Paper Roses (Confetti Hitched #3)

Chapter 2

two

. . .

artie

The bistro in Chelsea is charming. Wisteria grows up the building’s exterior walls, and small iron tables and chairs painted bright colours are set on the pavement. Jed opens the door and ushers me inside. Even at this late hour, it’s busy and the air is full of the scent of good things cooking. My stomach rumbles.

Jed smiles at me. “Let’s sit down. I’m starving. I never got a chance to eat tonight, and I know you didn’t.”

I follow him to a table and he pulls out a chair for me. It’s one of those innately courteous things he seems to do unconsciously. He’s a gentleman down to the soles of his Santoni shoes.

He sits down opposite me, his knee bumping mine. His body heat seeps through the expensive tailoring of his suit trousers, and I control a shiver of awareness as he hands me a menu. “The chicken printanier is very good,” he offers. “But you can’t go wrong with anything here.”

Someone calls his name, and his face breaks into the big, wide smile he doesn’t wear often. It lights up his face, making his eyes look very green. He stands up just as a young woman barrels into him. He hugs her, chuckling. “How are you, Moira?”

She’s blonde with a heart-shaped face and her head barely reaches Jed’s shoulders. “I’m fine, Uncle Jed. How are you?”

“Moira owns the bistro,” Jed explains to me and turns to her. “Moira, this is Artie.”

The name rings a bell for some reason, but I can’t work out why. “Nice to meet you,” I say, aware of her eyes busily taking an inventory of me.

“Artie? Oh, I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Have you?” I ask, startled to see a slight flush on Jed’s cheekbones.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your date,” she says, her smile charming. “It’s just that I haven’t seen Uncle Jed for ages.”

“Oh, it isn’t a date,” Jed says immediately.

Try as I might, I can’t help the pang of disappointment that hits me. I wonder when I’ll ever stop feeling it.

“Really?” She looks between us and then chuckles. “Oops. It just looked like one. Sorry.”

I force my feelings down and smile at her. “No need to apologise.”

“I’ll take your order while I’m here, though.”

“How are you doing?” Jed asks. “Business looks good.”

“It’s brilliant, thank you. Are you coming for Sunday lunch this week? I know Dad’s been texting you.”

“I think so. I’ll phone him later. We’ve just been at a wedding.” He turns to me and says, “Moira, here, is my goddaughter.”

The name finally clicks in my memory bank. “Ah, I remember now. Her dad is your best friend, isn’t he?

He nods. “He was my partner when I was on the force. We came up through police college together.”

“He still misses you,” Moira tells him. “He says no one talked as much sense as you.”

“He should come and do a talk at my agency on the subject.”

I chuckle as she takes out her notepad.

“I’ll have the honey-glazed pork medallions with dauphinoise potatoes, and a glass of chardonnay,” Jed says.

I nod. “That sounds good. I’ll have the same, thank you.”

She pats his shoulder. “I’ll send someone over with your drinks.”

She bustles away and a silence falls. Jed shifts the salt and pepper shakers, pushing them together neatly, and then stacks the napkins. It’s only when he straightens the tablecloth that I realise he’s nervous.

“Are you okay?” I blurt out.

He looks up, startled, and his green eyes look almost gold in the low light. “I’m fine,” he says. He hesitates and then says abruptly, “I’d like to know about your wedding. Have you been seeing your fiancé a long while? You never said you were seeing anyone.” The pause is a beat too long. “Would you like me to organise it for you? It would be free as an employee of Confetti Hitched.” He licks his lip. “A very valued employee,” he adds softly. “And?—”

Without thinking, I place my hand over his, cutting off his tumble of words. A beat of silence drops, and then he removes his hand and scratches his eyebrow awkwardly. For a second, his gaze seems to focus on my mouth, but he glances away when a waiter approaches our table.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve imagined him liking me and been disabused. It’s total wish fulfilment on my part, and I know it.

The waiter deposits our drinks and scurries away, and I sigh when Jed looks at me and raises his eyebrow. He’s not giving up on this.

