Four Weddings and a Fiasco: The Wedding Caper (9 page)

“Do. Not. Say. It.” Despite the faintest tremor in her voice, Rose’s tone was not to be ignored.

“I know, I know. It’s just that at the real weddings, I never let myself think about things like that, much less say them, and I guess with the pressure of all those times of not thinking, much less saying, it came out. And you’ve got to admit, that was one terrible kiss.”

There were murmurs of agreements.

“Try, try, again,” Ken suggested.

Before K.D. could offer the response that came to the tip of her tongue, Eric muttered a syllable, put a hand to each side of her head, crinkling some of the veil on one side, and brought her mouth to his.

His mouth was . . . marvelous.

His lips met hers and it was like being hit by the stun gun they’d had to experience before having it issued to them. That instant knee-weakening, I-have-no-control-over-my-body reaction. Except there was also this other part of it, like she could sink and sink and sink into the warmth and the firmness of him and never reach bottom.

“Good, good. Yes, exactly like that.”

K.D. wasn’t entirely clear if the words were coming from inside her head or from the videographer.

“Now hold it. Don’t move a muscle. I’m switching to the still camera. Stay right like that. Right like that.”

Not move a muscle? K.D. had no muscles left to move. Yet not moving was impossible. She
had
to move. Possibly to run. Possibly to grab on and draw him closer. Lots, lots closer. Her hands came up to Eric’s. To remove them or to hold them in place?

“Okay, good. Got it. That was good,” Ella said. “Now, the end of the ceremony and turning to the crowd as a married couple. That’s the big one. That’s the money shot. That’s when everybody sees if they’re both ecstatic. Or if the seeds of doubt are still there for one or both. Will this marriage survive? Or not?”

K.D.
opened the bedroom door in response to a knock.

“Morning,” Eric said. “Ella called. She’s done editing.”

“She must have been up most of the night.”

They hadn’t left the Rose Chalet until the early morning hours.

After the last picture was taken, Ella had left to start editing. The rest of them stayed to clean up and consume more of the feast Julie and Andrew had prepared.

It had been fun. Relaxed.

K.D. had never had more than a few friends over the years. Her closest friend from college had died unexpectedly two years ago of an undiagnosed heart ailment. With work and her irregular schedule, there wasn’t much opportunity to build new friendships. She was cordial with most of the guys at work, but not friends. They had their own lives . . . and wives.

After last night, she felt the lack more.

“Probably was up all night,” he said.

Oh, right. Ella.

But he looked as if he might have been up most of the night, too. Had he been remembering his previous wedding night? Entertaining thoughts that last night wasn’t the way he would have expected to spend his next wedding night?

Not that it had been a real wedding night.

She knew from the mirror that she looked tired, and she certainly hadn’t ever built up thoughts about a wedding night.

On the plus side, both of them looking tired could help their charade, since stress could cause lack of sleep.

“Let’s go see what Ella’s put together,” she said, grabbing a hooded sweater from a nearby chair. They’d both been careful to vary their look when they went to the Rose Chalet. And to slip in the back way through the kitchen. There were only so many visits a friendship with RJ could explain.

After yesterday’s hubbub, the place seemed empty and flat to K.D.

They found Ella, Rose, Phoebe, Ken, and RJ in Rose’s office. A flat-screen TV was revealed from behind a painting on one wall.

“Good.” Rose said. “Ella’s ready. Stills first, then the video.”

Ella had done a remarkable job. It truly looked like a real wedding. And one with more than a handful of guests.

Even with all of them looking closely, there was only one still photo to be removed from the ones Ella had selected, and that’s because Patrick had been caught in the background turning his jacket inside out.

Then came the video.

If she didn’t know better, she’d think that couple on the screen who looked like Eric and her had actually gotten married.

Knew the connection those exchanged looks implied.

Had experienced the passion that kiss promised.

Were actually in love.

Ella should be in Hollywood. She’d made it all so . . .
real
.

