Текст книги "Remind Me "

Автор книги: Ann Marie Walker

Соавторы: Amy K. Rogers
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Chapter Three

Allie could hardly believe what she was hearing. She listened intently, pressing the phone to her ear as she tried to commit every word to memory. A flash of red hair caught her eye as Harper charged through the door. She was in the midst of an exaggerated U-turn when Allie waved her into the office.

“You’re very kind, but it really was a team effort,” Allie said into the phone.

Harper’s pleated miniskirt fanned out across her lap as she collapsed into one of the small upholstered chairs facing Allie’s desk. The pattern of bright polka dots was accented perfectly by the multicolored bangles stacked high on her wrist. Although she could never pull it off herself, Allie loved Harper’s quirky style, a cross between Phoebe on Friends and Jess from New Girl, with a dash of Joan from Mad Men thrown into the mix.

“I will. And thank you again for thinking of me.”

Harper raised a single brow. “What was that all about?” she asked the moment Allie hung up the phone.

Allie rounded her desk and shut her office door. “That was Oliver Harris.”

Harper looked confused.

“From the Harris Group.”

The lightbulb turned on. “The PR firm?”

Allie nodded. “Apparently Mr. Harris was at the museum Saturday night. He was just calling this morning to tell me how much he enjoyed the event.” She shuffled a few papers on her desk, trying to play it cool. “And to offer me a job.”

Harper’s eyes grew wide. “No way!”

Allie broke into a huge grin. “He asked me to join his nonprofit division and oversee all event planning.”

“Shit, that’s big time. They’re the ones who did that huge fund-raiser in Lincoln Park last summer.”

“At the zoo?”

“Yup. And I heard it was amazing. They even had Neon Trees.”

“What are neon trees?”

“They’re not a what, Alessandra, they’re a who. A band, actually.”

Having no clue, Allie shrugged.

The look Harper gave her only reinforced Allie’s belief that her friend considered her a total nerd when it came to her choice in music. “Oh, c’mon, you have to know who they are.” As if to prove her point, Harper sang a few lines. “Hey, baby won’t you look my way; I can be your new addiction.”

Allie laughed at Harper’s pitchy vocals and bobbing head. “Okay, okay . . . yes, I’ve heard the song.”

Harper stopped her impromptu concert. “So when do you start?”

Allie sank into her chair. “I don’t.”

“Come again?”

“I thanked Mr. Harris for thinking of me and told him how flattered I was, but that I couldn’t possibly leave my position at Better Start.” With the first charter school only up and running for a little over a month, and the groundbreaking for the second scheduled to take place in the spring, there was no way she could even consider it.

“Look, no one would miss you around here more than me, but I don’t see how you can pass this up. Sounds like your dream come true.”

Under normal circumstances that might have been the case, but Alessandra Sinclair’s life was anything but normal. As the daughter of Victoria Ingram, she’d been born into a family whose name was mentioned in the same breath as Vanderbilt, Rockefeller, and Hearst. With that life of privilege came certain responsibilities, and at the top of that list was family. Nearly every part of Allie’s life was connected to Ingram Media somehow. Always had been. Her grandfather’s empire had touched most of the city in one way or another and from a very young age she’d been taught what was expected of his heirs. Being involved in the family business was simply a given.

After college Allie had spent the better part of two years getting to know Ingram’s various subsidiaries. But it was the time she spent at her family’s charitable foundation that made her feel the most fulfilled, and she’d been working at their newest venture ever since. And not in the way her mother did, squeezing ribbon cuttings and board meetings in between morning tennis and afternoon tea. No, for the past three years Allie had worked long hours at Better Start and she was proud of what they had accomplished.

“I’m happy where I am,” she told Harper. And while that was true, recognition from someone as respected as Oliver Harris meant a lot, especially when a small part of her still wondered if she only held her position because of her name. The opportunity to prove herself on her own merits was certainly tempting, but for Allie the phrase “family first” was non-negotiable.

“If you say so.” Harper’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“So what had you so fired up on a Monday morning?” Allie asked, ready to move on to another subject. “You seemed like a woman on a mission when you came through the door just now.”

“Oh my gosh, I almost forgot!” Harper pulled a newspaper out from under the stack of proposals she was carrying and laid it on Allie’s desk. “Page six.”

Allie turned the pages until she came across an image that made her heart skip a beat. It was a photograph taken at the Field Museum.

