Something Borrowed (4 page)

V
aughn’s restaurant
was on Portland Road, a nice brisk walk away on a blustery spring afternoon. A weak sun filtered through high, thin clouds casting the antique shops, clothing merchants and bustling cafes in a magical halo of soft light. As she walked, Chloe tried to get rid of the tightness in her chest, focusing instead on her surroundings and the peace of mind she got being in this slice of Notting Hill.

‘Hey, Chloe, love! How are you?’ Don, one of the antique shop owners, walked past, takeaway coffee in one hand, a horse racing newspaper in the other. He gave her a big smile. ‘Cheer up, love, worse could happen.’

Could it? What could be worse than going to a meeting with the man she’d assaulted on her wedding day? ‘Yes. Yes. Have a nice day, Don.’

Next, it was the lady from the Chinese restaurant, sweeping out the front of her shop. She nodded, grinning. ‘Hello.’

‘Hi.’ Chloe smiled and waited to cross to the sunnier side of the street.

Two young skateboarders skimmed down the centre of the road, slapping their boards on the concrete as they came to a halt to let her cross. ‘Age before beauty, right, miss?’

‘Watch it, you two.’ Despite Vaughn Brook’s presence in the area, she loved this place. The friendliness of the people, the fresh edge of bars and mismatch of trendy stores, the buskers and their eclectic choice of songs—which weren’t always to her taste, but added a definite buzz and a smile to her step.

She liked the eccentricity of the market, the way each day had a different feel, a distinct personality; the quiet of the week and the bustle of the weekend with tourists snapping endless photos and local shoppers hoping to find a bargain. Jason had suggested, a few times, that they move out to somewhere cheaper, to somewhere with a community. Couldn’t he see that, despite being in a big bustling city, there was a real community right here?

The trees along her route were coming to life again after a long, cold winter; tender, burgeoning buds promising blossom in a month or so. Daffodils had given way to tulips brightening the regimented Edwardian buildings, creating a colourful path. Despite all this, Chloe still felt a little like Dorothy on her way to Oz, surrounded by amazing things yet with nothing in her heart but the anxiety of trying to find her way back to safety again.

Vaughn Brooks. Just her luck.

She located the restaurant in a parade of shops selling chic and not cheap knickknacks, next to an organic butcher’s and a juice bar. Exquisite wrought iron railings separated the first-floor apartments from the ground floor businesses.
Vaughn’s
stood proudly in the centre of the parade with pristine white canopies hanging over the shop front, the lettering of his name painted in a swirl of flamboyance on the canopy fabric and across the windows. A cluster of tables and chairs on the footpath gave it a distinctly Mediterranean feel.

Chloe stole a look at the menu on a board outside the door. Twice cooked pork belly, Chinese spiced duck… Which, in any other eating establishment, would sound wonderful, but right now gave her heartburn.

‘Chloe!’ Grinning widely, Stacey appeared at the restaurant door with Mark, the groom-to-be, standing next to her. They looked completely at home and, unfortunately, utterly smitten. ‘Oh, it’s just divine. Come and have a look. The garden is perfect. I can’t believe you didn’t suggest it before.’

Chloe pasted on a shiny, happy smile that her sister would be proud of and refused to show any sign of irritation. ‘It’s fairly new. I haven’t been here myself yet. Can’t wait to see it.’ There had been talk, just before the wedding, of an invitation to the restaurant’s grand opening with celebrities and famous TV chefs and the diverse clientele of the area. It had sounded right up her street. She presumed the invitation been lost in the post.

With Vaughn working overseas for most of his adult life, Chloe hadn’t met him until The Jilting. As a cousin who’d spent long childhood summer holidays with Jason, then forging his stellar career abroad, he’d been a well-kept secret. He’d been too busy, too elusive—too damned selfish, she’d privately thought—to come back for the engagement party or Jason’s father’s funeral. He had a reputation of jumping from one job to the next, suddenly uprooting and going travelling on a whim. Doing exactly what suited him with no regard for anyone else. But he’d always been top-pick for best man, no hesitation. A pact, she’d heard, Jason and Vaughn had made years ago.

Then he was suddenly there, his presence bigger than ever. She hadn’t even stepped over the threshold, and her heart began to hammer. Out of the shadows he came, slowly coming into focus. The smile he’d worn slipped as he realised who she was.

