It Happened One Wedding (14 page)

FRIDAY MORNING, SIDNEY
got some good news from her headhunter.

“I talked to Karen—she has an offer from PetSmart, but she hasn’t accepted it yet,” Gabe said. “She’d love to fly out to talk to you about the Vitamin Boutique position, but we need to move fast.”

Sidney turned in her desk chair and pulled up the calendar on her computer. “Can she do an interview Tuesday? Wednesday? Find out what works best with her schedule, and I’ll make it happen.”

“Will do.”

She spent the rest of the morning on the phone, first with Vitamin Boutique’s board of directors, making sure that at least two of them would be available to meet with Karen the following week. After that, she had a lengthy discussion with the consulting firm she typically worked with in these situations so that they could begin figuring out what kind of compensation package PetSmart had likely offered Karen—and more important, the kind of compensation package
she
would need to convince the VP to come work for Vitamin Boutique instead.

Sidney hung up the phone shortly before noon and rolled her head, stretching her neck. She was just thinking she should send an e-mail to her team, updating them on these newest developments, when her secretary buzzed.

“I didn’t want to interrupt your call, so I was about to bring you a note,” Darnell said, speaking in a hushed voice. “A Special Agent Roberts is waiting in the reception area. He says he’d like to speak with you.”

Vaughn? Here?
Sidney didn’t know whether to smile or roll her eyes at her secretary’s whispered tone, having no doubt that a certain special agent had used his job title to get exactly that kind of reaction. “Tell reception that I’ll be right out.”

 • • • 

WHILE WAITING IN
the sleek, sophisticated lobby, Vaughn studied the contemporary artwork on the walnut-panel walls. After a couple of minutes, he heard the sound of high heels clicking confidently against the pearl marble floor.

He knew that walk.

He turned around and watched as Sidney approached. With a smile, he took in her effortlessly stylish outfit—gray pants, ivory silk blouse, and a light peach scarf wrapped loosely around her neck.

She was just the woman he needed.

“Special Agent Roberts,” Sidney said as she approached. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I need your help.”

That caught her off guard. She stepped closer and lowered her voice, her expression turning concerned. “Is everything all right? It’s not Isabelle, is it?”

“Nothing like that. I need your fashion advice.”

“Oh. Okay.” She looked him over. “Well, with that suit, I think your tie could be a little skinnier.”

Vaughn threw her a look. And made a mental note about the tie. “I need to pick out the groomsmen tuxedos for the wedding.”

“Ah. That’s an important job. The tuxes help set the tone for the entire wedding.”

“So I’ve just been told,” he said dryly.

She cocked her head, her blue-green eyes sparkling. “Are you having some difficulty with your assignment, Agent Roberts?”

He could already tell he was going to regret this. “Here’s the deal. Simon bought his tux, so he told me to pick out whatever I want for myself and the other groomsmen. No problem. Then I get to the store and the salesman starts asking all these questions. Bow tie or necktie? How wide would I like the lapel to be? Pleated pants or flat front? How many buttons on the jacket? Do I want a vest? A cummerbund? How formal are the bridesmaids’ dresses? Because, as I recently learned, it’s very important that the groomsmen’s attire
complement
what the bridesmaids are wearing,” he said, imitating the salesman’s serious tone.

“This is true.”

“So? What are you wearing?” he asked.

“A dark champagne strapless dress with a sash across the hip.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is it sexy?”

She raised an eyebrow back. “Should that really be your focus right now?”

It certainly was a far more interesting topic than what
he
was wearing to this superposh shindig. “Look, I wear suits every day—I can pick out a damn tux. And if this was a tux for my
wedding, I’d be in and out of the shop in five minutes.” He caught her looking at him strangely. “What?”

“I’m just waiting for your eye to start twitching after the reference to
your
wedding.”

And there it went, right on schedule. “The point is, this is your sister and Simon’s big day. And since I’m pretty sure that hell hath no fury like a pregnant woman whose dream wedding is ruined because the best man decided to go with vests instead of cummerbunds, I’m thinking I should get this right.”

“Skip the vest, then. Isabelle can’t stand them.”

“Good to know. A cummerbund, it is.”