Of her. In Hudson’s arms.

Event chair Alessandra Sinclair with Chicago’s newest eligible bachelor, business tycoon Hudson Chase.

Her mouth went dry as her eyes roamed from his satisfied grin to the hand curved possessively around her waist. This was more than just another publicity shot from just another charity event. This was the first photo ever taken of the two of them. She’d been heartbroken when their summer romance had ended so abruptly, and not having so much as a single photograph made the loss that much harder to bear. But now there they were in black and white. She stared at the photo, drinking in every detail until the sound of her ringing phone broke its spell.

“Well, aren’t you the popular one this morning,” Harper said.

Allie frowned at her as she snapped the phone off its cradle. “Alessandra Sinclair.”

“Miss Sinclair, attractive photo in the paper this morning. Very photogenic.”

Her breath hitched at the sound of his voice. “Mr. Chase.”

Harper’s eyebrows shot up. She leaned forward, the bangles clinking down her arm as she propped her elbows on the edge of Allie’s desk and rested her chin on her hands.

“I’m glad you called. I never did get the chance to thank you Saturday night.”

“For the money or the dance?”

Allie could almost see his smug smile through the phone. She paused, then chose to ignore his question. “Your donation was very generous.”

“Which brings me to the purpose of this phone call, along with my lack of trust in the noble United States Postal Service,” Hudson said. “I’m sure you’re eager to obtain my . . . generosity.” His voice had changed with the last line. It was darker, almost seductive.

Harper leaned closer. “What is he saying?” she whispered. Honest to God, she was acting like they were teenagers at a sleepover. Allie half expected her to activate the speakerphone, or worse, run around the desk and press her ear to the receiver.

“It’s very kind of you to follow up,” Allie said. “I’d be glad to send a courier over to pick up the check.”

“No, I insist on delivering the check into familiar hands.”

Allie nearly choked on her words. “You want me to pick it up personally?” She knew her voice sounded several octaves too high, but there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. She panicked, unsure of how to respond to his unusual request. On the one hand, she owed it to her employer to collect the donation. On the other hand, the last thing she wanted was to see Hudson again. Her eyes drifted down to the photo in the newspaper. Well, maybe not the last thing.

His deep voice interrupted her internal debate. “Yes or no, Miss Sinclair?”

Harper gaped at Allie, her mouth hanging open. “If you don’t go, I will,” she offered. How generous.

“Fine.” She reached for a paper and pen. “Where?”

“My office. This evening.”

Allie quickly scribbled down the address, trying to wrap her head around the fact that in a few hours she would once again be in the same room as Hudson Chase.

Chapter Four

On the south bank of the Chicago River, perched high above the others, Hudson leaned over his desk and slashed his John Hancock on the bottom of a million-dollar check.

The offices of Chase Industries occupied the top six floors of what was previously known as the Leo Burnett building. Made up of granite, glass, and steel, the postmodern structure exuded power and strength and was every bit as masculine as the man who sought it out as his command center.

Hudson set the Montblanc on the mahogany and hit the direct line to his assistant. “I’m expecting Miss Alessandra Sinclair. Show her in as soon as she arrives.”

Straightening, he turned to face the floor-to-ceiling windows that displayed one hell of a showstopping view. As the sun settled behind the skyline, turning the urban sprawl into a shimmering vista, he thought about how ten years ago he wouldn’t have been able to write a ten-dollar check; the crap apartments that offered nothing but a ground-level view, and the pathetic future he’d been segregated into.

Now he carried a black Amex, drove a luxury sports car packing a lot of horses under the hood, and lived in a three-story penthouse that had previously been the HQ of the magazine most teenage boys spent hours with locked up in the bathroom.

He infinitely preferred this life, the control it brought him. He’d done the blood and sweat thing to get here and his hard work had paid off. He had everything he’d ever wanted, except the woman who’d drop-kicked his heart and walked away without so much as a good-bye.

Hudson checked the LeCoultre strapped to his wrist; ten minutes had passed. He was so over this shit.

But some things were worth waiting for.

Just as he reached for the check with an impatient hand, there was a knock at the door, then a male voice. “Mr. Chase, Miss Alessandra Sinclair is here.”

Hudson looked across the immaculate office at his assistant. The guy was a wrestling match between hipster-geek and an ad for J-fucking-Crew. Dollars to shit piles, those horn-rimmed glasses he wore weren’t even prescription. And the bow tie, the motherfucking bow tie. But the guy was a good assistant and didn’t pull any crap.

