Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) (21 page)

April admired the elegant blue dress that flattered Blair’s petite figure. “Whoever picked it out, it looks great. You look great.”

“We
sort
of match,” Blair said, moving her hip next to hers and comparing. “Shades of blue and purple. Right?”

“It’s not a Broadway show. We don’t have to match.”

“That’s what Rose said. But it’s hard to break tradition, don’t you think?” Blair asked.

“Not really,” April said. “I usually have a harder time trying to follow it.”

Just then Rose burst into the room finally wearing her wedding dress but holding the sling-back silver heels in her left hand. “Don’t tell her I’m here!” She slammed the door behind her and ran past the table and chairs to the attached bedroom.

Kim flung open the door. “Where is she?”

April and Blair looked at each other. Then they both looked at Rose’s mother and said in unison, “The bedroom.”

“She’s not herself,” Blair said. “She needs her mother right now.”

“Totally agree,” April said.

Blair looked at her watch. “Oh my God. We were supposed to be out there five minutes ago.”

“Doesn’t matter,” April said. “They’ll wait.”

“I hope I don’t faint,” Blair said.

“I hope you do. Spice it up a little bit.”

“Thanks,” Blair said, laughing.

“I never listen to the vows,” April said. “I’m so busy looking at people in the audience, trying to figure out if they’re happy these two people are getting hitched, how the bride is swaying from side to side because her feet hurt, how the best man is kind of green because he’s hungover and worried about the ring in his pocket. By the time the lucky couple is married and kissing, I’ve missed the important bits and I can’t wait to get that glass of champagne.”

Rose appeared in the doorway. Her mother held her shoulders with both hands.

“It’s time,” Kim said simply.

They all walked out of the building to the corner of the garden near a stone fountain where the wedding party had practiced the night before. The guests were already sitting in their chairs. Three men in tuxedos stood by the minister under an arch overflowing with tiny pink roses.

“Oh my fucking God,” Rose whispered. “I’m getting married.”

“Now
those
are vows,” April said, waving at the crowd with her bouquet as she walked down the aisle into bright sunshine.

* * *

Struck between the eyes.

Arrow to the heart.

Smacked upside the head.

Zack sipped his third glass of champagne and watched April dance with the ugliest guy he’d ever seen. She didn’t seem to notice how repulsive the stranger was, which annoyed him.

Over the deep end
.

He tried to tell himself it was just the pretty dress, the pretty hair, the pretty setting. But his heart was beating too fast for
pretty
. Or even
gorgeous
. This was something else, something darker and faster and burning, smoking hot.

God, he wanted her. It was ridiculous how much he wanted her. They were so different, so incompatible. He knew that yet wanted her anyway. Oh, yeah. Perhaps it was
because
she was off limits—the sweetness of forbidden fruit, calling to him…

Mark’s voice broke through his cloud of lust. “I told her I didn’t want any dancing, but she just laughed at me.”

Zack turned to him, belatedly offering his glass in a toast. This brilliant, reclusive man could be a priceless business contact. Zack had pushed his way into his family, crashed the happiest day of his life, and yet he’d almost forgotten to make the easiest of gestures—congratulating him on his marriage.

“You’re a lucky man,” Zack said.

“So true.” Mark watched the two-dozen well-dressed bodies on the dance floor for a few moments. “I wonder when we can leave.”

Zack’s gaze had locked on April again. The dance was a recent pop hit, and she shimmied and bounced like a supermodel in a video.

No, much better.

He’d pictured her body more times than he’d admit even to himself, but his imagination had wildly underestimated the sultry curve of her hip, her calf muscles, her elbow, the hollow of her collarbone, the freckles on her left shoulder…

“Well, it was nice talking to you again,” Mark said, starting to move away.

Zack came out of his daze. They’d talked at the house, but not to the point that he felt comfortable asking Mark about working together. When Zack gone home to visit his parents, his father had been impressed when he’d heard his son had met the founder of WellyNelly, one of his favorite websites. He’d encouraged Zack to pursue the connection, the first time his father had expressed an opinion about Zack’s career.

“I wanted to tell you again how much I admire your work,” Zack said. Oh, Christ. That was lame.

“Oh, right. Thanks.” Mark glanced away.

