By the time they pulled into the resort, Tove seemed to have unclenched her iron grip on, well, everything. The woman definitely had some control issues that were not all explained solely by being the mother of one of the brides and maybe not even by being the ex-wife of as notorious an assbag as Anthony Stuart. But there was also that unexpected undercurrent of humor in her personality. The contrast was curiously appealing.
Getting out of the car, Patrick saw a large tent had already been erected on the resort’s wide lawn and heard music floating over the early fall air. Tracing the music’s source to a dock that stretched out into the lake, he saw Hayley playing her flute, her body swaying gracefully as her fingers danced over the instrument. A drone circled her just slightly overhead, presumably controlled by Emily, who was standing nearby. As the music wheeled and swirled to its conclusion, Emily stepped up to her fiancée and pressed a kiss to her cheek as the drone hovered, recording the moment.
Beside him, Tove sighed. “Love. You’re right. It does make them sparkle.”
“Mom!” Emily yelled, landing the drone with a bump on the dock and racing over to fling herself at Tove, her face alight with joy.
“Ouch, sweetie. Careful with that thing,” Tove said, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead and twisting so Emily’s drone controller wasn’t digging into her back.
“Sorry. You must be the new guy.” She turned an unbelievably youthful smile on Patrick. Yes, she appeared to be everything Tove had said she was. And more. A lanky tornado of a young woman, all coltish limbs and wavy blond hair that rippled halfway down her back. “I’m Emily.”
“I know. Patrick Mercer,” he said, shaking her hand and smiling almost in spite of himself. “Congratulations and thanks for having me.”
“I’m just thrilled that Mom has found someone. Hayley, come meet Patrick!”
Hayley was in fact mere yards from them, having followed at a more sedate pace, her flute swinging from one hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her tones soft as she shook Patrick’s hand. “Mama Tove, so good to have you here.” Tove merited a solid hug and sighed happily as she rocked her daughter-in-law-to-be from side to side.
“Are your parents here?” She asked Hayley as they disengaged.
“Not quite yet,” Emily broke in. “But Dad’s here.” She pulled a wry face.
“Oh, so he was able to get a room at the resort after all, then?” Tove’s tone was chilly.
“Apparently.” Now Emily was downright glum, not a great look for a bride-to-be.
Hayley seemed to agree. “Buck up, babe. We’re getting married.” She tossed her locs back over her shoulder and played a jaunty bit of the Wedding March on her flute.
Emily sighed and leaned her head on Hayley’s shoulder. “I know. It’s just…he ruins everything.”
Patrick’s brows lifted.
Emily, seeing his expression, waved a hand as if to erase the whole situation. “I know, I shouldn’t have invited him. But I was so sure he wouldn’t come—he hates being reminded that he’s got a daughter who’s old enough to get married—and I didn’t want the guilt trips down the road if I didn’t invite him. I figured I was safe.”
Impressively Machiavellian thinking for a young woman who was such a ray of sunshine.
“Anyway, let’s get you guys checked in and settled,” Hayley said, beaming a gentle smile at Emily. “Then, casual cocktails in the tent at five and the rehearsal dinner.”
“No actual rehearsal, then?” Patrick asked.
Hayley shook her head, laughing. “Nah. We’re winging it. It’s the way we roll.”
The nerves returned to Tove’s gut as the elevator car ascended to their floor. She was about to share a bed with a literal stranger. Well, not immediately. But the situation was still getting more and more real the higher they rose.
Patrick slid that molten dark-chocolate gaze sideways at her. “Relax. You’re about to pop a vein.”
“Is it that obvious?” Tove smoothed the wrinkled linen of her pants, feeling crumpled and stale from the long drive.
“It is to me,” Patrick said as if he’d known her for years and saw her in a unique and intimate way. The words sent a faint shiver down the backs of her arms.
“A shower and clean clothes will set me right,” she said, trying to draw her armor around her again. As long as she had that before she saw Anthony again, everything should be fine.
So, it was absolutely perfect when the doors slid open and she stepped out to find Anthony in the hallway.
His face lit in that horrific way she’d learned to dread. It wasn’t that his smiles didn’t reach his eyes. They did. It was that they never seemed to communicate joy, only a sluggish sort of sadistic glee.
“Tove,” he said, infusing her name with a kind of weary resignation. As if she was some sort of hanger-on, an unexpected and unwanted guest who had to be humored instead of the ex-wife who’d raised their daughter almost singlehandedly.
“Anthony.” She gave him a curt nod and moved to go past him.
“What, so inhospitable? Or are you still bitter about the divorce?” Anthony asked. “I know it’s hard for women of your age to be single, but really.”
Tove stilled, her back straight. “Anthony, this is Patrick Mercer.”
Anthony’s eyes flicked to Patrick who stepped out of the elevator to shake his hand and Tove felt a tiny shiver of savage glee. Anthony was barely taller than she was, whereas Patrick topped her—and him—by a few inches. It was petty and silly as hell but she could tell it bothered her ex-husband.
Good.
And that was when Tove started to enjoy herself. Anthony’s annoyance was like a surprise cupcake but what Patrick did next was the icing. He stepped back, releasing Anthony’s handshake and wrapping an arm around Tove’s waist. “Great to meet you, but we need to get cleaned up for the cocktail hour. See you later.”
Tove didn’t even try to suppress her grin as they turned away from Anthony and walked down the hall to their room.