Chapter 8
Sloan only half listened to the congratulatory toasts made by members of the bride’s and groom’s families, maid of honor, and best man. They were all sincere but awkward, anecdotal and personal, and too long. He would guess the bride and groom were graciously enduring this wedding ritual and, like everyone else, were ready to serve themselves from four different food stations of ethnic cuisine placed around the dining area. The ceremony had been almost an hour late getting started. Then it had been almost another hour while the wedding party and photographer roamed the property to find romantic and pretty areas to take pictures. Sloan had opted not to attend the service, sensing an intimacy about it that he knew would have made him uncomfortable. He didn’t know any of the wedding party or other members well enough to invest so much emotion.
The day was getting late.
Sloan played mindlessly with the napkin ring, a white plastic rendering of the head of a bride and groom, facing each other and smiling. It didn’t represent the actual couple but was meant to be a token, a souvenir for the guests, of the occasion. Sloan was also rehearsing an exit excuse that would involve an unexpected call to a new case. He didn’t know either the bride or the groom but was well acquainted with the groom’s father, a retired LAPD captain he’d worked with on and off for the past three years. Sloan had initially declined the invitation, recognizing that the connection was mostly professional. The resolution of the cases they’d worked together had pushed the now-retired officer into enough promotions and accolades to give him a very comfortable retirement package. Sloan had attended a post-retirement night of drinks with him and other officers and colleagues from his precinct. That was the sum total of their connection.
Sloan glanced at the couple seated at the center of the wedding party dais and saw what every guest ever attending a similar gathering saw: an attractive young man and woman in love with each other. He tried to recall if he’d felt the same when he’d gotten married. The day hadn’t been this festive, dress-up affair with flowers and a tiered cake. His wedding day had been a ninety-minute ceremony followed by champagne and a finger-food gathering of near military precision. Neither his nor the bride’s family had been in attendance, and the guests had all been classmates and instructors from Quantico, where they were both in training to become FBI agents.
His bride had worn a peach-colored silk sheath with not a scrap of lace or beading anywhere that stopped at the knees of her strong, shapely legs. Sloan had been in a nondescript navy-blue suit, white shirt, and pale tie. He’d never again worn the suit or tie. Sloan couldn’t remember if he’d been joyous that day or not. He frowned now, twirling the napkin in the novelty napkin ring. He couldn’t remember what he was feeling that day. The marriage, in any case, ended two years later. Unreconcilable differences.
Sloan made his decision. He’d congratulate the happy couple and say how sorry he was that he had to leave. He’d wish them a happy future. And say he was honored to have been included in their celebration and special day. Sloan left his table, nodding pleasantly at the other unknown guests with whom he’d had little time to chat or get to know. He walked to the main family table, and the groom’s father, seeing him approach, stood up to thank him for attending. It meant so much to the whole family that someone from the agency came.
Sloan and the former officer chatted very briefly, not about the wedding. Later, in hindsight, Sloan would be grateful because of what happened next. Suddenly, there was a small but audible surprise yelp from the bride. It drew attention from several people around her at nearby tables. She jumped to her feet, her hands covering her mouth expressively, as she looked at the final arriving guest for the wedding.
“Oh my God! You made it!”
The pretty young bride threw her arms in the air and fluttered her hands as she bounced on her feet in joy. There were murmurs of curiosity from guests, wondering what the excitement was all about.
Everyone on the dais was now watching as a very lovely new arrival entered the festivities. Sloan turned to view the person who’d merited such a happy greeting and found himself watching the hesitant approach of Olivia Cameron. For a few seconds he openly stared, first taken by the fact that she was actually there and, second, by the stunning vision she made dressed as a guest for a wedding.
Olivia’s hair was pushed back from her brown oval face, the off-center part defining the fall of her straight hair. The style was held in place by a tortoise-shell headband. Her floral dress with the boat-neck line had a stylish cut that gave a discreet hint of cleavage. No stacked stilettos, but a pair of pale-pink low-heeled dress sandals.
Olivia was smiling at the exuberant greeting as the bride left the dais to run and wrap her arms around her. By now much of the room was abuzz. But Sloan, now very alert to Olivia’s gestures, mannerisms, expressions, saw something else in her posture and even the way she was breathing. He frowned as he recalled a similar reaction the day he’d found her in the basement of her house. He paid attention. As his host turned his attention to the bride’s greeting of Olivia, Sloan stepped aside, looking for a place and waiting for the time to intercept her.
There was an obvious warm and affectionate history between the two women, and they were not to be rushed in their hello. The bride glanced around, finding a waiter. She said something hurriedly to a young man, who rushed away to do her bidding. Meanwhile, the bride grabbed Olivia by the hand, coaxing her to the front of the dais and facing the room and guests at large. The usher returned, giving the new bride a hand mic.
