“The flowers?” Alex quickly put in, before Mrs. Nash could make a remark that did justice to her expression.
Standing on the wide, concrete veranda, Emma watched a team of gardeners working on the expanse of lawn that stretched out to the cliffs at the edge of the Garrisons’ property.
The tent would be set up on the north lawn. The arbor and guest chairs for the ceremony were slated for the rose garden. And a band would play in the gazebo. If the weather looked promising, a lighted dance floor would be constructed near the bottom of the veranda stairs.
The print shop would work overtime on the invitations tonight, and come next Saturday, she’d marry Alex. The guests likely had plans for that day. Heck, Emma already had plans for Saturday. But she’d cancel them and so would they. A garden wedding at the Garrison estate was too hot a ticket to miss.
Alex was counting on that.
And, as Mrs. Nash had said, being a billionaire, he usually got his way.
“Everything okay?” his voice rumbled behind her.
She coughed out a laugh. “What could possibly be wrong?”
He came up beside her. “Thought you might like to know they’ve agreed on the centerpieces.”
“Yeah?”
“White roses and purple heather. Okay by you?”
The timbre of the lawn-mower motor changed, and she shrugged in response to Alex’s question. “I really don’t have an opinion on the centerpieces.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“It’s your party.”
She pulled her gaze away from the two men in the rose garden to look up at him. “You feel at all funny about this?”
“Funny how?”
“Like a fraud?”
His eyes squinted down for a moment. “A little. I didn’t expect to…”
“It’s not like we’re breaking the law,” she said, more to herself than to him.
“We’re throwing a great party, solidifying a business relationship, and giving the tabloids something good to write about for the next two weeks. I don’t see the harm.”
Emma didn’t either, at least not from the logical perspective he’d outlined. But there was a problem at a visceral level.
“I guess I should ask you who pays for it,” she said.
“Pays for what?”
“The party. The wedding. The six hundred guests. Are we splitting it down the middle?”
“I’ll get this one,” he said, crossing his arms to lean them on the rail, shifting his attention to the distant horizon. The ocean was growing restless, frothing up green and white as the tide rolled in. “You can catch the next one.”
“The next wedding?”
“The next dinner.”
“I doubt it’ll be for six hundred.”
Alex just shrugged.
“We need to talk about that,” she said, matching his posture, leaning on the top rail and gazing out at the rhythmic waves.
“About dinner?”
“About how we’re going to work this. Where are we going to live.”
“Here. I thought we’d decided.”
“You decided.”
There was a smirk in his voice. “And your point?”
She elbowed him. “My point is, I get a vote, too.”
“I’ll pull a Philippe.”
“How so?”
“A compromise. We stay here on weekends. Weekdays, we hang out in the city at one of the penthouses.”
Emma had to admit that sounded reasonable.
“You do know we have to stay together?” he asked. “At least at first.”
“I know. That solution sounds fine.”
“Given any thought to the honeymoon?”
“Not even a moment.” In fact, she’d been avoiding thinking about the honeymoon. This wasn’t exactly any girl’s dream scenario.
“What about Kayven Island?”
She twisted her head to look at him. “A McKinley resort?”
“Sure.”
“I thought you’d fight tooth and nail for the home court advantage.”
“Will we be making any business deals on our honeymoon?”
“Wasn’t on my agenda.”
“Then you can have the home court advantage.”
“It’s not our best resort.” Paris was bigger, and Whistler was most recently renovated.
Alex shrugged again. “I’d like to check out the island.”
“A couple of days only-I’ll book it. And I’m taking my laptop and PalmPilot.”
“You afraid we’ll get bored if we’re alone together?”
A salt breeze gusted in off the ocean, and an image of Friday night when they were alone together bloomed in her mind. “Alex.”
His expression said he was reading her mind.
“About Friday night…”
He waited.
“We can’t do that again.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Alex.”
“I’m just saying we could if we wanted to.”
“Well, we don’t want to.”
“You sure?”
“Yes! I’m sure. It was crazy and stupid.”
“I thought it was exciting and satisfying.”
She knew it was those things, too. But that didn’t change the fact that it couldn’t happen again.
“Just out of curiosity,” said Alex. “What is your objection to it happening again?”
“This is a business deal.”
“It’s also a marriage.”
She shook her head. What they were doing bore no resemblance whatsoever to a marriage. He was looking out for his interests, and she was looking out for hers. It was as simple as that.
“If we mix things up,” she said. “If we get confused. One of us-and by one of us, I mean me-is going to get hurt.”
Her hair lifted in the breeze, and he reached out to brush it back from her cheek. “I won’t hurt you, Emma.”
Despite the lightness of his touch, she knew it was a lie.
“Yes you will,” she said. “Let’s face it. You’re not marrying me because, of all the women in New York, I’m the one you want to spend time with.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Heck, even when you narrowed the pool down to McKinley women in New York City, I came last.”
“You did not.”
“Alex. Don’t rewrite history.”
“I’m not-”
“At least do me the courtesy of being honest. You want my hotels. Well, you’ve got them. And that means you’ve got me for a while, too.” She was falling for Alex. There was no point in denying it any longer. But the idea that Alex might also be falling for her was laughable. He could have any woman in New York City, probably any woman in the country. And he liked them glamorous, sophisticated and fashionable.
He was being kind right now, because deep down inside he really was a decent guy. And he seemed to like her. Sometimes, he seemed to like her a whole lot.
But she wouldn’t delude herself. She wouldn’t set herself up for heartache. They both knew he wasn’t about to fall for plain old Emma McKinley just because he happened to be marrying her. Her chest burned as she forced herself to voice the bald truth. “But don’t pretend it’s anything other than a business deal.”
He was silent for a full minute, his eyes dark as a storm-tossed sea, and just as unreadable.
“Fine,” he finally said, a sharp edge to his voice. “I’ll pay for the party. You live at my house. And we’ll both bring our laptops on the honeymoon.”
Then he turned from the rail and marched down the stairs.
Emma was glad. She’d said what needed to be said, and cleared the air between them. It was the only way to move forward.
Really.
Alex knew he had to back off. He was pushing Emma too hard and too fast. But he had a burning need to figure out what was going on between them. Truth was, at this moment, he had a feeling he’d pick Emma over anybody anytime anywhere. And that scared him.
From the moment they’d made love, he knew things had gone way past a business deal. They had something going on, and he needed to figure out what it was. To do that, he needed to talk to Emma. But she didn’t want to talk to him. She especially didn’t want to talk to him about them.