Belle's Secret Page 4

  “What was that?”

  Isabella rolled her eyes. “They wanted me to conduct the ceremony dressed as Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

  Maggie laughed heartily.

  “So how did you handle Amanda’s mother?”

  Maggie snapped her fingers. “Serenity gave me some advice. She’s known the family since she and Amanda were kids. So, mimosas at ten o’clock in the morning managed to calm down those who were a little … shall we say … tense.”

  Isabella smiled knowingly. “Highly strung?”

  “Picky.”

  “Crazy?” The two friends laughed. “But at the end of the day, we aim to please, right? This is their day and I will do everything I can to make sure it’s perfect for these love-struck couples.”

  “Speaking of love-struck couples, Maggie, where’s that husband of yours?”

  When Maggie smiled, as she always did when she talked about Max, she glowed. “Max is no doubt pouring someone a glass of wine, and looking damn fine while he does it.”

  “You got a keeper, that’s for sure.”

  “I know it. I do. I’m a lucky woman.” Maggie’s eyes met Isabella’s. “You know how weddings make me all sentimental.”

  Isabella sighed. “You’re going to ask me again, aren’t you?”

  “I can’t help it, Iz. What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “I know I sound like a broken record, Iz, but don’t you sometimes think about whether you might have all this one day?” Maggie slipped her arm through Isabella’s and they walked through the crowd towards The Woolshed.

  Isabella closed her eyes to wish the image away. She hadn’t had pretty lights and a historic property and rolling lawns and views. She’d had an Elvis officiant in a polyester jumpsuit and a bad wig in a gaudy chapel at midnight. She’d had a groom she’d met only four hours before. And the further away it was in time, the more tawdry it had all seemed. She’d wanted to tell Maggie so many times, she really had. But she’d never found the right moment—or the courage. The longer she remained quiet, the bigger the lie had become and owning up to it all the more humiliating. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Maggie—with her life if it came down to it—but the secret was eleven-and-a-half months old now, and topped with guilt for leaving it so long. The humiliation was so big it might swallow her if she told anyone. And as for dating? Forget about it. Not only did she know she couldn’t get involved with anyone else while she was still married to Harry—just thinking about that made her stomach tumble with nausea again—but she hadn’t wanted to. It had been a long eleven-and-a-half months since she’d had sex. The thought of going there again with someone? Double that nausea.

  “Isabella?”

  “Huh?”

  “Were you not listening to me at all? Are you deciding which one of the guests you’re going to throw yourself at?”

  At that moment, the crowd parted and through the open doors of The Woolshed, Harry appeared in her line of sight. He was standing with the groom, Simon. Someone must have said something funny because they both burst into laughter and then Harry threw his arms around his friend for a big bear hug.

  Deep breath. Another deep breath. And another and another.

  “Some people are lucky, Maggie.” Isabella’s gaze was fixed on Harry. He lifted a hand and ran his fingers through his hair, sweeping it back from his forehead in a way that was so familiar. “They meet someone and they just know … from that first laugh, that first smile.”

  “You’ll meet that guy, I promise you will.” Maggie kissed Isabella’s cheek. “And that reminds me. One of Amanda’s cousins from Brisbane has come down with gastro. She’s in hospital on a drip.”

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  “She will be, and everyone’s very relieved. But, and here’s another thing for Amanda’s mother to get stressed about, there’s suddenly a spare seat at the reception. You should come. You deserve a night off. And pro tip: the champagne here is free.” Maggie looked her over. “Let’s just rearrange things here a little.”

  Maggie reached for the collar of Isabella’s jacket and slipped it off. Underneath, she wore a sleeveless, shimmering silk top in cream.

  “And now your hair.”

  Isabella reached for her ponytail. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

  “Absolutely nothing if you’re officiating. But you’re off the clock now. Here.” Maggie positioned herself behind Isabella and slipped off the elastic and clip that held her friend’s hair back tight. When it tumbled loose, Maggie ran her fingers through it, roughing up the curl. Isabella reached up to tuck strands behind her ears.

