It was, in Sebastian’s opinion, shameful.
Another woman walked in the room, dressed the opposite of his brother’s wife in a conservative dress with sensible heels.
“Oh my word, Christian, you didn’t tell us that your brother was visiting.” She smiled and held out her hand, palm dropping. “Leah Ambrose, mother of the bride.”
Staring at the woman, he raised his brows. “Charmed.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Leah let her hand fall and curtsied. “I’m Leah Ambrose, mother of the bride, Your Grace.”
“Stand up, Momma.” Zoe rushed forward and tugged on her mother’s arm. “He’s a ‘my lord’, not a ‘Your Grace’, and you don’t have to curtsy.”
His sister-in-law was correct, of course. Earl’s were never addressed as Your Grace. Sebastian wished he were never addressed that way at all, and not because the newness of being an earl hadn’t worn off. The whole damn title was tainted, because of his father’s unstoppable greed.
“Thought it was a lovely ‘Welcome to America’ gesture,” Sebastian said, shifting his weight to one side. “Better than the one I received earlier.”
Christian made a face.
“Did you say mother of the bride?” Sebastian asked, fully realizing what Leah had said.
Leah moved to Christian, patting his shoulder and flashing a proud smile. “My son-in-law is giving my daughter the wedding she deserves. Finally.”
“Momma,” Zoe said with an edge to her voice.
“All I’m saying—”
“Stop saying anything.”
“Is that the way to talk to your mother in front of royalty?”
Zoe groaned, covering her eyes with a hand and peering through the slits between her fingers. “He’s not royalty.”
It had to be a trick of the light, because his brother practically had help me written all over his face and his eyes were pleading for Sebastian to do the rescuing.
“I assume my lack of invitation was an oversight.” Sebastian plucked an imaginary bit of lint off his coat sleeve as the two women quit arguing.
“Well, you know what they say about assumptions,” Christian said.
Sebastian’s heart sank a little, not that he should really care about a stupid piece of stationary, but he did. Enormously. “I see.”
His mother-in-law gasped. “You are certainly invited to their wedding,” she cried, placing a dramatic hand on her chest.
At least Zoe’s mother seemed to be on his side. “I don’t need an invitation, Mrs. Ambrose.”
“Call me Leah.”
“Leah, I’d consider it an honor to assist in any capacity.” He sliced his gaze at Christian, whose help-me face had given way to what-the-hell-are-you-about face. “But I’d like to propose something along the lines of best man.”
“You can shove your proposition up your arse,” Christian growled. “Sit in the audience, on my side, if you like, but I’ll be damned if you make a mockery of—”
“I’ll donate five million pounds to your Back to School organization. Surely there are loads of unfortunates around the world that could use B.T.S’s services.”
“You can’t buy your way into being the best man,” Zoe said, her disdain apparent.
“The hell he can’t.” Christian strode to him and thrust out his hand. “Welcome aboard, best man.” A mischievous gleam entered his brother’s eyes as they shook hands. “As such, it’s your job to take care of the things I don’t have the inclination to endure, like the menu for the reception.”
“Seriously, Christian?” Zoe crossed her arms. “That’s so not funny.”
“You were my favorite son-in-law,” Leah said, adopting the same pose.
“I’m your only one.”
“For God’s sake, hire a French chef and be done with it.” There. That should help.
Two pairs of eyes glared at Sebastian, one green and the other blue. “I’m not firing Daisy Barnes,” his sister-in-law said.
“Daisy the baker, owns The Sweet Spot?” he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. The trio blinked at him. “Makes dreadful cupcakes.” When lightening didn’t strike him for that very awful lie, he relaxed a little.
“Actually, it’s Daisy the caterer.” A speculative look entered his brother’s eyes. “When did you sample her cupcakes?”
Sebastian’s memories of his only two face-to-face meetings with Daisy washed over him, drowning him in her taste and scent. He cleared his throat. “Last year, at Christmas time. Anything else?”
