Chapter 23
Lark
Send Christmas cards before they become a New Year’s apology.
—From Lark’s Christmas to-do list
Is this an alternate reality? That’s the only explanation for why my boss and I are meeting with a wedding planner in her plush offices.
I wasn’t sure that was needed, but he reminded me this is a Davenport wedding. And Arthur will likely attend the ceremony. As will his brothers and their wives. And his friends.
I’ve updated Rachel, the wedding planner, on my plans and bookings made so far, and she seemed very appreciative of how much I’d accomplished on my own, and with such a tiny budget. She also reassured me that she’d be respectful of the planning I’d done so far.
She looks up from the device she was tapping on. “You mentioned you chose your wedding dress?”
I purse my lips. I did choose a dress I’d found at the outlet section of a well-known High Street Label. But it’s not the dress, by any means.
"I took the liberty of arranging for you to have a fitting for your wedding dress at Karma West Sovrano’s atelier," Brody interjects.
“Karma West Sovrano’s atelier?” I recall our conversation around my wedding dress. He must have made note of the designer’s name.
“Her sister Summer is a friend of the family. Through her, I contacted the manager of the atelier. They were happy to fit you in and can have the dress ready in time for the wedding.”
“Oh—” I want to say something, but the words stick in my throat. Once again, the contrast between how I struggled through the wedding preparations on my own versus the support I’m getting from Brody screws with my emotions.
When I stay silent, a groove forms between his eyebrows.
“If you’d rather wear the dress you chose—”
I shake my head. “No, that’s not it. I mean, the dress I chose is something I can wear for other occasions too. It’s just—” I swallow. “That you remembered I wanted to get my dress from this designer.”
It’s unexpected.
“Told you I have a good memory.” His voice is casual, but the intent in his eyes signals his actions are no coincidence.
Which is confusing. Because didn’t he tell me he doesn't believe in getting emotionally involved with anyone? And isn’t our arrangement one of convenience? Yet, he’s acting like there’s something more between us. It’s confusing.
He must see the disbelief in my eyes, for his features shutter. “If that’s not what you want, then of course, it’s not a problem.
I hesitate. Am I going to turn down a Karma West Sovrano designer bridal gown for my wedding?
I’ve picked out the exact wedding dress I want from one of her collections, too.
Surely, I’m not going to let my ego stand in the way of getting the dress of my dreams?
“And the cost?” I venture.
“Nothing’s too expensive for my bride.”
Rachel sighs.
I flush. There it is. That possessiveness in his tone which makes my blood heat, and my nipples harden, and causes my pussy to melt. Goddamn. When he acts so solicitous, it makes me feel like we’re getting married for real. Which is what he said this is. A real wedding. Except, it's not for love.
That sobers me up.
“Thank you,” I say stiffly.
His gaze narrows at my tone. “Of course. Your appointment with the atelier is for tomorrow afternoon.”
He turns to Rachel. “If you can ensure they have her measurements beforehand?”
I sit up. "I can’t make that. I have a meeting with the legal team on the compliance matters, then.”
He stares at me steadily. “Your fitting is more important. You can push back the meeting."
“But—”
“That’s an order.” The softness of his tone takes the sting out of it.
I take in the resolve in his gaze and nod.
“Fine.” The ever-efficient Rachel turns to me. "Lark, about the bridesmaids’—"
"That’s Raya and Harper." I need to call and update them. Something I’ve been putting off.
They are sharp. They won’t stop until they weasel the entire story of how I came to be marrying Brody Davenport from me.
It’s a grilling I’m not looking forward to.
"I told them they could choose their dresses. I didn’t want to have too many rules.
It felt too cookie-cutter for them to all, I mean, both of them, to wear the same color and style. "
"That’s smart." Rachel smiles. "It makes for a more relaxed feel when they’re not all dressed uniformly. Is that what you were going for?”
Her face holds genuine warmth.
"You could say that." Truth is, I hadn’t given thought to what vibe I wanted. I’d been too busy trying to keep everything in the budget I had worked out.
Which had come down to spending as little as possible.
Going from that to having an almost unlimited budget, and a wedding planner to take the load off me, makes my head spin.
As if sensing my discomfort, Tiny whines. I’m so happy Brody brought him along. I scratch him behind his ears. “Aww, you're being such a good boy.”
He places his shaggy head on my thigh and sighs.
Yeah, I know how you feel.
Some of my consternation must show on my face, for Brody leans forward in his seat. "Are you uncomfortable with how things are shaping up?"
"No. Of course not. It’s just—” I choose my words carefully. “It’s more people than I expected…"
"Whether I invite them or not, my family is going to turn up." He chuckles. "But if you want me to tell them to keep away—"
"Not at all. The reason I mention it, is that they won’t all fit in the space I booked in the pub for the reception.” I purse my lips. “I think we should move the reception.”
"You sure?" He searches my features.
“Positive.” I shoot him a half smile.
I’m grateful he’s trying to make me feel comfortable with the arrangements.
And he’s been so involved with the planning. His stern facade at work has given way to something more understanding. If I insisted on having the reception at the pub, I bet he’d find a way to squeeze his family in there after the actual wedding ceremony.
But I don’t see the point in that. And it’s not like I’m attached to the idea of having our reception at that pub.
“It’s only practical that we move the reception to a venue that accommodates everyone. Also, I don’t think this entire London tradition of going to the pub after a Town Hall wedding is quite the style of the Davenports.” I allow myself a small snicker.
London is split into boroughs, and each has its own Town Hall. It’s something else I’m getting used to.
“Are you calling my family snobs?” he drawls.
I widen my gaze, striving for an innocent look. “Nope. But I do want to make sure your family is comfortable."
He frowns, then turns to Rachel. "Can you give us a few minutes?"
"Of course. Call me when you’re ready to speak." She walks out of the meeting space and closes the door behind her.
I watch him with curiosity.
"I wanted to make sure you’re not doing anything that’s out of your comfort zone."
"Okay?"
"This wedding should be exactly how you visualized it. You don’t have to cater to anyone else’s needs."
I squirm around in my seat. "They are our guests. I want to make sure they feel at ease."
"As long as you and I are at ease, they will be too."
That’s a generous thing to say. Some of the tension fades from my shoulders. "For the record, I only chose the pub because it was close to the Town Hall. Also, it was within my budget.”
"You sure?"
"I am."
He searches my features and must be satisfied with what he sees, for he nods. “Arthur suggested we have it as his place in Primrose Hill. He has a beautiful garden with views of London.”
I smile. "I think it’s a great idea.”
His features soften. “Arthur will be pleased. I am the last of his grandsons to get married. He’d love to host us.”
He reaches over and takes my hand in his. “Thank you.”
Goosebumps snake up my skin. His every touch seems to ignite this fierce desire in me. And this handsome hunk of manliness is going to be my husband. I swoon a little. Then recover long enough to croak, “For what?”
“For suggesting that we move the reception. This entire sequence of events can’t have been easy. Yet, you’ve handled it with a lot of grace.”
His voice is soft, but his blue-gray eyes flare with something like heat. His gaze drops to my lips, and I know he’s remembering that very hot kiss from yesterday.
And when he leans in. So, do I. Our breaths mingle. Our lips almost touch.
“I want to taste your mouth again, but if we do, we’ll be sidetracked, and I want to make sure this wedding is planned exactly how you want.”
His chest seems to swell.
With a grimace, he straightens. Disappointed in a way that leaves a hollow feeling at the bottom of my stomach I slowly mirror his movements.
Without breaking the connection between our eyes, he calls out to the wedding planner, “We’re ready for you.”