Afterward, the women would stay over at the mansion. Where, tomorrow morning, a veritable army of hairdressers, manicurists and makeup artists were due to arrive.

For the moment, Emma’s stomach did a little flip-flop as her car rounded a curve and the mansion came into view. What the neatly typed index cards didn’t cover was her reaction to Alex.

Katie popped forward in the passenger seat. “This is where you’re going to live?”

“Only on weekends,” said Emma, her voice firm with conviction. “And only for a few months.”

Over the past week, she’d refocused her priorities. Her mind was on business now. Alex was simply a means to an end.

She wouldn’t picture them together-not in his breakfast nook over a cup of coffee, not on his deck sharing a bottle of wine, and definitely not in his bedroom, in a tangle of sheets, his hot, naked body pressed up against hers.

“Can I come visit?” Katie asked, twisting her head as they passed the front rose garden.

Emma sucked in a bracing breath. “Sure,” she said with determined cheer. Then Katie’s phraseology penetrated. She’d said I not we. “What about David?”

Beneath her gauzy, mauve blouse, Katie shrugged her shoulders. Her lips pursed every so slightly. “He’s been working a lot of hours lately.”

David’s job interfering with his personal life?

“He works for you,” Emma pointed out.

Katie tossed her head and let out a chopped laugh. “Never mind. It’s nothing. Sometimes he hangs out with the guys at the club.”

Emma pulled to a stop in the round driveway, turning to peer at her sister. “Is everything okay?”

Katie stared straight back. “Everything is great.” She gestured to the wide staircase and the towering stone pillars. “Everything is fantastic! The Cavendish Club tonight, and the wedding of the year tomorrow. Now get your luggage and let’s move in.”

Emma nodded sharply in agreement. She could do this. She was ready for this.

Her cell phone buzzed, as two of Alex’s staff members trotted down the stairs. She flipped it open and saw the Paris area code. Business before marriage. As it should be.

Nine

Alex stood at the bottom of the mansion’s main staircase and listened to the hustle and bustle of the preparations. Mrs. Nash was taking a strip off a delivery man. Philippe was fussing over the temperature of the butter cream icing. And Katie was running around in a robe, worried about rose petals in the bathwater.

Only Emma seemed calm, serene really as she went along the hallway past Hamilton’s portrait.

They were getting married tomorrow-in less than twenty-four hours-and she was talking to somebody in Paris, making sure the McKinley Inns convention display had arrived on time. She laughed at something the caller said, and her smile lit up the room.

He tried to remember the last time his house had felt like this. Maybe when he was a boy. Maybe when his mother was still alive.

His father had hated parties, but his mother had planned them anyway, sometimes for upward of a hundred. Alex could remember their arguments, and the way his father’s jaw had tensed when the first guests arrived.

His gaze strayed to the landing at the top of the main staircase. As a young boy, he’d crept out of his room and peeked through the railing, watching finely coiffed women and snappily dressed men stroll through the foyer, drinks in hand, voices animated.

His mother had been happy on those nights. And the house had felt warm and alive. Like it felt now-with a woman present.

A certain glow worked its way up from the pit of his belly when he thought about Emma staying for a while. She looked up from her call and smiled at him before saying something in French into the phone.

Emma spoke French. And she seemed pretty much unflappable in the face of chaos.

Maybe they’d entertain some more. No harm in making the most of their time together. And fine parties with key contacts would do nothing but help their businesses thrive.

His own cell phone buzzed in his breast pocket, and he retrieved it, flipping it open.

“Garrison here,” he said.

“It’s your best man.”

“Hey, Nathaniel. Where are you?”

“Just touching down in your backyard.”

“You better not be blowing my tent over.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “Relax. We’re on the other side of the garage. You know you’ve got news crews circling, right?”

“They can circle all they want. We’re going to the Cavendish Club tonight.”

“Exactly. Still, I’m glad I’m not trying to get in your driveway.”

“Did you happen to see a white cube van back there?”

“It’s stuck behind a couple of semis and about a dozen limos.”

“Good God. That’s Philippe’s tenderloin. I gotta get somebody out there to direct traffic.”

“See you in a minute,” said Nathaniel, signing off.

“Mrs. Nash,” Alex called.

Emma plugged one ear and moved into an alcove.

Alex strode down the hallway and nearly ran into Katie.

“Can you please help me get her into the bath?” Katie pleaded.

