Nancy Thompson - Celebration's Bride

“Then what are you running to?” Maya asked.

A little laugh escaped Sydney and her fingers fluttered to her lips. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Maya took down a glass plate from a shelf behind the counter. “So you answer my question with a question?” She filled the plate with several truffles and chocolate-dipped Madeleines, specialties of the house. “If you’re not running from something, that must mean you are running to something.”

Sydney wrinkled her nose. “No, I’m not doing that, either.” She set her cup on the counter and crossed her arms over her middle. Maya recognized the defensive body language for what it was. However, if the young woman hadn’t wanted her help, then she wouldn’t have come into the shop so eager to share the details of the job prospect that she was taking such great pains to hide from those closest to her. Maya owed it to Sydney to give her the advice she sought. Even if her friend didn’t seem to like the answer or seem consciously aware that she was seeking counsel.

“Au contraire, mon amie. How will you ever meet your soul mate if you don’t stay in one place long enough to unpack?” Maya set the plate of sweets in front of Sydney. “I am afraid what I have to say isn’t what you want to hear. However, I implore you. It will be a grave mistake if you leave Celebration, Texas, now. Because your soul mate will arrive soon looking for you.”

Chapter One

It was going to be one of those days. Sydney James could already tell. Her return flight from St. Michel to Texas, after her whirlwind trip to interview for the job of press secretary to St. Michel’s royal family, had been delayed six hours. Three hours in the terminal and three hours stuck on the runway.

Much of that time had been the middle of the night in Texas, and a good portion had been spent in the air where she couldn’t use her cell phone, anyway. All she’d been able to do was leave a message that she was going to be late for work—several hours late.

She’d been vague about her plans for the weekend, opting not to tell anyone about the job interview until she had a better handle on whether she even wanted the position. And, of course, whether the job wanted her. For that reason, she’d never been happier to talk to a voice mailbox. Voice mailboxes didn’t hammer her with questions.

Thursday, when she’d left Texas, she’d driven herself to the airport and left her car in long-term parking so she wouldn’t have to bother anyone for a ride to and from Dallas/Fort Worth International. Once she was back on Texas soil, she’d rushed to her car to get back to the office. Now she sat parked in front of Celebrations, Inc., Catering Company. Before she went in, she needed to catch her breath and make herself presentable. Running on little sleep for the better part of the past twenty-four hours, she looked like hell. She studied her reflection in her compact mirror. She had dark circles under her eyes, which made her irises look a peculiar shade of olive rather than their usual medium green, and her face looked drawn and pale. She reapplied powder, blush and lipstick with the silent prayer that maybe, just maybe, she could make herself look halfway human.

Fat chance, she thought as she snapped the compact closed. The camera never lied.

Since it was already noon and she’d missed her call time by several hours, she hoped they’d greet her with the news that they needed time to regroup and wanted to reschedule the scenes she was in for tomorrow—or better yet, later in the week. Or best-case scenario, maybe they hadn’t missed her at all and had taped without her.

Yeah, right.

She knew that was a bad attitude. How many women would love to have her spot on Catering to Dallas, a reality TV show that chronicled the inner workings of Celebrations, Inc., Catering Company? She’d never been the center of attention on the show, and she preferred it that way. Content to carry out her duties as the catering company’s public relations director, staying in the background as her three friends and co-stars Pepper Merriweather-Macintyre, A.J. Sherwood-Antonelli-Harrison and Caroline Coopersmith-Montgomery vied for the spotlight.

Sydney slipped her cosmetics back into the inner pocket of her handbag and let herself out of the car.

“Here goes,” she murmured under her breath, willing there to be a fresh pot of coffee on the craft-services table.

She slipped inside the back door into the kitchen and glanced around. The white cabinets and gold-and-brown solarius granite looked fresh and clean. An array of vegetables befitting a farmers’ market was artfully arranged on the center island. The area was obviously ready for a shoot. However, everyone seemed to be on a break. At least they weren’t in the middle of taping. Although, if they had been, there would’ve been someone stationed outside the door to keep her from wandering into the shot.

“There you are.” Sydney jumped as Pepper seemed to appear behind her from out of nowhere. To be caught that unawares, Sydney must have been more exhausted than she realized.

She put a hand on her chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry,” Pepper said, her Southern accent thicker than usual as she bit off the words. “But where on earth have you been? We’ve had quite a bit of excitement on the set this morning. Didn’t you get my messages? I’ve been trying to call you.”

Sydney hadn’t. Her phone was tucked inside her purse, still on airplane mode. She rifled through her handbag until she found her cellular, her fingers first finding her keys, a travel-size bottle of hand sanitizer and the small bag of pretzels they’d given her on the plane before she located what she was looking for. She pulled it out and changed the setting. More than a dozen calls and texts blew up her phone.

As director of public relations, she was rarely out of touch. She gave the messages a cursory glance before dropping her phone back into her purse and returning the bag to her shoulder. Most of the messages were from Pepper. She would deal with the other texts and voice mails later. As she braced herself for Pepper’s inquisition, she wondered if subconsciously she’d forgotten to turn on her phone to avoid questions about her absence before it was absolutely unavoidable.

And that time was now. Better to head off the questions by volunteering information.

“I had to go out of town this weekend and my return flight was delayed.”

“You what?” Pepper asked. “Where’d you go? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Sydney waved off the question as if it were no big deal. “Long story. But tell me, what’s happening here?”

Just as Sydney hoped, Pepper lost the scent of her own inquiry and pounced on the decoy.

“Oh. My. Gosh. You won’t believe it.” Her voice was a hushed stage whisper. She looked around as if worried someone might overhear her. “Bill Hines had to take a personal leave of absence. We walked in this morning to find out that we have a brand-new director. At least for the time being.”

Pepper pointed with her nose toward the other side of the large kitchen. Sure enough, there stood a tall, dark haired, broad-shouldered man talking to the executive producer, Aiden Woods. Sydney couldn’t tell what he looked like because she could only see his profile. The men stood behind the set lights. The new guy’s features were somewhat cloaked in shadows.

“Don’t let his good looks fool you,” Pepper said. “The guy’s a slave driver of the worst kind.”

For some reason, maybe it was the lack of sleep, Pepper’s melodramatics struck Sydney as funny. A small hiccup-laugh escaped.

“Right. You laugh now, but just wait,” Pepper warned. “He was not too pleased with you this morning when you missed your call time.”