Janelle Taylor (28 page)

Bored with the work that had once felt so vital to who she was.

Yet she didn’t want to be at home, either.

Her town house felt strangely empty and quiet these days. Spencer had inhabited her guest room for only a
few days, yet somehow, every morning she walked by the closed door, she had to remind herself that the little boy wasn’t sleeping on the other side.

She missed Spencer.

She missed Beau.

As fraught with tension and terror as those threesome days had been, she couldn’t help feeling nostalgic for them.

Yet it wasn’t that she wanted to go back, or that she even would if she could.

What she wanted …

Her impossible dream …

Was to go forward.

With Beau.

And Spencer.

To pick up where they had left off…

To make a fresh start…

Maybe you should start dating again,
she told herself half-heartedly.
Maybe you can find your soul mate. Someone who’s more right for you than Beau Somerville is. Someone steadfast and dependable and down-to-earth.

But Beau was all of those things, she thought, shaking her head in frustration. Maybe he wasn’t what she had imagined. Maybe he didn’t fit the cardigan-clad, chess-playing,
Yes,
dear package.

But she couldn’t help feeling as though Beau was meant to be married.

To me.

He’s meant to be married to me.

Yeah, right.

And the world was meant to stop turning.

Turning down her quiet side street, Jordan tried to force her thoughts to the evening ahead—rather, what was left of it.

She would reheat the roasted red pepper, eggplant, and orzo soup she had made yesterday as an experimental recipe in preparation for a harvest luncheon she was catering. It was too heavy on the chicken stock and could have used another ingredient, maybe an herb, but it was still good. And her cupboards and fridge were pretty much bare.

Maybe she would turn on some classical music, have a glass of wine with her meal, read the latest issue of
Gourmet

It would be a nice, relaxing night, she promised herself as she pulled up in front of her town house.

Relaxing.

Not
lonely.

But there was a disconcerting emptiness growing inside her as she got out of the car.

The streetlamps were on.

The moon was a bright, fully formed circle overhead.

The soles of her black low-heeled mules made a tapping noise on the pavement as she walked toward the house. Dangling her keys from her hand as she walked, she could hear the cicadas buzzing, and the sound of traffic nearby on the main street. The usual sounds.

Yet something was different.

She slowed her pace, looking up at her front stoop.

She felt it—the certainty that she wasn’t alone—even before she saw the shadow silhouetted beside the front door.

Jordan stopped walking.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

Calacci was dead.

She knew that.

She had seen it for herself.

And Detective Rodgers kept her updated on the case
against Gisonni. His associate’s incriminating testimony had virtually guaranteed that he would be spending a good, long time behind bars.

Jordan stood frozen, staring at the man on her stoop, trepidation coursing through her as her thoughts darted from one frightening possibility to another.

Gisonni could have escaped from prison.

Or sent another hit man.

Or—

“Jordan?”

The figure turned toward her.

A familiar voice carried down to where she stood.

A voice she hadn’t heard in two months.

“Beau,” she breathed, gaping at him as he stepped into the pool of light beside the door.

She was riveted to the spot, unable to believe he was really here. It was as though he had somehow stepped out of her fantasy and onto her doorstep.

He looked even better than she had imagined him. He was the same—broad shoulders, dark hair, handsome features—yet there was something different about his face.

She studied him as he came closer, the contrast between the old Beau and this man starkly evident in the shadowy light from the streetlight and porch lamps and from the full moon overhead.

She studied him. She couldn’t put her finger on what was there that hadn’t been there before….

No. She couldn’t do that, because that wasn’t the issue. It was the opposite. She realized that something that had been there before, on Beau’s face, was gone.

It was as though a veil had been lifted. His features were no longer visibly weighed by strain and sadness;
there was no longer a keep-your-distance wariness about his expression as he looked at her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her hushed voice laced with incredulity as he came to a stop a few feet away from her.

“Waiting for you,” came the reply.

She could only stare, her thoughts careering wildly.

“Why?” she asked at last. “Did something happen?”

“Yes.”

“What?” Her heart tripped over itself. Was it Spencer? Had harm come to Spencer? But how would Beau know that before she would?

“I came to my senses, Jordan,” he said quietly, covering the last few feet of ground between them. “That’s what happened.”

He reached out and clasped her hands, both of them.

