Proposal for the Wedding Planner Read online

  ‘You don’t sound thrilled about that.’

  Or was it just sharing a room with her he wasn’t looking forward to? How was she supposed to know? She’d only known the man a couple of hours. Hardly enough to get a good mind-reading trick going.

  ‘I just don’t want Riley to make a big mistake.’

  ‘Marrying Melissa, you mean?’

  A cold feeling snaked down through Laurel’s body. Was Dan planning on persuading Riley to call off the wedding? Because that kind of thing really didn’t tend to get the wedding planner any repeat business, even if it wasn’t her fault.

  Dan flashed her a smile. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will be fine. I’m just...interested to meet her, that’s all.’

  ‘Right...’ Laurel said, unconvinced.

  Was this why he’d suggested the whole fake relationship thing in the first place? She’d known he had an ulterior motive—that was one of many reasons she’d turned him down. And then she’d panicked and forgotten all those reasons.

  This was why she didn’t do impulsive. It always ended badly.

  Well, if Dan thought that Melissa was a bad choice for Riley, Laurel would just have to prove otherwise. Hard as it was to imagine trying to persuade someone that Melissa was a good person, apparently that was now the latest task on her wedding planner to-do list. Great—because that wasn’t long enough already.

  ‘So, tell me about your room.’ Dan turned towards her, sharp blue eyes watching her face instead of their reflections now. ‘For instance is it a suite, with multiple bedrooms and a stuffed mini-bar?’

  ‘It has a mini-bar.’

  ‘And bedrooms?’

  ‘Bedroom. Singular.’

  ‘Two beds?’

  Laurel winced, and Dan turned away with a sigh just as the lift doors parted again, opening onto Laurel’s floor.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, leading him out into the corridor.

  ‘I’ll cope.’

  ‘I’m sure you will.’ Big, strong stuntman like him—he’d be fine anywhere. It wasn’t him she was worried about.

  What was the protocol for this? Laurel wondered as she slipped her key card into the door and pushed it open. He was the guest—did that mean she had to give him the bed? In fairness, she’d probably fit better on the tiny sofa than he would. But on the other hand it was her room... No. He was the one doing her a favour, pretending to find her attractive and worthwhile in front of her family. He probably deserved the bed.

  It was just that it was a really comfy bed.

  Dropping her key card on the tiny dressing table, Laurel moved across the room to the window, staring back at Dan, looming in the doorway. He was too big for her room—that was all there was to it. It had been the perfect room for just her—queen-sized bed with a soothing sage-coloured satin quilt, white dressing table with carved legs, a small but perfectly formed bathroom with rolltop bath...even the dove-grey wing-back chair by the window was perfect for one.

  One her. Not her plus one oversized, muscular stuntman.

  Dan looked out of place in Morwen Hall to start with: his leather jacket was too rough, his boots too scuffed, his jeans...well, his jeans fitted him pretty much perfectly but, much as she liked them, they didn’t exactly fit the refined Gothic elegance of the wedding venue. But if he was too...too much for Morwen Hall, he overwhelmed her little room entirely.

  Who was she kidding? He overwhelmed her.

  ‘So...um...how are we going to do this?’ she asked, watching as he took in the room. Their bedroom. There was no end to the weirdness of that. ‘The sharing a room thing, I mean. As opposed to the faking a relationship thing. Which, now that I come to mention it, is next on my how-to list, actually. But first... You know... We should probably figure out the room thing.’

  ‘The room thing...’ Dan echoed, still looking around him. ‘Right.’ Then, dropping the bag of wedding favours onto the dressing table, he moved through the bedroom, exploring the bathroom, pressing down on the bed to test the mattress, then yanking open the mini-bar door and pulling out a bottle of beer.

  ‘So the plan is drink until we don’t care which one of us sleeps on the sofa?’ Laurel asked cautiously.

  Maybe she should have found out a few more things about her supposed boyfriend before she’d started this charade. Like whether or not he tended to solve all his problems with alcohol. That would have been useful information about someone she now had to share a room with.