“It’s a long story,” I say rather inanely.

“We have all the time you need.”

“What time does this place close?” I glance around the busy café, seeking distraction.

“Two in the morning. Plenty of time to talk about your wedding. Who’s the lucky man?” He seems to fumble that last question.

“Well, there’s the thing…”

He regards me patiently. That steady calmness is one of his best qualities. You feel safe with him. I run my hand through my hair.

His gaze sharpens. “Artie, what’s the matter?” He hesitates and then adds fiercely, “Are you in some kind of trouble? If you are, I want you to tell me and I will sort it out for you.”

I gape at him. “How did you get from a wedding to trouble?”

He rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are flushed. “It’s not such a big reach in our profession. Especially if you employ Raff and Joe.” He offers his hand, and I put my own in his without thinking. It should be startling to hold hands with my gorgeous boss, but somehow, it’s as natural as taking my next breath—smooth and right. “Tell me,” he stresses. “I know you’re troubled.” He gestures at my face with his free hand. “Your face gives you away every time.”

I groan. “And that’s my curse in life.” I feel his hand slip away from mine with sadness and then square my shoulders. “I need to get married.”

“Need to?” His gaze is laser focused, and I shift uneasily under it. I bet he was a good policeman, because he’s patient and steady until he gets his own way.

Before I can answer him, movement from behind him catches my eye. “Moira is gesturing to you.”

He looks back and Moira holds up a landline phone. “For you,” she calls.

Jed groans. “It’ll be her dad. I haven’t been in touch for ages, and I haven’t replied to his texts. Do you mind?”

“Of course not.”

I watch him stride over to the counter and say something to Moira that makes her laugh. He takes the phone and begins talking, a smile pulling at that full mouth of his. I indulge myself in my favourite hobby—watching Jed Walker while he’s not aware.

He’s a stunning man. Six foot two with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and a long, muscled body. He grew a short beard a few months ago and his brown-blond hair is a little longer than usual, hitting his neck in shaggy waves. It suits him, softening his craggy face with its stubborn, square chin and the determined jut of his jaw. It’s not a pretty face. There’s a scar through one eyebrow courtesy of someone wielding a broken bottle when he’d been a beat bobby. His nose is crooked, as it’s been broken a few times, but it’s a handsome one that compels a second glance.

The trouble is I didn’t stop at a second glance. I sigh and take a sip of my drink. I came to work for him when I was eighteen. At first, I’d been wary of the big bloke with the deep voice and sarcastic wit, but I steadily became aware that the wit was never cruel and although his voice was deep, he never shouted, no matter the provocation.

He’s the kindest man you could hope to meet and impossibly loyal. If you have him at your back, then you’re safe. Safety was something I hadn’t felt for years, so it was no wonder I harboured a crush on him that steadily burned brighter and brighter. And now it’s a conflagration of emotions that I don’t care to acknowledge, because they’re utterly hopeless.

He taps the counter idly while listening to his friend on the phone. The glint of gold on his ring finger steadies me like it usually does. There is no chance for me with Jed. I know it as surely as I know my own name and my disinclination towards karaoke and ice skating. Jed might be a widower, but in his heart he will always be married to Mick.

He’d been a widower for three years when I’d met him. He’d been hollow-eyed and desperately unhappy, but no longer mad with grief. I would see sparks of life, of happiness, but he’d douse them again and again. Relationships were never allowed to form. Oh, he’ll sleep with men—they’re a constant progression through his bedroom. But no one sticks, because he stays loyal to Mick.

I often wonder what Mick was like. I’ve heard lots of funny stories about him from Margot, who’s been at the agency longer than Jed. Mick was obviously a character who was larger than life, and I’m sure that’s why Jed finds it so difficult to let go.

I grimace. It also explains why Jed’s never cast an eye at me. There is no way on this earth and a few other planets that Jed would look at quiet, mousy me when he was in love with a man like Mick.

Jed hangs up the phone. As he walks back to me, I plaster on a smile.

“I wouldn’t bother trying to fool me,” he says cheerfully as he comes near.

