Four Weddings and a Fiasco: The Wedding Caper (12 page)

“She said that?”

“Yes. And how in love the two of you so clearly are on your wedding video. I hope I’m not speaking out of turn. Oh, please don’t cry. She is optimistic, truly.”

K.D. had produced a spurt of tears. “She doesn’t know, though, does she?”

“Know what?”

Over the shorter woman’s shoulder, K.D. saw Eric appear at the entry to the hallway. He gave her a significant look, then turned away, as if wanting to escape the two women.

“Know that he’s been saying Gigi’s name in his sleep. Over and over.” She ended on a sob. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I can’t . . . .”

She hustled down the hallway toward the elevator, as if overcome by her tears, trailed by Lily the Smiler’s reassuring platitudes.

In the elevator, she made a show of pulling herself together for the sake of the camera.

When it reached their floor, she sucked in another breath and stepped out. She caught a glimpse of Eric turning the corner at the far end, and followed. When she turned that corner, a door opened behind her, and arms pulled her back.

“It’s me,” Eric said, directly into her ear.

She let herself be tugged inside. The door closed and they were in absolute darkness.

“What—?”

“There’s one of these closets on every floor,” he said. “I had to see you without a camera being on us. To tell you that you were amazing, fantastic, awe-inspiring.”

“Shh. What did you find out?”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Not a damned thing. No info you wouldn’t expect to be in those files. Nothing a divorce lawyer would want to see. But you, you were incredible. I wanted to applaud. Even if I was being maligned. Gigi’s name in my sleep, huh?”

She chuckled. “It was the first thing that came to mind.”

“And a brilliant mind it is.”

He kissed her forehead.

She was surprised he’d found her forehead in the blackness.

Then he kissed her mouth, and how he found it didn’t matter.

This was the wedding kiss times ten. Ten times ten.

This was nothing but the sensation of his mouth on hers. No one watching, not even themselves.

Nothing to add context or subtract meaning. Just his mouth. Her mouth.

Then, slowly, his hands on her upper arms. Hers on his shoulders.

Her mouth parted under his. She met his tongue with hers. Ready to explore more.

Until the mundane requirement of breathing overrode deeper, more important needs.

“Melody would be very disappointed with us.” Eric’s voice came out of the dark, and it found her, too, making her shiver. He placed a gentle open-jawed bite on the line from her shoulder to her neck, then licked the spot. The shiver matured to a shudder of pleasure and longing. “Failing to refrain from physical intimacy.”

He tightened his hold at that last word, and she pressed against him, feeling how they might fit together, where his hardness met her softness. Where his desire met hers.

“Eric.”

She’d meant it to be a warning. She feared it might be an invitation. He certainly took it for that.

His mouth on hers was even surer, even more dizzying. His hand drew down the front of her blouse, flicking open buttons. He cupped her breast.

She released his shoulders to wind her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss again.

The door swung open. “Oh!”

She turned away, trying to right her blouse. Eric stepped in front of her.

A man chuckled. “Oh, look, Jean. It appears someone else has found our little hideaway.”

Decent once more, K.D. looked around Eric and saw the happy couple from two tables away in the dining room.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said the woman with a smile. “We had no idea anyone else had resorted to the closet.”

“Damned cameras,” muttered her husband. He nudged Eric. “Bathroom works, too. But had a hip replacement last year, and all that tile gets slippery.”

“Breaking rules left and right, aren’t we,” K.D. managed with credible lightness.

She stepped out of the closet, and tugged at Eric’s sleeve. He appeared all too ready to ask Jean’s husband questions about the bathroom logistics. “We’ll be late for our next session.”

“So will we,” Jean said. She and her husband’s smiles were downright wicked as they stepped into the closet, then pulled the door closed behind them.

“I
don’t act on impulse,” K.D. said.

“Why not?” he asked before Melody could say anything. “Impulse can lead to wonderful things.”