  ‘We’re sharing the bed,’ Dan said, dropping to sit on the edge of the satin quilt.

  Laurel’s heart stuttered in her chest.

  ‘Sharing. Like...both of us in it at the same time?’

  Her horror must have shown on her face, because he rolled his eyes.

  ‘Nothing to worry about, Princess. I’m not going to besmirch your honour, or whatever it is you’re imagining right now.’

  ‘I wasn’t...’ She tailed off before she had to explain that it wasn’t his besmirching she was worried about. It was how she was going to keep her hands from exploring those muscles...

  ‘We’ll share the bed because it’s big enough and it’s stupid not to,’ Dan went on, oblivious to her inner muscle dilemma. ‘This week is going to be deadly enough without a chronic backache from sleeping on that thing.’ He nodded towards the chaise longue, shoehorned in under the second window at the side of the bed. ‘Apart from that...the bathroom has a door that locks, and we’re going to be out doing wedding stuff most of the time we’re here anyway. Especially you—you’re organising the whole thing, remember? How much time did you really expect to spend in this room before I came along?’

  ‘I figured if I was lucky I might get four or five hours here to sleep at night,’ Laurel admitted.

  He was right. They’d probably barely see each other all week, given how much she had to do. And the chances of her passing out from exhaustion the moment her head hit the pillow, regardless of who was snoring away beside her, were high. It would all be fine.

  ‘There you go, then. Not a problem.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Laurel agreed, wondering why it still felt like one.

  For a long moment they stared at each other, as if still figuring out what they’d let themselves in for. Then Laurel glimpsed the clock on the dressing table and gasped.

  ‘The welcome drinks! I need to get ready.’

  Dan waved a hand towards the bathroom. ‘Be my guest. I’ll just be out here.’

  He leant back and stretched out on the bed, his black T-shirt riding up just enough to give her a glimpse of the tanned skin and a smattering of dark hair underneath. She swallowed, and looked away.

  ‘Don’t give me another thought,’ he said.

  ‘I won’t.’ She grabbed her dress from where it hung on the outside of the wardrobe, gathered up her make-up bag from the dressing table, and retreated to the relative calm and peace of the bathroom.

  Where she promptly realised, upon stepping into the shower, that she still knew next to nothing about her pretend boyfriend and she had to go and meet his parents within the hour.

  Clunking her head against the tiles of the shower wall, Laurel wondered exactly how she’d managed to make this week even more unbearable than Melissa had managed.

  * * *

  Dan heard the click of the bathroom door opening and put down the magazine he’d found on the coffee table, which extolled the wonders of the British countryside. Laurel stepped through the door and he realised that the British countryside had nothing on the woman he was sharing a room and apparently a fake relationship with.

  ‘Think I’ll do?’ Laurel asked, giving him a lopsided smile as she turned slowly in the doorway.

  The movement revealed that the long, slim black dress she’d chosen—a dress that clung to her ample curves in a way that made his brain go
a little mushy—draped down from her shoulders to leave her back almost entirely bare.

  ‘I mean, we need this charade to be believable, right? Do you think your family will believe you’d date someone like me?’

  ‘I think they’ll wonder why you’re slumming it with a guy like me,’ he replied honestly, still staring at the honey-coloured skin of her back. Did she know what that sort of dress could do to a man? ‘You look better than any of those actresses that’ll be out there tonight.’

  Laurel pulled a face. ‘I appreciate the lie, but—’

  ‘Who’s lying?’ Dan interrupted. ‘Trust me, I’ve met most of them. And none of them could wear that dress like you do.’

  She still looked unconvinced, so Dan got up from the bed and crossed over to her. ‘This,’ he said, laying a hand at the base of her back, ‘is a very nice touch.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s too much? Or...well, too little?’

  She looked up at him with wide, dark eyes, all vulnerability and openness, and Dan thought, Damn.

