Page 2 of Enchant Me

“Ebby!” Lara tries again, but Evelyn is clearly engrossed in something on her phone. Her expression, however, is anything but happy. A tiny seed of trepidation takes root in my stomach, because I can’t image what could be so upsetting that she’s already at the house a full three hours before the guests are due.

She stayed last night in my home office, a beach bungalow that is nestled into the hills at the base of our property. Her own house is near enough, but she’s in the middle of a remodel, and I’d suggested she stay in the bungalow so she’d be away from the noise and the mess before the ceremony.

After won’t matter, as tomorrow morning she and Frank head to the honeymoon villa at The Resort at Cortez. They’re spending phase one of their honeymoon at the nearby resort before heading on to the much more distant islands of Greece. By the time they return home, the contractors will have completed the renovations.

“I wanted your dad to know it’s as much his home as mine,” she’d said the day she showed me the plans. “And I don’t want him having to drive all the way to Santa Monica just because he wants to use the darkroom in his studio. So I’m adding one to the house, plus another guest bedroom for the kids and a man cave for Frank.”

I’ve been in love with Evelyn since the moment I met her as the bold and brassy hostess of an erotic art show who spoke her mind, stood by her friends, and took no shit from anybody. But that practical show of love for my father—and my kids—just about gutted me.

To be honest, she’s felt more like a mom to me than Elizabeth Fairchild ever had, and the fact that Evelyn is now going to truly fill that role makes me glow with joy. Which is why I’m now frowning as I see the way her forehead has creased and her frame seems to sag in a full-body frown. Cold fingers of dread creep up my spine, because what could possibly be disturbing her on her wedding day?

“Ebby!” Lara shouts once more, as I cuddle Bradley closer. But she gets no response. Instead, Evelyn turns and wanders into the house, her gait slow as if she’s about to tackle a necessary but unpleasant task.

“She didn’t see me,” Lara says, looking at me with such dark brown eyes they almost match her midnight black hair, now up in a bun and ready to be topped with her flower girl headdress. Assuming, of course, she stays tidy enough that it doesn’t have to be redone.

I’m about to tell her that she can go downstairs and check on Evelyn, who looks like she could use some cuddles from a kid, but Lara’s already spun around, and before I can speak or follow she releases a joyous squeal. “Daddy!”

I turn as she races toward him, then leaps into his outstretched arms. He’s in a freshly pressed suit and looks like he could have stepped off the pages of a men’s fashion magazine. I wince, certain that our daughter is going to wrinkle him. But he doesn’t even flinch. Just balances her on his hip, kisses her forehead, then meets my eyes, the force of his love so palpable it takes my breath away.

Damien. I take a moment to let my gaze linger on every perfect feature. That strong jawline, clean-shaven but already with a slight shadow even though he shaved only a few hours ago. The raven-black hair with a hint of gray at his temples that only makes him look more powerful and dashing. And those dual-colored eyes that are examining me with such intensity that it’s all I can do not to melt.

All these years—all the hours we’ve spent together, the life and family we’ve built—and it doesn’t matter at all. With Damien, every time I see him is like the first, and he completely takes my breath away, my entire being flooded by love. And, yes, with desire.

“It’s totally unfair, you know,” I say.

He tilts his head, a tiny grin playing at his mouth. “Much is. What specifically are you talking about?”

“That not only are you already dressed and look like you’re ready for a cover shoot, but that you’re going to look just as fresh and pulled together two hours from now when the wedding starts. And that’s even if I make you dress this one,” I add, jiggling Bradley enough to make him giggle.

“Pass him over to me,” Damien says, as Lara slides down him like a little monkey, then scurries out the door calling for her sister.

“I’m teasing,” I admit. “Bree will get him ready.”

“She’s reading to Anne. I can do it. Father-son bonding time, right?”

I laugh as he comes to my side, then takes our boy from my arms before bending over to kiss me. He holds Bradley snug in one crooked arm, then hooks the other around my waist as we move back onto the balcony. He looks out over the yard as I was doing only moments before, watching the high-tech helipad get transformed into a nuptial paradise.

“I thought they were crazy when they suggested doing their wedding like this today, but I have to admit that I’m glad they did.”

“Me, too,” I say. “It’s the dress rehearsal to end all dress rehearsals.”

Long before Bradley was born, Damien had suggested we renew our vows. I’d always wanted a big ceremony, but my mother’s machinations had stolen the joy, and we’d ended up eloping. It was a beautiful, beachside ceremony with just the two of us, and I don’t regret that choice at all.

But through the years we’ve overcome so much, the least of which was finally exorcising my mother from our life. So when Damien suggested having a big ceremony, I couldn’t deny the appeal. I want to stand in front of the friends and family we cherish as I exchange vows with Damien. Not because either of us needs a reminder, but because the intensity of our love feels too big to be captured in one small ceremony.

When I became pregnant, we postponed those plans, deciding that we wanted all of our kids to play a role. Now that Bradley is two—and more or less willing to mind his sisters—the timing finally felt right.

Frank and Evelyn were the first people with whom we’d shared our plans, explaining how this time we wanted a huge ceremony on the property with our friends and family. Limited family, anyway. Neither my mother nor Damien’s father would be joining us.

We planned a ceremony, a full meal, and a party. Even a play area for the kids. No official honeymoon trip—both Damien and I travel too much—but a few days alone in the Lake Arrowhead house while the kids stayed with their cousins at Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Jackson’s place would be fabulous.

The ceremony was set for this coming Saturday, on the exact date in August when I’d met Damien at Evelyn’s party. It was, I’d thought, the perfect plan, and Frank and Evelyn had both agreed and congratulated us.

Later that evening, though, they’d suggested that we do a minor dress rehearsal the Saturday before. “Alaine will want to cater, of course,” Evelyn had said, referring to Damien’s childhood friend, Alaine Beauchene, who had toured with Damien during his tennis days as the son of a sports medicine doctor. Now, he’s universally regarded as one of the best chefs in the city.

“That’s not something his restaurant does regularly,” Evelyn had added, “but I know he’s been considering a catering sideline. And if he’s tackling your guest list, I bet he’d appreciate a dry run.”

“I’m sure Alaine can handle it without a rehearsal,” Damien had said. “He’s as competent as they come.”