It wasn’t the wedding that Laney had dreamed of as a child, but it was a wedding, and as surely as if she were in a cathedral with two thousand guests instead of two witnesses and a little girl who wasn’t sure how to react, she was pledging the rest of her life to Wes Grayson and his daughter.
Alan Caldwell did his best to make the no-frills ceremony seem more significant, but the lawn mower next door and the radio playing by her other neighbor’s pool robbed it of some of its charm. Laney had chosen to wear white, simply because she had never considered a wedding in any other color, but she had neglected things like flowers and candles when she had prepared for this, except for the spray of baby’s breath tucked in one side of her hair and the bouquet of daisies Amy carried in her mother’s honor.
Laney had dreaded seeing Wes’s sister and facing up to her so-you’ve-trapped-him scrutiny, but the woman had surprised her. With a flip of her flirty blond curls, she had said, “So here’s where Amy got those eyes to die for.” And then she had taken Laney’s picture with the enthusiasm of a proud sister-in-law. Laney had loved her immediately.
Clint Jessup, Wes’s best friend since college, had been another story. When they were introduced, he had barely managed a smile. Laney was left with the distinct impression that the man had done his best to talk his friend out of this nonsense but had grudgingly agreed to be a part of it when he failed. Wes had explained that Clint was soon going to marry Sherry’s best friend, the love of his life. The idea of feeling less than total commitment to the institution of marriage had, no doubt, given him reason for concern.
And then there was Amy. Laney had bought her the little white lace dress she wore and had it delivered to Wes’s house. She hadn’t been sure if Amy would like it or if it would fit, but the fact that Amy had worn it meant everything to Laney. In her hair was a lace bow, lovingly tied, but slightly crooked, and she carried the daisies like a fragile treasure. She was still withdrawn, still quiet, still unsmiling. But she was no longer openly hostile.
Wes was a warm, quiet presence at Laney’s side. Their kiss the other night had done a number of things. It had made her heart flutter in anticipation of the marriage itself instead of just motherhood. Laney realized she would have a husband to contend with, and she didn’t know if she could deal with that. Why had he kissed her? she had wondered over and over. He barely tolerated her.
Her hand trembled when he slipped the gold band on her finger. His trembled when she slipped his on. Their eyes held a million fears as they faced each other to exchange vows. And when Alan said, “You may kiss the bride,” Laney felt her heart fall to her feet.
Wes lowered his head and touched her lips with his, so softly that she felt a surge of disappointment at first. But he didn’t withdraw when she expected. Instead he stepped closer and slid his arms around her and breathed in a sigh that stole her breath. And then he gave that breath back to her. His lips moved softly against hers, gently welcoming her to his world despite the conditions. She felt herself running headfirst toward the biggest heartbreak of her life, yet she responded to the kiss with a fervor that equaled his. They looked into each other’s eyes with a note of surprise when they broke the kiss, then let each other go too quickly.
They had scarcely separated when Sherry threw her arms around Laney, welcoming her to the family, and thrust a wrapped package into her arms. “It’s a wedding gift,” she said quickly. “I made it for you. I admit it was kind of rushed, so if it falls apart or anything, I’m sorry. Don’t open it till you get home.” Sherry winked at her brother. “It’s for you, too, Wes.”
Wes dropped a kiss on his sister’s cheek. “Thanks.” He turned back to Laney, his smile hesitant. “Is it moving?”
She shook the box. “No.”
“Good,” he said. “Then it isn’t some exotic animal she got from a mail-order catalog. Sherry’s taste in gifts has always been questionable. But it’s the thought that counts.” Sherry grinned conspiratorially at Clint, who rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and a little thought can lead you a long way,” she said.
Clint finally broke into a laugh and told her to quit while she was ahead, and Laney couldn’t wait to see what was in the box. It was a day for special gifts. A daughter, a husband, a home. What more could anyone ask for?
Laney thought of a hundred things she’d like to ask for that evening when they had put Amy to bed. Tranquilizers, a cot in the living room, a hole to hide her head in.
What had been a busy day of moving in had now come to a complete halt, and she found herself in the most awkward situation of her life. What did he expect of her? What did she expect of him? Where would she sleep in this two-bedroom house? Where would he expect her to sleep?
She looked around the small living room at the family portrait on the wall, at the knickknacks she was sure Patrice had bought, at the color scheme that belonged to another woman. They mocked her now, chiding her for inserting herself into a family where she didn’t belong. She wanted to cry, but she was too afraid. She wanted to run, but she was too determined. She wanted to be sick, but she was too embarrassed.
She looked up and saw Wes standing in the doorway, looking at her with his own apparent reservations. If only he looked like an ogre, she thought, hugging her knees to her chest, maybe she could make this cut and dried. If only he didn’t have those soft green eyes that made her heart melt, she might not be so afraid. If only she weren’t so tragically attracted to him …
“I was think—”
“You never ope—”
The words came out simultaneously, and they both stopped. Laney felt her cheeks coloring. She swallowed. “You go ahead,” she said. “What were you going to say?”
He walked into the room and sat down next to her. “You never opened Sherry’s gift.”
She looked at the wrapped package on the coffee table. “Well, I could do it now.”
He handed it to her. “Brace yourself. My sister’s a real character.”
“I like her,” Laney said. Her hands trembled as she peeled up the tape, careful not to tear the paper. “I wonder what it is. She said she made it herself.”
Wes helped her with one side of the paper then propped his elbow on the back of the sofa and rested his head against his hand, watching her.
