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Penelope could see guests starting to move. Reaching for those bags of confetti stars and preparing them-selves to shower the bride and groom as they went down the aisle together.
She stepped away to move closer, but Rafe’s voice stopped her.
“That promise,” he asked quietly. “The one you believe in. What is it, exactly?”
Startled, she turned her head. “Security,” she responded. “Family. It’s the promise of a safe place, I guess. Somewhere you know you’ll always be loved.”
There was something soft in his eyes now. Something sad?
“You’re one of the lucky ones, then.”
“Because I believe in marriage?”
“Because you know what it’s like to have a family. Parents. You know what it’s like to live in that safe place.”
And he didn’t? Something huge squeezed inside her chest and made her breath come out in a huff. She understood that yearning. Her life might look perfect from the outside but she wanted him to know that she understood. That they had a connection here that very few people could have. They might be complete opposites, but in that moment, it felt like they were on opposite sides of the same coin.
The Wedding Planner and the CEO
Alison Roberts
ALISON ROBERTS is a New Zealander, currently lucky enough to live near a beautiful beach in Auckland. She is also lucky enough to write for Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™ and other lines. A primary schoolteacher in a former life, she is also a qualified paramedic. She loves to travel and dance, drink champagne and spend time with her daughter and her friends.
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Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘NO?’
The smile was sympathetic but the head-shake emphasised the negative response and the receptionist’s raised eyebrows suggested that Penelope must have known she was dreaming when she thought her request might be considered reasonable.
‘There must be someone I could speak to?’ It was harder to say no face to face than over the phone, which was, after all, why she’d taken time out of her crazy schedule to fight London traffic and come to the company’s head office in person.
In desperation?
‘There’s really no point.’ The receptionist’s smile faded slightly. ‘You might be able to engage a cowboy to let off a few fireworks on a week’s notice but to get the kind of show the best company in the country has to offer, you have to book in advance. Months in advance.’
‘I didn’t have months. My bride only decided she wanted fireworks this morning. I’m talking Bridezilla, here, you know?’
There was a wary edge to the receptionist’s gaze now. Was she worried that Penelope might be capable of following her client’s example and throwing an epic tantrum?
‘I understand completely but I’m sorry, there’s still nothing I can do to help. For future reference, you can book online to make an appointment to talk to one of our sales reps.’
‘I don’t want to talk to a sales rep.’ Penelope tapped into the extra height her four-inch heels provided. ‘I want to talk to your manager. Or director. Or whoever it is that runs this company.’
The smile vanished completely. ‘We have a chief executive officer. All Light on the Night is an international company. An enormous international company. We do shows like the Fourth of July on the Brooklyn Bridge in New York. New Year’s Eve on the Sydney Harbour Bridge in Australia.’ Her tone revealed just how far out of line Penelope had stepped. ‘You might very well want to talk to him but there’s no way on earth Ralph Edwards would be interested in talking to you.’
‘Really? Why not?’
The curiosity sounded genuine and it came from a male voice behind Penelope. The effect on the young woman in front of her was astonishing. The receptionist paled visibly and her mouth opened and closed more than once, as if she was trying to recall all the vehement words that had just escaped.
Penelope turned to see a tall man and registered dark hair long enough to look tousled, faded denim jeans and...cowboy boots? One of the sales reps, perhaps?
‘She...doesn’t have an appointment.’ The receptionist was clearly rattled. ‘She just walked in and wants to book a show. A wedding...’
The man’s gaze shifted to Penelope and made her want to smooth the close fit of her skirt over her hips even though she knew perfectly well it couldn’t be creased. Or raise a hand to make sure no errant tresses had escaped the French braiding that described a perfect crescent from one side of her forehead to meet the main braid on the back of her head.
‘Congratulations.’ His voice had a rich, low timbre. It made Penelope think of gravel rolling around in something thick and delicious. Like chocolate.
‘Sorry?’ Was he congratulating her on her choice of this company?
‘On your engagement.’
‘Oh...it’s not my wedding.’
That was