“Hi, everyone. I just had to interrupt to introduce a very dear friend of mine. Many of you will remember the accident I had a few years ago on my bicycle that resulted in a broken ankle and elbow. I was a mess! But it was my roommate in rehab who took time out from her own treatments to hold my hand when I boo-hoo’d that I’d never heal completely in time for my wedding. Olivia Cameron promised me that I would, and here I am today in heels, no limp, and ready to tear up the dance floor!
“I’m so happy to introduce you to Olivia. I owe her so much, including her friendship.”
Applause broke out in the room, and the bride stood back, allowing Olivia to stand in the spotlight to accept the recognition from a room of total strangers.
Except for me, Sloan thought to himself, gratified that he could consider that.
He was not surprised by Olivia’s graceful demeanor as she smiled shyly at the introduction and began to step back out of being the center of attention. And he was only mildly surprised by the revelation of another life she had. Sloan stepped out of the circle of tables so that he could better observe her. She and the bride chatted very much like girlfriends before a waiter appeared to direct her to a table for lunch. The guests had already begun eating, and the music was starting as an accompaniment and for dancing.
Olivia was seated, still settling in and acknowledging comments from the people at her table. There were several empty places, and Sloan smoothly and, for a few moments unnoticed, slipped into one right next to her. Olivia, realizing that someone else had joined the table, turned to him to say hello. Sloan was ridiculously pleased that what was Olivia’s habitual smile for everyone was not the same one she gave to him from the very beginning. And with her recognition of him, that smile and her bright gaze rested solely on him.
“Hello,” Sloan said quietly.
Her gaze widened, and her mouth opened with her own surprise. “Sloan! What…are you doing here?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing, but the bride cleared up the mystery.”
He noticed immediately her blinking hesitation at his awareness and decided not to mention what the bride had revealed that resonated with him.
“I’ve done work with the groom’s father. He invited me to his son’s wedding. I almost didn’t accept.” He let his gaze explore her countenance, the surprise still evident in her eyes.
The small band began to play. It was danceable but still good background dining music. Sloan gave his full attention, however, to Olivia.
Her gaze quickly assessed him, what he was wearing. She smiled. “You look like a guest at a wedding,” she mused. “You look…very…handsome.”
“Thanks. High praise. But if you say anything about my pink shirt—”
“Very pale pink.”
“—we’re done.”
Olivia chuckled. She arched a brow and leaned toward him. He knew what was coming.
“Gun.”
Sloan couldn’t help his voice dropping an octave to disguise his pleasure at the very private repartee between them. “Ankle.”
He liked very much that the two of them just silently regarded each other. He was relieved that it had taken him so long to decide whether or not to leave, prolonged by the chat he’d gotten into with the groom’s father. He would have missed Olivia and the surprise of her appearance.
There was certainly now familiarity between them. But there was also a new awareness. Sloan wondered if it was because they were both still in unexplored territories of the heart. Oddly, he believed this encounter had only drawn them closer together. Had, finally, gotten them over the hump of the difficult encounter. He deliberately took it to mean there was no turning back.
Progress.
“I’m really glad to see you. Nice surprise,” Sloan confessed, letting his gaze and voice convey more.
“Me, too,” Olivia admitted. She placed her small clutch on the table.
Many of the younger guests had abandoned the buffet offerings in favor of dancing, including the bride with her new husband and the parents of both.
Sloan realized that a quiet tête-à-tête was not going to be possible much longer. He and Olivia were interrupted when a waiter unceremoniously informed them that they could help themselves to whichever cuisine they wanted.
“I…don’t think I can eat anything,” Olivia said.
Sloan studied her, suddenly noticing some tension in her. “Are you all right?”
“I… I had a difficult morning,” she responded with a shrug.
“Reason why you’re late?”
She moistened her lips and nodded.
He continued to study her. “Want to talk about it?”
Olivia shook her head. “I’m fine.”
Sloan didn’t pursue it but guessed it was not an insignificant matter. Instead, he carefully took her hand and stood up. “Come on. Let’s dance.”
Olivia hung back but didn’t pull her hand free.
“It’s kind of slow, so I won’t step all over your feet,” Sloan said. He gently squeezed her fingers, and finally Olivia stood and let him lead her to the dance floor.
He wisely chose not to maneuver to the center of the floor, where they would be surrounded by uninhibited, acrobatic dancers showing off their abilities and musical knowledge. Sloan had another agenda in mind. He created a space just for the two of them near the edge of the dance floor and patiently waited until the music segued into a slow number. He drew her into his arms.
Magic took hold.