He watched her, remembering, and inviting her to remember the impulsive moments in the closet.

She looked away. “Because impulse in
important
situations leads to bad decisions. Decisions you can’t get out of.”

Oh, yeah, K.D. Hamilton, you came through loud and clear. The closet had not been important. Just because it was the first time they’d kissed of their own volition.

“Speaking from experience?” He knew he was pushing.

“No. I told you, I don’t act on impulse.”

“So, you’ve only had observation.”

“Close observation.”

“Right. You saw a situation that involved someone you know well — say a very close relative — interpreted it a certain way to match your preconceived notions, jumped to the conclusion that—”

“I don’t jump to conclusions, either.”

“—impulse always leads to disaster. All from one incident, seen from the outside and—”

“Not from one incident. From a lifetime. And not from the outside. From having a mother who jumped on impulse into a marriage that has made her miserable.”

“Does it? She says she’s not miserable. What if your mother loves him? What if your mother’s not bothered by the strict budget or the dowdy clothes. What if their marriage gives them both what they want. Isn’t that what a marriage should be?”

“Let’s sit with that a moment,” Melody said. “It’s dinner time now, followed by our Saturday night dessert session. So, we’ll take this up tomorrow.”

K.D. closed her mouth, no doubt on words as stormy as her expression.

Eric sat back.

This was nuts. He was nuts.

After his experience with Hilary, he should be running from marriage, not doing his damnedest to stop K.D. from running from it.

T
he dessert session was in the courtyard, with strategically subdued lighting, strictly enforced one glass of wine per person, a music sound system that would make Tyce at the Rose Chalet wince, and a spattering of Marriage-Save employees to keep an eye on things.

There were plenty of desserts. Not up to Julie and Andrew’s standards, but sweet enough.

A few couples danced. Most stood around and chatted about almost anything other than why they were here.

That’s what he and K.D. were doing when Jean and her husband danced past, waving to them and smiling broadly.

K.D. met his eyes for a moment that had his heart stuttering with possibilities.

Then she looked away.

T
hey followed the same bedtime routine as the night before. But this time as Eric eased under the sheet with his back to her, he slid his bottom arm across the bed and brushed her back.

She adjusted her position, too, freeing her bottom arm. She reached behind her and touched his hand.

“You okay?” he asked softly. He sounded as if he’d barely moved his lips.

“Okay.”

K.D.
hadn’t seen Eric since he got out of bed early this morning to go for a run.

Melody had scheduled double-length individual sessions with each of them, with K.D.’s first.

Their preparation under Myrna’s tutelage gave K.D. everything she needed as Melody led her through details about her relationship with Eric — supposed-relationship with Eric.

Then the counselor’s questions turned.

“Tell me more about your mother.”

“What was it like when you were growing up?”

“How did you feel about her dating when you were younger?”

“What did you think when she married your step-father— Okay, Mark?”

“How do you view their relationship?”

What if your mother loves him? What if your mother’s not bothered by the strict budget or the dowdy clothes? What if that’s a relief to her?

It gives them both what they want. Isn’t that what a marriage should be?

She shook her head at Eric’s voice in her head.

“He restricts everything she does. Her wardrobe, her makeup. He doesn’t even let her cover her roots.”

“You say she wasn’t like that when you were growing up?”

“Not at all. She always looked good, well-put together. She worked at it. Worked hard at it. Saved whatever money she could to buy clothes, have her hair done, things like that. I never understood what half the things she bought were supposed to do.”

“You didn’t care for that sort of thing? Makeup and clothes?”

“No. I was never into the girly things. I wanted to be able to take care of myself.”

Melody tipped her head. “Didn’t your mother take care of herself and you?”

“Yes. But she never liked it. She’d say that she couldn’t wait until she could . . . .”

“What? What did she say, K.D.?”

Her mother had said that she couldn’t wait until she became the wife of a man who loved her as she was, and then she could stop trying so hard.