I sigh. Jed can be annoyingly perceptive and annoyingly oblivious. Earlier, he’d said he could see all my emotions. I’d almost fallen off my seat laughing, because he’s never once seen that I’m in love with him.

“Oh dear, is it that bad?” he asks, sliding into his seat. I inhale the scent of his Durand cologne. It’s musky and fresh and makes my head spin, and I’d once spent an embarrassing hour sniffing it in Harvey Nicks.

His mouth quirks, and I try to remember what he just said.

“It’s not bad at all,” I lie, quickly smiling at Moira as she sets plates of food in front of us.

I glance at Jed and see he’s directing a narrow-eyed gaze at me. I groan silently, but he doesn’t question me again. Instead, he eats and tells me a funny story about the wedding today.

We laugh through that and another story involving Rafferty, Joe, and an ice cream van. It’s only when he sets his knife and fork down that I notice my plate is empty. I glance at Jed, and a funny expression crosses his face before he smiles and summons the waitress to take our plates.

“Now you’ve eaten, we can talk,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

He raises one eyebrow. “Your appetite is always affected by nerves, and you needed to eat. You’re too pale lately. I’ll order us both another drink, and then you can tell me what’s happening to worry you.” He winks as he gestures to the waitress again. “I can wait a long while, and I have nowhere to be.”

He orders an amaretto for me, and I hold back another sigh. How can I get over him when he does such sweet things? Nobody else in my life would worry that I was pale, order me my favourite drink, or keep me occupied enough to enjoy a meal when my stomach is twisting itself in knots.

I take a sip of my liqueur, the sweet, nutty flavour warming my throat as I swallow.

“Okay,” he says. “Get on with it. You’re getting married.” He pauses, his brow wrinkling. “No, you have to get married. What is going on?”

I shrug. “Well, I have to find a candidate for the marriage first.”

“ What ?”

I lick my lips nervously. “I should probably start with the fact that my stepmother died three months ago.”

“You didn’t say. I’m so sorry.”

“Well, that’s nice, but she probably wouldn’t thank you for the sentiment. She mistrusted emotion and didn’t like people. Especially me.” I smooth a crease from the tablecloth and then make myself look at him. His face is set in its usual inscrutable mask, but his eyes are busy.

“So, you didn’t get along?”

“No, not at all. She married my father when I was five, but I’m not sure why she chose a widower with a child. She disliked children very much.”

My stepsister Daisy would say Laura married my father for the money, but I don’t want to think that. In spite of everything that’s happened, I want my father to have been happy and loved.

“So, you had no relationship?”

“No. I left home when I was sixteen.”

His gaze sharpens. “Left or were pushed?”

“Maybe a little bit of both? But I’m sure they wanted their privacy. Doesn’t every parent want their teenagers to leave home?”

“No, they don’t,” he says simply. He pauses, his eyes soft. “I’m sorry.”

The sentiment is short but sweet, and it catches at the back of my throat and makes my eyes hot. “No need to be sorry,” I say. I grimace. “I’m telling this very badly.”

“You’re doing perfectly. I only wish I had my notebook and a light to shine in your eyes to get you to confess all.”

“Don’t forget your truncheon,” I say without thinking.

There’s a stunned silence. My face turns red, but Jed breaks into laughter that’s so loud and merry that several people turn towards us, a few faces smiling at the contagious sound. Moira gives him an astonished look before narrowing her eyes at me.

I turn my focus to Jed.

“Sorry,” he says, wiping his eyes. A soft snort escapes him. “One must never underestimate the power of a good truncheon,” he says soberly.

I groan. “Oh, stop it.”

He chuckles again. After a moment, he prompts, “So, your stepmother died?”

“Yes.” I pause. “I’m telling this very badly because I’ve started at the end rather than the beginning.”

“Isn’t that sometimes the best way?”

“I’m not sure where the beginning is anymore. Maybe when my father died about five years ago.”

“What about your mother?”

“Oh.” I smile at the thought of her. “She died when I was two. Actually, you’re right. I should start with her because that explains the situation. Her father owned a very successful engineering company, and she was his only child, so all his money came to her when he passed away. She was fairly wealthy.”

