Chapter Twenty-Nine

Rose and Will didn’t see each other again until the following night, at the wedding rehearsal. The rehearsal itself, held at the Cambria Pines Lodge, was a straightforward affair, and both of them were kept busy, she in her capacity as a bridesmaid, and Will as a groomsman. They shot looks at each other—hers angry and seething, his pleading—from across the gazebo where the ceremony would be held, but they didn’t get a chance to speak. Or, more accurately, Will didn’t get a chance to speak, because every time he approached Rose, she had some urgent matter to attend to, about who was going to hold what bouquet, or about how the ring bearer—one of Ryan’s nephews—should walk, rather than run, down the aisle.

It was possible she was avoiding him.

At the rehearsal dinner afterward, though, she couldn’t put him off any longer. Ryan’s family had reserved a private room at Neptune, and there were place cards specifying who would sit where. Why there would be place cards at the rehearsal dinner, Will didn’t know—but he was grateful for it, because Mrs. Delaney had put him next to Rose.

“You were gone when I came back,” Will said when they were seated and the bread basket was being passed around the table.

“Figured that out all by yourself, did you?”

Okay, she was mad. He already knew that, since she hadn’t answered his phone calls or responded to his texts, but this attitude of hers was further proof. Will didn’t think it was entirely fair.

“You know, I didn’t want to leave you for Melinda. It’s not like I went up to Cooper House so I could seduce her with candlelight and chocolates.” He was whispering to keep the conversation between the two of them, rather than making their relationship issues the topic of speculation among the other guests. “You look really pretty, by the way.”

She was wearing a low-cut midnight blue lace sheath dress that clung to the contours of her body all the way from her shoulders to her knees. He could barely focus on what he was trying to say.

“Don’t try to distract me with compliments,” she said.

“Well, you’re distracting me with that dress, so I guess it’s even,” he murmured. He thought he saw a hint of a smile, though it was possible he imagined it.

Rose’s pregnancy wasn’t showing yet—of course it wouldn’t, this early—but there was something going on. She seemed … rounder. Softer. She maybe even glowed a little bit. Didn’t they say that pregnant women glowed? Whatever it was, it made him want her so badly that he couldn’t concentrate on anything else. He tried to think of what to say next—something that would make her see his side of the story—but instead, he realized he was gazing down the top of her dress and into the sweet depths of her cleavage.

“Hey, Bachman, the eyes are up here,” she snapped.

He startled slightly, then blushed. “Like I said, the dress is distracting.”

“You know what’s distracting?” she demanded. “Your ex-girlfriend coming over during our date. That’s what’s distracting.”

His lips quirked into a half smile. “I thought you weren’t even admitting it was a date.”

“Shut up.”

“Both of you shut up,” Lacy hissed at them. “Jackson’s trying to give a toast.”

Will tried to put aside his issues with Rose so he could focus on the evening. Jackson’s toast actually was pretty touching, starting with Jackson’s memories of his friendship with Ryan, detouring to Jackson’s own feelings about love, and then finally coming to a conclusion with his best wishes for the happy couple. Kate, the maid of honor, followed up with her own toast, in which she quoted a couple of poems dealing with love, passion, marriage, and partnership.

Ryan’s brother Liam—a rancher who had traveled from Montana for the event—spoke next, followed by his mother, who grumbled and sat down prematurely when she broke into tears during her remarks. Ryan’s father patted her several times on the shoulder.

That many toasts meant there was a lot of champagne being consumed, but Will didn’t have any because he was trying to be supportive of Rose. He couldn’t tell her that was why he was skipping it, of course, but it was enough that he knew.

“Why aren’t you drinking champagne?” she asked him in a testy voice.

“Why aren’t you?” he shot back.

If he’d thought the question would make her suddenly confess her impending motherhood, he was mistaken. She merely made a face at him—something that mixed anger and frustration, combining pursed lips with furrowed eyebrows—and turned her back on him to face Gen’s mother, who was drunkenly saying something at the head of the table.

