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Lauralie’s words echoed in his ears. It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s me. “How did you get past the self-doubt?”
Aaron laughed. “Have you met the women in your brood? Kate’s got a lot of her mum in her. Once she sets her sights on something, game over. She didn’t give me ultimatums, but she saw right through my gobshite. Nothing short of me saying, ‘I don’t love you,’ was going to shake her. I couldn’t say those words, because I did love her, and she knew it.”
Booker rubbed the center of his chest, and the empty ache lodged there since yesterday evening. “She didn’t let you fuck things up.”
“Brilliant way of putting it.”
Chapter Seventeen
Laurie stepped out of her SUV, took a ticket from the red-vested valet, and smoothed a hand down the fitted skirt of her red dress. A Valentine’s Day wedding kind of demanded the color.
A path of rose petals in varying shades of red led guests to the entrance of the main house. The large, carved doors hung open, welcoming arrivals, and greeters hovered to lead guests through the house to the grounds beyond where the ceremony would take place. She paused by the door, waiting in the small line of guests backed up there, feeling a little like a roller coaster rider white-knuckling the restraining bar while the cart inched up to the first big drop.
Then again, she ought to be numb to the dread, considering the last twenty-four hours had been a nonstop roller coaster. At least this time she purposefully boarded the ride.
Part of the reason had to do with Rebecca’s words that morning. Booker knew what he wanted. The only thing she ought to be asking herself was whether she had the strength and courage to go after what she wanted.
Another part of the decision stemmed from meeting with Chelsea earlier in the afternoon. Seeing her friend, absorbing the love and support she offered simply by existing, and giving the same back, had gone a long way toward reminding her some relationships in her life actually worked. Chelsea believed in her, firmly enough to invest fifty thousand dollars of her hard-earned money in Babycakes. It had felt good—stabilizing—to stand together with her best friend in the empty Ocean Avenue unit they both liked for the new home of their business, and focus on the future. Even better when Chelsea had admitted the future involved her moving back to Montenido.
She’d worried she’d spoil the triumphant moment by crying all over her friend about Booker, but it had turned out to be Chelsea who’d needed the shoulder to cry on.
Laurie had fully supported Chelsea’s decision to start fresh in Maui after enduring the most fucked-up breakup in history with another undeserving asshole. She’d sent her friend off with the advice to guard her battered heart, banish her inner good girl, and concentrate on enjoying loads of five-star sex with Rafe St. Sebastian. She’d done exactly as Laurie instructed, except somewhere between the multiple orgasms, she’d fallen in love with the man, but was too scared of admitting it to herself—much less Rafe—and opening herself to the risk of rejection.
Instead of glowing with accomplishment, Chelsea had stood there blinking back tears.
The conversation replayed in her mind as she followed one of the greeters through the house. Chelsea had declared her fresh start a failure, because she hadn’t guarded her heart. Laurie had been compelled to tell her the whole guarded-heart thing didn’t really work. It was just a chickenshit way of trying not to get hurt.
Ultimately she’d convinced Chelsea to dig up some courage and tell Rafe how she felt. As she’d uttered the word, she’d realized courage—or lack thereof—had become a major theme in her life. Too many of her decisions had been motivated by fear and shame.
Some residual shame burned inside her now as she followed the greeter through the house. Booker deserved an explanation. Most importantly, he was entitled to three words, freely spoken. She loved him. After that, she honestly didn’t kn
ow what to expect. She had fucked things up—possibly beyond repair—but if he’d give her a second chance, she’d do whatever it took to show him her love was stronger than her fear.
The greeter led her to the back patio, and handed her off to a tuxedo-clad usher. He, in turn, steered her along the rose petal path that led down the center of an expansive, linen-draped tent encompassing two large banks of white chairs already crowded with guests, and directed her to an empty seat in a middle row.
At the end of the aisle, beyond a white pergola, the first peachy tinges of sunset decorated the blue horizon. The scent of roses sweetened the ocean breeze fluttering through the open-sided tent. The light wind caused an occasional shower of petals from the festoons of blossoms woven through the thousands of tiny lights strung overhead. A scattering of the velvety confetti drifted down, decorating the older couple occupying the chairs to her left, and the threesome of women in their early twenties who claimed the seats on her right. Their giggling conversation blended with the strains of a string quartet playing under an arbor positioned just beyond the groom-side seating, but she picked up enough to glean they worked for Rebecca.
The prelude changed to Pachelbel’s Canon, and the officiant made his way down the aisle. The hum of conversation subsided. Next came Booker’s mom, looking stunning in a sheer-sleeved claret gown. Then the groom strode down the aisle, followed by the groomsmen. Restless nerves migrated from her stomach to her chest as her eyes landed on Booker. He focused ahead, and didn’t see her, which left her free to drink in the sight of him looking handsome, and remote, and completely out of her league.
The blonde three seats over sighed. “Groomsmen on parade…best part of every wedding, and look, not a ring in the bunch. They’re all bachelors.”
“I’ll take bachelor number three,” the other blonde whispered, and Laurie realized she meant Booker.
“Choose again,” the redhead said. “That’s Ethan Booker, and Rebecca told me he’s off the market.”
“Really? Since when?”
Red shrugged. “Earlier today. Said she could cross finding the perfect woman for Booker off her to-do list, because he’d done the job himself—the woman just didn’t quite know it yet.”
“Damn. I’d be willing to let him convince me. He wouldn’t even have to work very hard.”
Laurie bit her tongue to keep from breaking into the conversation and telling the blonde to back off. No, she wasn’t perfect—far from it—but if he gave her the chance, she’d show him she was the perfect woman for him.
The other blonde laughed. “That’s part of your charm, Bridget. You’re easy.”
“Hey, now—”
“Shh!”
