Chapter 1
1
‘You look beautiful,’ Dylan Travers said to the woman dressed in a confection of pale gold lace and cream silk as she descended the stairs before him. The dress was an elegant frame-skimming number, the delicate lace covering her shoulders and arms sheer enough to allow Jennifer’s all-year tan to glow through. ‘Like a glass of the finest champagne.’
Jennifer paused on the lowest step, their eyes at the same height as she leaned over to brush a kiss on his cheek. ‘Much better than the meringue I wore for our wedding, you mean?’
‘Well, now you come to mention it…’ Dylan ducked and laughed as Jen pretended to take a swipe at him with her bouquet of cream roses. ‘Come on, you,’ he said, offering her his arm to lead her across the highly polished marble floor of the hotel towards the ballroom where the wedding ceremony was to take place.
It might strike most people as strange that he had offered to step in and give Jen away after her father had suffered a stroke, which had left him having to use a walker, but Dylan hadn’t thought twice about it. He cared deeply for Jen, but they hadn’t been in love for a long time. Thankfully, they’d had the sense to recognise that before things had had the chance to degenerate into the toxic stew that was the sad end of too many marriages. Their divorce had been finalised more than ten years ago and Dylan was truly happy that Jen had finally given herself permission to think about her own happiness now that their kids were well into their teenage years.
As they reached the closed door to the ballroom, the hotel’s events coordinator gave them both a broad smile. ‘Everyone is ready when you are, so just say the word and I’ll get the music started.’ She tapped the arm of her headset microphone.
Feeling Jen’s grip on his arm tighten, Dylan smiled at the coordinator and said, ‘Give us a moment,’ before turning to face Jen. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Do you think we should’ve waited until next year? It seems so selfish of Eric and I to be jetting off for Christmas and leaving you with the kids and Momma to take care of Daddy.’
Dylan placed his free hand over the one gripping his arm and patted it gently. ‘I couldn’t be happier about getting to spend the whole of the holidays with Theo and Avery, and your mom is grateful they won’t be dealing with a houseful while your dad is still in recovery.’
‘You spoke to her about it?’ Jen smiled as she shook her head. ‘I should’ve known.’
‘I wanted to make sure they were okay with everything before I offered the kids the chance to go away somewhere.’
‘And you’re sure you’re happy with the choice they’ve made?’ Ah, now they were getting down to things.
‘It was a bit of a shock at first, but it’s past time they got to know both sides of their heritage. Besides, if Theo is as dead set on going to a British university as he seems to be then it makes sense for him to meet my family so we all know he has somewhere to turn to if he needs help.’
‘And you think it’ll be that easy, after thirty years with almost no contact?’
No, Dylan didn’t think it would be easy, but, regardless of his own estrangement, he knew one truth deep down in his bones. ‘My brothers and sister will welcome the children with open arms.’ He patted Jen’s hand again. ‘Right, do you think you can stop worrying about everyone else for the next few hours and focus on what’s important right now? If you leave Eric hanging on any longer, he might think you’ve changed your mind!’
Jen laughed. ‘Well, we can’t have that, now, can we?’ She took a deep breath and Dylan watched as the tension eased from her shoulders and her chin lifted. ‘I’m ready.’
‘Then let’s get you married.’ Dylan nodded to the coordinator and a few seconds later they could hear the faint strains of a string quartet.
‘Big smiles!’ the coordinator urged as she reached for the door and swung it open.
Dylan didn’t need the instruction and his grin only stretched wider as his gaze alighted on their gorgeous girl, Avery, waiting at the side of the aisle with a small basket of rose petals held in one hand. She was the perfect combination of both of them, with her mother’s delicate features and athletic frame and his dark hair and blue eyes. At fourteen she was moving from that awkward gangling growth spurt when her arms and legs had seemed to take on a life of their own, and today she was all poise and elegance in a pretty dress with a golden bodice and a wide ballerina-style tulle skirt spilling down to her knees. Her face lit up with delight as she caught sight of her parents and she stood and stared at them. When she didn’t move, Dylan gave a gentle nod towards the basket and he couldn’t help but laugh when her eyes widened and she turned on her heel and all but scampered down the aisle, flinging handfuls of petals with more enthusiasm than grace. Dylan’s heart squeezed in his chest, taken aback as he so often was at how there was always room to love his children more.
He and Jen followed at a more sedate pace over the carpet of petals, and Dylan smiled at the friends and family who caught his eye, though most – quite rightly – had their attention fixed on the woman at his side. Eric left his spot at the front before they were even halfway down the aisle, as though he couldn’t wait to claim Jen, and Dylan was more than happy to yield to him. He waited until the pair had reached the front before slipping quickly into the empty seat on the second row behind where his children were sitting on either side of their grandparents.
Theo tipped his chair back enough to whisper, ‘Nice job, Dad.’ Dylan placed a brief hand on his son’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, wondering again how on earth he could’ve been so lucky.