“Thank you, Darren. That will be all for the evening.”

His assistant’s brow shot up. “Ah, thank you, Mr. Chase. Have a good one.” The surprise on Darren’s face was obvious, a direct correlation to the numerous hours the guy had been pulling at Hudson’s demand. And well compensated for, he might add.

Whoever said being a CEO was a fairy tale had their head up their ass. Sure, you may have the castle in the clouds, climbed the fucking beanstalk to get there, but at the stroke of midnight you were more likely to find yourself wanting a few hours of shut-eye versus waking Sleeping Beauty to go a round with a glass stiletto digging into your ass.

Darren exited the office, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. A second later, Alessandra stepped through the archway.

Damn. She was even more beautiful than he remembered.

“Good evening, Alessandra.” He moved around his desk. “Take your coat?”

“I’m fine.” He could tell by her tone this wasn’t a pleasure call. She was doing her job, nothing more.

“Nice office,” she said. “I saw a crew hanging the new sign downstairs. Did you buy the whole building?

“Not the entire building, no.” A smug grin curved his lips. “But enough that they let me put my name on it.” He leisurely crossed his arms over his chest, watching her with fervent eyes as her gaze slid over the black leather couch, then shifted to the numerous flat screens mounted side by side on the wall. The silence stretched on as she absorbed every detail of her surroundings. The artwork, the view, even his oversize desk. When her stare lingered on the bar showcasing a collection of crystal decanters, he dropped his arms to his sides and shifted his stance. “A drink, perhaps?”

The gold flecks in her eyes shimmered with defiance. “No, thank you.”

Hudson let out a short laugh. “You’re killing my attempts at being a gentleman, Alessandra.”

She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her blonde curls were down this time, falling in soft waves around her shoulders. As Hudson watched her, he found himself wishing it were his fingers buried in her hair.

“I believe you have a check for me, Mr. Chase?”

“Ah, yes. My generosity.” He twisted around and lifted all those zeros off the desk.

“Thank you. This will go a long way toward making the new school a reality.” She took the check and stuffed it into her purse, then paused and looked at him. “Why did you insist I come here? You could have easily mailed it.”

“As I said on the phone, I lack confidence in the US Postal Service.”

Liar. Fucking liar.

“I offered to send a messenger,” she shot back.

“I wanted to make sure you got the money, Alessandra.” Hudson stared into those amazing eyes of hers. “I know how important it is to you.”

A little wrinkle formed between her eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

“Your preference for men who are taller when standing on their wallets.” Screw tiptoeing into the minefield; he was going in at an all-out sprint.

“You know nothing about me or my preferences.”

“I know ten years ago you got a good, hard look but went running to that Ivy League fuck as soon as he flashed his trust fund your way.” His words were clipped and cold.

Her voice raised a couple octaves. “It wasn’t like that.”

“How was it, then?” Hudson’s gaze was rock-steady as he stared into her flushed face, her gaping mouth. “You sure as hell had no problem telling me no. Leads me to believe you have an affinity for spreading your legs if the price is right.”

Alessandra’s pupils dilated. For a split second she was stunned silent.

That’s when he saw it coming.

Her palm opened and her hand traveled through the air. Hudson’s body fully engaged, his weight shifting from one foot to the other, and in a flash of movement he caught her wrist and hauled her against him.

She glared back at him, her chest rising and falling. He knew he should push her away, send her out the door with his check and never bother with her again. But she stayed in his arms, her fiery gaze almost daring him to make the next move.

He slid his mouth over hers, thrusting his tongue between her lips, and a deep, primitive sound vibrated in the back of his throat. He was a selfish bastard for taking her like this, but he couldn’t let her leave without having a taste. Her breath was sweet and the scent of her went straight to his thickening cock.

Alessandra shoved against his shoulders but Hudson held her in place, tightening the arm banded around her waist and fisting his hand into her hair. As if a sigh of relief, her resistance dissolved. Her purse dropped to the floor with a thud and her hands found their way around his neck and into his hair, pulling on the dark waves.

He groaned into her mouth. Goddamn, he wanted her to pull harder.

Hudson deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth in lush, firm strokes. His heart pounded and his muscles flexed with restraint. She was delicate and thin against his powerful frame and his body was aware of every soft curve. The contrasts between them extended far beyond the physical. If she was the hottest summer, then he was a stage-five hurricane altering everything in its path.

