"That's not smart," he told her in a low, gentle voice. He brushed the sweaty strands of hair off her forehead. "You need to remember that you're eating for two now."
She nodded. "Sometimes I forget."
"You stay here and I'll get you some water and a snack, all right?" When she murmured agreement, he raced down the path, looking for a snack machine or a gift shop, anything. By the time he found it, he was drenched in sweat-some of it from nerves at the sight of seeing Greer collapse like that-but he got a bottle of water and a package of peanut butter crackers and then raced back to where he'd left her.
When he came back, the stubborn woman was sitting up on the bench. She managed a wan smile for him. "I'm really sorry, Asher. This wasn't how I planned today would go-"
"Quiet," he told her, and pulled the cap off the water and then knelt at her side, holding it to her lips. "Drink. And then you're going to eat these crackers."
She sipped at the water obediently, and his heart slowed from its mad, fearful gallop in his chest as the color returned to her face. She held a hand out and he gave her a cracker, then watched with a bizarre sense of satisfaction as she nibbled on it, then asked for another.
Minutes passed, and Asher's entire world consisted of feeding Greer and making sure she drank enough water. Taking care of her. Hell, if she'd have let him, he'd have ripped her shoes off and massaged her feet, but he was going to take what he could get.
When she finished the last cracker and the bottle of water was empty, he put a hand on her knee. "Feel better?"
"Much." She primly removed his hand from her knee. "Thank you."
He tried not to feel disappointed at that small rejection, but damn. "Good. I'm going to walk you back to your car. You need to get out of this heat. And then I want you to go home and eat a big meal. Lots of proteins and carbohydrates. Then, when you're done with that, take a hot shower and relax for the rest of the day." He picked her glasses up and held them out to her.
She plucked the glasses from his hand and scowled at him. "Don't tell me what to do. I have entirely too much going on to take a day off. I have to call a dozen caterers and see who can squeeze us in, and then there's staff for valet parking for the day of the wedding, and I need to call about cakes, and-"
When she stood, he stood, too, and tried to pick her up in his arms again.
She batted at him, angry. "What are you doing?"
"If you're not going to relax and take it easy, I'm going to force you to." He ignored her flying, ineffective fists, and cradled her against his chest. "The wedding can't go on if the planner passes out all day."
"Fine," she bellowed, shoving at his chest. "Fine! You win! I'll go home and eat an enormous meal and then spend the rest of the day in bed."
He put her down.
"With my phone," she amended. "And my laptop. But in bed."
Small victories.
***
Even though Greer swore she was fine, Asher insisted on following her home and didn't relax until she was pulling her rental car into the driveway at the Dutchman castle. Only then did the breath he'd felt like he was holding all afternoon escape him.
God, he'd felt as if he'd aged a hundred years in an hour. Seeing Greer collapse like that had made him realize just how delicate she was . . . and just how much she meant to him. They'd been such close friends all through college and he'd taken her for granted: the late nights she'd stayed up studying with him, the times he was sick and she'd made him chicken noodle soup, the unwavering support she'd given him, the way they both liked the same sappy black-and-white movies.
Seeing her faint had just clinched in his mind that she was his, and he'd do anything to win her back. It was clear that his Greer had a spine of solid metal under that sweet, demure exterior, though. He mentally replayed her quiet removal of his hand from her knee over and over again.
He needed a plan to win her back.
All right, then. If he was going to create a fake wedding just to get her closer to him, he'd take advantage of that closeness.
If Greer was around him daily, there was no way he couldn't break down those barriers she'd erected. She'd loved him once; he could get her to love him again.
He hoped.
He needed more than just being around her to win her back, though. Hell, he'd been around her today and where had that gotten him? She'd been so stressed she'd forgotten to eat and had nearly passed out at his feet. Furtive meetings weren't the answer.
They had to be together, and constantly. It was so easy for her to shoot him down, now that she was convinced he was terrible at sex.
All right, then. He'd have to convince her otherwise. But how?
As he drove back to his hotel on the strip, a plan began to form in his mind.
***
"Augusta, what's this meeting on my schedule at noon?" Greer studied her phone, frowning, as she headed into her father's personal assistant's office on the second floor of the Dutchman castle.
Augusta looked up from her laptop, a pinched frown on her long face. "Mr. Sutton asked me to set that up. It's a daily check-in on the wedding proceedings. Make sure you and the brides and the groom-or his stand-in-are all on the same page."
"Ah." She stood there like an idiot as Augusta went back to work, her gaze returning to her computer. "And . . . is Mr. Sutton going to be there?" Please say no. Please say no.
The look on Augusta's face was something between Really? and I don't have time for this shit. "Of course."
"Of course," Greer echoed, and turned and marched out of the room. Well, nuts. A daily meeting was a good idea, because herding Bunni, Tiffi, and Kiki was a lot like herding cats. But seeing Asher daily? That she could do without. It still hurt her down to her soul to see his handsome face. This was not going to help her heart heal any faster.
But she was low on choices, wasn't she? Her father had been scarce ever since announcing the wedding. He was in California meeting with a stockholder today and would return in a few days for the engagement party that had been hastily thrown together. Just two hundred of his closest friends . . . and representatives from every media outlet available.
Greer's stomach was in knots just thinking about it. Today, though, she remembered to eat. She munched on a protein bar as she went over her notes from the endless calls she'd made yesterday. She'd found a wedding baker willing to take on the task of the ornate cakes for the upcoming wedding for a hefty rush fee, but caterers were still iffy. Even though it would be a massive media event, most places were already booked. It was too much for Marta and her assistants to handle on their own-the poor cook was already baking up a storm in preparation for the engagement party and had enlisted three of her grown children to help her. Greer had promised them all bonuses. But a wedding with an ever-changing guest-list of hundreds? She wouldn't inflict that on Marta. She'd just have to call further out. Check a few outlying cities. Maybe they could even fly in a caterer if they could get him/her experienced temp staff. She nibbled on the protein bar as she considered options and wrote notes to herself. She could make this happen. It would just require thinking a little more outside the box.
"There you are," Kiki said, interrupting Greer's train of thought. The "blue" triplet was wearing a baby blue string bikini with a scarf tied at her hips. She was stunningly gorgeous, and her smile was friendly. She was also standing in front of Asher. "Look who I found!"
"Lucky you." Greer sat up straight in her chair and adjusted her glasses on her face as Kiki and Asher entered the dining hall. She hated to think it, but they would have made a really magnificent couple. They were of a similar height, given that Kiki was in stiletto heels, and her big blonde hair was artfully tousled, held off her face with a pair of designer sunglasses.
And of course, Asher looked like the type of billionaire playboy that would be with a high-maintenance blonde like Kiki. He wore faded jeans with a navy blazer and a pale blue shirt, the sleeves of both rolled up at his forearms. It was paired with a navy skinny tie and sunglasses, and Asher's hair was swept back off his face in his usual casual style. On a lesser man, it would have looked like he was trying too hard. But on Asher? He just looked . . . perfect. Breezy, cool, and too chic for someone like Greer to have ever slept with.
Why did that make her stomach sour? Why did she care if he looked like the perfect match for someone like Kiki and not someone like her? Greer smoothed the front of her yellow summer sweater that she had over subdued gray slacks. Both were tight in all the wrong places . . . and she'd just brushed a boatload of crumbs off her boobs. Ugh. "Are you both here for the meeting?" She hid her wrapper and pulled her paperwork closer to her spot at the table. "We're missing two triplets."