She was aware of his warm grasp, of the keys she still held pressing into her palm, of her heart beating so loudly that she was certain he could hear it.

“What do you mean, Beau?” she asked, certain she knew what he meant—and just as certain that she must be mistaken.

“I mean, my life is empty, Jordan. Without you.”

Her breath caught in her throat as the meaning of those last two words sunk in.

“It’s been empty for a long time,” Beau went on, his voice uncustomarily husky, “but that’s never felt as wrong to me as it has these last two months. I have no idea why it took me so long to figure out why.”

She looked up at him, wondering if she dared to believe what he seemed to be telling her.

He brought their clasped hands up to his mouth and pressed her fingers to his lips. Their eyes met and held.

“I’ve missed you, Jordan.”

“Beau,” she said softly, “I’ve missed you, too. More than—more than you’ll ever know.”

And more than I ever wanted to admit, even to myself.

He exhaled softly, his breath a sigh of contentment in the still night air. “I’m sorry I kept pulling away from you, Jordan.”

“I did the same thing.”

“Believe me, it was the opposite of what I wanted to do. But for some crazy reason I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought I knew exactly why I was so drawn to you—and to Spencer, too, for that matter. I thought it must be that I was looking for a substitute for what I’d lost—”

“I thought the same thing. About you, I mean,” she said in a rush, the truth spilling from her as though a tap had been opened. “Once you had told me about the plane crash—Beau, I knew that you were still troubled about what you’d been through with your wife and son …

She trailed off tentatively. Yet somehow, it didn’t hurt her to say those words. And they weren’t met with the barren expression of grief she had grown to anticipate.

“I’ve had a lot to resolve,” Beau told her. “And I won’t pretend that it’s been easy for me—or that I’m fully healed. But now I know that I can’t get any further without help. Your help, Jordan.”

“I’ll help you.” She tried to disregard a bitter shard of disappointment slicing into her heart.

All he needed was a shoulder to lean on? A sympathetic ear? How had she misunderstood what he was saying?

She looked away from his searching eyes, casting her own gaze down at her feet.

Beau gently put his hand beneath her chin and tipped her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“You don’t understand what I mean, Jordan,” he said, his voice low. “I’m not asking you to be my therapist. And I’m not asking you to be my friend.”

“You’re not?”

“No.”

She stared at him. Tried to deny what she saw in his eyes, but this time, she couldn’t. It was plain to see.

If only he would say it aloud.

“Then … what are you asking me to be, Beau?” she asked in a ragged whisper.

“My wife.”

His wife.

Her heart took flight, began to soar. She tried desperately to pull back, to keep her brimming emotions in check. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was saying. He couldn’t be asking what she thought he was asking. Not when—

“I love you, Jordan.”

She gasped.

He had said it.

Stunned, she found her voice. Echoed, “You love me?”

He nodded. “I love you. I don’t know why it took me this long to figure things out, and I hope that you’ll forgive me. I hope that you know those are three words I’d never use lightly.”

“I know. “She looked into his eyes, filled with wonder. “You love me.”

“I love you.” It was as though he couldn’t say it enough.

And she knew she would never tire of hearing it.

“I love you, too, Beau,” she said, with all her heart
He bent his head and kissed her tenderly. If there had been the slightest ripple of doubt in her mind about his words, it was banished with his kiss. They seemed to fit perfectly together.

When he raised his head and looked down at her, they smiled.

“This is right,” he said, nodding.” So incredibly right. How did we not see it before? We’ve wasted so much time….“

“We’ve got nothing but time,” Jordan said, tracing his jawline with her fingertips.

“You’re right,” Beau agreed softly, dipping his head to kiss her again. “Nothing but time.”

It had rained during the night, but now, at eleven o’clock on Saturday morning, the June sun shone brightly and the sky was a delicate shade of blue. The notorious D.C. humidity was nowhere to be found today, and the air was pleasantly warm and breezy.

“It’s perfect wedding weather,” Jeremy said cheerfully, pouring himself another cup of coffee from the half-empty pot on Jordan’s countertop.

Perfect wedding weather.

Once before, Jordan had heard those words.

That day, it had been Phoebe who uttered them as the two of them stood in front of a mirror in Jordan’s girlhood bedroom, sunlight streaming through the window.

