.”
“There are several venues in the area that can accommodate that number of guests.” Kimberly flipped open the portfolio to display laminated pictures. “The Four Seasons is a solid choice. They redid their ballroom and lower level and their staff is incredibly helpful.”
Kimberly picked out another photo.
“The Ronald Reagan Building is an iconic DC wedding venue. And it’s versatile. We can transform any of the spaces into a unique theme for you.”
She chose several more pictures.
“But my favorite for you would be the Andrew W. Mellon Auditorium. It’s one of the grandest, most beautiful venues in DC. We’re talking serious ‘wow’ factor.”
Leighton sat back and pressed a shaky hand to her forehead. Kimberly steamrolled along.
“Something else you’ll want to consider. Some venues will say they can hold three hundred people, but that doesn’t include space for the band, a dance floor or food stations. If you’re not sure of the specific count, it’s better to pick a larger venue than one that’s too small.”
The same young woman approached with a phone. Kimberly flicked her gaze upward but stepped away to take the call.
Leighton turned pained eyes to him. “Are you on board with this?”
“You can pick any venue you—”
“This is our wedding. It should be for both of us.” She lowered her voice and pointed to the flowers and the laminated photos. “Is this what you envisioned for your wedding?”
He shuddered. “Hell no.”
“Then why would I choose this type of wedding for us?”
She touched a hand to the nape of her neck. Her uncertain tone and obvious bewilderment spoke to him. For the millionth time, he questioned whether he was doing the right thing withholding the truth from her.
He stroked a hand along the back of her shoulders, her tension carving knots he couldn’t help feeling. Fuck it. He didn’t care what Thomas said or what the old Leighton would’ve wanted. He was entrusted with the care of this Leighton and she was clearly distressed by all of this.
“Please excuse me. I needed to take that call. Have you come to a decision?”
Leighton pressed her lips together and shifted in the pink and white brushed velvet chair, increasing the space between herself and the wedding planner. She scooped her hair over her shoulder and smoothed the ends.
“I—”
“No,” he said.
Both women risked whiplash turning shocked faces in his direction.
“What?” Kimberly toyed with her pearl necklace. He finally had her full attention.
“We’re not ready to make a choice.” Hearing no denial from Leighton, he continued, “Not right now.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You said you appreciated Leighton’s situation, that you know what she’s been through. She’s not in any position to be making these choices. Can we reschedule for another time, like in a few months?”
By then, Thomas would be back and they would’ve told Leighton the truth. Maybe then, her memory would’ve returned and she’d remember the reasons behind her preferences. Or, she and Thomas could decide to go with something simpler. Either way, the two proper parties could make this decision together. He struggled to breathe through the pain that sprouted in his chest like an oxygen-coating, fire-fighting foam.
“That’s not possible. Her—” Kimberly’s eyes flickered. “Your wedding date is coming up, and between that and my schedule, we have to make these decisions now.”
“Then I’m sorry we wasted your time.” He stood and held out his hand. Leighton, her brown eyes shining, placed her hand in his. His heart pounded at the trust he saw in her gaze.
She stood and they turned to leave.
“Wait.”
Kimberly was staring at him, speculation in her eyes.
“I’ll tell you what I can do. I can set your account aside for about six weeks. I have two other weddings I’m working on. Once I clear those from my schedule, I’ll check back in with you to see how you’re doing and if you’re up to continuing.” Her sharp gaze cleaved him into pieces, making him fully aware he may have misjudged her. “Maybe some things will have changed.”
He nodded and shepherded Leighton out of the office. When they exited the building, he was surprised when she headed in the opposite direction from the valet stand and perched on a brick half wall with a view of one of the city’s downtown green spaces.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, coming up next to her.
She didn’t look at him. “I knew I didn’t want to be there, that I wasn’t ready to make those decisions, but I didn’t know why. So thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Choosing not to sit, he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and studied her expression, noting her downturned mouth. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Aaaargh.” She clasped her hands together and pounded them against her forehead. “I keep bumping into who I used to be and instead of filling me with peace and security, it’s adding to my confusion.” She gestured behind her. “Who did I plan that wedding for, a lost Kardashian sister?”
He smiled at her rhetorical question. She didn’t have a high opinion of that family, remembering her comment about them the night she’d met the jeweler at Sedici.
“And what about my job? Growing up, my parents were very keen on public service. My father often said we were privileged—it was our duty to give back. For some reason—another one I can’t remember!—I left a job I loved at the Women’s Defense Fund and ended up a lobbyist.” She uttered the last word as if it belonged to one of the few languages she didn’t know.
“Are they different?”
“Very. Advocates work to change some aspect of society. Lobbying is all about money and efforts to influence legislation. It’s a big distinction, especially on the Hill. Why would I do that?”
Good question. “You said your mentor called you the night you were released from the hospital. Did she say anything that would help you?”
“No. But she wants to. Maybe if I push her . . . ?”
“You can talk to your doctors about this, too, but it’s important that you do what you feel is best. Whatever you decide, you’ll have my full support.”
She braced her hand on the wall and finally looked up at him. “This doesn’t mean I don’t want to marry you. I do. But those choices, those details didn’t feel right. I can’t remember the person who made those decisions, and until I do, it’s not fair to either of us to move forward. Are you okay with that? That doesn’t hurt your feelings, does it?”
“No.”
But it made him realize he didn’t have half her strength. If he did, he’d tell her the truth. Now.
But he didn’t.
He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “You’ve only been out of the hospital for a few days. Let’s focus on getting you better and put off talk about weddings. At least for a while.”
She stood and slid into his arms. “I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through this without you.”
“And you won’t ever have to wonder about it. As long as you want me, I’m here.”
It wasn’t a wedding vow, but it was a promise he intended to keep.