  This was where he got into trouble. Every time. A woman looked at him that way—as if he could answer all her questions, give her what she needed, make her world a better place—and he fell for it. He believed he could make a difference.

  And then she walked off with the first real movie star to look at her twice. Every time.

  Well, not this one. Laurel wasn’t his girlfriend, his crush, or his lover. She was his partner in this little game they were playing. Maybe she’d even become a friend. But that was it. She was looking for a prince, not a stand-in.

  Which meant he should probably stop staring into her eyes around now.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ he said, stepping away. ‘Come on. We’d better get down to the bar, right? I figure you probably have work to do tonight.’

  Laurel nodded, and grabbed her clutch bag from the dressing table. Then she turned back to frown at him. ‘Wait—you’re going like that?’

  Arms spread wide, Dan looked down at his dark jeans, the black shirt open at the collar, and his usual boots. Admittedly, they were somewhat more casual than the suits and ties he imagined the other guys in attendance would be wearing.

  ‘You don’t like it?’

  ‘I love it.’ A smile spread across her face as she opened the door for him. ‘And not just because Melissa will hate it.’

  Dan grinned back. ‘All the more reason, then.’

  * * *

  The bar where they were holding the welcome drinks had been decked out with decorations in cool shades of icy blue and green. Not streamers and bunting and stuff—the sort of decorations Dan remembered from other kids’ parties when he was younger. These decorations were...classy. Expensive. Yet somehow slightly over the top, as if they were trying too hard. But then, he was starting to get the feeling that that was just Melissa all over.

  ‘It looks like the seaside threw up in here,’ he said to a passing waiter as he grabbed a champagne flute from the tray he was carrying.

  ‘Very good, sir,’ the waiter said, as if his words had made sense.

  Dan sighed. Laurel might have understood. Except Laurel had probably decorated the room herself, so maybe he wouldn’t mention it. Just in case.

  Besides, every time he caught a glimpse of Laurel through the crowd all he saw was that honey-gold back, taunting him. It was as if her very dress was screaming, See this? You have to look at it, lie next to it all night, and never touch it. Ha!

  Perhaps the dress was punishment for something—except he hadn’t even known Laurel long enough to do anything worth punishing. Unless it was more of an existential punishment. A general torture inflicted on him by the universe for past sins.

  Even then, it seemed a little over the top. He hadn’t been that bad. Had he?

  As if to answer the question, he caught a glimpse of a balding head through the crowd, accompanied by a shrill voice, and realised that his parents had arrived. Apparently his day was about to get worse.

  Steeling himself, Dan drained his champagne as his father spotted him and beckoned him over. Of course they couldn’t possibly come to him. He had to go and report in with them. They’d travel all the way to England for Riley’s wedding—just as they’d visited him on set across the States and the rest of the world. But they’d never once visited Dan’s offices, or any film he was working on, even while they were staying with Riley in LA.

  He supposed it was fair. He’d never visited their workplaces either—never made it to a lecture they’d given. Never even shown up and been the respectable son they wanted at any of their fancy events. In fact from the moment he’d realised that he’d always be second-best to Riley in their eyes he’d given up trying all together.

  Why bother trying to live up to expectations he could never match, or trying to be good enough for people who not only expected more, but wanted someone completely different? He wasn’t the son they wanted, so he didn’t try to pretend otherwise. In fact, for most of his teenage years he’d gone out of his way to be the exact opposite. And during his twenties, actually.

  Even marrying Cassie had been a big middle finger to his parents, who’d hated every inch of the trailer-trash-made-average actress. Of course that little act of rebellion had come back to bite him when he’d fallen in love with her, against his own better judgement. Love made you want to be good enough, something he’d spent his whole life avoiding.

  When she’d left him he’d known he’d never try to be good enough for anybody else again. He was his own man and that was enough.

  Even if it meant dealing with his parents’ disappointment every now and again.

  He snagged another glass of champagne as he crossed the room towards them, but refrained from drinking it just yet. If the conversation went at all the way he expected he’d need it later.

