The Wedding Planner and the CEO

The dance teacher, Pierre, came towards her with a wonderfully French gesture that described exactly how frustrated he was also becoming.

‘It’s only a simple dance,’ he muttered. ‘We’ve been here for an hour and we have only covered the first twenty seconds of the song. Do you know how long Monsieur Legend’s “All of Me” goes for?’ He didn’t wait for Penelope to respond. ‘Five minutes and eight seconds—that’s how long. C’est de la torture.’

Blake’s expression morphed from anger to irritation and finally defeat. ‘I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean it. Really.’ He put his arms around Clarissa. ‘I just meant we could have eloped or something and got away from all the fuss.’

‘You did mean it.’ Clarissa struggled enough to escape his embrace. ‘You don’t want to marry me.’ She turned her back on him and hugged herself tightly.

‘I do. I love you, babe. All of me, you know, loves all of you.’

Clarissa only sobbed louder. This was Penelope’s cue to enter stage left. She walked briskly across the polished wood of the floor and put an arm around her client’s shoulders.

‘It’s okay, hon. We just need to take a break.’ She gave a squeeze. ‘It’s such an emotional time in the final run-up to such a big day. Things can seem a bit overwhelming, can’t they?’

Clarissa nodded, sniffing loudly.

‘And we’ve got a whole week to sort this dance out. Just a few moves that you can repeat for the whole song, isn’t that right, Pierre?’

Pierre shrugged. ‘As you say. Only a few moves.’

Penelope turned her most encouraging smile on the groom-to-be. ‘You’re up for that, aren’t you, Blake? You do know how incredibly sexy it is for a man to be able to dance, even a little bit, don’t you?’

‘Dancing’s for pansies,’ Blake muttered.

Penelope’s smile dimmed. She could feel a vibe coming from Pierre’s direction that suggested she might be about to lose her on-call dance teacher.

‘How ’bout this?’ she suggested brightly. ‘We’ll put the music on and Pierre will dance with Clarissa to show you what you’ll look like on the night. So you can see how romantic it will be. How gorgeous you’ll both look.’

Blake scowled but Clarissa was wiping tears from her face with perfectly French-manicured fingertips. The sideways glance at the undeniably good-looking dance teacher was flirtatious enough for Penelope to be thankful that Blake didn’t seem to notice.

‘Fine.’ He walked towards the tall windows that doubled as doors to the flagged terrace. Penelope joined him as Pierre set the music up and talked to Clarissa.

‘Gorgeous view, isn’t it?’

‘I guess. The lake’s okay. I like those dragons that spout water.’

‘The whole garden’s wonderful. You should have a look around while the weather’s this nice. There’s even a maze.’

The notes of the romantic song filled the space as Pierre swept Clarissa into his arms and began leading her expertly through the moves. Blake crossed his arms and scowled.

‘It’s easy for her. She’s been doing salsa classes for years. But she expects me to look like him? Not going to happen. Not in this lifetime.’

Penelope shook her head and smiled gently. ‘I think all she wants is to be moving to the song she’s chosen in the arms of the man she loves.’

A sound of something like resignation came from Blake but Penelope could feel the tension lift. Until his head turned and he stiffened again.

‘Who’s that?’ he demanded. ‘I told you I didn’t want anyone watching this lesson. I feel like enough of an idiot as it is. If that’s a photographer, hoping to get a shot of me practising, he can just get the hell out of here.’

Penelope turned her head. The ballroom of Loxbury Hall ran the length of the house between the two main wings. There were probably six huge bedrooms above it upstairs. Quite some distance to recognise a shadowy figure standing in the doorway that led to the reception hall but she knew who it was instantly. From the man’s height, perhaps. Or the casual slouch to his stance. That shaft of sensation deep in her belly had to be relief. He’d kept his word.

She could trust him?

‘It’s Ralph Edwards!’ she exclaimed softly. ‘I told you he was coming some time today. To discuss your fireworks?’