His hand shifted, splaying his fingers on her ass and urging her against him. God, he wanted her in a way he’d never wanted any other woman, and his cock was pounding, ready to take.

To own.

After all those years of wondering and wanting, he was going to have her, and there wasn’t going to be anything slow or gentle about it.

In a surge of power that roared through his body, Hudson lifted her, and with their mouths still fused, laid her out on his couch. Leveraging over her with his knee pressed into the rich leather and his elbow flush with the cushions, his body lowered, stretching over hers. His hand gripped the back of her knee, curling her leg around his waist. The slit of her burgundy dress fell open and he pressed between her thighs, hissing at the contact he’d been craving. The feel of her beneath him was everything it had been ten years ago; hot, passionate, and so fucking good.

He took her mouth again, kissing her deep and long. As her tongue slid over his, Hudson’s hips rolled with fluidity, massaging the thick ridge of his erection against her sex. The rhythm was deliberate and inexorable.

Allie moaned and her hips tilted up to meet his, responding to his every touch.

“Christ . . . you’re killing me.” He dragged his open mouth down Alessandra’s throat to the deep V of her wrap dress, his lips relentless in their pursuit of her skin. Irritation burned through him at the clothes between them. Lacking the patience to fully undress her, he wrenched open the fabric, exposing perfect breasts covered in black lace.

His breath caught. “Fucking hell. You’re beautiful.” He traced the edges of her bra with his fingertips before palming her breast. The weight was heavy and full in his hand. Lowering his head, he brushed his lips across the rough lace, then tugged her straining nipple between his teeth. A soft gasp escaped her lips.

Her hands raked over his back, pulling him closer as he continued his barrage against her senses. He yanked the lacy cup down and sucked the taut peak into his mouth. Shit, she tasted fantastic. And he bet even better once his tongue was thrusting inside her until she fell apart against his lips.

The sound of a phone ringing ripped through their heavy breathing like a lightning strike.

Alessandra tensed beneath him.

“Ignore it.” He captured her mouth again in slow, teasing licks and she parted her lips, inviting him back in. He had her. She was right there with him.

Ring two.

For the love of fucking God.

“Stop.” Her head arched back. She was breathless, her lips swollen from his merciless kisses.

“Are you going to make me beg for it now like you did back then? Because I will.” Pride be damned. He needed this woman out of his head once and for all. He shifted to her other breast, promptly pulling her nipple between his teeth.

“I can’t do this.” She shoved hard against his chest and pried herself out from under him.

Hudson stood and rearranged himself with a curse.

“I have to go.” Alessandra worked on retying her dress as she rounded the couch and snatched up her purse, the phone still wailing inside it.

He dragged both hands through his hair, waiting for his hard-on to take a number. “Tell me this isn’t about that pretentious fucktwit with the bullshit title?”

Her hazel eyes met his as she yanked open the door. “That pretentious fucktwit is my fiancé.”

All the air sucked out of the room as if he were trapped in a vacuum.

Hudson watched her take off as though she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. For long moments he stood staring blankly at the door, pretty damn sure shock had just taken over.

He should let her go.

He had to let her go.

But he already knew he wasn’t going to.

Chapter Five

Allie couldn’t help but wonder why her father had suggested they meet for dinner at his North Shore country club on a Wednesday night. Richard had scarcely said two words to her—or her mother, for that matter. Instead he’d spent the entire evening huddled with Julian discussing business.

Victoria didn’t seem to mind. She was far too busy catching Allie up on the latest gossip to pay much attention to her husband or future son-in-law. Allie had hoped to discuss the allocation of proceeds from the benefit but her mother was in club mode, not to mention on her third glass of wine, which meant any discussions pertaining to the foundation would have to wait until morning.

Allie watched her mother scan the dining room, her green eyes shifting from one linen-covered table to the next. She knew it wouldn’t be long until there was another scandal or rumor her mother just had to share, although she couldn’t imagine what secrets remained. She’d already heard about every tummy tuck and facelift. She knew whose kids were going to Ivy League schools and whose would be in jail if not for a team of high-priced lawyers. She was caught up on every impending divorce and knew who’d been to rehab, even though they called it a “retreat.”

The moment the server cleared the dinner dishes, Victoria inclined her head toward Allie. “Such a shame.”