There was a silence as they stared at each other. His hair, as she’d remembered, was a mess of dark waves. His eyes narrowed, black as midnight and matching his collared shirt, which was haphazardly stuffed into dark jeans. The linen covered a body she’d actually touched, and suddenly, the hardness of those muscles under her fingertips rebounded into her brain. Briefly, she wondered whether he’d honed them just by lifting heavy-duty kitchenware or if he worked out. For a second, she couldn’t breathe.

His jaw was fixed. ‘Chloe Cassidy.’ He regained whatever composure might have momentarily slipped with his smile. Whether it was subconscious or not, she didn’t know, but he rubbed his forehead with his forefingers. The exact spot she’d cut as she’d inadvertently wrestled him to the ground. ‘Do I need to duck or run for my life? Should I call the police right now or wait to see how things unfold?’

The smile she found was gracious and forgiving—but, she hoped, sarcastic to the point of piercing his well-inflated ego. ‘Don’t worry, I have no need to take you down this time. You are perfectly safe.’

‘So
you
are Stacey’s wedding planner?’

‘Yes.’ Was that so difficult to imagine? It was hard trying to speak with a throat that felt rubbed raw with sand and a mouth faux-grinning as wide as a bullfrog’s. But Jenna was right. She had to be here for her client. She stuck out her hand. ‘Mr Brooks. Good of you to fit us in at such short notice.’

He gave a swift glance to her hand, then to their clients. ‘Chloe. And you can call me Vaughn—after all, we’re not exactly strangers.’

‘Okay, Vaughn it is.’ His handshake was firm and warm. And the briefest she’d ever experienced. Clearly, he was as put out about this as she was.
Good.

But that didn’t explain the shiver of something that went through her as she touched him. She reached into her bag for her planner, hoping to wipe all traces of him from her skin. Maybe that would stop the strange tingle in her fingertips. It didn’t. ‘Yes, so, we’re looking at the twenty-first of June. I’m sure Stacey’s told you all about their plans? And I’m also sure you’ll be busy that day; mid-summer and all that, busiest time of the year, right? And we’d like to seat around a hundred; that’s quite a lot for a small place like...’ Chloe flashed a look around the room as she stepped in. Damn. It would seat a hundred comfortably.

And wow, it was startling. There was indeed whitewashed brickwork, which she’d expected to look tacky, but actually looked authentically French, Italian, or something. Like a villa she’d once stayed in high on the Tuscan hills, comfortable and welcoming, yet stylish. Crystal chandeliers reflected the natural light, and crisp white tablecloths adorned white ironwork tables with matching chairs in a long room with towering ferns and greenery, illuminated by large cathedral candles on white candlesticks. There was even a small raised section, perfect for the main wedding group to sit in full view of their guests. In essence, it was perfect.

Double damn.

At the end of the room were huge glass French doors. Chloe gestured to them. ‘May I look at the garden? Obviously, being a summer wedding, it would be just perfect to be outside. Although, I doubt…’
That I’ll like it. That it’ll fit a hundred. That I can hold this smile much longer.

With fingers crossed that it would be totally unsuitable, Chloe led the little troupe down the room and out into a… well, a slice of heaven. More whitewashed walls, more candelabra, and more glass reflecting even more light. Strings of tiny fairy lights cascaded down the walls. It was simple, stylish, sophisticated perfection to the point her breath stalled in her chest. This time her smile was genuine. ‘Wow. Are you allergic to colour or something?’

He gave a nonchalant shrug that he’d clearly learned in the kitchens of the foreign restaurants where he’d spent a good part of his life. ‘I prefer to keep things simple. Too much of anything detracts from my food. Believe me, that is what will make you say wow.’

The arrogance again. Shame she wouldn’t be going anywhere near his food.

Vaughn stood by the French doors and cranked a large handle into gear. ‘We use this when it rains.’ With a couple of twists, he released a canopy of the lightest gossamer cloth that provided cover but preserved the light. ‘It’s delicate, but 100 per cent waterproof. I imported it from Naples.’

He’d thought of everything.

With a whelp, Stacey clapped her hands, her voice as high-pitched as Chloe imagined hers would be, if she were capable of more speech. ‘Oh my, it’s beautiful. Please say you’re available on the twenty-first? Please?’

Chloe lay a warning hand on her client’s arm and whispered, ‘We haven’t talked prices. It could be way over budget; I don’t want you getting your hopes up. And what does Mark think?’

