the guy she’d once hoped he could be. “Okay then,” she said, even if it came out a bit hesitant, “I guess I believe you.” She sat up a bit straighter and remembered how miffed she remained about various things that had happened over the last few hours. “It shocks the hell out of me to think of you in law enforcement of any kind, and this doesn’t mean I trust you—but I believe you.”
“Good,” he said shortly. “Now, you know what I’m doing here—what are you doing here?”
As if she owed him an explanation. Besides, the answer was a little too complicated and none of his business. “Vacationing, sort of.” She looked down, cleared her throat, shoveled some baked potato into her mouth.
“By yourself? Doesn’t sound like much fun.”
She let out a sigh, realizing that as much as she didn’t want to, it would probably just be easier to explain the situation. After all, unless a miracle occurred, they had five agonizing days ahead of them, and she doubted she could withhold it that long, never having been an especially skilled liar or a particularly quiet person.
“I’m getting married,” she said, lifting her gaze to look for a reaction but then dropping it just as quickly because she didn’t want him to think she cared if he cared. “And my bachelorette party is in Las Vegas—right now, in fact. Only I’m not at it, because I’m here.” Which didn’t make much sense, judging from the look he gave her. So she pressed on. “Because marriage is a big step, and I just decided that I’d rather—you know—unwind, relax. By myself. Planning a wedding is a lot of work. Very stressful. And going from single girl to wife is a big transition. So I decided that some time alone would be the exact thing I needed right now. You know?” God, of course he didn’t know—why was she babbling so incoherently? Slowly, she found the courage to raise her gaze from her plate to the man across from her. “Any questions?”
She couldn’t read his expression—his face was a blank slate. Okay, a gorgeous blank slate. “Who are you marrying?”
“Ian Zeller. Do you remember him?” He shook his head. “Should I?”
“I’m not sure if you knew my dad’s best friend back then—Walt Zeller? He’s also my dad’s lawyer.”
The light of recognition shone in Brock’ s eyes. “Oh. Yeah, now that you mention it, I did meet old Walt once. So, let me guess—this Ian guy is Walt’s son.”
“Right. He is.” She nodded. Twice. “So you see how well this all works out. My family. His family. It’s really perfect. For everyone.” Shut up. You sound like you’re trying too hard to convince him.
He squinted at her doubtfully, lowering his chin, then spoke slowly. “So let me get this straight —you blew off your own bachelorette party to come sit here on an island by yourself?”
She nodded. “Yes, and don’t act like it’s weird.”
“It is weird.” She flashed a nasty look, to which he replied, “Sorry, but it is.” He took another sip of wine. “When’s the wedding?”
“Saturday.”
His eyes flew open a little wider, and she liked having finally caught him off guard. “Next Saturday? As in seven days from now?”
She nodded. Only once this time, thank goodness.
His gaze narrowed on her slightly. “So, kitten, why are you marrying this guy?”
Why? What the hell kind of question was that? Maybe the kind someone asks when you’ve just sounded like you’re working too hard to persuade them everything’s wonderful. But it was wonderful. “Well,” she said pointedly, “only for a million reasons. I mean, our families are close, I’ve known him my whole life. And he’s a great guy—everyone thinks so. He’d do anything for me, and he’s wild about me, of course—and not just the country club me, but even the sick me or the drunk me, so I know he really loves me for me. And he’s an attorney, too— did I mention that? And he’s great with money—he has a lot of
“Good,” he said shortly. “Now, you know what I’m doing here—what are you doing here?”
As if she owed him an explanation. Besides, the answer was a little too complicated and none of his business. “Vacationing, sort of.” She looked down, cleared her throat, shoveled some baked potato into her mouth.
“By yourself? Doesn’t sound like much fun.”
She let out a sigh, realizing that as much as she didn’t want to, it would probably just be easier to explain the situation. After all, unless a miracle occurred, they had five agonizing days ahead of them, and she doubted she could withhold it that long, never having been an especially skilled liar or a particularly quiet person.
“I’m getting married,” she said, lifting her gaze to look for a reaction but then dropping it just as quickly because she didn’t want him to think she cared if he cared. “And my bachelorette party is in Las Vegas—right now, in fact. Only I’m not at it, because I’m here.” Which didn’t make much sense, judging from the look he gave her. So she pressed on. “Because marriage is a big step, and I just decided that I’d rather—you know—unwind, relax. By myself. Planning a wedding is a lot of work. Very stressful. And going from single girl to wife is a big transition. So I decided that some time alone would be the exact thing I needed right now. You know?” God, of course he didn’t know—why was she babbling so incoherently? Slowly, she found the courage to raise her gaze from her plate to the man across from her. “Any questions?”
She couldn’t read his expression—his face was a blank slate. Okay, a gorgeous blank slate. “Who are you marrying?”
“Ian Zeller. Do you remember him?” He shook his head. “Should I?”
“I’m not sure if you knew my dad’s best friend back then—Walt Zeller? He’s also my dad’s lawyer.”
The light of recognition shone in Brock’ s eyes. “Oh. Yeah, now that you mention it, I did meet old Walt once. So, let me guess—this Ian guy is Walt’s son.”
“Right. He is.” She nodded. Twice. “So you see how well this all works out. My family. His family. It’s really perfect. For everyone.” Shut up. You sound like you’re trying too hard to convince him.
He squinted at her doubtfully, lowering his chin, then spoke slowly. “So let me get this straight —you blew off your own bachelorette party to come sit here on an island by yourself?”
She nodded. “Yes, and don’t act like it’s weird.”
“It is weird.” She flashed a nasty look, to which he replied, “Sorry, but it is.” He took another sip of wine. “When’s the wedding?”
“Saturday.”
His eyes flew open a little wider, and she liked having finally caught him off guard. “Next Saturday? As in seven days from now?”
She nodded. Only once this time, thank goodness.
His gaze narrowed on her slightly. “So, kitten, why are you marrying this guy?”
Why? What the hell kind of question was that? Maybe the kind someone asks when you’ve just sounded like you’re working too hard to persuade them everything’s wonderful. But it was wonderful. “Well,” she said pointedly, “only for a million reasons. I mean, our families are close, I’ve known him my whole life. And he’s a great guy—everyone thinks so. He’d do anything for me, and he’s wild about me, of course—and not just the country club me, but even the sick me or the drunk me, so I know he really loves me for me. And he’s an attorney, too— did I mention that? And he’s great with money—he has a lot of
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