Not Another Wedding. Jennifer McKenzie

      CHAPTER FOUR

      “YOU’RE BRINGING SOMEONE to brunch?” His mother’s voice rose slightly. “A date?”

      Beck shrugged and turned back to his laptop. His mother had love on the brain. As usual. A woman who’d been married four times, and twice to the same man—his father—clearly thought about love on a regular basis. Too bad she didn’t put as much thought into who she decided to marry, seeing as she’d also been divorced four times.

      He didn’t bother to respond to her query. It was early Sunday morning, a few hours before everyone was due to arrive for brunch, and he’d been sitting at the kitchen table innocently doing some work when his mother barged in under the guise of bringing him some flowers. Like he cared about a bouquet of flowers.

      “Beck? Is this a date?”

      He shrugged again. It wasn’t not a date. But he and Poppy hadn’t gotten into specifics. If he’d pushed, he was pretty sure she would have changed her mind about attending and he needed her.

      Just before he’d dropped his little guest bomb, his mother had made a sly comment about seating Grace next to him at the table. Beck didn’t mind if his mother got her own hopes up only to have them dashed—she’d be bringing that on herself. But he wasn’t comfortable with her getting someone else’s feelings involved.

      Grace might be a bit sheltered, but she didn’t deserve to have her head filled with nonsense about how Beck was waiting for the right woman to come along.

      He wasn’t waiting for anyone.

      “Well.” She clapped her hands together. Oh, yeah. She definitely had flowers, gowns and seating plans spinning through her mind. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

      He’d known his mother would behave like this, which was why he’d avoided telling her about his guest. That and the fact that he hadn’t wanted to hunt her down at the big house where his parents were probably mooning over each other. So he’d barricaded himself in the guesthouse.

      It wasn’t as if he was hiding. Not exactly. He had a lot of work to do. Firing off emails to his lawyer and real estate agent, keeping in touch with the management at the five other properties the Lefebvre Group owned and drawing up a budget for the proposed renovation once the hotel purchase was completed.

      This was the first project he’d be running single-handedly since this was the first hotel they’d acquired in a decade. Under his father’s leadership, the company had maintained its status as purveyors of elegant boutique hotels for the luxury market, but Beck wanted more. To grow the Lefebvre brand into a global vision.

      Assuming his mother let him get anything done.

      She fussed with the flowers until she appeared satisfied with their appearance. Beck didn’t know why she bothered; he’d forget about them when she left and they’d end up wilting into a sad mess until someone else removed them.

      “So this date...” She let the words trail off casually. As though he didn’t know she was already making plans for weddings and grandchildren. “Who is she?”

      He said nothing, hoping she’d take the hint and go. Instead, she grabbed a coffee mug and poured herself a cup from the pot he’d made earlier.

      “Is this the young woman I saw you with Friday night?” Victoria sat down in the chair across from him. Like they were a couple of old biddies settling in for a good chat. “The redhead?”

      “Her hair is auburn,” Beck found himself saying. The thought of Poppy’s scowl whenever he claimed otherwise made some of the tension in his shoulders ease. “Poppy.”

      “Poppy? The Poppy from that summer?” Victoria’s blond eyebrows shot straight up.

      Beck’s stomach knotted. “Yes.” But he was surprised she remembered. She’d been caught up in her own life that particular summer. Before everything had crashed down on them.

      “Poppy.” She ran a finger around the rim of her cup. “You and she were pretty serious.”

      “Not that serious.” He wasn’t sure why he said that. He and Poppy had been serious. First loves, first lovers, first a lot of things. First heartbreak. He sipped from his own coffee, which had gone cold a while ago.

      “No, I remember. You felt strongly about her.”

      Beck didn’t reply. He’d felt strongly about a lot of things back then. But most teenagers did. His hormones had eventually calmed down.

      A smile played around the edges of Victoria’s lips. Clearly, she didn’t have quite the same memories of that time in their lives. “You were upset when we had to leave. You wanted to call her.”

      “We didn’t have to leave.” Beck put a stop to her little walk down memory lane. “You decided we were leaving and told me I was coming with you. I didn’t have a choice.”

      He recalled everything clearly, even if his mother didn’t. Coming home after dropping off Poppy, plans for how he was going to spend the next two weeks with her by his side filling his head. The night had been cool and cloudless. He’d tried to convince Poppy to stay with him, to sleep under the stars and watch the sunrise in the morning, but she’d told him her parents would kill her and ban her from seeing him the rest of the summer.

      They’d kissed for a long time before she’d finally climbed out of the car and skipped up the steps to her house. He’d waited until she’d gone inside and driven home slowly, everything about the night replaying in his head. Life had been good.

      And then everything had turned to garbage.

      The lights in the big house were all on, blazing a trail across the driveway. Beck had known before he parked that something was wrong. His parents didn’t leave all the lights on unless they were having a party. Or fighting.

      He’d thought about heading back down the side path that led to the unfinished guesthouse, grabbing the blankets and pillows, some candles, too, and sleeping on the dock. He could watch the stars and the sunrise on his own.

      But he’d heard the raised voices, and he’d known he wasn’t going anywhere.

      “Victoria, I didn’t.”

      “Don’t lie to me. I heard the message. I heard her voice. You promised you’d never do that again. Never.”

      “I didn’t, you have to believe me.”

      “I’m leaving.”

      “Victoria...”

      Beck had slipped through the front door, but not quietly enough to avoid catching their attention.

      “Beck—” his mother’s eyes had been like ice “—pack your things, we’re leaving.”