“No cummerbund either.”

Vaughn frowned. “Don’t I need something that’s going to coordinate with the color of your dress?”

“Why yes, you do. If this is 1998, and you’re taking me to
prom
.”

And . . . there was the snark again. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Quite a bit, actually.”

He took a step closer. “Think about it this way, Sidney. You have to walk down the aisle next to me at this wedding. We’ll be in numerous photos together—photos that the entire Sinclair family will look at for years to come. If my job as a groomsman is to complement
you
, do you really want to put your faith in whatever I might come up with?”

She considered this for a moment.

“Let me just grab my purse.”

 • • • 

WHEN THEY STEPPED
through the door of the tuxedo shop, the salesman who’d been helping Vaughn earlier came out of backroom.

He smiled when he saw them. “Special Agent Roberts. I see you’ve returned with backup.”

“This is Sidney, our illustrious maid of honor.”

She said hello, and then gestured to Vaughn. “Ignore everything this man told you during his previous visit.”

“She tends to be a little sarcastic,” Vaughn told the salesman, without batting an eye. “I’m told it’s a New York thing. Which is really weird, considering she’s from Chicago.”

Sidney nudged Vaughn as she walked by him and eyed one of the tuxedos on display. “Did Simon tell you anything about the tux he’s wearing?”

“He said it didn’t have tails.” From her expression, Vaughn gathered this was not a lot of help. He shrugged. “We’re guys. We don’t have long, drawn-out conversations about clothing. Actually, we don’t have long, drawn-out conversations about anything if we can help it.”

Sidney turned back to the salesman. “We’ll go with something classic. Black, two-button jacket. Flat-front pants, no cummerbund, and—” She looked Vaughn over with a scrutinizing air. “A bow tie. Definitely.”

“Excellent choice,” the salesman said approvingly. “Let me grab my tape measure.” He took Vaughn’s measurements, and then asked his height, weight, and shoe size. He went into the back room and returned with a sample tuxedo and shoes. “The changing room is right there. Just holler if you need anything.” He pointed to a private room behind the three-way mirror in the center of the store.

Vaughn changed out of his clothes and put on the tux. He checked himself out in the mirror, was satisfied that the tux fit well enough, and stepped out of the dressing room.

Sidney stood with her back to him as she chatted with the salesman. When she turned around and saw him in the tuxedo, she blinked. “You look so . . .” She trailed off and just kept looking at him.

Then she cleared her throat and regrouped. “It’s nice.” She walked over, scrutinizing him as he stood in front of the mirror. “It seems to fit well enough. What do you think?”

Her phone suddenly rang in her purse, which sat on a chair across from the mirrors. “Sorry. I should grab that in case it’s work-related.”

While Sidney took her call, the salesman walked over to Vaughn. “Would you like to try on something else? We have several different styles, in case you want to get a comparison.”

Vaughn glanced over at Sidney, who laughed at something while talking on the phone. He thought back to her reaction when she saw him in the tux.

“You know, I think I’m good with this one,” he said.

With a smile, the salesman nodded. “Of course, sir.”

 • • • 

SIDNEY TOOK A
bite of her risotto and thought for a moment about her next question. “Okay, I’ve got one. Most likely to get drunk and make an awkward impromptu toast at the reception.”

To thank her for helping out with the tuxes, Vaughn had taken her to lunch at an Italian bistro nearby, one that had al fresco dining so they could enjoy the nice weather. Their current conversation had started with a bet—the person most likely to ask Isabelle at the wedding if she was pregnant—and that had led to all sorts of predictions about the big day.

Twirling his spaghetti gamberoni around his fork, Vaughn didn’t pause a moment before answering. “My uncle Finn. Here’s a tip: half my family is Irish. So any ‘most likely to’ distinctions pertaining to this wedding that involve drinking, we’ve got covered.”

Sidney chuckled and grabbed another breadstick. “Now your turn.”

He poured more olive oil onto the plate between them. “All right. How about . . . most likely to tackle another woman to the ground in order to catch the bouquet.” He gave Sidney the side-eye.

“Who, me?” she asked.

Vaughn laughed as part of a breadstick came flying his way. “What? Not your style?”