Christian grunted, completely and transparently unconvinced.
“I agree with my daughter, especially with the latest round of insurance bills that girl has to pay.” Leah patted her hair and smoothed out her wrinkle-free dress. “Bless her heart—I don’t know how she’ll manage to keep the business Kaye started. Stubborn little thing won’t take any money to help.”
“Anyway, the two of you,” Zoe pointed to him and Christian, “can discuss other things while we’re gone. We’re supposed to be at her place in fifteen minutes.”
A plan unfolded in his mind. Maybe he could help out Daisy with her insurance bills and she could help him out in return by posing as his fiancée while he worked out how best to tell her who he was. “Actually, I’ll take care of it.”
Christian stopped him in the hallway, while the women were chatting about bridesmaids’ dresses. “What’s in that head of yours?”
“What do you think?”
His brother’s jaw clenched. “Daisy’s family. You can’t just go in there and proposition her. She won’t take your offer anyway. Zoe and I tried to give her money, but she wouldn’t take it. Daisy actually thinks she’ll find a way out.”
That’s because Daisy had pride and determination. Only Jules knew her weaknesses. Only Jules knew she was actually worried. He could read through her texts and emails.
Sebastian adjusted his cufflinks, bowing his head a little so his brother couldn’t read his face and discover all his secrets. Christian had a knack for that. “She’s not my family. As for the other—I can and I shall.” Then he brushed past his brother, headed out the door, and got into the waiting limo.Chapter Eight
Nothing could have prepared Daisy for the sight of him walking into her office. She blinked a couple of time to make sure she wasn’t seeing things, or wishing that it were him and not his brother.
“Sebastian?” Her heart thankfully waited until after she said his name to leap in her throat. He was here! He was back!
His chin ticked up as he drawled, “I’m here to sample the menu in lieu of the bride and groom, and make sure it’s up to their standards.”
He was a jerk! Her heart tumbled back to her chest, and then further to her toes. “Don’t get too excited,” she said with a little twist to her lips.
Pale blue eyes narrowed. “There’s nothing exciting about food.”
“Obviously, you’ve been eating the wrong food.”
“Doubtful.” He unbuttoned his coat slowly, one dark button at a time. The very non-sexual act made her hot all over. Wearing a dark grey three-piece suit with a black shirt and tie underneath, there wasn’t a strand of short blond hair out of place. “Take care of this, will you?”
An annoyed-as-hell simmer replaced the hot flash. What was wrong with him and what was wrong with her? The last time they’d been in the same room, things had been easy. They’d been sweet and vulnerable. Now all she wanted to do was kick him.
“You can hang it there.” She pointed at the coat rack hanging on the wall behind him. “Sorry, it’s the servants’ day off, Your Majesty.”
“Yanks and their obsession with royalty,” he complained as he hung up his coat and strode back to her. “Fifteen minutes ago, the bride’s mother curtsied and addressed me as ‘Your Grace’.”
“Is that supposed to impress me, Your Lordship?” she snapped. Horrified at her tone, she turned around and faced the window. Normally, she wasn’t this snappy, mean, or downright ugly. Sure, she liked to tease and had teased him before, but now she sounded like a harpy and he sounded like a jerk.
His footsteps echoed lightly as he walked around her apartment. “Most people would be entirely impressed,” he said, his voice in her ear and she shivered. “But not you. And that impresses me.”
Daisy didn’t want to impress him. She wanted the other Sebastian back, the one she’d met at Christmas. Lifting her chin, she whirled around.
Eyes the color of a winter sky threaded with drops of blue greeted her. His face was handsome as ever. Hollywood to die for handsome with sexy, full lips that made a woman sigh. Those perfectly sexy lips had made her sigh the first time he had come into her place and eaten cupcakes. Well, actually it had been the kiss he’d given her that had made her sigh.
