Courtship of the Cake (8 page)

“You got this, my boy!” Derek called after me. “Jump in the line!”

MEET AND GREET

“Can you even see the end of the line? I thought the signing was supposed to end by noon.”

I craned my neck and stood on my tiptoes. People snaked through the music section and around the entire first-floor perimeter of Manhattan's flagship mega-book and media store. The guys had been at it since ten o'clock, and there was no way they'd get through all those people on time.

“Relax, Dani.” Riggs chomped on the end of a plastic coffee stirrer. “The band's doing great.”

Eager fans shuffled forward with CDs in hand as the musicians reached across the table, Sharpies in hand. It was like some weird mating dance, an exchange of commerce and pleasantries. The dreaded in-store meet and greet. Last chance for the band to be promo whores before their weeklong forced hiatus began.

“I'm totally relaxed, Riggs. And it's not the band I'm worried about.”

Nash was at the end of the row. The pièce de résistance that everyone clamored toward, the singer they wanted to linger with. It wasn't
happening. Fans got a quick hello from their favorite performer, and a riot act from the tour manager: no pictures with him, please; no touching, one item to sign. Then they were handed off to a store employee, who directed them toward the escalator for a nice latte in the café, or a new book to go along with their beating heart and fleeting fantasies.

I sighed, wondering how long they'd let the line get before someone had the sense to cut it off. And I wondered how much work I'd have later on, massaging the cramps from Nash's fingers as he signed his name over and over and over again. He was the only one I was worried about.

It was my new job to worry about him.

Go Get Her's front man slouched in his chair with typical rock star panache, like an exotic creature that didn't necessarily belong under the harsh fluorescent lighting of corporate chain store America, but like he knew he owned the attention. Yet I could see every once in a while, he'd shift his scapulae, shoulder blades sliding up and down his back. Like a powerful, injured bird in captivity, testing the strength of his wingspan and waiting for the right moment to break free.

Noon couldn't come soon enough.

“We're in a bookstore, for fuck's sake.” Riggs turned on me, made impatient by my resulting sigh. “You're telling me you can't entertain yourself for another hour?”

Of course I could. I could take a wander through Fiction and Literature to see if anything held a candle to the stacks of paper sitting unpublished on Jax's writing desk. Or through the Psychology and Behavior section, to count the number of times my parents' names appeared on the spines of the tomes there. I'm sure that deep within the indices and tables of contents, my headshrinker parents would have strong opinions about just what the hell I had gotten myself into.

Engaged within two months of meeting him, Dani?
Seriously?

My mom would probably fall back on alpha males and sexual
selection, being the animal behaviorist she was. My father, a noted psychologist, would skip the Freud-Jung psychosexual stuff and head right for the good ol' Savior Complex.

Jax and Laney would have a complete conniption.

Engaged to Nash Drama?
The
Nash Drama, of Go Get Her fame? My mantra would morph from
WWDD
to
WDDDI
. Friends would no longer police themselves in situations by asking
What Would Dani Do?
They would simply want to know
Why Did Dani Do It?

Betrothing myself to one of the country's cockiest, rowdiest rock stars was hardly a moral imperative.

And it was the reason I hadn't told anyone I was coming into town.

I had absently wandered down the Wedding Etiquette aisle. The bindings of the books there were thick, the fonts elegant, and their color choices subdued and stylish. There was something there for every situation—from the
Town & Country Insiders' Guide
to the
Total & Complete Idiot's Guide
—that walked you step-by-step through the proposal, planning, and executing stages of the wedding of your dreams. I ran my hand vaguely over them, as if to glean answers via osmosis. The two-carat oval-cut stunner, set in platinum and hanging from my finger, was my invitation to the exclusive club chattered about within the pages.

Or was it?

If there really were something here for every situation, would I find the solutions to mine within the alphabetical index?

I pulled the fattest tome from the shelf and flipped to the back. Nope. Nothing under
Convenience
, as in “Engagement of.” Nothing under
Fake
,
Sham
or
Have you lost your flippin' mind, girl?
either.

Sighing, I pulled the slimmest book from the shelf and let it fall open to the middle.

Deciding on a theme first will guide you and your groom in the decisions and selections of the venue, décor, food, and drinks, as
well as many other critical details to ensure a flawless, fun-filled day is had by all. Choose a theme which best suits your personalities to help set the tone for your perfect day.

I chuckled to myself. After spending almost three months traveling with a major music festival, my only requirement would be a venue with indoor plumbing. I didn't want to see another Porta-John or rustic shower for the rest of my life. Nash's idea of “setting the tone” would probably be choosing Madison Square Garden as the venue and using scrims, mover lights, and hazers for the décor. Dinner would be self-serve from chafing dishes left out by catering for a questionable length of time, and drinks would be on ice in coolers under the tables. Groupies would be in attendance, and clothing would be optional.
It's a backstage greenroom free-for-all wedding theme!

I slid the book back into its slot. Posy had done a beautiful job with her New Orleans wedding. More “concept” than theme, my sister and her husband Pat's nuptials were the most genuine and personal expression of love I had ever witnessed. I would've expected nothing less from them. Part vintage, part vaudeville, wholly authentic to their aesthetic vision.

A second-line parade had led us through the quaint French Quarter from ceremony to reception, where a sign commanding
MASKS ON
ushered us past a red velvet curtain. The large space had crumbling stonework, wrought iron balconies, and a soaring whisper dome. I remembered the way everything transformed the moment I tied the ribbon to secure my gold mask with its black feather plumes and stepped in. The air felt electric.

