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“Wow, Mrs. D,” she murmured, the weird unease in her chest having been momentarily kicked to the curb by a fit of laughter. “That’s, uh, awesome.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Sloane Marie. You’ve been writing too many naughty books. I’m talking about love. It’s as plain as the nose on my face.” The shine in Francesca’s eyes was unmistakable as she looked at her daughter, and the obvious maternal pride boomeranged hotly through Sloane’s gut.
“Oh, right. That’s exactly what I thought you meant.” She put on a cheeky grin, but Carly’s mother didn’t buy it for a second.
“Save your smart answers,cucciola.You’ll find out one of these days, and all the sass in the world won’t save you from looking the same way.”
Sloane swallowed a sardonic laugh. “Did my mother put you up to this?” Lord, she couldn’t even get a reprieve when her mother was a whole state away.
“Come on, Ma. Let’s leave Sloane be, huh?” Carly put a hand on her mother’s arm, casting an apologetic glance in Sloane’s direction, but Francesca arched an unwavering brow.
“I know what I know. You might move around like a little hummingbird, but you have a good heart. You’ll find someone worth staying still for. Your mama can rest easy.”
Right. And then they could all ice skate in Satan’s backyard. Sloane’s mama didn’t even rest easy on Sundays. Plus, why would Sloane stay in one place when she could see the world?
“Tell you what, Mrs. D. When I find him, you’ll get the very first wedding invite. Promise.” Sloane crossed her heart, her fingernail gently clicking over the delicate beads of her dress, and helped Bellamy lift Carly’s gown from the garment bag.
Any focus on Sloane’s love life—or lack thereof—was summarily snuffed out by the sight of the simple, elegant confection of ivory silk. Sloane’s heart lifted right along with the layers of delicate fabric and intricate, subtly placed lace, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, she could ditch the weird feelings and get on with what was important.
Which turned out to be no less than four billion pictures, the lighting of twice as many electric candles in the room where the ceremony was being held, and a host of other small chores that added up to three hours’ worth of big exhaustion.
“You sure you don’t want to skip this and go to Vegas?” Sloane asked from the side of her mouth as the wedding planner finally guided them all into a line outside the double doors leading into the ceremony room.
Carly’s chuckle came from behind her, soft but definite. “Let’s save that for your wedding, what do you say?”
“I say it’s a good thing I already knocked Vegas off my bucket list. If we’re waiting for my name on the Elvis Chapel o’ Love, it’s gonna be a while.”
“What’s the matter, Russo? Afraid of the altar?” Adrian’s gravelly voice teased her from where he stood next to Carly, and Sloane turned to look at him. Adrian’s giant frame was imposing on a good day, and even in his suit, he looked menacing as hell. But rather than shrink, Sloane simply snorted and curled her fingers to mimic a telephone.
“Hello? Pot, this is the kettle calling. You’re looking a little dark over there.”
The wedding planner interrupted Sloane and Carly’s hushed laughter, as well as a few choice swear words from Adrian, with her cue for Carly to step back so they could open the doors.
“Last chance,” Sloane whispered, turning to look at her friend.
God, she was radiant, and the corkscrew hit Sloane again, full force.
Carly grinned. “I’m all set. Believe me.”
The room was truly breathtaking, with the fifty or so guests’ chairs swathed in rich ivory fabric, and the lights overhead softening the pale yellow walls down to a deep glow. Creamy white flowers and fresh pine greenery were interspersed around a wide, understated archway at the end of the aisle, and Sloane focused on a thick bough as she put one foot in front of the other. Low light spilled from crystal-encrusted chandeliers, offering enough illumination to see clearly, yet just the right amount of ambiance to make everything seem lit from within.
Oh, yeah. Ditching her issues for one night was going to be a piece of wedding cake, because everything about this felt perfect. By the time Sloane got to the end of the runner to fix Jackson with an exaggerated wink, she was full to the brim with happy excitement. She settled into place on the other side of the minister, and the dulcet cello music that had accompanied her down the aisle drifted to a graceful stop.
Everyone in the tightly knit crowd stood expectantly, turning their faces toward the back of the room, and the electric anticipation sent a prickle over Sloane’s nearly bare shoulders. The music started again, signaling the bride’s imminent walk down the aisle, and undiluted goodness splashed through her chest. She was sweeping her gaze over the small sea of profiles, all eyes on the now-open double doors at the back of the room, when her vision caught on the only face not turned to take in the bride floating down the aisle.
Gavin stood in the middle of the third aisle on the bride’s side, parked between Carly’s aunt Daniela and Bree. She knew she should be amused that crazy aunt Daniela was wearing a god-awful hat festooned with black feathers, or that she should take in all the nuances of how shockingly pretty Bree looked without her trademark scowl.
But the beautiful notes of the cello faded as if they’d been suddenly plunged under water, and the faces around her shrank and receded before turning into nothing more than indiscriminate blurs. Only one thing snapped into sharp relief, and it hit her with such intensity that all the air left her on one razor-sharp breath.
Gavin’s liquid brown stare was locked on her as if she was the only person in the room.
9
Even though they hadn’t been in a church, Gavin was fairly certain he’d go to hell for the hard-on he’d sported the minute Sloane stepped past those double doors to move down the aisle.
Thank God he hadn’t taken off his suit jacket before the ceremony. Not that the image of her had grown any less intense in the three hours that had passed since the minister had said, “You may now kiss the bride.”
Come on, Gavin thought as he stood in one of the shallow alcoves dotting the perimeter of La Dolce Vita’s bar area. There was no chance he could fight that kind of reaction when her dress was sex with a designer label. Go the extra step of putting it on Sloane’s lean silhouette instead of a padded hanger, and of course he was going to take notice.