Heat crept up her neck and she forced her thoughts back to business. “Are you ready to sample the menu?” she asked.
“In a moment.” Stepping back, he glanced around her office/bakery/apartment. “Do you live here?”
“Yes.” The studio apartment had been a godsend when she had to sell the house she’d grown up in last year. The kitchen could be bigger, but it suited her needs for the time being. “Until the renovations downstairs are finished, I conduct business and cook in my apartment.”
He glanced up at the ceiling. “Nice lighting.” Four skylights broke up the monotony of the very white drywall. “Very nice lighting.” He nodded at the queen-sized bed along the far wall. “Shall I sit there and let you serve me?”
An image formed in her mind. One of her walking across the hardwood floors with a tray of desserts. Only when she reached him and offered her goodies, he threw the tray across the room and tackled her to the bed.
Oh my mercy. She had to stop. “So….” She scooted around him and moved to the island in her kitchen. “What do you want to sample first?”
He didn’t answer her. Instead he circled her desk, reminding her of a Great White she’d seen on Shark Week. “Is this the final bill?”
Her mouth fell open as he picked up the letters from the insurance company and her lawyer. “That’s none of your business.”
“Give me a minute.” He read over the documents and then set them down. “Your lawyer’s wrong.”
“And you got your law degree where?”
“Don’t have to be a solicitor to know this won’t be in your favor, love,” he said casually, as if he called women love all the time. As he’d called her in the past. “The business will have to be sold. Insurance companies don’t work for free.”
Bristling at his know-it-all attitude, she picked up a sponge and began cleaning the already spotless countertop of the island. “I didn’t say they did.”
Joining her, he selected a shrimp and avocado roll and ate it. “From which culinary school did you learn your craft?”
“I don’t need a fancy diploma to know what tastes good.” Shaking her head, she took a deep breath and tossed the sponge back into the sink.
She’d walked right into that one. Before her mother had succumbed to stomach cancer, Daisy had dreamed of going to culinary school. But money had been tight and being an only child, she couldn’t just leave her mother, not even with all the help and support she’d received from her dad’s side of the family.
“Of course you don’t.”
Instead of responding, she popped an avocado roll in her mouth and chewed until even the rice was pulverized. He snagged another piece of sushi, and then another, finishing off her lunch.
Now what was she supposed to eat? Now what was she supposed to say? Everything both of them said came out wrong. Well, at least for her it came out wrong. Who knew what he thought.
Crossing her arms, she frowned while he just looked at her.
And looked.
Sebastian was gobsmacked.
There was no other explanation for why he’d stood for so long in the entrance of Daisy’s apartment, simply drinking her in and saying nothing at all.
It was why he still stared at her.
“Are you okay?” she asked, petal-pink lips moving in the most fascinating of ways.
Do you have any inkling at all who you are to me? Do you know I’m dying inside to touch you, to kiss you, and to assure you I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you never have to sell anything ever again just to get by? He wanted to say all of that, and much more, but he couldn’t, else he’d forfeit his right to ever talk to her again, even as Jules.
His gaze settled on her hair and he blinked. “What happened to the bright orange?” And why hadn’t she told Jules? Perhaps it was because he was a man, he reminded himself.
“Got tired of it,” she said with a smile, and then her smile turned into a grin. “You didn’t recognize me, huh? That’s why you stood there with your mouth hanging open.”
Damn, he’d become rather fond of the orange. He’d dreamed of her with orange hair. Of it sliding over his skin as she kissed him. “You fancy this color better?”
Tentatively, she brushed a strand of hair behind a delicate ear. It reminded him of a seashell, perfectly formed. Although, he had never wanted to nibble on seashells. “This is my real color, well mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“At the bottom, it’s all different colors,” she said, her hazel eyes never leaving his. There was a connection between them, she had to feel it. He felt it; it had never left. “Pink, purple, green, and blue, but I’m a brunette.”