‘I’ll tell Mark what to think.’ Stacey hissed back through a forced smile as she regarded her fiancé. ‘Bugger the cost. It’ll be worth every penny.’

‘One question.’ Chloe caught Vaughn’s self-satisfied, hooded gaze and her heart did a little loop-the-loop. That was what frank annoyance did to you—palpitations. ‘Why are you available at such short notice?’

He handed them each a menu. ‘I’ve only just got my alcohol licence. It took more time than I thought possible. Bureaucracy here is even worse than in France. If you’ve seen enough here, perhaps we can talk potential menus for the big day? Go in, take a seat.’ He motioned for them all to go back inside. Stacey and Mark led the way, Vaughn went next, stopping at the door to wind in the canopy. There was nothing she could do but wait until he’d finished—that, or crush past him. No way.

She looked down at her shoes and wished she’d worn ruby slippers, doubting that clicking nude heels together three times would get her anywhere near home.

After a couple of twists, Vaughn turned to her. The well-rehearsed business pretence dropped, and he stared at her with stark annoyance. ‘Well, hell, Chloe Cassidy. I’d heard your business had all but dried up. I didn’t imagine I’d see you again. Not in my worse nightmares.’

Wait a minute.
She
was the nightmare? ‘Hey, it’s not my fault if you have trouble sleeping. I wasn’t the one breaking up a marriage.’

He froze. ‘Shoot the messenger, why don’t you? And it was just a wedding, not a marriage.’

‘Just a wedding? Just a wedding? It was
my
wedding. Your cousin’s wedding. But it all went swimmingly well for you in the end, didn’t it? Not a good match, you said. It was for the best, you said. So you got what you wanted.’ She stopped glowering at him for a second and raised her hand to a concerned-looking Stacey, who was waving a menu at her. ‘I’ll be there in just a minute. Ironing out some minor details here. Have a chat with Mark about what dishes you want.’

Vaughn stopped winding but didn’t make to go back inside. On her wedding day, she’d had plenty of other things to think about, so she hadn’t realised just how tall he was, how broad shouldered. How nice he smelt—like an exotic vanilla, mixed with spice and something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Delicious. It was a shock, considering she shouldn’t have been smelling him at all. She should have carried on walking through into the main room with Stacey and Mark and taken a chance on brushing past him. Or walked out. Refused to come in the first place.

And now, to add to that, she was so close she could see his dark eyes weren’t like midnight at all; they were a curious mix of dark grey and silver. They were quite astonishing. Extraordinary, in fact. And holding some kind of irritated dare or that same self-righteous smugness.

Apart from the scar she’d inflicted on his forehead from the rugby tackle, his features were unblemished. His nose was perfectly straight. Lines crossed his forehead, getting deeper with every second they glared at each other. She tried not to look at his mouth because her stomach went strangely tumbly when she looked there, probably due to the fact that whenever he spoke, a veiled insult, or harmful intent, or just plain anger came out.

‘Really? You think I broke up your relationship with Jason? It was my fault? Get real, Chloe. What I thought didn’t come into it. I was helping out my cousin who was worried about how you’d react. And he was right, wasn’t he?’ But there was a hint of a smile there in his voice, and the corners of his mouth twitched. Was he laughing at her? ‘I’m still getting headaches…’

‘Oh? God, did I give you a concussion?’ Genuine concern wriggled through her. For some reason, she had the urge to touch the place on his forehead that had the tiniest of scars. ‘Brain damage? I gave you a concussion and brain damage?’

‘No, don’t get all panicky. It’s just the memory of that day brings on head pain. You don’t take disappointment well.’ He shook his head, eyes glinting a little. ‘But, you’ve got a great tackle. Watch out, England might call you up for the world cup; God knows they need all the help they can get.’

Chloe shrugged and hoped he’d erased the memory of her whacking him on the backside with her bouquet. ‘I work out.’

‘So I gathered. How’s the anger management thing going?’ If for a moment she’d thought there was a friendly tone in his voice, it was gone.

‘Oh, come on. I didn’t hurt you intentionally, you know that. The damage only happened because your head hit the slate tiles. It was bad timing, an accident.’

She’d lunged at him with no intention of actually touching him, but her feet had tangled in her wedding dress train, and she’d lost her balance, propelling forward with force and taking him down to the floor. Then, frustrated, annoyed and humiliated, she’d smacked him on his bottom with her wedding bouquet.