Authors: Suzanne Brockmann
Stand-in Groom (23 page)
“I don’t want to join one of those support groups, Chelsea,” he told her. “I don’t want to sit in that circle and cry while I talk about losing my wife. I know I said some things to you this afternoon that I shouldn’t have. You’re right. Even though you’re my wife, even though we’re married, I don’t have the right to tell you what you can or can’t do. But I do have the right to ask. So I’m asking. Please,
please
move your office to a better part of town. I’ll beg, if you want. I’ll crawl if
that’ll make you understand how important this is to me. I need to know you’re as safe as you can possibly be.”
Chelsea couldn’t speak. Her heart was in her throat.
“I know you were surprised when I told you that I love you.” He cleared his throat. “And I don’t have a clue what you’re thinking, but don’t freak out, because I know that falling in love wasn’t part of our deal, and I know that you’re in this marriage thing for only a year, and I swear, I’d never hold you to anything more, and even if you don’t want to stay with me, I’m not going to take that money from your father and … Okay, now I’m babbling.” He took a deep breath. “At least tell me you forgive me.”
“I forgive you,” she whispered. “Promise you’ll try not to do it again?”
He nodded, tears again gleaming in his eyes. “Please,” he said again. “Let me help you move your office somewhere safer. Please, Chels. If you care for me even just a little bit …”
“I do,” she said. “I will. Move the office. But I
will
need your help—”
He stepped toward her. “You know you’ve got it. I promise.”
“What I really want you to promise me …” Chelsea had to stop and blink back her own tears. “Promise me you’ll love me forever.”
She saw disbelief flash in Johnny’s eyes. “Do you want me to?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “More than anything.”
The disbelief turned to sheer joy. He laughed aloud, then raised his voice so his words rang out in the church. “Then, yes, I promise.”
“For richer or poorer?”
Johnny held out his hand to her, again letting his words echo. “I do promise.”
“For better or for worse?” She slipped her hand into his, and it felt like coming home.
The look in his eyes was one she’d seen there before. When she’d woken up in the middle of the night and found him gazing down at her, when he thought she didn’t see him watching her from across the room—that was love she’d seen in his eyes. He truly loved her.
“I do,” he told her.
“In sickness and in health?”
“Yes. For as long as we both shall live,” he said.
“I love you, Johnny,” Chelsea said. She smiled at him through her tears. “I think you better kiss the bride.”
Johnny was nervous. He knew he shouldn’t be. He knew he held the upper hand, along with the element of surprise.
He stood up as Howard Spencer came briskly out into the waiting area.
“Why don’t you come on back into my office,” the older man said, leading the way to a huge corner office with a gorgeous view of downtown Boston that was almost as good as the view from Johnny’s condo. “I have the contracts all drawn up for you to sign.”
Johnny waited until Mr. Spencer had closed the door behind him. “Actually, Mr. Spencer, I have no intention of signing your contracts, because I have no intention of taking your bribe. As a matter of fact, I came here today to tell you that your daughter and I have come to a new agreement. We’ve removed the end date from our relationship and hope to have as long and as happy a marriage as you and Julia have had.”
Howard Spencer was not the kind of man who sputtered, but he was as close to sputtering now as he ever had been.
“Also—for your information—I’ve made Chelsea sign an addendum to our prenupt, saying the financial deal’s off. I made her sign an agreement saying that her money is her money, and my money is
our
money.” Johnny smiled. “I know, I know, you’re thinking, if she ever leaves me, I’m going to get royally screwed, but you know what, Mr. S.?”
Howard Spencer seemed unable to respond.
“She’s never going to leave me. I’m going to do my damnedest to see that Chelsea stays madly in love with me for the rest of our lives. Because I love her that much. Look at me and read my lips, Mr. S. I love your daughter. There’s no amount of money in the world that would make me walk away from her. I’m going to make her happy—and that’s what you want for her, right? For her to be happy? Nod your head. Yes.”
Howard Spencer managed to nod his head. Yes.
Johnny smiled again. “Then I’m your man. We’re on the same team now, Howie.”
He turned to leave, but then turned back. “Oh,
I almost forgot.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “This conversation? And the one we had previously? They never happened.”
Johnny walked out of the office, but then stuck his head back in the door. “One more thing. Chelsea and I would love for you and Julia to join us for dinner Friday night—in Lumière’s private dining room. Chelsea tells me you haven’t had any luck getting a reservation for the private room—I don’t know why. But from now on, when you call, tell ’em you’re Johnny Anziano’s father-in-law.” He winked.
“That’ll
get you in.”
C
HELSEA COULDN’T BELIEVE
what she’d found.
She’d been looking for a spare book of stamps in Johnny’s desk, thinking if she found one, she wouldn’t have to pull on her boots and trudge out into the snow, shovel out her car, and drive through the slushy streets to the post office vending machines.
She hadn’t meant to pry. But the envelope was right there, top slit open, sitting next to the computer. The return address said it was from the International Culinary Institute in Paris.
Johnny had told her he’d get a response to his
application for the Paris study program by December. And it was definitely December.
Chelsea picked up the envelope and held it up to the light, which of course revealed nothing. She put the envelope down and picked up the phone, pressing the speed dial for Lumière’s.
Johnny answered on the fifth ring. “Anziano.”
“Hi,” Chelsea said. She held the envelope up to her nose and smelled it. It smelled like paper. “Are you busy?”
“For you? Never. Well, almost never. What’s up?”
“That’s what I was going to ask you,” Chelsea said, tapping the envelope on the edge of his desk. “What’s up?”
Johnny laughed. “Didn’t
you
call
me
?”