On the video, they turned and faced the “congregation,” their smiles a little awkward, a little shy. That was okay. That made sense. A newly married couple would feel that way.

On the screen, Eric clasped her hand, looking at her. She looked back.

The smiles changed. Became more comfortable. Okay. That was okay.

The smiles changed more. Bigger, happier.

She’d gotten through the kissing, but this was somehow . . . worse.

That smile . . . .

She felt . . . .

K.D. stood, facing the others.

“Fantastic job, Ella. That’ll work great. But we have to go now.”

“There’s still the reception,” Ella said.

“You’ve done such a good job on the rest, I’m sure it will be terrific. We have to get back to Eric’s without being seen. Sure would hate to compromise the entire set-up by being seen leaving here so close to check-in at Marriage-Save.”

For another beat, no one moved, then Eric stood, too.

“K.D.’s right. Thank you, Ella. Thank you, all. You’ve been amazing. Now it’s up to K.D. and me. Time to get to work.”

“R
eady? I’ll take your suitcase.” Eric called so she’d hear him at the other end of the hall.

Where she’d slept these past nights. So close. Not nearly close enough.

Oh, yeah, he’d fallen. Hard, fast, and true.

Maybe he’d been trying to tell himself it wasn’t so. Maybe he’d half succeeded in fooling himself most of the time.

That ended this afternoon.

Watching that video. With how he felt there for all to see.

Including K.D.

It had clearly scared her half to death.

He swore under his breath.

This was going to be a fun couple of days.

“I’m downstairs, Eric. My stuff’s here by the door.” K.D.’s voice floated up to him.

He slipped the packet of prints Ella had given them into the outside pocket of his suitcase.

He didn’t need the pictures to remind him of what he felt.

“Next time, I’m carrying that damned suitcase come hell or high water,” he muttered.

A
fter a slight tussle at the bottom of the outside steps of Marriage-Save, concluded when she growled at Eric, “You would
not
be helping me with my suitcase,” they were buzzed into the discreetly labeled front door.

They stepped into a gracious reception area.

A broad wooden stairway started up along the right wall, then turned halfway to continue its ascent. On the left side was a wooden check-in desk that suited another era, its glowing wood matching the staircase. In between were groupings of small sofas and wide chairs that left the feeling that comfort was more important than elegance.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Larkin. Eric and K.D., how wonderful to meet you in person.”

The cheerful voice came from the vicinity of the check-in desk. After reminding herself that it wasn’t suspicious that someone from Marriage-Save recognized them, because they’d emailed photos a few hours ago, K.D. stepped forward.

Eric was there ahead of her. He looked over his shoulder at her, quirking an eyebrow that seemed to say this was his duty. Sure it was more common for the man to do it, but it wasn’t mandatory.

She turned away in an apparent huff for a double benefit — backing their charade and giving her a chance to look around.

Security cameras over the front door. One focused on the entry, the other at the reception desk. Where else —?

“Mrs. Larkin?”

“K.D., this young lady needs your signature, too.”

Eric’s voice turned her around, belatedly realizing the woman had called her Mrs. Larkin, and she hadn’t responded. She had to be more alert for that.

“What a lovely room this is,” she said as she signed. That gave her an excuse for a more overt look around. More cameras in the hallway that disappeared under the staircase.

“It is lovely, isn’t it? It’s amazing that no one’s ruined the wonderful period feel of it. Much of the rest of the building has been renovated, added on to and otherwise altered, but this area remains as it was when it survived the 1906 earthquake. I think that’s why I like working up front so much. That and getting to meet such nice people.”

She gave a brilliant smile, perfectly divided between them. Not even the most jealous wife could complain about it, not even the most philandering husband could build hopes around it.

She was good.

“We’ll get you signed in,” said the bubbly receptionist, “then you can leave your suitcases here while I show you around before I escort you upstairs. We have three counselors. Each works with several couples a day, some here for the weekend program like you are, and others for our longer programs. You’ll be working with Melody, with one session tonight, multiple sessions Saturday and Sunday, then a wrap-up Monday morning. In between, you’ll have other activities. And there is a bit of free time. Now, let me show you our amenities.”