“Not that I understand the tech. I mean, I try.” Zack gulped his drink. He wouldn’t have been so nervous if he hadn’t just been obsessing about the man’s sister for the past two hours. Weeks. Months. “It’s the way you’ve created viable businesses from scratch, with your own idea and genius—”

Zack saw Mark flinch, and knew he’d made a mistake.

“You should talk to my friend Sylly,” Mark said, taking a step away. “My best man. He’s got the kind of genius you’re talking about. I just write code.”

“But you’re the spark, the epicenter, the—”

“Excuse me. Rose wants me to dance. Better get it over with, can’t escape her forever, wouldn’t think of trying.” He ducked his head and hurried away through the crowd. As Zack watch, he tapped Rose on the shoulder—she had been cheerfully dancing with Bev and the baby in a sling—and held out his arms for his new bride.

Damn it. I drove him away.

He’d come across as a shallow opportunist. More than he wanted Mark as a client, which would thrill his father, Zack wanted to learn from him. Mark seemed like a man who never settled for the conventional life inside the box. What was his secret?

Zack had gone solo and had a reputation among his consulting clients for clear thinking, fresh ideas, and plain speaking.

But he still felt like a cog in the machine. He thought it was financial insecurity, that when he had enough saved up, he would feel freer. But instead, as his personal wealth grew, his sense of entrapment tightened. He felt more bogged down than ever. And empty.

Missing something.

Someone.

April was dancing with that Sylly guy now, Mark’s business partner, another excellent contact.

Handsome bastard. Why was he touching her? Nineties pop was hardly a waltz, but he had one hand around her waist—over sheer fabric he could see through from twenty yards—and another woven through her fingers. He was smiling big, perfect white teeth at her.

Zack put his glass on a caterer’s tray and considered his options.

For the first time, he realized work wasn’t his only option. He didn’t
have
to sacrifice everything for his career.

He had other options. He did.

His heart thudded in his chest as he smiled. Even after a couple of drinks, he didn’t want to make a scene.

He’d wait. But not from over here—he’d have to get closer, then make his move as soon as the song was over.

Chapter 18

A
PRIL
COULDN
’
T
HELP
PEEKING
AT
Zack. He stood at the edge of the dance floor doing his all-important networking

He looked good in a tux. He’d told Rose, who’d told April, that he hoped she didn’t mind him being a little overdressed, but he’d invested in it a couple of years ago and liked to use it whenever he could.

Of course he looked good. Everyone looked good in a tux, even women. They should all wear tuxedos, all day, every day. Like penguins. Look how happy they looked. And fancy. Happy and fancy.

April pushed Sylly’s arm off her hip for the tenth time and gave him a mocking look. “I’m ticklish.”

Sylly was also wearing a tuxedo, but she didn’t care if he looked good in it. He was blocking her view of Zack.

Sylly grinned. “Really?”

“Does Mark know you’re a horn dog?” she asked him.

Sylly pulled her closer. “Take a look.” His gaze slipped over her shoulder.

She turned and saw Mark watching them with a scowl on his face. “Oh, that’s ridiculous,” she said. “You haven’t even copped a feel yet.”

Sylly brightened. “I’m allowed to cop feels?”

“Do you value your testicles?”

“Like the Visa ad,” Sylly said, flinching. “Priceless.”

April’s smile fell when she realized she’d lost sight of Zack.

No doubt he was stalking Mark again. She never should’ve let him come. She should’ve warned everyone that Zack Fain was just an ambitious phony who had a tux because it made him look like a secret agent in glasses.

“That guy with you?” Sylly asked.

“No guy is with me.”

Sylly’s grin broadened. “I like the sound of that.”

Although April had met Sylly a few times over the years, she’d never really talked to him. He was just the good-looking guy who’d taken the software and website Mark had developed as a teenager and turned it into a thriving business. Now he’d moved on to start up something new, also in software, but that was so typical around San Francisco, she hadn’t bothered to find out what. Half of the baristas in the Bay Area had their own start-ups.

“You should talk to him,” she told Sylly. The two businessmen could bond and leave her out of it.

“Not sure he feels like talking,” Sylly said.

