The Wedding Rescue, Book One(11)

Now, only a few years after they would have graduated, they both had a marriage and a divorce on their résumés. There was no actual employment unless you count the arduous task of interviewing housekeepers and divorce lawyers. We were here at the Delecta so Christie could rope Peter and make him her latest sucker. I didn’t feel sorry for him. He was handsome, successful, and a complete asshole. As far as I was concerned, they deserved each other.

Dylan’s arm around my waist pulled me closer, tucking me into his side as we stopped before my family. Before they could speak, he said,

“I apologize for our lateness, it was my fault. I’m Dylan Kane.” He held out his hand to my mother, who took it, her jaw still half dropped.

“Not THE Dylan Kane?” she asked, breathlessly. I braced for the embarrassment to come. As I expected, she moved in, sidling closer so she could lay an overly familiar hand on the lapel of Dylan’s suit. “The owner of all of this? Girls, you know who Dylan Kane is!”

Before she could get any closer, Dylan eased back, stepping slightly behind me while keeping his arm firmly around my waist. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Carmichael,” Dylan said, polite in the face of her attempted groping. Not one to give up easily, my mother giggled, a young, high-pitched sound I’d always hated. It usually meant she was up to something.

“Oh, I’m not Mrs. Carmichael. That was the girls' father’s name. I’ve moved on since then. I’m Mrs. Lowe, but you can call me Barbara.”

Unable to help myself, I went to my toes and whispered in Dylan’s ear, “The Mrs. Lowe is from husband number four.”

“Are you going to introduce me to your sisters?” he whispered back, his breath tickling my ear. I caught Christie scowling at me. She was justified. Whispering in front of all of them was kind of rude, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel badly about it.

“Only if you promise not to sleep with any of them,” I said into the side of his neck, my voice so low I knew he could barely hear. In response, I got another squeeze of his arm, followed by a light kiss to my temple.

“This is Cathie, Christie, and Christie’s fiancé, Peter,” I said, gesturing to each of them in turn.

“Nice to meet you,” Dylan said, then turned to the restaurant. “Do we have a reservation? I know it’s my fault we’re late, and I’d hate for everyone to go hungry.”

My mother finally remembered why we were there and led us to the hostess stand. A moment later, we were on our way to our table, a large circular booth surrounded by light drapes suspended from the ceiling. The design of the restaurant was intimate and cozy. Wonderful for a date, not so fabulous for a family dinner.

As we arranged ourselves in the booth, Cathie gave me a hip bump designed to send me reeling into Peter, giving her room to sit beside Dylan. Dylan refused to release his hold on my waist, and instead of letting me fall, he used my sideways momentum to slide me into the booth, with him beside me. Smooth. And sweet. Unfortunately, I ended up with Peter on my other side. Unable to finagle a seat next to Dylan, who’d taken the end of the booth, Cathie slid in on the other end and glared at me.

“So, what are you doing with Leigha?” she asked, venom dripping from her words. “You’re not actually her date, are you? She works for you or something, right?”

“I work at Haywood and Cross, Cathie,” I said, cutting in. “I’ve been there since I graduated from college.”

“And Leigha is most definitely my date,” Dylan said. “I’d love to get her working for me, but Haywood and Cross is a great firm. I doubt I could entice her away. And it would interfere with our,” he paused and met my eyes, “personal relationship.”

Across the booth I heard Cathie whisper to Christie, “I think I just threw up a little. Tell me he’s not sleeping with her. So gross.” I flushed in embarrassment. If I’d heard, so had the rest of the table. They weren’t exactly subtle.

“How did you two meet?” my mother asked, covering the awkward silence left after Cathie’s comment.

“As so often happens in a town like this,” Dylan said, “We met at a bar. I saw Leigha across the room and I knew I had to get to know her better.” He smiled down at me, his expression the perfect representation of a doting boyfriend. He was good. If I wasn’t careful I’d find myself believing it.

“And you asked her out?” Christie said.

“Of course.”

“But she’s fat.” This from Christie. My mother murmured her name in an embarrassed protest.