The minute his arm circled her waist, his large hand splayed across her back, Olivia caught her breath. A sudden and strong wave of longing swept through her. She had to briefly close her eyes to steady herself. She almost stepped on his foot. Sloan held her hand and simply swayed to the music, from side to side, letting his thighs and knees be the guiding force.
Olivia wasn’t paying attention to the music, could not have identified the piece or performer if her life depended on it. She was comfortably pressed against Sloan’s chest, his stomach. She allowed herself to imagine everything below his waist. Sloan used his hold around her waist to guide her into a subtle turn to his left and then to the right. They had not really moved at all, but Olivia happily let Sloan lead.
The music faded, and the band immediately went into a number that was more upbeat and required that the partners separate and move to steps that picked up the rhythm. Olivia had her gaze on Sloan’s pink shirt and smiled to herself because their movements were in synch. She could not remember the last time she’d danced…with or without Marcus. She raised her eyes to Sloan’s and let her smile grow. He took her hand and pulled her back to him.
They did one more dance, let go of each other, and simultaneously walked out of the reception room, out of the open french doors of the pavilion, and onto a path that meandered through the property of the event center. They didn’t speak, for the time both fine with strolling. Olivia was aware that Sloan, now and then, glanced her way to make sure she was able to keep pace with him.
Ahead, on a small rise, sat a gazebo. They automatically headed for the old-fashioned octagon structure, painted white with slatted rail sides and openings above. Inside were two short benches. They each took one to sit on. The silence continued, peaceful and easy.
Olivia drifted off into a reverie, feeling no rush or need to speak. She was feeling grateful that the day, a potential total disaster, was turning out to be such a wonderful, happy surprise. It wouldn’t have been that way if Sloan had not been present. But he was, and there was no question that having him here with her made a world of difference. It was not lost on Olivia how good that felt, how much it meant that he made the difference.
She gave a curious, quiet look.
He noticed, gave her back the look, and waited.
“I’m surprised you don’t have a plus one for the wedding and reception,” she murmured.
“Why?”
“Why? I guess…I assumed there might be someone…you know…important, special in your life.”
Sloan continued to study her for a moment longer before glancing away. “I waited too long to ask,” he said quietly, pensive. “And you? You got here late. You were also alone.”
Olivia nodded. Hesitated and then made a decision. “I wasn’t supposed to be. I…did invite someone to come with me.” She waited for his reaction, but Sloan gave nothing away.
He didn’t ask for an explanation, but suddenly, Olivia wanted him to know that she’d felt uneasy about what had happened from the start. And at the time, there wasn’t another option except to attend the wedding alone.
She and Sloan had not yet moved toward getting to know each other better. She wouldn’t have asked him.
“My girlfriends have been really on my case about not being out there, not dating since my divorce. So…”
“You signed on for a dating website,” Sloan guessed.
She shook her head. “I didn’t. My friend Lynn created a profile for me and put it on several sites. I wasn’t very happy about it and…she didn’t ask. But…” Olivia shrugged.
“You wanted to see what would happen?”
“No. Actually, I didn’t care. I really never expected anything to come of posting…and I didn’t much like the idea that I had to advertise myself to a bunch of men. I felt like…like I was a melon. Or…a bottle of wine.”
Sloan was totally silent, making no sound, no indication of the humor she attempted…or anything else. She glanced at him. His countenance was still. Thoughtful.
“Just after the thing that happened at my aunt’s house, I met someone online. We had a coffee date. But then I just… I blurted out the invitation to come to the wedding with me. He agreed.”
“So what happened before you arrived today?”
“The details aren’t really important. But I began to feel taken for granted. It was obvious to me when he picked me up that he really wasn’t interested in attending a wedding with people he didn’t know. I got out of his car, he drove away very angry with me, and I called an Uber.”
“Good move. Not much fun but…you made it after all.”
Just recalling the incident upset Olivia again. “I’m glad I didn’t just go home to…lick my wounds.”
Sloan was shaking his head. “You didn’t have any wounds, Livi. You only wasted some time. Personally? I’m glad he turned out to be a jerk. Maybe I should find him and thank him.”
Olivia looked sharply at him. “Really? Why?”
“Now we can be each other’s plus one. Okay with you?”
Olivia bestowed a smile upon Sloan that she hoped would say exactly what she wasn’t yet prepared to put into actual words. She nodded.
It was suddenly settled that they were now at the wedding event together.
At the last minute, Sloan dropped several of the cellophane-wrapped cookies into his pocket before heading back to the table. The hall was mostly empty, as some of the guests had already left and others had wandered off to explore the spacious and beautiful grounds of the facility before they also headed out. The bride and groom had gone off with the photographer to take the last of any pictures they still wanted to capture their successful celebration.
