The Notorious Groom. Caroline Cross
He shook his head. “Nope. In case you haven’t noticed, forbidding things isn’t exactly my style.”
Her gaze automatically slid toward his earring. “Oh. Oh, of course not.” Obviously she wasn’t thinking clearly.
“I came by to tell you that if you still want to get married, I’ll do it,” he added casually.
She could feel her jaw go slack. “You will?”
“Yeah.” His manner was so laid-back they might have been discussing the weather. “That is, unless you’ve changed your mind or found somebody else?”
“No.”
“Well, okay, then.” He shoved his hands in his back pockets and rocked back on his heels. “When do you want to do it?”
“Sunday is my birthday,” she said automatically, her thoughts whirling. Her prayers had been answered. Willow Run was hers.
So why did she suddenly have a sense of impending disaster?
“Sunday it is, then.” Eli glanced over at the clock on the wall and straightened with the same effortless grace he did everything. “Look, I hate to run, but I’ve got a date. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll work out the details, okay?”
He had a date? “Oh-okay.”
“Hey, Boo?”
“Wh-what?”
His voice dropped to an intimate murmur. “Relax. There’s no reason we can’t have some fun with this.”
Fun? Norah thought dazedly as he walked away. Somehow, she didn’t think so.
“I can’t believe we’re going to live here,” Chelsea said excitedly. “It’s so-o-o pretty.”
Pretty didn’t begin to describe it, Eli thought, as he pulled his ancient Corvette onto the verge of Willow Run’s big circular drive, switched off the engine and took a long look around. “It’s okay,” he said neutrally, not about to confess that he felt as if he’d driven onto the set of Gone With the Wind.
He had to admit he’d forgotten how imposing the place was. Situated well off the street in its own private park, the house rose three full stories and looked like a transplanted Southern mansion. He supposed there was some sort of fancy name for the style—Georgian or Palladian or Edwardian—and he wished he could say it was ugly or pretentious or something. But it wasn’t. Instead, with its gleaming white paint, sweeping stone terraces and country garden landscaping, Willow Run could best be described as old-money-meets-good-taste classy.
For some reason, he found himself thinking about the small collection of water-stained belongings stashed in the trunk. Just for an instant, the idea of hauling them out and carrying them inside this ritzy home made him feel embarrassed and ashamed—the way he had as a kid when he’d had to get his school clothes from the charity bin because Uncle Leo had spent all their money on booze.
His reaction irritated him. After all, this situation was hardly the same. He wasn’t the needy one here. Norah had come to him. And the only reason he’d agreed to the scheme was out of concern for Chelsea’s health—and his sanity—after it had become clear that nothing he said or did was going to convince his darling daughter to give up her “Poor, poor Miss Brown” campaign.
Still, he’d resisted for close to a week, until late one night when he’d found himself wondering why. Why shouldn’t he marry Norah Jane? As long as Chelsea knew the score, what was the harm? Both he and Boo were unattached, well past the age of consent. It wasn’t as if he would be making a real commitment...or that his reputation could get any worse. Heck, it could even be viewed as a sort of atonement, a way to make up for the way he had teased her in high school. Not that he owed her anything. It wasn’t his fault she’d been a wallflower back then, any more than it was his responsibility to watch out for her now.
Although when it came to looking out for herself, Boo definitely could use some help. That had become clear when he’d heard through the grapevine that despite his warning, she’d tried to arrange a meeting with Nick Carpetti. Lucky for her, Carpetti had been unavailable. Still, she just didn’t seem to understand that someone unscrupulous could take advantage of her offer.
Not that he cared or anything remotely close to that. It was just...irritating. Their nonexistent prenuptial agreement was a case in point. It was a toss-up whether he or old Mr. Lampley, her attorney, had been more taken aback when she refused to even discuss one. Not that Norah had noticed. She’d been too busy plucking at her skirt in that annoying way she had to notice their dumbfounded expressions when she announced that she trusted him to do the right thing.
If that wasn’t proof the woman could use a keeper, he didn’t know what was. He didn’t even trust himself that much.
“Come on!” Chelsea’s enthusiastic exhortation put an end to his musing. Unhooking her seat belt, his daughter threw open her door and clambered off the seat, then turned to regard him impatiently as she yanked down the hem of her dress. “We don’t want to be late.”
“Speak for yourself,” he murmured, climbing out of the car and coming around the hood to where she stood, fidgety with anticipation. He gave her a chiding look. “For a kid who couldn’t find the energy to get out of bed just a few days ago, you sure made a miraculous recovery.”
“Yeah, I know.” She grinned as they crossed the drive and started up the wide, shallow stairs of the portico. “Aren’t you glad?”
Her grin was hard to resist Even though he knew it was probably a mistake to be such a pushover, he reached out and gave one of her bright curls an affectionate tug. “Yeah, I guess. Just don’t forget this is temporary,” he stressed. “Once the insurance money comes through, we’re out of here like we discussed, remember?”
She darted ahead to ring the bell. Framed by the massive front door, which was painted a glossy black, crowned by a fanlight and flanked by matching flower-filled planters, she spun around and made a face at him “I remember. Just don’t forget that you promised to be nice to Miss Brown.”
“Hey, I’m always nice,” he protested, doing his best to look wounded.
His irreverent offspring rolled her eyes. “Not hardly.”
“Now, listen here, kid—” He broke off as the door swung open. He had a quick glimpse of a gleaming marble floor, an enormous vase filled with fresh flowers, and a wide staircase that curved up and away before his gaze met Norah’s.
“Hello,” she said uncertainly.
At the same time Chelsea cried, “Hey, Miss Brown. We’re here!”
With an air of relief she couldn’t disguise, Norah looked away from him and focused her attention on Chelsea. “You certainly are,” she replied, her expression softening as she stepped back to make room for them to enter. “And you look wonderful. What a pretty dress.”
“I know. It’s new.” Chelsea skipped inside and twirled, making the soft blue fabric of the skirt bell out. “Most of our stuff got burned in the fire, so I got this and a new swimsuit and some cool shorts and stuff. Eli got some new clothes, too.”
“Oh.” Norah bit her lip, then glanced toward him.
He watched her expression go from surprised appreciation to just plain surprised as she registered that beneath his exquisitely cut tuxedo jacket, he was wearing a T-shirt, jeans and his favorite high-top tennis shoes. He had to give her credit, though. With her better-than-Miss Manners-manners, she only had to swallow once before she managed a feeble smile.
“You—you look nice, too.”
“Thanks.” Amused, he directed a pointed look at his daughter. “See, I told you she’d like it.” He turned back to Norah. “She didn’t think I was dressed up enough,” he confided blandly, one adult to another. “So we stopped by