“It’s perfect wedding weather, Jordan. Did you ever hear the saying, ‘Happy is the bride the sun shines on’? Something like that, anyway,” Phoebe had said,
standing behind Jordan to adjust her billowing white illusion veil.

“I thought it was supposed to be good luck if it rains on your wedding day.”

“They just say that so that brides won’t feel bad about crummy weather,” Phoebe had said, giving the veil a final gentle tug. “There. You look beautiful.”

“You look beautiful, Jordan.”

She blinked, then snapped her attention back to the present, realizing that Jeremy had spoken. He was looking at her with a fond, admiring smile.

“Thank you.” She exhaled shakily and turned back to the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door to check her reflection one last time.

Her first thought was that she looked exactly as she did on any other day. Her makeup was no heavier than usual. Her hair was pulled back—all right, not in an elastic or a scrunchy, but in an ivory lace bow—but it was her typical style. Her jewelry was simple: pearl drop earrings and a matching strand.

Yes, from the neck up, she looked the pretty much the same.

From the neck down, she looked like …

A bride. I look like a bride.

She
was
a bride.

Again.

She shoved the slightest nagging doubt from her mind as she looked herself over, turning to the left and right with a critical eye.

The antique ivory lace dress was as far from a traditional wedding dress as you could get. It was simple yet elegant. There was no flowing train. It was ankle-length to reveal her low-heeled flapper-era shoes with wide bows.

This dress looked nothing like the wedding gown that had hung in her closet for several years.

Jordan found herself wondering idly whether someone had plucked it from the charity Dumpster shortly after she’d deposited it there last Labor Day weekend. Not that she cared. She never wanted to see that dress again.

She never wanted to think about that other wedding day again.

This was different.

“Are you ready?” Jeremy asked, setting his coffee mug in the sink and picking up his keys.

“I’m ready,” she said with a smile. “Thanks for agreeing to drive me over to the church, Jeremy.”

“What are friends for? As long as your father doesn’t mind…”

“He won’t mind. It’s silly to make him come all the way over to Georgetown when his and Mom’s hotel is right across from the church. He’ll be happy just to walk me down the aisle….”

Again.

Darn it! Why did the memory of the other wedding day persist?

Was this some kind of omen?

What if Beau … ?

No! Don’t even think it!
she commanded herself.

“You okay?” Jeremy asked, opening the front door for her.

“I’m fine,” she said, a tremor in her voice.

Standing on the threshold, she looked around one last time.

Technically, the place was hers for another two weeks. The new occupants, Mrs. Villeroy’s distant cousins,
weren’t moving in until the first of July. But most of Jordan’s belongings were already in storage.

After she and Beau came back from their European honeymoon, she would return here only to get the last of her clothes.

Then they would head to the Delaware beach house they had rented for the summer. They had chosen Delaware because it was close enough for Beau to travel back and forth to the office on occasion, though he would mostly be working from home this summer.

And they had chosen Delaware because they wanted a fresh start. Somewhere that bore no reminders of the traumatic experiences a year ago this week.

No, they wanted to go on healing, and forgetting.

They would return to the capital area in the fall—just in time to move into their newly built three-story colonial home perched on fifty rolling acres of Virginia countryside.

Beau had designed the house, of course, with his bride in mind. It was complete with a gourmet kitchen, greenhouse, sewing room, gardens …

Also, of course, a sprawling playroom. A basketball hoop above the garage. And the biggest wooden jungle gym Jordan had ever seen, with swings and slides and multilevel decks covered in gaily striped awnings. It was perfect for—

“Jordan?” Jeremy prodded gently, touching her arm.

“Okay. Let’s go.” She smiled at him.

Then she stepped over the threshold into the bright June sunshine.

It was a beautiful day for a wedding.

Yet as they drove toward the church, Jordan found herself haunted again by memories of that other day, four years ago….

“Goin’ to the chapel,” Phoebe had sung as the limousine headed through the familiar streets of Glen Hills. “Gonna get ma-a-a-rried …”

The old tune chimed in Jordan’s head as Jeremy steered the car through the crowded Georgetown neighborhood. She had turned down Beau’s offer of a stretch limousine. She wanted no reminders, and she wanted things to be low-key.

She might be marrying one of the wealthiest bachelors in the country, but she hadn’t been looking for chauffeurs and glitz. She hadn’t been looking for anything….