He pushes my drink towards me. I obediently take a sip.

“We lived in a big house,” I continue. “It backed onto Wimbledon Common. It was the most lovely place and had the best atmosphere.” I swallow. “She left the house to my dad with the understanding that he would pass it on to me when he died.”

“And that was clear in her will?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head. “No. My dad largely abided by her wishes.”

“But?” he prompts.

“He took a detour. He left the money and house to my stepmother.” His face is thunderous and I smile at him. “It’s fine. He told her she could live in it until her death but then had to leave it to me.”

“But what about you? What about what you wanted? That was your home.”

My eyes widen. His passion is slightly disconcerting.

“Sorry,” he says, sighing. “Go on. Has she left the house to you?”

“In a way,” I say slowly. “You have to understand that she didn’t like me at all. She didn’t want me around, because I interfered with my father’s attention. And that’s probably why I left home so early.”

“Where did you go?” he says thickly. “Please tell me where you went at sixteen on your own, Artie.”

“I stayed with my boyfriend’s family. Well, my boyfriend at the time.”

“Did you?”

“Yes, his family were lovely. I still spend Christmas with them. They’re like my own family.”

“And what happened to that boyfriend?”

“That’s another story.” And not one I want to tell you , I add silently.

“I’m sorry. I keep interrupting. I just hate the idea of you being cast out of your house and?—”

“I was okay,” I say, smiling at him again. “She didn’t chuck me on the streets with all my belongings in a handkerchief and one shoe that a prince would look for.”

“I think you’re mixing up a few fairy tales, here and there,” he says wryly, and I chuckle. “So, what has she done?”

I stare at him, shocked by how perceptive he is.

He shrugs. “It doesn’t take Einstein to recognise a spiteful person. She’s obviously done something to you.”

I take a deep breath. “Apparently, she’s put in her will that I can only inherit the house if I’m married. So, I need to get married right now.”

There’s not an ounce of pity in his green eyes for what I just revealed. After a moment, he says very loudly, “What utter bollocks .”

A woman at a nearby table gasps.

“I’ve never heard such cruel claptrap,” he rants, half rising out of his seat.

For a moment I imagine him seeking out my stepmother to give her a piece of his mind. He might just be determined enough to dig her up.

“It’s alright,” I soothe, repressing a smile.

He settles back in his chair. I offer the woman beside us an apologetic smile but she’s staring at Jed and fluffing her hair, so the apology is obviously not needed.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I just hate shit like that. It’s unjust and outrageous to put stipulations on something that’s already yours.”

“It’s okay,” I say softly. “It really didn’t surprise me, Jed. I was expecting something like this from her.”

“And that makes me even more cross.” He taps the table. “It’s completely unenforceable, of course. You must know that, Artie. People being forced to marry belongs in the romance novels that Joe reads and not in a court of law. What did your solicitor say? He must have told you that you can contest the will.”

“Hmm. I’ve not seen him yet,” I say evasively.

His eyes sharpen. “So, how do you know what’s in the will? Did your stepmother tell you?”

“No, her daughter did.”

“Who?”

“My stepsister, Daisy. I share a flat with her.”

“You do?” He looks like he’s failed an exam on Artie Campbell—a subject he thought he knew everything about. Then his face clears. “Is Daisy the girl who came with you to the Christmas party last year? The one with the nice laugh and the purple hair?”

“It’s pink at the moment but she does have a very good laugh.”

“She also came to pick you up from work a few months ago.” His lip twitches. “She grilled me rather extensively about your working conditions while you went to get your coat. It made me feel like you’d been forced up a chimney rather than being seated at a rather nice desk.” I groan and his eyes sharpen. “So, she told you about the will. How does she know?”

“She’s the executor.”

“And you trust her? I don’t mean to be rude but maybe she wants the money for herself?”

I pat his hand, touched by his concern. “No, she hated her mum. Absolutely loathed her. She wants nothing from her. In fact, the only thing she bought for the funeral was a pair of dancing shoes so she could boogie on her grave. It took me a long time to talk her out of that idea.”