“She’s on the phone. Have you seen Mrs. Nash?” He continued toward the kitchen.

Katie scurried behind him. “I know she’s on the phone. That’s the problem.”

“Well, I can’t get her off. I have to rescue-”

The kitchen was a maelstrom of activity. That was the only way to describe it. A dozen cooks vied for space on the counter-tops. Two more were working over the stove. A cleanup crew was elbows deep in the sinks. And Mrs. Nash’s voice rose clearly above the din as she spoke to a young man with a perpetually bobbing head.

“One hundred tables,” she said. “The order was for white cloths with the royal blue skirting. And I don’t want a single wrinkle. If you can’t guarantee-”

“Never mind,” Alex muttered to himself, doing an about-face.

“Alex,” said Katie. “The hairdresser will be here in less than an hour.”

Alex shook his head as he paced back down the hallway.

In the foyer, he picked the phone out of Emma’s hand.

“Hey!”

“You, in the tub, now,” he ordered, snapping it shut.

“Alex,” she protested, grabbing for the phone.

“Save it. I’ve got four hundred pounds of tenderloin to rescue.” He swung open the big oak door.

“Hey, cousin,” sang Nathaniel.

“Point me to the cube van.”

Nathaniel ignored him and elbowed his way in. “This must be Emma,” he cooed, taking Katie by both hands.

“I’m Katie,” she corrected, tugging her hands away and closing the neckline of her robe.

“Ahhh,” said Nathaniel, hitting Alex with a sidelong look.

“What ahhh?” asked Katie, eyes narrowing.

“I’m Emma,” said Emma, stepping forward to hold out her hand. “Alex has told me nothing but good things about you.”

Nathaniel took Emma’s hand with great fanfare and bestowed a kiss on her knuckles. “You’re more beautiful than I imagined. And a most charming liar.”

“What ahhh?” Katie repeated.

Nathaniel gave her a sharp look. “Wait your turn.”

“Excuse me?” she said.

Nathaniel ignored her, clinging to Emma’s hand.

“Would you do something for me?” Emma asked him sweetly.

“For you, anything.”

“Make Alex give me back my phone.”

Alex grasped her shoulders, turning her toward the staircase. “Bath.”

Then he turned to his cousin. “And you, keep your hands off my bride.”

“She’s stunning,” said Nathaniel with an exaggerated sigh, then he deigned to gaze down at Katie.

Katie stared back with a clenched jaw.

“Ahhh means I’ve heard about you, too,” he said.

She was about to ask what he’d heard. Alex could see it in her eyes. But, to her credit, and to what had to be Nathaniel’s disappointment, she didn’t take the bait. She kept completely silent.

Head held high, she turned to link arms with Emma, and the women headed up the stairs.

“You’re losing your touch, cousin,” said Alex.

Nathaniel straightened his tie. “We already know she has terrible taste in men.”

Alex slapped him on the back. “You cling to that thought. And help me get the damn tenderloin into the house.”

After the wedding rehearsal and the dinner at Cavendish, Alex leaned on the railing of his veranda. It was after midnight, and the mansion was mostly dark. But the yard lights were on, and a few clouds teased a faraway moon.

“Not too late to back out,” said Nathaniel, approaching with a crystal tumbler of single malt in each hand.

“I’m not backing out,” said Alex. Worst case scenario, he’d make millions of dollars. Best case…He accepted the drink from Nathaniel and took a long swallow.

Best case, Emma decided to give them a real chance.

He’d given it a lot of thought over the past week, and there was something going on between them. It went past business, even past friendship, and he intended to use the honeymoon to figure out exactly what it was.

“The sister’s prettier,” said Nathaniel.

Alex straightened and shot his cousin a warning glare. “Excuse me?”

Nathaniel chuckled low.

“Emma happens to be gorgeous.”

“Do you happen to be falling for your bride?”

“I’m simply pointing out the obvious.”

“That she’s gorgeous?”

“She is.” Anyone could see that.

“And Katie’s a pale second?”

Alex took another swig.

Had he once called Katie the pretty one? Because Katie couldn’t hold a candle to Emma. Emma was one of those rare women who got prettier as you got to know her. She had a stunning smile, eyes that glowed when she was happy and sparkled when she laughed. She had an inner radiance that nobody could fake.

“Katie’s a pale second,” he agreed.

Nathaniel sobered, and his jaw went tight. “You do remember she has an ulterior motive, right?”