Guy was fabulous? Jenny was lucky? Jenny examined the comment from all sides, then decided to ignore it and hand out a few more drinks.
She couldn’t quite ignore it.
Guy was everywhere, working hands-on, making sure the event went without a hitch. He was dressed as a bodyguard, armed and dangerous, his slicked-down hair making his face look somehow menacing, his mock pistols too obvious, moving among the crowd, making amiable if-you-don’t-have-a-good-time-I’ll-punch-your-lights-out comments-sure his wedding couple were safe.
I’d think I was safe if I had him for a bodyguard, too, Jenny thought while she dispensed drinks. But she shoved the notion aside and went to make sure the cake, an overblown affair, adorned with a miniature gangster and his bride driving away in their fancy car-where had Guy found these props?-was ready for cutting.
She put the thought of Guy to one side.
But she stayed achingly aware of him.
And Guy…?
He moved through the wedding with his customary efficiency, ensuring each and every guest took home memories to cherish. Whether it was adroit flirting with the bridesmaids, bullying Uncle Ern to take Cousin Cecilia onto the dance floor, or removing the third glass of champagne from fifteen-year-old Bert’s grasp and replacing it with cola. ‘That stuff is a lady’s drink-I never touch it,’ he told the kid, who gazed at Guy in suspicion and then decided that maybe cola really was okay. Wherever there was a need, there he was.
But at any given moment Guy knew Jenny’s whereabouts. She was dressed in a pert maid’s uniform, doing the same as him, working the crowd. He watched her laughter and her affection for these people. He watched as people responded to her with affection, and the more he saw of her the more his mind had to dwell on.
Jenny.
The night wore on. The crowd started to thin.
His awareness of Jenny built.
And the crazy idea from the night after the beach incident became louder and louder in his head. You’re thinking of marrying?
Yes. Yes, he was.
He couldn’t stay independent without her, he thought. It was a dumb notion, but maybe if he married her and kept her safe he could get her out of his system?
Or not. Whatever.
You’re thinking of marrying.
Jenny had no time to talk to Guy until Daryl and Kylie had driven away, their found-for-the-occasion Buick trailing a suitable clattering of ancient shoes and tin cans. The guests dispersed with reluctance, the crew cleared the mess, and Jenny was left with Guy.
‘That was fantastic,’ she told him as they emerged into the warm night air, glad to be free of the fog inside. ‘It was the best wedding.’
‘It was, wasn’t it?’ Guy said. He flicked a switch and the lights of the hall disappeared. They were left in darkness, their two cars standing in solitary state in the abandoned car park. ‘I’d forgotten how much fun it was to be hands-on.’
‘I loved it.’ She sighed in exhausted pleasure. ‘There’s no nicer thing than a truly happy wedding.’
‘No,’ he said, and paused.
It was one a.m. It was time she was home, Jenny thought ruefully. Henry would be awake at six, and the next day was huge. There was still planning to do for Anna and Barret’s wedding, and Christmas was in two days’ time.
Christmas…
Christmas without Ben was awful. She’d hated the last two Christmases. But now…things had changed, she thought, and she wasn’t sure how. All she knew was that in the last few days she’d changed. She was no longer dreading Christmas.
Because of this man?
Maybe, but he didn’t have to know it, she thought. He’d set something free in her that she hadn’t known was imprisoned. She felt light and happy and young.
Whoa. This man was dangerous, she decided. Happy and young or not, she was Henry’s mother, and she needed to go home to bed.
‘Goodnight, Guy,’ she said, and turned away, but his hands came out and caught her shoulders, turning her back to face him.
‘Jenny…’
‘Mmm?’ She had to stay cool, she told herself. She mustn’t let him see that just by touching him he could…he could…
He kissed her.
She let him kiss her. How could she not? It was a lovely, languorous kiss, a kiss to melt into, a kiss to lose yourself in. He was so big and dangerous and warm and safe and wonderful…
These were crazy thoughts. She was crazy, she decided, as the kiss went on and her entire being was consumed with the feel of him, the thought of him. Guy…
It was a magic end to a magic evening-to be kissed by Guy. Her life had been barren for too long. To have this man’s hands hold her, to have this magic sensation drifting through her…It was wondrous.
The kiss went on and on, and she took as much as she gave. It was a healing, she thought as she savoured the feel of him. It was a lovely way to end her mourning.
And at some deep, primeval level she knew it was more than that. There was no thought of Ben as she kissed him, but as he pulled away at last she caught at the ragged ends of her self-control and told herself that of course this was because of Ben. She was a widow, and now she was re-emerging to the outside world. This was nothing more than a reawakening. So she sighed with absolute pleasure as he broke the contact, as he held her at arms’ length and smiled down at her in the moonlight. She sighed with pleasure and tried to hold back the regret that the kiss was at an end. And she tried to think of Ben.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, and she managed to smile back.
‘You’re not bad yourself, buster,’ she whispered. ‘Though I’m not sure I go for the hair oil.’
‘I’m serious,’ he told her.
Her smile faded and she looked up at him, wondering.
‘Serious?’
‘I want to ask you something.’
She didn’t want to talk. She so wanted to kiss him again. She desperately wanted to kiss him again. But…She was a sensible woman. She had to move on.
‘About Barret and Anna’s wedding?’ she asked. ‘Can it wait until tomorrow? I’m really tired.’
‘Jenny, I wondered if you’d be interested in marrying me.’
She stilled. The words seemed to echo over and over in the stillness. Marrying…?
He’s gone mad, Jenny thought at last. The romance of tonight must have gone to his head.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she whispered, and he raked his fingers through his hair-then remembered the oil slick. He stared down at his oily fingers with a rueful smile.
‘Urk. I’ve made a mess of that.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of my proposal.’ He took a too-big handkerchief from his breast pocket and carefully wiped his fingers clean. ‘I haven’t had that much practice, you see. I didn’t mean to do it.’
‘Then why did you?’ She was having trouble making her voice work. She was having trouble making anything work.
‘I could make you safe,’ he said, and she looked up at Guy’s earnest face, at his mock pistols and his slicked-down hair, and suddenly, irresistibly, maybe even hysterically, she started to laugh.
‘What?’ he said, sounding offended, and she bit back her bubble of laughter and tried to be serious. Or tried to be light-hearted. Or something.
‘I don’t need a bodyguard,’ she told him. ‘But it was a very nice offer. Thank you.’
‘I’m not offering you a bodyguard. I’m offering you a husband.’
She stilled at that, her laughter fading. It wasn’t a joke, then. He was…serious?
He was asking her to marry him?
The idea was so preposterous that she almost choked.