  “Gorgeous,” Maggie smiled.

  “I haven’t said yes yet.”

  Maggie held Isabella’s hand and put the pins and hairband in her palm. “But you will.”

  Isabella had only once before accepted an invitation to attend the wedding of a couple she’d just married. And once was enough. For one, attending the reception felt as if her work day went on forever, and second, she didn’t want to have to battle the armchair critics who had the uncanny knack of finding her across a crowded dance floor to share their opinions on her ceremony.

  You call that a wedding? A wedding is about a man and a woman, before God. And a church. Not this hippy mumbo jumbo.

  Some people believed that with all their heart but, while they were entitled to their beliefs, it was a little late—and past pointless—to be complaining to the marriage celebrant after the bride and groom had made their own choice.

  And her other favourite: Why didn’t you say ‘obey’? A wife should always obey her husband.

  Er, because it’s not 1954?

  “Isabella?” Maggie searched her friend’s face. “Say yes. Please?”

  Isabella had simply wanted to find Harry and give him the ring. If she stayed, she would have more luck and might raise less suspicion.

  “I promise I’ll get the DJ to play ‘Dancing Queen.’”

  Isabella smiled. “Oh, I think Serenity might beat me to it. You know how she loves to hijack the music.”

  “Please?” Maggie lowered her chin and faked a frown.

  “Okay, okay,” Isabella smiled. “But only if you dance with me.”

  “Deal.”

  Maggie led Isabella inside, where a bustle of people were milling around, searching for their place names on the round tables, sitting themselves down. The epic sounds of the theme from Star Wars played from the sound system.

  “I’ll take you straight to your seat. It just so happens that there’s someone here—single, straight, very, very handsome—that you should meet.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Maggie. You’re setting me up?”

  “Yes, I am. What were you going to do instead? Sit at home and watch Notting Hill for the twenty-fifth time?”

  “I’ve seen that movie thirty times if you must know. ‘The readers of Horse and Hound will be relieved.’ My favourite scene in the whole movie. Perhaps in the whole of moviedom.”

  “Come and have some fun. You deserve it.”

  Did she? Perhaps a night of fun and dancing would help take her mind off the whole Harry business. And meeting someone new might push the memory of him further into the past, where he belonged.

  “So, this guy you want me to meet. Who is he?”

  “Follow me.” Maggie slipped her hand into Isabella’s and led her to a table right in front of the wedding table, which was a long rectangle on the other side of the dance floor. Isabella looked down at the only empty seat. Maggie quickly whisked away the place card.

  “Hi everyone. You remember Isabella Martenson? Sam and Amanda’s marriage celebrant? She’s going to be joining you.” Maggie pulled out a chair and motioned for Isabella to sit. “Now, where is he?” Maggie scanned the room. “Right on cue. Here he is heading right this way.”

  Isabella looked across the room. Her jaw clenched.

  “And here’s the person I want to introduce you to. I thought you might show him around Wirralong w
hile he’s here for the next week.”

  Harry barely glanced at her.

  “Harry Harrison from California, this is Isabella Martenson. You may remember her as our marriage celebrant today.”

  “I remember her, all right.”

  Isabella thrust out a hand. Please God, pretend that we’ve never met, she willed him silently. Please.

  “Hello,” Isabella said quietly. “Welcome to Australia.”

  *

  After entree had been served and eaten and the plates cleared, Isabella had exhausted all possible conversation with the people sitting to her left. Twelve-year-old Katie loved gymnastics and reading, and her brother, eight-year-old Stanton, didn’t much like talking to thirty-five-year-old women.

  Isabella had carefully managed to avoid saying anything to Harry, sitting on her right side. He’d struck up a conversation with Amanda’s older brother, Neil. Isabella was biding her time, waiting for the right moment to talk to Harry, to catch his eye, when the attention of everyone else at the table was somewhere else. That way she could return his ring with no one noticing. She could even wrap it in a dinner napkin to further conceal it. Perhaps she might get the chance during the bride and groom’s first dance.