“What’s a shame, Mother?” Allie despised gossip she but knew ignoring the comment wouldn’t dissuade her mother. It would only make her angry. Sometimes it was just easier to play along.

“What happened to Jennifer.”

Allie did a quick run-through of her mother’s so-called friends and drew a blank. “Jennifer?”

“Jennifer Larson.” Victoria lifted a perfectly sculpted brow. “Our waitress.”

“Jenny Larson?” Allie peered around her leather wingback chair and caught sight of a young blonde carrying a tray of dirty dishes to the club’s kitchen. “Jenny works here?” she asked after turning back to the table.

“You’d think her mother would have more pride.” Victoria made a clucking sound with her tongue. “But with all their assets frozen . . .”

“What?” Allie asked a bit louder than intended. Julian and her father looked up from their conversation. Her father frowned before turning back to whatever had the two of them so engrossed.

“Honestly, Alessandra, do you listen to a word I say?”

“Of course.” Well, sometimes. “I just don’t remember you saying anything about the Larson’s having their assets frozen.”

“They have Bernie Maddoff to thank for that,” her mother scoffed. “Now it’s freeze first, investigate later.”

Allie sat back in the oversize chair. Jenny Larson, her high school chem lab partner, was waiting tables at the club. Her table. And she hadn’t even noticed.

Victoria reached for her glass of merlot and nodded to a stunning platinum blonde making her way across the dining room. “I’d bet my Mercedes that necklace is a knockoff,” she murmured from behind her wine.

Allie had heard enough. She tuned her mother out, turning her attention to the other side of the table.

Her father was leaning close to Julian. “We’re moving up the timetable,” he said.

“Do we know who it is?” Julian kept his eyes focused on the stem of his wineglass as he rolled it between two fingers.

“No, it appears to be shell companies.” Her father drained the last of his gin and tonic. He usually had one and then switched to wine with dinner. Not tonight, though. Tonight he was on his third cocktail. “We’ll need to close the deal sooner than expected.”

“That will require the liquidation of additional assets. I can discuss it with my attorneys when I’m in New York on the eighth.”

The eighth? They had plans for the eighth. At least she thought they did. Allie was about to ask him when she saw a deep crease form on her father’s brow.

“I’m not sure a trip is wise right now, Julian.” Richard tugged on the knot of his tie. “This is a critical time.”

“Unavoidable,” Julian said with a slight shake of his head. “Laurent family business.” He lifted his glass, swirling the wine before taking a sip. “Everything is fine, Richard, no reason to panic.”

There was a lull in the conversation and Allie took the opportunity to question her fiancé. “You’re going to New York?”

“It’s only for one night, ma chérie.” Julian covered Allie’s hand with his.

“I thought we were going to the symphony on the ninth. Tchaikovsky’s fourth, remember?”

“It slipped my mind. Forgive me?” He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

Victoria touched Julian’s forearm. “Of course she forgives you, Julian.” She beamed at him before turning her attention to Allie. “Better get used to it now, Alessandra. Once Julian takes over the business he’ll be traveling and working late hours all the time. Don’t you remember how it was when you were young? I think your father spent more nights at that office than in his own bed.”

“It’s not like your father gave me much choice, Victoria. That man was as single-minded as he was ruthless when it came to his company.”

“And look where it got him, Richard. Where it got you, for that matter.” Allie noted an edge to her mother’s voice, but it softened as she spoke to Julian. “I just wish Alessandra’s grandfather were alive to see the two of you marry. He’d be so proud knowing his company was being passed down to royalty.”

Allie corrected her even though she knew it would fall on deaf ears. “He’s not royalty, Mother.” Far from it, in fact. While Julian’s title was still passed down through his family, it was an honor in name only. The French no longer recognized any class of nobility.

“Close enough. He’s practically a prince.” Victoria laughed. “Although I dare say, your ring puts Kate Middleton’s to shame. Let me see it again, Alessandra.”

Allie extended her left hand, allowing her mother the opportunity to admire her engagement ring. Normally she was happy to show off Julian’s family heirloom, but when Jenny returned to serve the desserts, Allie suddenly felt self-conscious. She tried to pull her hand away but her mother’s grip tightened.

“This was your mother’s ring, Julian?” Victoria asked as Jenny set a chilled dish of lemon sorbet in front of her.

“Oui.” Julian smiled, clearly enjoying the attention. “The diamond has been passed down for many generations, given to the first Marquis Laurent by Louis XIV.”

