His heart lurched. He stood, smirking to hide how desperately he hoped she was right. Touching her shoulder, he wavered, then gave in to impulse and bent to kiss her cheek. Then, because he was starting to understand how this worked, he said, “Your generosity has always meant the world to me, Brenda. You’re like a second mother to me. I wish I’d let you treat me like your son.”
It was a terrible risk that paid off immediately.
“Oh, my boy.” She patted his hand and turned her face to kiss his knuckles. “There’s still time to let me. Invite me to your wedding.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MELODIE WONDERED IF there was anything quite so beautiful as an Indian wedding. She’d covered a few nuptials by now, including an Arab one that had been so over-the-top with luxury she’d been fairly sure she’d been transported to another planet. This one in London, where both families lived, had a celebratory quality that was as solid and fascinating as the abundant gold weighing down the bride. The colors, dear Lord, the colors. And when it came to capturing the joy of family and children—something that was becoming her forte—there was nothing so perfect as the natural warmth of two Indian families coming together through a love match.
Maybe it was the cultural shift that made her appreciate this wedding more than the Spanish heiress’s last week. That one had made it too easy for to see herself in the gown and Roman in the morning coat. It had left her crying hard through the night. She couldn’t think of it now. She’d start crying again.
Roman was gone. Life had to go on.
She forced her mind back to arranging the groom’s family, with his parents and abundance of siblings, their spouses and children, along with his new bride. One of the four-year-olds in the party had pretty much given up on this exercise, so Melodie had to snap fast.
“No, please, keep looking at the camera,” she called when half of the arrangement turned their heads to take note of something across the room. Beautiful, happy people abounded at weddings, but when the groups got this big, it was like herding cats to get them all to do one thing.
They weren’t cooperating. The distraction of the growing reception was too much. The groom actually stepped away to meet someone working through the crowd. The rest of the group broke up. Melodie silently whimpered, then felt a tingle that she usually only felt when—
She gasped and spun around at the exact moment she heard, “I need to speak to your photographer.”
Roman. So tall, so commanding. So inappropriately dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, a brown leather jacket thrown on over it.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, voice squeaking with astonishment. Her body actually hurt from the sting of excitement that shot through her veins.
“I want to talk to you.”
“How did you even find me?” She’d been called in last minute on this one, flying to London first thing this morning.
“Your office. They owed me for referring you in the first place. I didn’t realize you’d be working.” He gave the anxious bride a friendly nod. “I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me. Weddings are evening events, so the odds were good, I suppose. But I won’t get you fired.” He turned to the groom, handed over his card and said something about a free security system for a home or office if he was allowed to borrow Melodie for a few minutes.
* * *
“Can we go somewhere?” he said to Melodie, taking her arm and looking over the heads in the crowd, starting to usher her from the ballroom toward the interior of the hotel.
“Where? No,” she added quickly when he signaled to a server in a uniform. “No hotel room. You know what will happen and I will get fired.”
He acknowledged that with a cant of his head and a quirk of his lips. “Promising,” he remarked under his breath, changing direction toward a door to the balcony.
“Also, I’m not pregnant, if that’s why you’re here,” she blurted, unable to think of another reason.
He opened his mouth, paused, then said, “We’ll come back to that one.”
Would they? Her heart was already going a mile a minute, and now it threatened to leave her body altogether.
He drew her away from the wedding guests milling on the balcony and moved toward the outdoor café that was shut down for the evening, sectioned off at the far side. He scissored his legs over the low glass rail that separated the area while she moved into the shadows and opened the gate, letting herself in. They circled around a trellis and moved to where they could see the Thames cutting through the sparkle of city lights.
And there her world stopped, because it was all she could do to hold back a choke of tears, she was so happy to see him and so devastated at the same time. Did he have any idea how difficult it would be to say goodbye again?