That’s what her mother had so often said when she was eking out pennies to pay for the clothes she believed she needed, when she dieted to stay thin, when she applied her makeup so carefully. All to try to find a man who loved her as she was.

And now she had a husband whose budget didn’t allow for all the new clothes, hair styling, and makeup.

“What?” K.D. echoed, buying time.

“Your mother couldn’t wait until she could what?”

“Sorry. I, uh, lost track of what I was saying.”

Melody gave her a close look, but let it pass. “How do you think your mother’s relationship has affected your marriage?”

“It hasn’t affected it at all.”

Melody looked at her for a long moment, then turned her questions back to K.D and Eric.

K.D.
had a long conversation with Jean in the hot tub. Hearing a little too much about closet trysts for her taste.

The older woman also talked at length about her marriage. About the good years, the bad years, and the years that swung from good to bad and back.

They’d been to Marriage-Save twice before, so K.D. pumped her for background on the employees.

Jean had only good things to say about the people and the place. “It’s cheaper than regular therapy or a resort vacation, much less both.” She winked. “And Stan does like those closets. Guess yours does, too.”

“I
like my parents. And respect them,” Eric said in response to a Melody question in their session immediately after lunch.

K.D. cut him a look. He didn’t return it.

The counselor looked from her to him and back. “K.D., do you hear significance in Eric’s statement?”

“Significance? Not sure about that. Innuendo, yes.”

“Concerning . . .?”

Stay as close to the truth as possible because it made things easier, Captain Hadley had said. Easier to remember, maybe. Not necessarily easier in other ways.

And she didn’t have any obligation to reveal personal matters. Even for the good of an investigation.

Although . . . if she erected a wall to protect her privacy it would be obvious now with so much already out on the table.

“He’s contrasting his relationship with his parents to mine with my mother.”

“Tell me about that relationship.”

She shrugged. “I’ve told you. It’s not like we’re estranged. I see her. I love her. I’m grateful she raised me when the man who impregnated her left before I was born. I respect her for that. I just have never wanted be like her. I am not like her. At all.”

Eric made a soft, faintly scoffing sound.

“Eric? Do you have something to say to K.D.?”

He looked up. Not at the counselor, but directly at her. “You’re not motivated by determination to be different from her. You’re running away in abject fear that you’ll be like her in any way.”

“I’m not like her. I don’t kowtow to the man in my life. I have a career that I—”

Eric stood abruptly, pushing back his chair, and pacing away. From behind Melody, he gave K.D. a warning look. “Not that again. A career you gave up for me. Fine. Great. Thanks. Really appreciate the sacrifice. Not that your salary ever added much. But the reason I didn’t want you working was so you could stay home with the kids. Kids we don’t have.”

Even with most of her attention on Eric, K.D. was aware of a new energy in Melody. Like a batter who’d spotted a big, fat pitch coming toward her, knowing it was right in her wheelhouse, and she could knock this one out of the ballpark.

“Eric, let’s talk about expectations, and the compromises often needed to bring a couple’s expectations in line. Why don’t you sit down?”

T
hey walked without talking. Not needing to confer to get them to the Rose Chalet by a roundabout route.

“Thanks,” she said in a low tone as they neared the building.

“For?” Without lifting his head, he looked over at her.

“The save. Career. I almost blew it. You got me out of that corner.”

He shook his head. “I screwed up by putting you in that corner. Sorry.” He lifted his head and smiled slightly. “I suspect you’re getting a few blows that really belong to my ex.”

They walked a couple minutes.

“Maybe you’re getting some that belong to my mom. Not blows. Frustrations with my mom.” She considered that. “And maybe some that should belong to me.”

His raised eyebrows invited her to continue. She didn’t accept the invitation.

They were almost to the Rose Chalet.

Besides, how much talking could she do?

T
hey tried Rose’s office first. It was empty. No one was in the dining room, either.