Victoria’s eyes widened. “Louis XIV? Now there’s a man who knew how to live.”

Allie gaped at her mother. Clearly she’d forgotten the fate of the French monarchy.

“I toured Versailles the last time I was in France.” Victoria sighed and placed her hand over her chest. “The sheer opulence of it! Did you know I used the Hall of Mirrors as my inspiration when decorating our dining room?”

“Ah, yes,” Julian purred. “But everything about Mayflower Place is exquisite in its own right. Just like the women of the house.”

If there was one thing Allie’s mother enjoyed discussing even more than Julian’s lineage, it was the ongoing renovations at their Lake Forest home. With over thirty rooms to choose from, Victoria was never at a loss for a project. And she was always happy to describe them. At length.

Allie took advantage of her mother’s temporary distraction, withdrawing her hand and placing it discreetly in her lap. She smiled up at Jenny as her former classmate set a chocolate sacher torte on the table in front of her. “Thank you.”

Jenny smiled back and then quickly moved around the table, setting plates in front of Richard and Julian before dashing back to the kitchen.

“When the Schweppes owned the estate they played host to Wallis Simpson and the Duke of Windsor,” Victoria boasted. “Were they ever guests of the Laurents?”

Allie knew where this was headed. Whenever the conversation turned to Julian’s homeland, Victoria eventually got around to mentioning her desire to return to France. She’d invited herself to Julian’s family estate more times than Allie could count and she had no desire to watch her add one more to the list.

“I have some news,” Allie said. Her announcement had seemed like the perfect diversion, but as she glanced around the table at three sets of inquiring eyes, she wasn’t so sure. She took a deep breath. “I received a call from the Harris Group on Monday.”

“Is that so?” Victoria asked. Her voice gave no indication of her reaction.

“Seems one of their partners was at the gala the other night.” Allie sat up a little taller. “He was so impressed he offered me a job overseeing their nonprofit events.”

Her father paused with a forkful of apple pie in midair. “You have a job, Alessandra, at Better Start.”

“Of course. And I told Mr. Harris there was no way I could—”

“And once you’re married you’ll join your mother and the other ladies on the board, not hire yourself out to other charities.”

Join the ladies on the board? Where was this coming from? Her father had always been so supportive of her interest in the business side of Ingram Media, encouraged it even. It had actually been his idea for her to spend those two years getting to know the inner workings of each subsidiary. Granted she had no desire to join him in the boardroom, but after the wedding she’d planned to take on a larger role within the overall foundation, not become a figurehead.

“And speaking of the wedding,” Victoria began. Allie felt herself deflate as her mother marched on with her own agenda. “We have some wonderful news.” She paused, beaming at her husband, “Richard, do you want to tell them?”

Her father placed his silverware on his plate, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and leaned back in his chair. “I was able to pull a few strings—”

Victoria jumped in, unable to contain her excitement. “He was able to book the Drake!”

“The Drake Hotel?” Allie could hardly believe it. “When I called they said they were booked for the next eighteen months. They weren’t even adding names to the waiting list.”

Richard cut his eyes at his wife. “There was a cancelation. Rather last minute.” His tone made Allie uneasy.

“How last minute?” she asked.

“The wedding will be December sixth,” he announced.

“What?” Allie couldn’t hide her shock. Her eyes darted from her father to Julian. Somewhere in the back of her mind it registered that her fiancé didn’t seem all that surprised by the new wedding date. “That’s just over two months away,” she sputtered before blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “People will think I’m pregnant.”

Victoria’s eyes flicked down to the chocolate decadence waiting on Allie’s plate. “All the more reason to skip dessert, I’d say.”

Allie blanched but tried her best to ignore her mother’s comment. She had bigger issues. Still reeling from the news of her impending wedding date, she turned to Julian. “Are you okay with this?”

He reached for her hand once again, this time brushing his fingers across her wrist. “I’d marry you tonight, Alessandra.” She hadn’t even realized she had a death grip on the fork until she glanced down at Julian’s fingers stroking over hers. When her eyes met his he gave her a comforting smile, but she could have sworn she saw one finger nudge her dessert plate farther away.

The room started to spin, or maybe it was just Allie’s head. She’d barely had a chance to adjust to being engaged. Hell, they hadn’t even had a chance to plan an engagement party yet and now the wedding was ten weeks away? There were so many details. Menus, dresses, flowers. “How can we pull everything together in time?”