She opened the box, pulled back the tissue covering, and found the contents. Her face stung with crimson heat.
“What is it?” Wes asked when she set the top back on too quickly.
“Nothing, it’s just …”
“Just what?” He smiled and reached for the box. She had no choice but to surrender it to him. “What did my crazy sister do this time?”
He pulled off the top and reached for the black pile of lace. Taking one strap, he held it up. “A negligee,” he said, his own face reddening. “That Sherry.”
Slowly he folded it back up, set it in the box, and closed it. “Well,” he said after what seemed an eternity. “She meant well. She’s an aspiring fashion designer, you know. Goes to school part-time. She’s always experimenting …” His voice trailed off as he realized he was babbling.
Laney swallowed the tears gathering in her throat. “I …” She cleared her throat and tried again. “I was thinking. This couch is pretty comfortable. I could sleep here. I mean, I know you’ve given up a lot already, marrying me and all, and I don’t want you to have to give up your bed too. And I don’t want you to think that I think that this is a real marriage, because we both know it’s for Amy’s sake. We don’t have to pretend we’re attracted to each other or that we have to go through with anything that isn’t right for us. I mean, since we hardly know each other …”
Wes sat listening, his face expressionless as her words tumbled out. Had he expected it to be any different? Had he really hoped that they would consummate this charade of a marriage tonight?
When her arguments ran down, he looked into her liquid, frightened eyes and hated himself for anything he’d ever done to make her fear him so. “Laney, we got married for Amy. And we want very much for her to think of it as a real marriage. This house has two bedrooms. Mine and Amy’s. If either one of us sleeps anywhere but in that bedroom, she’ll know. She wakes up early, and sometimes she gets up in the night. If it’s going to look like a real marriage, we have to sleep in the same room.”
Laney hugged her knees tighter, and her lips trembled. “You’re right,” she whispered. “I know you’re right.”
She was shaking all over, he thought miserably. She was scared to death.
She stood up, finally, and looked down at him. “I … guess I’ll go get ready for bed, then.”
Did she think he was going to force her to make love? Did she think he was that insensitive? He stood up to face her. “Laney.”
She dropped her face and tried to blink back the incipient tears. “What?”
He took her hand and drew her closer to him. “Laney, you don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m not going to take anything from you.”
His voice was comforting, gentle, and she made herself look up at him. A tear seeped through her lashes, and his hand moved up to her face. With his thumb he brushed the tear away.
His lips came down to her cheek, kissed the wet spot, melting all her fears and apprehensions, and then withdrew. “I won’t touch you again tonight,” he whispered.
And when she didn’t answer, he dropped her hand and left the room.
Laney’s spirits hovered between disappointment and relief when she heard him go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. She went into the bedroom and got ready for bed. The light from the room’s one small lamp slid across the long black gown Laney had brought for the occasion. It was not anything that could be considered alluring. It was simply attractive, pleasant to look at—nothing like the negligee Sherry had made her—and she’d justified it by telling herself that she couldn’t let her new husband see her in the football jersey she usually slept in.
She slipped under the covers and turned on her side so she would appear to be asleep when Wes came in. But Patrice’s picture on the bedside table seemed too threatening. The blond-haired, blue-eyed woman smiling peacefully out from the frame added weight to Laney’s heart. The picture was a cold reminder that this would be a marriage in name only. Wes was still in love with his first wife. His real wife.
She turned over and scooted to the opposite side of the bed. Wes probably kept that picture there because that was his side. She had no right to come between him and his memories of his wife. Lying on her back, she laid her wrist over her eyes. Don’t cry, she ordered herself. Do not cry.
She sensed Wes before she saw him in the doorway, clad in a maroon robe and a pair of pajama pants.
“I … I didn’t know which side you slept on,” she said quietly.
“Doesn’t matter.”
She sat up partially, keeping the covers pulled over her gown. “Yes, it does. I can sleep on either side.”
“I’m gonna sleep here … on this couch.”
She swallowed. “Oh.”
She watched him get two blankets from the closet and lay them over the cushions.
“Wes, I can sleep there. This is your bed. I never meant to drive you out.”
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “This is real comfortable. We got it when Patrice was sick, and I slept here for months so she could be comfortable in the bed.”
Several moments ticked by.
“About the picture,” he whispered finally. “I put it away once, and Amy got upset. I had to put it back. It’s going to stay there.”
Was it defiance in his voice? A reminder that she would not replace Patrice?
“I understand,” she whispered without looking at him.
She heard his steady, self-conscious breathing and the sound of his body shifting on the sofa. She tensed when she heard him get up, held her breath as he seemed to come closer, and opened her eyes in alarm when she felt him reaching over her.
“The light,” he said.
She looked up at him, about to say that she could do it, but she couldn’t speak. He was gazing down at her, an open struggle going on in his eyes, and for a moment she hoped he wouldn’t keep his word about not touching her again. Suddenly she needed very much to be touched.
But after turning out the light, Wes withdrew to the couch, and she closed her eyes again. Laney tried not to think how appealing he looked with his hair damp from the shower. But there was no way to block out that fresh scent of soap that wafted over the air …
Wes lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, willing his senses to ignore the apricot scent that teased him whenever she was near.
Viciously, he turned over on his side and wadded his pillow under his head, wishing he’d never come up with the noble idea of sleeping on this couch.
He ground his teeth and buried his face in the pillow. It was going to be a long night.