And it crackled when Mick had walked into the room.

•   •   •

I noticed the vest right away, its black angles against the stark white of his dress shirt creating a timeless look and accentuating his well-defined arms. Many of the guys at the wedding had already stripped
themselves of their formal jackets, but their ties still held them in a stranglehold, making them look like awkward teens at a school dance. With his collar open, sleeves rolled up, and his hands in his pockets, this guy was coolness personified, as if he had just decided to take a stroll around the dance floor.

While I was positioned at ten o'clock on the perimeter of the large circular space, chatting with Posy's best friend Emma, he was stationed at four o'clock. I moved on to give a hug and a kiss to my new brother-in-law, standing at one o'clock; this guy stepped over to seven, interacting with nobody, his eyes never leaving me. His fluid movements purposely kept him exactly opposite me. I moved in his direction, on to where my cousins were clustered at six o'clock on the dial. He turned on his heel and meandered toward midnight.

His mask of choice had concealed the top half of his face, and its long, hooked nose and slit eyes had a sinister, eerie quality. But the way he bit back a smile from his full lips was utterly disarming, and I liked the way his hair tufted over the top of the mask, almost as dark as the black mask itself, with its gold scrolling detail.

Feeling bold behind the cover of my own disguise, I strode to the center of the floor just to see what he would do. Within seconds, he joined me there.

“Once upon a time, women who wore masks had their reputation questioned, you know.”

My cheeks heated beneath my mask, and I dropped my gaze demurely. I had a feeling if I wasn't careful, I would let him ask me just about anything. Those eyes of his were powerful truth serum.

“I was wondering who would end up with that particular mask,” I opened with, extending my hand. “I figured the guy who wears that must be very confident with his manhood.”

“No doubt there,” he said, lacing his fingers through mine and claiming my waist. “Now, if only I was so confident about my dancing skills.”

I laughed. “I always get blamed for trying to lead.”

Thinking back to prom, when I kept stepping on Jax's shiny black shoes by accident, made me miss my old friend that much more. He was supposed to have come with me that weekend, but pulled out at the last minute. I had no doubt it was girlfriend issues. Pre-Bitch'n'Mona, his latest Little Miss She's the One for Me, for Now, was toeing the line.

My mysterious dance partner gazed down at me. “I would follow you.”

His final word was stilted, as if he wanted to add more, but didn't.

We needn't have worried about leading and following; Mazzy Star's “Fade Into You” thrummed through the room, closing the gap between us. I smelled bourbon and brown sugar on his skin, reminiscent of the pralines baking in shops on almost every New Orleans street corner. And we began to move as one, under the whisper dome.

•   •   •

God, I really needed to stop thinking about Mick.

It was time to file him away under “dodged that bullet” and stick that book on the back shelf of my brain. Onward.

“Oh, happy day. Who's the lucky guy?”

I started at the sound of the familiar-yet-foreign voice, my head jerking against the top row of bridal books. His timbre and lanky build were identical to his twin brother's, but his cool stare and the woodsy musk smell of his cologne, so unlike Jax's, tipped me off.

Dex Davenport smirked at my choice of reading material, and locked in on the behemoth diamond. His
Who's the lucky guy?
comment came across more like a smart-ass
Who in their right mind would marry you?
demand.

Over one and a half million people on this island, and on the one day I happen to be in town, this is who I run into?

“No one you know,” I replied, although he was clutching a freshly signed Go Get Her CD in his hand. “Promise me you won't tell Jax . . . I want to talk to him myself.”

He smiled his evil twin smile. “Of course.”

Which could mean, of course he would, of course he wouldn't, or of course I wanted to. With Dex, you never knew how he was going to manipulate your words or your intentions.

“Didn't you sell your soul to Shonnie Phillips and move down to Austin?” Dex squinted and cocked his head, as if he just realized why he hadn't seen me in Manhattan for, say, the last eighteen months. And not like he missed me at all.

“I did. Move, that is.” My prior job as personal masseuse to the feminist folksinger had been all consuming, but Shonnie was a sweetheart and I wouldn't have traded the experience for the world. We reluctantly parted ways when she decided to take a yearlong sabbatical from music and the road to spend time with her family, but we still e-mailed each other regularly. It was Shonnie who had recommended me for the job with Minstrels & Mayhem, and Shonnie who gave me the sage advice when I had come back, raw and defeated, from New Orleans last year:
Go through it, darlin'. Not around it.

I could still hear the twang of her accent, and the tang of bittersweetness that could only come from someone who had been through it herself.

Face your soul forward
, just like the words of my favorite Shonnie song.

“I'm between gigs now,” I supplied, pulling myself up straighter. “You?”

“My band's got a month-long residency at the Sound Bar.” His tone was all closed doors, no red carpet. Fine by me. I would be out of town within the next half hour, anyway.

Nash was taking me home for a week to meet the family.

I rubbed the smooth surface of the diamond with my thumb, envying its strong, unbreakable characteristics. Suddenly, Riggs appeared from around the corner, like a genie being summoned from a lamp. “Time to roll, girlie. Nash is looking for his bride-to-be.”

Dex's entire frame took a jolt of electricity at the drop of the lead singer's name. “Drama?”

I had called Dex many choice things over the years. But incredulous was never one of them.

“Please. Just tell Jax I'll call him soon, okay?” I asked, my eyes pleading their case as Riggs hooked my arm.