And Sloan had finally persuaded Olivia that she had to eat something. He knew that, once revealing what had happened to her erstwhile date for the wedding, a lot of her annoyance and even relief at the way things had ultimately worked out would allow her to get into the spirit of the day. Having learned the truth of her earlier arrangement, he was also feeling rather hopeful that they were on a path in the right direction. Olivia had asked a dubious acquaintance to the wedding before she’d ever met him.
All was forgiven.
They had decided on the Asian station, among the four cuisines available for guests to choose from, and selected sushi and tonkatsu, shumai, and gyoza. And edamame. Sloan also secured two fresh glasses of champagne before the waitstaff could start to remove remaining food and beverages. The wedding cake had already been cut and served, but he and Olivia had decided to forgo the sugar and carbs in favor of final drinks.
Olivia glanced up as he reached their table, where they were the only occupants left, and he was rewarded with a smile that reached her eyes—and his heart. It was an incredible revelation, and, incredibly, Sloan felt a stab of fear run through him because of the implications of what he was suddenly feeling. And as much as Olivia’s presence guaranteed his enjoyment of the day, there was a part of Sloan that was an experienced and recovered victim of past relationships still lurking within. He knew with a certainty that he had, maybe, one more chance…willingness…to risk everything for Olivia. He’d known from the start that she was the one.
It was a silent appraisal that caused a twist in the center of his chest as he looked into Olivia’s soulful and warm gaze. He wasn’t yet ready to say that he’d arrived, but he knew he was very close.
“This is the last one,” Olivia announced, a little laugh in her voice.
Sloan handed her a glass of champagne and took his seat next to her. “You’re not driving. I think you can be trusted for maybe one more—”
“No,” she said decisively, taking a sip of her drink.
“I’ll make sure you get home safe.”
“And who’s keeping an eye on your consumption?”
He cut her a skeptical glance and, as always, kept to himself his amusement and the contentment he felt being in her company. No point yet in giving everything up. Sloan was truly concerned about the consequences to himself if this all blew up. Again.
“You’re not watching. You don’t have a clue how many glasses I’ve drunk.” With that, he downed a third of his current glass.
Olivia looked at him carefully. “Are you officially on duty or not?”
That caught Sloan up short, and he gazed at her with appreciation. “It’s my day off. But I’ll get called in if there’s a need. I’m trusting the fairies will give me a break and that won’t happen.”
Olivia’s smile broadened, transforming her features into a picture of beauty, pleasure, and cheerfulness.
Sloan casually reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a handful of wrapped cookies. He placed all of them right next to Olivia. She looked at them blankly for a quick second and then graced him with another of her smiles.
“Fortune cookies. Are those for me?”
“I got them from the food station. I seem to remember that you not only eat the cookies, you actually read the fortunes. And you believe in them.”
Olivia fingered one of the wrapped cookies, turning it over in the palm of her hand. She glanced at him. “Thank you, Sloan. It…it’s really nice that you remembered.”
“Did I pass?”
Her expression went blank and then she chuckled lightly. “Yeah. You pass.”
There were maybe a half dozen people scattered around the room, as all the accoutrements of the reception were being cleaned up and whisked away by staff. They worked quickly and efficiently but were not inclined to rush the rest of the wedding guests away. Sloan was enjoying the light and easy conversation he was having with Olivia. No drama. No complaining. No coyness. No demands. He watched her as she revealed more about how she’d met the bride in, of all places, rehab. He hadn’t forgotten the bride’s explanation when Olivia arrived late, about how they knew each other.
What was Olivia doing in rehab? For what?
Sloan processed and filed away a ton of information that led to a ton of questions he wasn’t going to ask her yet. But there was one thing. He was thinking over how to phrase his curiosity, how far to push the envelope and dig into her past.
Olivia judiciously divided the cookies in half. Three for her and three for him. Sloan absently watched as she pushed three in his direction.
“Those are for you,” she said quietly, and stuffed her three into her inadequate clutch, snapping it shut.
Sloan stared at the cookies, hesitant. He wasn’t the least superstitious. And he didn’t believe in coincidence or luck…or fortune…by default. But curiosity got the better of him and he snatched up the cookies and dropped them back into his pocket.
There was a lovely dusk glow over the property. It was quiet. They looked at each other.
“Are you ready to leave?” Sloan asked solicitously. But if he took her home, that would mean the end to the day.
She was thinking. “Can we walk a little more?”
Sloan nodded and stood up. They were on the same page.
They were already out a side exit, through tall french doors, when Sloan became aware of a commotion behind them. There was the crash of a chair falling over, a female yelp of surprise and distress. A plate shattering as it hit the floor. Sloan stopped and looked over his shoulder. Suddenly, he broke into a run back into the dining hall. He had no time to say anything to Olivia as he hurried to a table to assist an elderly man who lolled back in his chair, holding his throat, trying to breathe, choking.