Kiss and Makeup by Taryn Leigh Taylor Page B

“Thereabouts.”
    â€œSo how about we don’t ruin today with anything as mundane as the truth? I mean, think about it. In your lifetime, how many people have you spent the night with who didn’t know what you did for a living?”
    Ben’s lips quirked in a bit of a smile. “None.”
    â€œExactly. So let’s not label ourselves. Let’s embrace that rebellious streak of yours, Mr. Lone Wolf. Let’s live dangerously and talk to strangers.”
    â€œHuh. Impassioned speech. Is this your way of keeping me from guessing your true occupation? Because if you’re a politician, I promise I won’t think less of you,” he vowed.
    Chloe relaxed in her seat and let the hour fly by, literally and figuratively, as she talked to Ben.
    * * *
    C HLOE STOOD NEXT to Ben, watching the unfamiliar luggage circling past them on the conveyer belt.
    After they’d decided not to make the usual small talk about themselves, they’d ended up bonding over innocuous things like a mutual hatred of sunglasses that rivaled dinner plates in circumference, and a shared belief that specialty cartoon channels had massacred the joy of childhood Saturday mornings.
    Turned out Ben was just as cool as she’d suspected. It would figure she’d spent the past four years dating nothing but losers, only to run into one of the good ones when she was only looking for a one-night stand.
    â€œThe boutonnieres are an absolute disgrace. How will it look with the groomsmen wearing champagne roses when the rest of the wedding flowers are white?”
    O
h no
. Chloe turned toward the familiar voice growing ever louder as a woman with a cell phone to her ear barked orders and stalked toward the baggage claim. Not even the bustle of an international airport could mute this particular woman scorned.
    â€œWe’re not going to pay for this kind of lack of attention on your part. That’s right. Yes, eight new boutonnieres made with white roses. We’ll be expecting them by noon. Yes, that’s the correct address. Tell the concierge it’s for the Masterson–Van Allen wedding.”
    Ignoring Ben’s questioning look, Chloe took off toward her mother, trying to keep as much distance between him and Fiona Masterson as possible. No need to complicate things any more than they already were.
    â€œMom! Hi.” The second the words were out of her mouth, four years of distance swirled up around them and stole Chloe’s breath. Her mother looked the same. A little older, obviously, but as regal as ever.
    Her graying hair was pulled back into the elegant chignon she favored. She was dressed in black from head to toe, all designer labels, all tailored to perfection for her slim frame. Even the posh winter coat. Her jewellery was gold, but her earrings were pearls. The first piece of jewelry Chloe’s father had ever given her, the night he’d professed his love, a mere seven dates into their courtship. That’s what her mother had always called it, their “courtship”. As a little girl the tale had been one of Chloe’s favorite bedtime stories, and she would beg her mother to tell it night after night.
    And now they were reduced to exchanging an awkward air kiss in an airport terminal.
    â€œChloe Marie, it’s about time you got here.” Her mother made a production of glancing around as she dropped her phone into her Louis Vuitton handbag. “Alone, I see. That’s going to throw off the seating chart. You couldn’t have RSVP’d to let us know so that we could rearrange the tables earlier, I suppose. I’m sure selling makeup to mall patrons keeps you from picking up the phone. Never mind that an uneven seating chart can completely derail a wedding.”
    Chloe gritted her teeth in her best semblance of a smile. “What are you doing here? We agreed to meet at the hotel.”
    â€œI was ironing out a few last-minute things for the