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Chloe cleared her throat. “He was very worried about you last night. It really shook him to think you could be in trouble.”
“As I said, he overreacted.”
“He seems to be growing quite fond of you. I can tell he’s enjoyed the time he’s spent with you.”
Uh-oh. Grace frowned into the receiver. “Bryan and I have a common interest—making sure you and Donovan have a pleasant, problem-free wedding. That’s all there is to it.”
“I don’t know. I think you’re kind of nice together. Bryan thrives on challenges—and you certainly challenge him.”
“And I think you’re getting carried away with your wedding planning. You’re seeing everything through a romantic haze.”
“Still…”
“Forget it, Chloe. I don’t want you playing match-maker between Bryan and me. You’d be wasting your time.”
“Weren’t you and Bryan the ones who conspired to bring Donovan and me back together after we were rescued from Childers’s men?” Chloe retorted. “The two of you went so far as to strand us together at Mom and Dad’s vacation cabin because you decided it was the only way to get Donovan to admit his feelings for me.”
“That was different. You and Donovan were obviously in love with each other. You were both too timid and befuddled to do anything about it without a little nudge.”
“So maybe you need a little nudge?”
“That’s the last thing I need,” Grace answered flatly. “Bryan and I are nothing more than coconspirators. Casual friends with a mutual interest, at most. Promise me you’ll stop trying to make any more out of it than that.”
“I just—”
“Chloe.” Grace spoke sternly this time, making it very clear the matter wasn’t open to discussion. “Promise me.”
Sighing heavily, Chloe conceded. “Okay. I’ll stay out of it.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, okay? Bryan doesn’t need my help, anyway. He’s not in the least timid about expressing his feelings.”
Grace decided to let that statement pass. “I’d better start getting ready. Thanks for calling to check on me.”
“Of course. I’ll see you later. Call if you want to talk. About anything, okay?”
Grace was well aware that Chloe was always available for her, and she said so before she disconnected the call. Because she was tempted to curl back up in bed and pull the covers over her head, she made herself swing her legs over the side and stand before she changed her mind.
Forty-five minutes later, she had showered, eaten a light breakfast of a bagel and diet cola and dressed in a melon-colored pullover and brief khaki shorts. Bryan had told her to dress casually and comfortably, and she’d taken him at his word.
It was going to be a hot, clear day, the temperature predicted to rise into the upper nineties, and the humidity almost as high. She pulled her hair up into a ponytail, making no effort to restrain the short tendrils that escaped at the back of her neck. She wore minimal make
up and no jewelry other than her functional silver-toned watch. She completed the ensemble with her favorite clunky sandals.
She looked very different from the elegantly dressed and carefully accessorized woman who’d accompanied Bryan to his fancy shindigs during the past few weeks, she decided with a glance at her reflection. This was the real Grace Pennington. No designer labels, no fancy jewelry, no sexy—and excruciatingly painful—high-heeled shoes. If Bryan wanted to be seen with a fashion doll, he could go back to dating his supermodels.
She spent the remainder of her time before he arrived pacing and giving herself a pep talk about how to behave with Bryan today. Not too combative—there was no reason they shouldn’t make the best of this outing—but not meekly agreeable to everything he said, either. If he flirted—as he quite likely would—she would respond with nonencouraging stares or chilly half smiles.
She would cheerfully discuss Chloe’s wedding, current events or business matters, but she would firmly refuse to talk about last night, making it quite clear that her personal life was none of his concern. They should be able to spend a cordial and pleasant day together for the benefit of whatever tabloid gossips were keeping track of them, and then they would go their own ways again until the next time they decided a public appearance was in order.
It sounded like a good plan—if Bryan would cooperate.
When the doorbell rang, she jumped to her feet, smoothed her hands down her shorts and composed her face into what she hoped was a blandly polite expression. Only then did she open the door. “Good morning, Bryan.”
Dressed in a green polo shirt and faded jeans, he was almost hidden behind an enormous bouquet of sunset-orange roses. “Good morning, Grace.”
She couldn’t help but be impressed by the flowers. They were magnificent, so vividly colored she almost blinked from their brightness. Trust Bryan to choose such an unusual shade rather than the more traditional pink, white or red roses—and to know that this more exuberant color suited her better. “They’re beautiful.”