“You’re going to have to talk to me at some point,” Will whispered to Rose’s back.

“Not necessarily,” she shot over her shoulder. “You’re going to give up eventually.”

And that right there, Will realized, was the crux of the situation. She thought he was going to give up on her, and all of this—the I’m done with men routine, her insistence that she didn’t care about him, her refusal to tell him about the pregnancy, and finally, her angry act over what was happening with Melinda—all of it was a test. She was trying to push him away, and if she succeeded, she would have proved that he was just like all of the men who had come before, the ones who had left, or judged, or failed to appreciate everything she offered. He was being challenged, examined for his fitness to be with her. And he was not going to fail.

“No. I won’t give up, not today, not ever,” he told her.

 

She was trying to stay mad, but holy jeez, it was getting hard. It was bad enough that they’d been seated together. But then he just had to look at her with those sweet, puppy eyes.

She’d worn this dress specifically to make him sorry for walking out on her last night while she was naked and ready to give herself to him. But the fact that it was working so well was backfiring on her. When he looked at her that way he did—with so much hunger and longing—it made her want to forget whatever it was that had made her angry in the first place, shove him down on the banquet table, and climb on top of him. But that wouldn’t help her to stay strong and objective. And besides, it would upstage the bride and groom.

Whatever she was going to do about Will—if, indeed, she was going to do anything about him—would have to wait until after the wedding. Being a bridesmaid would be demanding enough without having to sort out her romantic life as well.

She shifted in her seat, faced the head of the table, where Gen’s mother was standing with her champagne flute aloft, pretending to be the perfect maternal figure, and tried to forget Will was sitting beside her. That was difficult to do, because she could feel his eyes on her. But she told herself she was stronger than her carnal desires. And she almost believed it.

By the time the toasts were finished and the wait staff was placing their dinner plates in front of them, Rose had almost convinced herself that she could freeze him out. He was just a guy she’d been seated next to at a dinner function. Like the time she’d gone to her friend Annette’s wedding and had sat next to Annette’s cousin Julio. Since Julio was gay, he’d never looked down Rose’s dress with avid intensity the way Will had. So, that was one difference.

“Would you stop?” she hissed at Will when they were halfway through the entrees.

“Stop what?”

“Stop … you know. Looking at me.”

“I like looking at you,” he said simply.

He was being sweet, and that wasn’t helping.

At this point, Rose would have been happy to have her mother there, because a little family squabbling would distract her from her pressing but unwise desire to crawl into Will’s lap. But Pamela wasn’t part of the bridal party, so she wasn’t in attendance. It figured that the one time she might prove to be useful, she wasn’t there. Rose struck up a conversation with Ryan’s brother Colin—a lawyer from San Diego—instead.

When the dinner was over and they’d all had their desserts and coffee, Rose got up and tried to head out of the restaurant before Will could stop her. He was too quick for her, though.

“Hey.” He stopped her before she even reached the door of the private banquet room. “Don’t go yet. I was hoping we could talk.”

“Well, we can’t.” She turned away from him and started toward the door.

“Rose.” He put a hand gently on her bicep.

Shit.

If this were a movie, she’d have yanked her arm away from him and demanded, dramatically, that he unhand her. But this was her life, and instead, she felt an electric warmth from his touch that made her want to whimper with desire for him.

“Will. Don’t.” To her horror, she felt tears coming to her eyes. “This is … Can’t you see I’m trying? I’m trying my hardest to do what’s right for me. To be smart. To be strong. To protect myself and my …” She stopped herself before she could say my baby. “My heart,” she said instead, recovering herself. “Why won’t you let me?”

The hand that was on her arm began to slowly caress her. “When will you see that you don’t need to protect yourself from me?”

“I …” Here were those damned tears again. “I have to go.”

People were milling around, saying their goodbyes. She pushed her way through the crowd and left him alone to make uncomfortable small talk about the day to come.