  Yes, that was a plan. Isabella reached for her wineglass – Riesling – and raised it to her lips.

  “Isabella!”

  She jolted, her wineglass almost clashing with her teeth.

  “Hi, Serenity.”

  “Hey, Isabella.” Serenity cocked her head in Harry’s direction and winked at Isabella. “I see you’ve already met one of our American guests.” She turned to Harry. “I hope you’re enjoying our Australian hospitality.”

  Harry held up his wineglass in a toast. “Definitely. Wirralong sure is pretty country and the company tonight has been absolutely charming.” He wrenched his words out through gritted teeth.

  Isabella felt the chill. She would have felt it across the room. Hell, on the other side of Australia. Serenity, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice.

  “I hope you realise you’re sitting with one of Wirralong’s favourite daughters. Isabella and Maggie are a pair of wonder women, that’s for sure. And they’ve done this all in … how long is it since you’ve been in Wirralong, Isabella?”

  Her throat felt as if it was closing over. She managed to squeak out the words. “Eleven and a bit months. Almost a year.”

  “That’s right. I remember now. It was February last year when you came and it was hot as Hades the day you moved into your office just up the road from Hair Affair. That’s where I work with Elsa,” Serenity explained to Harry in a sidebar. “She’s a fabulous boss. Anyway, we were chock-a-block with customers that day.” Serenity turned to Harry. “We’re the only beauty salon in Wirralong and Isabella’s business is right nearby in the main street.”

  “Is it now?”

  Isabella felt the burn of his gaze, hot on her cheeks.

  “It’s the perfect location,” Serenity laughed. “They all stop in to meet Isabella at Wedding Belles to do all the paperwork for their weddings and they walk right past Hair Affair. Brides and their bridesmaids and their mothers just love the idea of having a day of pampering before they tie the knot. What do they say … location, location, location? Anyway, nice to see you, Isabella. Enjoy your stay, Harry.” Serenity patted Harry on the shoulder and widened her eyes. “Oh, someone needs a massage. You’re as tightly wound as my grandfather’s clock.”

  He didn’t shift his gaze from Isabella’s face. “Probably the jet lag.”

  “Here,” Serenity pulled a card from her clutch and dropped it on Harry’s side plate. “Give me a call. I’ll make sure I squeeze you in.”

  “Thanks.” Harry didn’t look at the card.

  Serenity shot Isabella a knowing wink before sauntering off. Isabella looked around. The rest of the table had emptied while they’d been chatting with Serenity. There were no prying eyes or flapping ears. This was her chance. She had Harry’s attention, finally, although perhaps not entirely the way she’d planned to get it, but she had it and she wasn’t going to miss this shot.

  “She’s great, isn’t she?” Isabella said, sipping her wine. “Who needs a local newspaper when we have Serenity.” It was meant to be a joke, but Harry didn’t bite. She placed her glass back on the table among the silverware.

  “Isabella?” He laughed but there was no humour in it, and then slipped an arm on the back of her chair. “You sure you’re not in the witness protection program?”

  Keep it together. You need his help. “Isabella is my name.”

  “Not in Vegas it wasn’t.” He leaned in real close, so close she could see the caramel streaks in his eyes and smell his aftershave again, something crisp and reminiscent of pine trees.

  She swallowed. “About that …”

  “Yeah, about that.”

  She kept close so he would hear her when she whispered. Country towns had eyes and ears and this secret had to be kept a secret. So much depended on it. “Look, I know you don’t owe me anything, after what happened.” She paused. “After what I did.”

  “You’re damn right about that.”

  “But I have a favour to ask you.”

  He almost spluttered. “You want something from me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Listen, Belle. Isabella. Whatever the hell your name is. All I want is your signature on the divorce papers. That’s it. No favours. You get nothing more from me. Got it?”

  She hadn’t planned to, but she covered his hand with hers.