  ‘Quite the venue our Riley has managed to get for this shindig, huh, son?’

  Wendell Black smacked Dan between the shoulder blades, too hard to be casual, not hard enough to actually hurt—even if Dan wasn’t sure that hadn’t been the intention.

  ‘Oh, Wendell, I’m sure Melissa had the final say on the venue.’ His mother’s nose wrinkled ever so slightly. ‘Didn’t she work here once, or something?’

  ‘Nothing wrong with working your way all the way up,’ Wendell said. ‘It’s working your way down that’s the problem!’ He laughed—too loudly—and Dan clenched his jaw.

  ‘Hello, Mother, Father,’ he said, after the laughter had subsided. Just because they’d forgone basic greetings—as if it hadn’t been two years since they’d last seen each other—it didn’t mean he had to.

  ‘Daniel.’ His mother eyed him critically. ‘Do you really think that’s an appropriate outfit for tonight?’

  ‘I’m hoping that Riley will be so pleased to see me he won’t care what I’m wearing.’ It was partly true; Riley generally cared far less than his parents about appropriate attire. Probably because he just let Melissa or his stylist dress him for all events.

  Dan shuddered at the very idea. The last thing he needed was someone telling him what to wear. In his experience next came what to say, then what to do, then who to be.

  He was very happy being himself, thank you.

  Letting his gaze roam around the room, he tried to pretend he was just taking in the occasion, even though he knew there was really only one person he was looking for. One long black dress, and dark brown hair pinned up at the nape of her neck above that bare back. How had she captivated him so quickly? Dan couldn’t help but think he wouldn’t mind taking directions from Laurel, under certain circumstances. Especially if she was telling him what clothing to take off rather than put on.

  But that line of thinking was dangerous. If anyone had expectations it was Laurel. And he had no intention of trying to live up to them.

  ‘So, I suppo
se I should ask how the business is doing,’ his mother said, ignoring his comment about Riley, just as she always ignored anything she didn’t agree with.

  ‘It would be polite,’ Dan agreed. He’d scanned the whole bar and not spotted her—and she was hard to miss in that dress. Where was she?

  ‘Daniel,’ his mother said, warning clear in her voice.

  He shouldn’t make her actually ask. That would be showing far too much interest in his disreputable industry.

  How his parents managed to live with the hypocritical distinction they made between cheerleading Riley’s A-List celebrity career and looking down on his own lucrative and respected film-related business, Dan had no idea. He suspected it had something to do with column inches in the celebrity magazines his mother pretended she didn’t read.

  There. There she was. Laurel stood at the bar, her posture stiff and awkward as she talked to an older couple. He squinted at them. Nobody he recognised, so probably family. In fact, probably her family. And she looked about as excited to be talking to them as he was to be stuck alone with his.

  Well, now. Wasn’t that just a win-win situation for everyone in the making? He could swoop in, save Laurel from her family, then drag her over to meet his and she could at least keep him company and give him something pretty to look at while his parents put him down.

  ‘Sorry, Mother. If you’ll excuse me a moment, there’s someone I’d really like you to meet. I’ll be right back.’

  Not waiting for an answer, Dan pushed his way through the crowd towards the bar—and Laurel. Spotting Benjamin watching him as he crossed the room, he gave Laurel’s ex a flash of smile and a small wave, just to remind him that he was Laurel’s boyfriend now. Fake or otherwise.

  Then he got back to the task in hand—rescuing Laurel. He paused just a metre or two away from where she stood, hands twisting round each other in front of her belly, and took stock of her companions.

  The man who Dan assumed was her father was short and stocky, with a thatch of grey hair above deep-set eyes. His suit looked expensive, but he fiddled with the cufflinks as if they were still a little unfamiliar. Dan guessed that Melissa had dressed her parents up for the occasion, the way she wanted them to be seen. See? It wasn’t even just wives who did that. Perhaps all women were just as culpable.