my little sister. What else would I do?’
It was a revelation to Claire. Sean clearly equated duty with love, or mixed them to the point where they couldn’t be distinguished. And discussing this was way beyond her pay grade. She changed the subject again. ‘So how much do I owe you for the flight?’
‘You don’t.’
‘I’ve already told you, the dress is my responsibility, so I’ll pay the costs. But thank you for organising it, especially as it means Ash isn’t worrying any more.’
‘We’ll discuss it later,’ he said. ‘Ashleigh comes first.’
‘Agreed—but that doesn’t mean I’m happy to be in your debt,’ she pointed out.
‘I did this for Ashleigh, not for you.’
‘Well, duh.’ She caught herself before she said something really inflammatory. ‘Sean, I know we don’t usually get on too well.’ That was the understatement of the year. ‘But I think we’re going to have to make the effort and play nice while we’re on Capri.’
He slanted her a look that said very clearly that he didn’t believe she could keep it up.
If she was honest, she wasn’t sure she could keep it up, either. Or that Sean could, for that matter. But they were at least going to make the effort. Though they had a cast-iron excuse not to talk to each other for the next few minutes, because he needed to concentrate on driving.
She put the dress box safely in the back of the car, took her sunhat from her bag and jammed it on her head so it wouldn’t be blown away, then sat in the front seat next to Sean. She still had her dark glasses on from the helicopter flight, so the glare of the sun didn’t bother her.
Sean was a very capable driver, she noticed, even though he was driving on the right-hand side of the road instead of the left as he was used to doing in England. The road was incredibly narrow and winding, with no verges and high stone walls at the edges; it was busy with vans and scooters and minibuses, and every so often he had to pull over into the tiniest of passing places. If Claire had been driving, she would’ve been panicking that the car would end up being scraped on one of those stone walls; but she knew that she was very safe with Sean. It was an odd feeling, having to rely on someone she normally tried to avoid. And even odder that for once she didn’t mind.
‘Is there anything you need for the dress?’ he asked as they pulled up outside the hotel.
‘Only my portable steam presser, which I brought with me on my first trip.’
He looked confused. ‘Why do you need a steam presser?’
‘This dress has been in a box for three days. Even though I was careful when I packed it, there are still going to be creases in the material, and I don’t have time to hang the dress in a steamy bathroom and wait for the creases to fall out naturally. And an ordinary iron isn’t good enough to give a professional finish.’
‘OK. Let me know if you need anything organised.’
He probably needed some reassurance that it wasn’t going to go wrong, she thought. ‘You can come and have a sneak peek at the dress, if you want,’ she said.
‘Isn’t that meant to be bad luck?’
‘Only if you’re the bridegroom. Remember that the dress needs pressing, so you won’t be seeing it at its best,’ she warned, ‘but it will be perfect by the time Ash puts it on.’
* * *
Sean looked at Claire. Her sunhat was absolutely horrible, a khaki-coloured cap with a peak to shade her eyes; but he supposed it was more sensible than going out bareheaded in the strong mid-morning sun and risking sunstroke.
He wondered if she’d guessed that he wanted reassurance that nothing else was going to go wrong with the dress—just as she’d clearly noticed that moment when the might-have-beens had shaken his composure. She’d been a bit clumsy about it, but she hadn’t pushed him to talk and share his feelings. She’d been kind, he realised now, and that wasn’t something he associated with Claire Stewart. It made him feel weird.
But, if she could make the effort, then so could he. ‘Thanks. I would appreciate that.’
‘Let’s go, then,’ she said.
He followed her up to her room. Everywhere was neat and tidy. Funny, he’d expected the room to be as messy and chaotic as Claire’s life seemed to be—even though her shop had been tidy. But then he supposed the shop would have to be tidy or it would put off potential clients.
She put the dress box on the bed. ‘Right—how much do I owe you for that flight?’
‘We’ve already discussed that,’ he said, feeling awkward.
‘No, we haven’t, and I don’t want to be beholden to you.’
‘Ashleigh is my sister,’ he reminded her.
‘I know, and she’s my best friend—but I still don’t want to be beholden to you.’
He frowned. ‘Now you’re being stubborn.’
‘Pots and kettles,’ she said softly. ‘Tell me how much I owe you.’
Actually, he liked the fact that she was so insistent on paying her fair share. It showed she had integrity. Maybe he’d been wrong to tar her with the same brush as her awful boyfriends. Just because she had a dreadful taste in men, it didn’t necessarily mean that she was as selfish as they were—did it? ‘OK.’ He told her a sum that was roughly half, guessing that she’d have no idea how much helicopter transfers would cost.
‘Fine. Obviously I don’t have the cash on me right at this very second,’ she said, ‘but I can either do a bank transfer if you give me your account details, or give you the cash in person when we’re back in England.’
‘No rush. I’ll give you my bank details, but making the transfer when you get back to England will be fine,’ he said.
‘Good. Thank you.’ She opened the box, unpacked the dress, and put it on a hanger.
The organza skirt was creased but Sean could already see how stunning the ivory dress was. It had a strapless sweetheart neckline, the bodice was made of what he suspected might be handmade lace, and it looked as if hundreds of tiny pearls had been sewn into it. It was worthy of something produced by any of the big-name designers.
And Claire had designed this for his little sister. She’d made it all by hand.
Now he understood why she’d called her business that ridiculous name, because she was delivering exactly what her client wanted—a dream of a dress.
Clearly his lack of response rattled her, because she folded her arms. ‘If you hate it, fine—but remember that this is what Ash wanted. And I’m giving you fair warning, if you tell Ash you hate it before she puts it on, so she feels like the ugliest bride in the world instead of like a princess, then you’re so getting the rusty spoon treatment.’
‘I don’t hate it, actually. I’m just a bit stunned, because I wasn’t expecting it to be that good,’ he admitted.
She dropped into a sarcastic curtsey. ‘Why, thank you, kind sir, for the backhanded compliment.’
‘I didn’t mean it quite like that,’ he said. ‘I don’t know much about dresses, but that looks as if it involved a lot of work.’
‘It did. But she’s worth every second.’
‘Yeah.’ For a moment, he almost turned to her and hugged her.
But this was Claire ‘Follow Your Heart’ Stewart, the mistress of chaos. Their worlds didn’t mix. A hug would be a bad, bad idea. ‘Thanks for letting me see the dress,’ he said. ‘I’d better let you get on.’
‘Tell Ash her dress is here safely,