“Yes, but, I was just …” Chelsea sighed. “We’ve both been so busy lately, we haven’t had as much time to talk, and …”
“Well, let’s see. Jean-Paul’s wife is pregnant again—have I told you that?”
“Yes,” Chelsea said. “Yes, I think you mentioned that last week.” She tapped the envelope on her teeth.
“Your father called me again—he wants to back me in whatever kind of restaurant I want to open.”
“Don’t even
think
about—”
“I made polite, vague noises. Don’t worry about that. Let’s see. … You knew that my latest tofu recipe was getting a huge write-up in
Vegetarian Times
. I saw the article today—it’s
great
. I’ll bring it home for you. They’re calling me the ‘Tofu Gourmet.’ There’s been a huge demand for the dish here at the restaurant—I just wish tofu weren’t so damn
ugly
. But that’s all I can think of. Nothing else is new. Hang on a sec.” There was a pause, and Chelsea heard muffled voices, as if Johnny had put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. “I’m sorry, Chelsea, I gotta go. I’ll try to get home early tonight, okay?”
“Johnny—”
“I love you, Chels.”
“Wait!”
But he’d already hung up.
Chelsea slowly put the handset back in the cradle of the telephone and looked at the envelope she was still holding. Nothing else was new?
She couldn’t help herself. She pulled the letter out and opened it and …
Dear God, he’d been accepted.
She skimmed the page, then went back and read the next-to-last paragraph. Dear God, he’d not only been accepted, but he’d been asked to
give
a seminar on his new specialty—gourmet cooking with tofu. It was an honor beyond compare.
The letter was dated October 25. Even if it had been sent via surface mail, Johnny must have gotten it weeks ago. Longer.
Yet he’d said nothing about it to her.
Feeling a total sneak, Chelsea turned on Johnny’s computer and accessed his word-processing program. It didn’t take her long to skim his list of files and find one labeled Paris.ICI. She clicked on the job and, saying a silent pray asking forgiveness from the God of Nosiness, opened it.
Dear Admissions Committee
,
It was with great pride that I received your letter requesting my presence as part of your Paris study program this May. And it is with great regret that I inform you that I am unable to attend for the full three months. I understand that—
Chelsea clicked out of the job. She’d seen enough.
Unable to attend. Regret.
Oh, God, Johnny was turning down the chance of a lifetime—because of her.
Oh, God, this was her worst nightmare come true. There was no way she could leave Spencer/O’Brien Software in May for three months.
But it didn’t matter anymore. He’d turned the opportunity down. Without even
talking
to her.
Chelsea turned off Johnny’s computer and went to pull on her snow boots.
Johnny was preparing the fourteenth order that afternoon for his tofu dish when Chelsea burst into the kitchen.
“I need to talk to you. Now.” She then added the word they’d promised each other they’d always use, even when they were upset. “Please.”
Johnny nodded to Philippe, who took over his pan of sautéing vegetables. “Let’s go into my office,” he said, but she was already heading there. What had he done? He couldn’t think of a single thing. Maybe it had something to do with that
weird phone call she’d made just a little while ago. He closed the door behind him. “Are you mad at me?”
“Yes, I’m mad. And I’m hurt, and upset, and disappointed and sad and—”
“What? Why? Chelsea, wait a sec, I’m clueless here. What’s this about?”
She smacked him in the chest with an envelope. Johnny fumbled, but caught it before it hit the ground. He recognized it immediately.
“How could you not talk to me about this?” Chelsea looked ready to cry. “How could you just turn down their offer without even telling me?”
“How do you know I turned down their offer?”
“I searched for your return letter on your computer.” She was too upset to be embarrassed.
Johnny had to laugh. “But you didn’t read the whole thing, did you?”
“I read all that I needed to.”
Johnny pulled her into his arms. “Chels, if you’re going to be nosy, don’t be nosy halfway—or you’ll get only half the story. The letter I faxed them said that
at this time
I couldn’t stay the full three months, but I proposed that I attend for a few weeks to give the seminar they requested. I
asked if I could postpone taking part in the full three-month program until next year. I’m waiting for their response.”
She looked sheepishly up at him. “I didn’t read that far.”
He kissed her. “No kidding.”
“Johnny, why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”
“I was waiting to hear back from ICI before I told you. It seems like a good compromise, don’t you think?”
“What if ICI says it’s now or never?”
Johnny shrugged. “By May, you’ll have the money from your trust. You can fly me home for weekends—I don’t know. We’ll figure something out.”
“We can compromise,” Chelsea said. “You can fly home for some weekends, I can fly to Paris for others. We can definitely make this work.”
As Johnny gazed into Chelsea’s ocean-blue eyes he knew she was right. Together, with compromise, they were unstoppable.
Johnny smiled, and then kissed his wife.
Since her explosion onto the publishing scene more than ten years ago, SUZANNE BROCKMANN has written over forty books, and is now widely recognized as one of the leading voices in romantic suspense. Her work has earned her repeated appearances on the
USA Today
and
New York Times
bestseller lists, as well as numerous awards, including Romance Writers of America’s #1 Favorite Book of the Year—three years running, in 2000, 2001, and 2002—two RITA awards, and many
Romantic Times
Reviewer’s Choice Awards. Suzanne lives west of Boston with her husband, Dell author Ed Gaffney. Visit her website at
www.SuzanneBrockmann.com
.
Stand-in Groom
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
2009 Bantam Books Mass Market Edition
Copyright © 1997 by Suzanne Brockmann
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Bantam Books is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Originally published in mass market in the United States by Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc., in 1997.
eISBN: 978-0-553-90713-1
v3.0