‘Oh...yeah...’ Blake’s scowl vanished. ‘Fireworks are cool.’ He brightened. ‘Does that mean I don’t have to do any more dancing today?’

‘Let’s see what Pierre’s schedule is. We’d have time for another session later. After the meeting with the florist maybe. Before the rehearsal.’

It was another couple of minutes before the song ended. Clarissa was following Pierre’s lead beautifully and Penelope tried to focus, letting her imagination put her client into her wedding dress. To think how it was going to look with the soft lighting of hundreds of candles. The song was a great choice. If Blake could end up learning the moves well enough to look a fraction as good as Pierre, it was going to be a stunning first dance.

Details flashed into her mind, like the best places to put the huge floral arrangements and groups of candles to frame the dance floor. Where the photographers and cameramen could be placed to be inconspicuous but still get great coverage. Whether it was going to work to have the wrist loop to hold the train of Clarissa’s dress out of the way. She scribbled a note on the paper clipped to the board she carried with her everywhere on days like this so that none of these details would end up being forgotten.

The dress. Candles. Flowers. There was so much to think about and yet the thing she was most aware of right now was the figure standing at the ballroom doorway, politely waiting for the music to finish before interrupting. Why did his presence make her feel so nervous? Her heart had picked up speed the moment she’d seen him and it hadn’t slowed any since. That initial twinge of relief had shattered into butterflies in her stomach now, and they were twisting and dancing rather like Clarissa was.

Not that the feeling was altogether unpleasant. It reminded her of the excitement that strong physical attraction to someone could produce.

Was she physically attracted to Ralph Edwards?

Of course not. The very idea was so ridiculous she knew that wasn’t the cause. No. This nervousness was because the fireworks show wasn’t a done deal yet and there could be another tantrum from Clarissa to handle if the meeting didn’t go well.

It had to go well. Penelope held the clipboard against her chest and clutched it a little more tightly as the music faded.

* * *

Rafe was quite content to have a moment or two to observe.

To bask in the glow of satisfaction he’d had from the moment he’d driven through the ornate gates of this historic property.

A property he now owned, for heaven’s sake.

Who would have thought that he’d end up with a life like this? Not him, that’s for sure. Not back in the day when he’d been one of a busload of disadvantaged small children who’d been brought to Loxbury Hall for a charity Christmas party. He’d seen the kind of kingdom that rich people could have. People with enough money to make their own rules. To have families that stayed together and lived happily ever after.

Yes. This was a dream come true and he was loving every minute of it.

He was loving standing here, too.

This room was stunning. A few weeks ago he’d had to use his imagination to think of what it might be like with music playing and people dancing on the polished floor. Reality was even better. He was too far away to get more than a general impression of the girl who was dancing but he could see enough. A wild cascade of platinum blonde waves. A tight, low-cut top that revealed a cleavage to die for. Enhanced by silicone, of course, but what did that matter? She was a true WAG and Blake Summers was a lucky young man.

What a contrast to Ms Collins—standing there clutching a clipboard and looking as tense as a guitar string about to snap. You’d never get her onto a dance floor as a partner, that’s for sure. His buoyant mood slipped a little—kind of reminding him of schooldays when the bell sounded and you had to leave the playground and head back to the classroom.

Never mind. As she’d pointed out herself, this could well be the last time the reception rooms of Loxbury Hall would be used as a public venue and there was a kind of irony in the idea that he could be putting on a fireworks show to mark the end of that era for the house and the start of his own occupation.

Remarkably fitting, really.

Rafe walked towards her as the music faded. Was her look supposed to be more casual, given that it was a weekend? If so, it hadn’t worked. Okay, it was a shirt and trousers instead of a skirt but they were tailored and sleek and she still had that complicated rope effect going on in her hair. Did she sleep like that and still not have a hair out of place in the morning?

Maybe she didn’t sleep at all. Just plugged herself in to a power point for a while.

Good thing that he was close enough to extend a hand to the young man standing beside Penelope. That way, nobody could guess that his grin was due to private amusement.