Yet she had found
the
most precious, elusive thing of all.

Jeremy chattered as they drove along, mostly about the arrangements he’d made as caterer for the reception later, and about plans he had for expanding their business to include more corporate clients.

His
business, now, she amended mentally.

Jordan had recently sold him her half, with only the slightest twinge of regret.

She would, after all, be busy with other things now. So busy, Beau teased, that she might not have time for him.

Smiling, she stared out the window and rested her hand—the hand upon which a colossal platinum diamond engagement ring shone—on the barely-there swell of her abdomen.

By the time they returned from Paris, she would probably be showing.

Then it wouldn’t be their own special secret anymore.

It would be time to start thinking about layettes and Lamaze. About names and formula brands. Time to start sewing curtains for the nursery, and embroidering
the pastel sampler she intended to hang on the wall there.

“Here we are,” Jeremy said, pulling up in front of the charming white church just outside the city limits.

Yes. Here they were.

As he went around to open the door for Jordan, she saw familiar faces milling outside in the dappled shade. She saw the white runner bisecting the aisle between the open doors. She saw her father, handsome in his black tuxedo, waiting to take her arm.

Panic swelled within her.

It was just like before.

She turned away from the window, half-expecting to find Phoebe sitting next to her, saying, “Don’t be nervous. It’s going to be all right, Jordan.”

Phoebe wasn’t there.

But her voice was. It echoed in Jordan’s mind.

It’s going to be all right.

The words filled her with warmth. Phoebe
was
here. Jordan could feel her. In her heart, where it mattered most.

Jeremy was holding her door open.

Jordan emerged on the sidewalk, her legs nearly buckling beneath her.

Calm down. It’s going to be fine.

That was then. This is now.

Now is different.

Now is Beau.

Jordan saw that the last stragglers had hastily disappeared inside the church. Moments later, after kissing her cheek and lowering her veil over her face, Jeremy trailed after them.

Now only her father remained, smiling at her through a filmy panel of illusion.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he said.

She nodded at him from behind her veil, unable to speak.

She took his arm.

Strains of organ music filtered out on the warm spring breeze.

Not Pachelbel’s Canon in D.

This time, it was Handel’s
Water Music.

Jordan trembled, head bowed, as her father led her up the steps to the edge of the white satin runner.

The organ music faded.

There was a moment of silence.

Then came the opening strains of Handel’s Wedding March.

Only then, poised in the doorway of the church, about to take the first step, did Jordan dare to look up.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior after the bright sunshine outside.

Then she glimpsed Spencer there, at the other end of the runner. A smile played across her lips as he made eye contact with her, grinned, and gave a cheerful wave. He looked far older than his five years, in a miniature tuxedo, his hair neatly combed to the side. Pinned to his lapel was a miniature white tea rose.

Jordan exhaled shakily, eyes searching the front of the church.

Was that—?!

Startled, she looked away—and then back again.

No. Just a trick of the light,
she told herself.

For a moment, she thought she had seen Phoebe there, smiling, in her maid-of-honor dress.

Closing her eyes briefly, she heard her friend’s voice again.

It’s going to be all right.

Was it?

So much had happened.

Getting engaged to Beau …

Selling the business …

Planning the move …

And Phoebe’s brother, Curt, agreeing, after a wildly successful holiday visit, to turn over custody of Spencer to Jordan and Beau.

But that was when everything had fallen into place at last.

Phoebe would have wanted it that way,
Curt had said.
Spencer needs a mother. And a father. Sisters and brothers.

Well, perhaps just one to start,
Jordan thought.

She was certain there was an answering flutter in her womb.

Opening her eyes, she looked up again at the front of the church.

Where is he?

She knew that if she could just see him …

Where is he?

She scanned the church.

And felt a flicker of panic.

Then Andrea MacDuff, seated in the second pew on the right and wearing a large hat, moved her head.

That was when Jordan saw him.

Beau.

He was looking toward the back of the church, his chin lifted and body slightly tilted to see past the crowded pews, as if he were searching for something.

He saw her.

Their gazes collided.

He smiled.

She smiled.

That was when she knew that everything really would be all right.

And the last shred of fear evaporated.

“Here you go,” her father said, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Yes,” Jordan said. “Here I go.”

And as the Wedding March played, she walked down the aisle toward her groom, their little boy … and happily ever after at last.