She turned her head and followed his gaze. Zack was standing two inches behind her, giving her a steady look that sent a shiver tingling down her back. He didn’t say anything, just stared. After a moment, Sylly gave her a self-deprecating smile and released her.

For a moment Zack and April stared at each other, motionless under the thumping, frenzied beat of the hit pop song coming out of the speakers. Deep in his eyes she saw longing, frustration, determination. He frowned, searching her face, and all the smart-ass jokes and defensive moves she was so good at abandoned her. She felt her knees weaken.

But then he turned to Sylly and held out his hand. “Zachary Fain. Sorry to butt in—but when Mark mentioned you were here—April, I hope you forgive me.” He moved closer—not to April, but to Sylly. “You are Sylvester Minguez, aren’t you?”

Sylly looked surprised but flattered. “I am.” He held out a hand. “Zachary, you said?”

Without a glance at April, Zack pumped Sylly’s hand in that boy’s club way that had excluded women for centuries. “Fain. Zack Fain. I’m trying to remember where I last read about you—was it
Business Week
?”

Sylly smiled. “Could’ve been.”

The two men launched into a discussion of other magazines and online business blogs that had featured Sylly or Mark over the past year. While they talked, the three of them were jostled closer to the head table, out of the way of the dancers. Feeling superfluous, April scanned the dance floor for another partner. The two she had were far too happy with each other.

“What you did with WellyNelly was miraculous,” Zack said.

Mark had founded WellyNelly in his bedroom in high school when their father was dying of cancer. He’d wanted to make a forum for their mother to talk to other people dealing with serious illness—never expecting the financial success that followed.

Sylly put a hand on April’s shoulder. “I owe everything to the groom. Mark was the miracle. I’m lucky to have met him.” He slipped his hand to her other shoulder, drawing her closer. “And his family.”

April wondered if she was imagining the way Zack’s smile tightened. Was he clenching his teeth?

Was he
jealous
?

Instead of feeling gratified, she was annoyed. If Zack wanted her, why not do something about it? She’d given him plenty of chances—well, one was enough—and he’d blown it. Or not blown it. Not nearly enough blowing of the good variety.

She made eye contact with an imaginary friend across the room, waved, and stepped out of Sylly’s grasp. “Excuse me, guys, will you?” She strode into the thickest clump of the crowd.

I hope they’re very happy together.

 
Rose was standing with Bev near a table of people April vaguely remembered as Bev’s relatives from southern California. Not her father—he was remarried, a busy Hollywood exec, and had sent his regrets—but Bev’s mother, aunt, and sister were there, all looking fit and made up with ageless complexions and toned biceps. None looked at all like Bev. For one, they seldom smiled. Or ate. Their dinner plates were still heavy with food.

Before April could make a run for it, Bev latched on to her arm and dragged her closer. “Remember April, everyone? My sister-in-law?”

They eyed her with interest. Well, she got the impression it wasn’t really
her
, but her hair, dress, and shoes. Staring at April’s feet, Bev’s mother said, “Those look comfortable.”

April shifted her weight from one foot to another. Two-and-a-half inch heels shouldn’t be comfortable for anyone, and certainly not for her. She never would’ve worn them if she didn’t like Rose so much and wanted to look formal for her big day—yet still Bev’s mother was talking about them like they were house slippers. Just because she didn’t wear shoes that were slanted at a ninety-degree angle with toes as pointy as the Transamerica Building.

Rose still stood there, beautiful and glowing. Because she deserved a wedding without distant family members hating on each other, April smiled at Bev’s mother and said, “Thank you.” And then, because she really did like her new sister-in-law, she added, “Mark’s looking for you, Rose.”

“Oh, he is?” Rose put a hand on her chest—her ring flashed on a perfectly manicured finger with crimson nails, the same color as the roses in her bouquet—and smiled as she looked around for him.

April watched her admiringly. Rose really was gorgeous, a goddess in oils. April wondered how many drugs it would take to get her to pose nude for her. People who had never been art students might find it strange, but April had always wanted to draw Rose in the buff. Seeing her in a low-cut, well-tailored gown just reminded her of it. Nothing sexual—she’d been to college and knew from awkward trial and error that she only swung one way—but definitely sensual. Rose just had that magic that some women had.