He suppresses something that sounds like a laugh and says, “But how can you trust her and?—”

He pauses when I put my hand up. “Trust me on this. She has her own money from her father. Besides, she’s my only family and has always wanted me to be happy.”

He looks unconvinced, but if he knew Daisy, he’d believe me.

“So, she’s telling the truth. Are you going to contest the ridiculous will?” he asks.

I shake my head slowly.

His eyes sharpen. “You’re actually going along with it. That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard, Artie. Is it the money? I can give you the money if you haven’t got enough to hire a lawyer. I don’t even want it back.”

“Thank you,” I say, touched. “But I don’t want to contest it.”

“ Why ?”

I grip the table’s edge. “Because that’s my mum’s house. I don’t remember much about her, except that she was soft and warm and smelt like vanilla.” I’m sure I sound like a child, but I can’t help the fervour in my voice. “And Laura my stepmother ruined everything . She cost me my father, because he did as she wanted and cut me out without a second glance. But my mother—” I pause and take in a breath. “She loved me, and she wanted me to have that house as my home and I want to do that for her.” I sit back. “And say stuff it to Laura as well,” I add primly. “She knew I hadn’t had a relationship since my first boyfriend. This is her way of taunting me that I wouldn’t be able to find anyone to marry me. Well, I’m going to show her.”

“And what happens to the house if you don’t abide by this ridiculous condition?”

“That’s even worse. It’ll go to my mother’s aunt. She lives in Spain and has already told Daisy that she’ll sell the house to a friend who’s a developer. He wants to knock the place down and build a couple of houses on the land. My mother would have hated to see that, so I have to stop it.” I pause and gather my thoughts. “I just need to find someone who’d be prepared to marry me until after the will is read. Then we can go our separate ways.”

His eyes sharpen. “Why? If Daisy is the executor of your stepmother’s will, then surely you have someone already in your corner who’d be prepared to overlook the nitty gritty? You could just say you’re engaged and leave it at that.”

I shake my head. “That’s not possible. My mother’s aunt has hired her own lawyer to make sure that the terms of the will are adhered to. I can’t risk being found out, so I’d better find a good actor to be my fake husband.”

I take a deep breath as Jed studies me intently—like I’m a stranger who’s suddenly joined him at his table.

Finally, he stirs. “I’m just going out for a cigarette.”

I huff slightly but then nod. I hate him smoking, but it’s not my business and he doesn’t do it very often. It’s something he does when he’s pondering a problem or thinking through a plan. I’d never admit it, but he’s rather sexy when he presses his generous lips around a cigarette, his eyes narrowing as he exhales a stream of smoke.

“I’ll be here,” I tell him. He leaves quickly, digging through his pockets for the pack and his lighter as he goes.

“So, you’re Artie?”

I cast a swift glance over my shoulder and find Moira approaching the table. “Yes, that’s me,” I say, smiling. “Can I help you?”

She hesitates by Jed’s chair, glancing towards where he’s standing outside the café window, smoke weaving around him like a dragon in disguise. “No,” Moira says. “I just wanted to say hello properly. Jed talks about you a lot and…”

I wait a beat. “And?”

“I haven’t seen him laugh like that in ten years,” she says in a rush. She gives me a smile before darting off.

I stare after her, warmth kindling in my stomach. Jed smiles often but doesn’t laugh much. I can’t remember many full-bodied laughs like the one he gave tonight.

The bell on the door tinkles, and I watch him stride towards me with his usual purpose and speed. His jaw is set, his eyes narrowed, and my heart begins a fast thud.

“Are you alright?” I ask, straightening in my chair as he retakes his seat. “Is there an emergency?”

“No, no. Everything’s fine.”

He stares at me, and I shift awkwardly.

“Are you alright?” I ask again. I take a sip of my drink to settle my nerves.

A muscle in his jaw tics, and I watch him warily.

“Will you marry me?” he blurts.

I spit my drink all over him.