“. . . A
nd here is your room.” The smiling young woman opened the door, stepping inside to hold it for them as they each wheeled in a suitcase.

Their tour had barely started when K.D. had started thinking of the receptionist as Ms. Smiley.

K.D. followed her now, so she saw the issue before Eric did.

One bed.

Not a king size, either.

More like a runt-among-princesses size.

“This is fine for me. Alone,” she said.

“Oh, no,” said Ms. Smiley. “It’s a firm policy that our couples share a room.”

“Two beds —”

“None of our rooms have two beds.” Did she ever stop smiling? “Settle in now, then in thirty minutes, you’ll meet with Melody downstairs for your preliminary session. If you need anything, let us know. I’m Lily, by the way.”

She closed the door with herself and her smile on the hallway side of it.

“What we need is separate rooms,” muttered K.D.

She became aware Eric still hadn’t said anything. She looked over at him and met an intent look. He held her gaze for a moment, before shifting his focus to the upper right corner of the room, then, slowly, to the upper left.

She picked up her suitcase and set it on the rack, using the motion to check the upper left. “I get the right side of the bed,” she stated, pointedly looking away from Eric, which brought her gaze to the upper right.

Cameras. She’d check the other corners when she had a chance to do it naturally.

She should have spotted that. She should have thought to look for them after the ones downstairs. There were cameras in the hallways on the first floor. The one, unoccupied counseling room their tour guide had shown them also had cameras.

As did the group meeting room, hot tub area, and dining room.

K.D. hadn’t spotted any in the massage room, but they’d only seen the reception area there. The massage rooms were in back.

There’d been a camera in the elevator that brought them upstairs, another outside of it. She hadn’t seen any in the hallway leading to the room. Still, she should have thought to look for cameras here.

Those were her first thoughts. Then the potential ramifications slid in. They were being watched in this room. They had to keep up the charade of being a couple not just in public, but also during every moment they were in this room.

This bedroom.

T
he counselor named Melody Samelson was calm and pleasant. The room where they met her was calm and pleasant, with French doors to the courtyard. Despite the doors being closed — presumably for privacy — they let in appreciable late afternoon natural light through sheer curtains.

“This is simply a get-acquainted session. A chance for us to get to know each other before the hard work starts tomorrow. We’ll go over the schedule for your stay here to give you a sense of how things will proceed. First, however, I understand that you expressed issues with the sleeping arrangements,” Melody said with warm concern. Or possibly concerned warmth.

So Ms. Smiley was a snitch. Yes, the receptionist’s name was Lily, but Ms. Smiley fit so well.

K.D. returned Melody’s gaze. “I wouldn’t say
issues
. Displeasure.”

Melody didn’t blink. “How
is
your sexual relationship?”

“Non-existent,” Eric murmured.

Despite herself, K.D. felt heat coming into her cheeks and an urge to giggle rising up her throat. Neither suited her role. She said, “Whose fault is that?”

The counselor intervened. “Now, now there’s no fault here. This is a no-fault zone. All of Marriage-Save is a no-fault zone. We must all adhere to that the entire time we’re here.”

With her cheeks still prickling, K.D. barely withstood the temptation to ask if Melody was also going through counseling, what with all the
we
's she tossed around.

“But there’s no need to feel any pressure about physical intimacy during your stay at Marriage-Save. We strongly —
strongly
— encourage our clients to refrain from such activity here.”

“That won’t be a problem,” K.D. said firmly.

Melody flicked a look at her, softened with another smile. “Fine. Now, let’s talk about what brought you to Marriage-Save.”

K.D.
planned to wait for Eric to fall asleep.

Surely Marriage-Save hadn’t installed night-vision cameras in the guest rooms, so then she’d have to slip out of the room and avoid the cameras in the public areas.