  “Please, hear me out.”

  His gaze dropped to where their hands touched. She quickly pulled her fingers away.

  “The thing is, I need you to keep this secret. About …”

  “About us being married?”

  Isabella nodded, dipped her eyes to his paisley tie. There were muscles under that shirt that she’d ran her hands and tongue over. She blinked away the longing. “I haven’t told a living soul about what we did. Have you?” Telling anyone, even Maggie, would have made it real and it couldn’t be real.

  Harry opened his mouth as if to say something, but halted. His expression lost some of its anger. “No.”

  “We got away with it then,” she said.

  Harry was still. “You got away with it. Don’t speak for me.”

  “What I meant was … we can move on now, get on with our lives. Pretend this never happened.”

  “That’s my plan. To pretend this whole thing never happened.”

  Oh, how his words hurt. Before she could stop herself, Isabella reached for his hand again, and gripped her fingers around his. “I need you to know something. That’s not me. I’m not the kind of woman who goes to Vegas and marries someone she’s just met.”

  “All evidence to the contrary, sweetheart.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” she managed, anger roiling inside her. Okay, she’d made a mistake, but a mistake that big takes two people, doesn’t it? “I’m a marriage celebrant in case you hadn’t noticed. How do you think a quickie wedding and then a divorce are going to go down here? What do you think my clients will say? If I actually have any clients after this all comes out. After I came back from Vegas I moved here where no one knows me, to start again. For almost twelve months I’ve been busting my butt to get this business established here. There’s more than one person in this town who doesn’t like what I do.”

  “Who doesn’t like a wedding?” There was genuine surprise in his tone.

  “Not marriage in general, just me in particular. I’ve had protests, letters to the local paper and everything. One of the local businessmen even refused to rent me premises in the main street.”

  “Did you sue him?”

  “We don’t do that kind of thing around here. This isn’t the States. Look Harry, if it was just me, I would suck it up. But this is Maggie’s business. And this business provides work for people in this town. The drought a few years ago hit everyone hard. We’re bringing jobs back.
Businesses are growing.”

  “She …” He stopped, paused, and studied her face. “Serenity. The one with the blue hair. That’s what she said about you.” He looked around the room. “About all this. You and Maggie. About what you’ve managed to do.”

  “She’s right. We’ve helped bring Hair Affair back to life. And there’s the florist. The butcher. Maggie’s even having talks with a bush tucker caterer to open up in Wirralong.”

  “What’s bush tucker?”

  “The plants and foods eaten by our indigenous people. Not just kangaroo, but fruits, nuts, seeds and different plants. Bush tomatoes. Native pears and cucumbers. That means jobs, Harry.” She sighed. “Maggie took a chance on me and if people knew, I’d be driven out of town. Think about it.”

  Isabella felt exhausted all of a sudden. She let out a deep breath. Admitted defeat. “If it all came out, who in their right mind would want someone like me to marry them?”

  She looked down at their hands, still touching. He turned his over and clasped her fingers. She remembered Vegas all over again. She fought the deep-down and desperate feeling that she never wanted him to let go.

  “So, Belle, you’re asking me to lie for you.”

  “Yes.”

  “About the fact that you’re married and about to get a divorce.”

  She felt like such a failure. “That’s right.”

  “So, in your scenario we never met.” She shivered at the feel of his thumb rubbing lazy circles in her palm.

  She cleared her throat. “That would be good.”

  Harry leaned in close. So close that if she moved an inch their lips would touch. She licked her lips at the memory. “And in this version of history, we didn’t spend the night together in my hotel room having the best sex I’ve ever had in my whole fucking life.”

  Whoa. Something throbbed low in her belly. She pinched her thighs together. “No.”

  “Mmm,” Harry murmured.

  “Wait a minute. Did you say the best sex you’ve ever had in your whole fucking life?”

  He moved. His lips touched her hair and then he breathed in her ear. “Why do you think I’ve been searching for you for the past year?”