“Definitely not my style. Not to mention, Isabelle has another bridesmaid, Amanda, who already declared that she’s taking anyone out who gets between her and that bouquet at the wedding.” Her turn again. “Most likely to photobomb the pictures of Isabelle and Simon cutting the cake.”

“Also my uncle Finn.”

“This Uncle Finn sounds like quite a character. I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I’m going to remind you of that when he’s drunk and trying to grab all the bridesmaids’ asses,” Vaughn said.

“Gross.”

His turn. “Most likely to get obnoxious with that annoying tradition of clinking glasses to get the bride and groom to kiss.”

Sidney pointed. “Oh, I’ve got that one. My cousin Anna. She did that nonstop at my other cousin’s wedding last summer. And if she tries pulling that crap at Isabelle’s reception, she’s going to find herself drinking out of a red Solo cup.”

“At a Sinclair function? Are these ruby-crusted red Solo cups?” Vaughn asked.

Cute
. Her turn. “Most likely to be the first one to cry during the ceremony.”

He sat back in his chair. “Hmm. . . that’s a tough one. Isabelle’s got the hormones going for her, but lately Simon’s been getting very sentimental and schmaltzy. Then there’s
you
, another contender—don’t make that face at me, I see the softer side that comes out when you think no one’s looking—but, nevertheless, I think I have to go with my mom. She’s so excited this is finally happening, I think we may need a whole box of Kleenex at the ceremony just for her.” He cocked his head, as if curious about something. “What about your dad?”

“My dad? Ah, no. I think the idea of getting sentimental and schmaltzy at weddings wore off for him sometime around his third marriage.” She took another bite of her risotto.

“You don’t talk about him much,” Vaughn said.

When Sidney had finished chewing, she shrugged. “Not much to say, I guess. We’re not really that close.”

“Has it always been that way?”

She fingered the stem of her water glass. “Not always. It was different when I was younger. He used to take me to work and show me around the office and tell everyone that I was going to be an investment banker someday, just like him. Obviously, the idea stuck with me,” she said with a slight smile, before turning more serious. “But things changed after my mom died. My dad threw himself into work, and for a while, my sister and I barely saw him. And then he started dating Cecilia, his second wife, only six months after my mom died, and I resented that. Maybe that wasn’t fair, but I was eleven years old at the time. I felt like he had moved on and forgotten about my mother, and I . . . still very much wanted to remember her.”

She cleared her throat, not having meant to reveal something so personal. “Then, three years later, when I’d finally come to accept Cecilia, they got divorced. I found out later that my father cheated on her with Liza, Wife Number Three. Liza lasted ten years, until
she
divorced him, also for cheating, this time with a twenty-five-year-old tennis instructor at his club,” she said, not bothering to hide her scornful tone. “Then he met Jenny at some party, and married her six months after that. They’ve been married nine years now and I guess it seems to be working. I don’t ask. Frankly, I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Do you think things might get better between you and your dad now that you’re back in Chicago?” Vaughn asked.

“I don’t know. Not really, judging from the way things have gone so far. When we talk about work things are okay, but when it comes to anything personal, I feel like there’s this chasm of things we don’t say to each other. I mean, obviously I’ve known for a while that my dad has a problem with the fidelity part of marriage.”
To put it mildly.
“And while before, that was something I disapproved of, it’s different now after what happened to me with Brody. I can’t look at my dad the same way. I just . . . respect him less, because of the decisions he’s made in his personal life.” She paused. “And that’s a hard thing to admit, especially since I used to idolize him so much when I was younger.” She fell silent at that, and then took a deep breath and cocked her head. “How did we get on this subject, anyway?” She pointed, mock suspiciously. “Did you good-cop me, Roberts?”

He laughed, grabbing the carafe of ice water. He refreshed her glass, and then his. “It’s so different with my family. No one gets divorced—as my mother would say, that’s not the ‘Irish way.’ I guess people just stick it out if they’re miserable.”

“I don’t know about the rest of your family, but your parents definitely aren’t miserable. They’re adorable.”

He smiled at that, his affection for his parents unmistakable. “They are great. But don’t let my mom fool you—she can be tough when she wants to be.”