After the service, they exited the ballroom via a pair of wide doors that led out onto a terrace overlooking a garden kept artificially green in an endless sprinkler war against the Florida sunshine. Accepting a couple of glasses of Buck’s fizz from a passing waiter, Dylan settled himself beneath one of the broad sunshades on the terrace beside Frank, his ex-father-in-law, while the rest of the wedding party continued into the gardens. They watched in quiet amusement as an overly officious photographer herded guests this way and that. ‘How long before Jen tells him to wind his neck in?’ Dylan mused as the photographer adjusted her stance by a couple of inches.
‘Oh, about two minutes, I reckon,’ Frank replied, raising the glass Dylan had set down in front of him with only a small tremor in his hand.
‘How’s the physio going?’
‘Slowly,’ Frank grumbled. ‘I made them change out my therapist because it was taking too long. They’ve sent me this tiny little thing with the face of an angel.’ He grinned. ‘She’s meaner than my old staff sergeant.’
Dylan laughed. ‘She’ll have you whipped into shape in no time, then.’
‘I sure hope so.’ Frank’s smile faded. ‘Shoulda been me walking my baby girl down that aisle today, but I’m glad you were there to step in.’
‘I was happy to do it.’
Frank set his glass back down. ‘Will you step in for me one more time and dance with Nancy later?’
Dylan found himself swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat. ‘It’ll be my honour.’
Frank held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. ‘You’re still our family, son. Don’t you go forgetting that.’
‘I won’t.’
‘It’ll be tough for you going home again, huh?’
Dylan barked a laugh. ‘You never were one to pussyfoot around a subject, were you, Frank?’
‘Ain’t got time for that kind of nonsense. It’s been a long time for you.’
‘Too long.’ So long that it was impossible to recall the rage and hurt that had driven him away in the first place. Seeing his girlfriend in the arms of the brother he had hero-worshipped had broken something inside Dylan. He’d run away from everything – his home, his studies, his entire life – first backpacking around Europe for a few months before deciding to try his luck across the pond.
Getting a visa to work had been a lot easier back then and, after he’d spent a summer sweating on an orange farm, the owner had helped him with a sponsorship so he could go to college and pick up his studies. He’d met Jen there for the first time and they’d dated off and on. Neither had wanted anything serious, Dylan still too wary after what had happened with Rowena, and Jen focused on moving up to New York where she had a job offer with a prestigious legal firm.
They’d kept vaguely in touch after graduation, through early Internet chat forums set up by the computer boffins on campus and then through the miracle of AOL email and instant messaging. After ten years, the freezing winters of the East Coast had proven too much and Jen had headed back home to the Sunshine State. It had seemed only natural to take her out to dinner. One dinner had become two, and the old spark between them had soon reignited. They had married within a couple of years, had waited a while before starting their family. Dylan hadn’t minded either way, but Jen’s biological clock had been ticking. It was the best decision they’d ever made, and, even with the subsequent failure of their marriage, there wasn’t a single thing he would change. Apart from one.
Any animosity Dylan had held towards his brother Zap had long since faded, but by then he’d been away for so long it had felt too late to bridge the gap beyond the odd postcard letting the family know he was alive and well. As communication methods had improved and his family had updated their estate’s online systems, Dylan had been allocated an email address. Like clockwork, his other brother, Ziggy – oh, how their rebellious father must have delighted in irritating his parents by rejecting propriety and naming his four children after his favourite rock stars – had sent him regular updates, including a statement showing Dylan’s share of the estate’s earnings. Dylan had never touched the money. It wasn’t his and he’d said as much in more than one terse response to Ziggy’s emails. Ziggy hadn’t responded, but the quarterly updates had kept on coming.
In the end Dylan had decided just to ignore the financial statements but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from greedily devouring the snippets of family life Ziggy included in his emails. When the kids had come along, he’d sent photos, which had prompted birthday and Christmas cards and gift vouchers, but still something had held him back. As they’d grown, the kids had asked questions, of course, but Dylan had kept his responses vague and non-committal. He’d assumed they’d accepted the situation until they’d blindsided him completely when he’d asked them where they wanted to go for their special Christmas getaway. He’d pulled together a load of suggestions – skiing in the French Alps with a visit to Paris to see in the new year; sunbathing and sightseeing in Mexico; a beach-front haven in the Maldives where they could scuba dive off their own private dock; shopping and ice skating in New York City.
Theo and Avery had exchanged a look with each other before Theo had pulled a printout from his pocket and slid it across the dining room table. ‘We want to go here.’ Dylan had stared at the flyer advertising a twelve days of Christmas event at one of England’s premiere country estates. Juniper Meadows.
Dylan reached for his Buck’s fizz and drained it in a single long swallow. ‘It’s what the kids want, and that’s all that matters.’