Kate Hardy - Wish Upon a Wedding

Well, maybe he could give Jacob Stewart something to think about. ‘I always do trade shows,’ he said. ‘They’re really good for awareness—and it makes new customers consider stocking you when they see the quality of your product.’

‘Maybe,’ Jacob said.

‘I don’t know if you saw the dress Claire made for my sister, but it was absolutely amazing. She’s really good at what she does. And what gives her the extra edge is that she loves what she does, too. That gives her clients confidence. And it’s why they tell all their friends about her. Her referral rate is stunning.’

Jacob said nothing, but raised an eyebrow.

Sean decided not to push it any further—the last thing he wanted was for Jacob to upset Claire any further on the subject and knock her confidence at this late stage—but he had to hide a smile when he saw the fervent thumbs-up that Claire’s grandmother and aunt did out of Jacob’s viewpoint.

Though he was quiet when he drove Claire home.

‘I’m sorry, Sean. I shouldn’t have asked you to meet them—it’s too early,’ she said, guessing why he was quiet and getting it totally wrong. ‘It’s just, well, they’ll all be coming to the wedding show and I thought it’d be better if you met them before rather than spring it on you then.’

‘No, it was nice to meet them,’ he said. ‘I liked them.’ He wanted to shake her father, but judged it not the most tactful thing to say.

‘They liked you—and Dad approved of you, which has to be a first.’

He couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘Even though I argued with him?’

‘You batted my corner,’ she said. ‘And I appreciate that. I think he did, too. Dad’s just...a bit difficult.’

‘He’ll come round in the end,’ Sean said. ‘When he sees your collection on the catwalk, he’ll understand.’

‘Hardly. He’s a guy. So he’s not the slightest bit interested in dresses,’ Claire said, though to Sean’s relief this time she was smiling rather than looking upset. ‘I just have to remember not to let it get to me.’

‘You’re going to be brilliant,’ Sean said. ‘Come on. Let’s go to bed.’

She smiled. ‘I thought you’d never ask...’

* * *

Over the next week, Claire worked later and later on last-minute changes to the wedding show outfits, and the only way Sean could get her out of her workroom for dinner was to haul her manually over his shoulder and carry her out of the room.

‘You need to eat to keep your strength up, and you can’t live off sandwiches for the next week,’ he told her, ‘or you’ll make yourself ill.’

‘I guess.’ She blinked as she took in the fact that her kitchen was actually being used and something smelled gorgeous. ‘Hang on, dinner isn’t a takeaway.’

‘It’s nothing fancy, either,’ Sean said dryly, ‘but it’s home-cooked from scratch and there are proper vegetables.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘And at least you have gadgets that help.’

‘My electric steamer. Best gadget ever.’ She smiled back and stroked his face. ‘Sean, thank you. It’s really good of you to do this for me.’

‘Any time, and you know you’d do the same if I was the one up to my eyes in preparation for a big event, so it’s not a big deal.’ He kissed her lightly. ‘Sit down, milady, because dinner will be served in about thirty seconds.’

But when he’d dished up and they were eating, he noticed that she was pushing her food around her plate. ‘Is my cooking that terrible? You don’t have to be polite with me—leave it if you hate it.’

‘It’s wonderful. I’m just tired.’ She made an effort to eat.

He tried to distract her a little. ‘So do you have a dream of a dress?’

‘Not really,’ she said.

‘So all these years when you’ve sketched wedding dresses, you never once drew the one you wanted for yourself?’

‘I guess it would depend when and where I got married—if it was on a beach in the Seychelles I wouldn’t pick the same dress, veil or shoes as I’d pick for a tiny country church in the middle of winter in, say, the far north of Scotland.’

‘I guess,’ he said. ‘So which kind of wedding would you prefer?’

‘It’s all academic,’ she said.

He could guess why she wasn’t answering him—she was obviously worried he’d think she was hinting and had expectations where he was concerned.

‘Is that why the outfits in your wedding collection are so diverse?’

‘Yes—four seasonal weddings, one vintage-inspired outfit, and one that’s more tailored towards a civil wedding,’ she explained.

‘That’s a good range,’ he said. ‘It will show people what you can do.’

‘I hope so.’ For a second she looked really worried and vulnerable.

‘Claire, you know your stuff, you’re good at what you do and your work is really going to shine at the show.’ He reached over to squeeze her hand. ‘I believe in you.’

‘Thank you, though I wasn’t fishing for compliments.’

‘I know you weren’t, and I was being sincere.’

‘Sorry.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Ignore me. It’s just a bit of stage fright, or whatever the catwalk equivalent is.’

‘Which is totally understandable, given that it’s your first show.’ He cleared their plates away. ‘Let me get you some coffee.’

She gave him a tired smile. ‘Sorry, I’m really not pulling my weight in this relationship right now.’

‘Claire, you’re so busy you barely have time to breathe. I’m not going to give you a hard time about that; I just want to take some of the weight off your shoulders,’ he said.

‘Then thank you. Coffee would be lovely.’

He made two mugs of coffee and set them on the table. ‘This is decaf,’ he said, ‘because I think you’re already going to have enough trouble getting to sleep and the last thing you need is caffeine.’

‘I guess.’

And he hoped that what he was about to do would distract her enough to let her fall asleep in his arms tonight and stop worrying quite so much about the wedding show.

He rescued the box he’d stowed in her fridge earlier—a box containing a very important message. He checked behind the door that he hadn’t accidentally disturbed the contents of the box and mixed up the order of the lettered chocolates, then brought them out and placed the box on the table in front of her.

She gave him a tired smile. ‘Would these be some of your awesome salted caramels? Or are you trying out new stuff on me as your personal focus group?’

‘Open the box and see,’ he invited.

She did so, and her eyes widened as she read the message. When she looked back at him, he could see the sheen of tears in her eyes. ‘Sean.’

‘Hey. They say you should say it with flowers, but I know you like to be different, so I thought I’d say it in chocolate.’ He’d iced the letters himself. I love you Claire. He paused. ‘Or maybe I just need to say it.’ He swallowed hard. Funny how his throat felt as if it were filled with sand. ‘I’ve never said this to anyone before. I love you, Claire. I think I probably have for years, but the idea of letting anyone close scared me spitless. You know you asked me what scared me? That. Deep down guess I was worried that I’d end up losing my partner like I lost my parents, so it was easier to keep you at a distance.’

‘So what changed?’ she asked.

‘Capri,’ he said. ‘Seeing the way you just got on with things and sorted out the problems when Ashleigh’s dress went missing. And then dancing with you. I really couldn’t take my eyes off you—it wasn’t just the song. I tried to tell myself that it was just physical attraction, but it’s more than that. So very much more.’