The Best Man and The Wedding Planner. Teresa Carpenter
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plan.
“Must be pretty important for you to get so upset. Let me guess, a special dress for a special occasion?” He didn’t give up.
“Yes. If you must know. And it’s my job to protect it.”
“Protect it? Interesting. So it’s not your dress.”
She rolled her eyes and sent him a droll stare. “I liked you better when you were snoring.”
He grinned, making his dimples pop. “I deserve that. Listen, I’m sorry for my attitude earlier and for sitting on the dress. I had wine with dinner and wine always gives me a headache.”
Lindsay glared at Sullivan. “So you did sit on the dress.” She knew it. That had definitely been a butt print on the bag.
He blinked, all innocence. “I meant I’m sorry for dumping it over there.”
“Uh-huh.”
His grin never wavered.
“Why did you have wine with dinner if it gives you a headache?”
The smile faded. “Because dinner with my folks always goes better with a little wine. And I’m going to have a headache at the end either way.”
“Okay, I get that.” Lindsay adored her flighty, dependent mother but, yeah, dinners were easier with a little wine. Sometimes, like between husbands, a lot of wine was required.
A corner of his rather nice mouth kicked up. “You surprise me, Ms. Reeves. I’d have thought you’d be appalled.”
“Parents aren’t always easy.” She closed her tablet to get ready for her meal. “It doesn’t mean we don’t love them.”
“Amen. Respect is another matter.”
That brought her attention around. He wore a grim expression and turmoil churned in his distracted gaze. The situation with his parents must be complicated. It was a sad day when you lost respect for the person you loved most in the world. She understood his pain only too well.
Thankfully, Dan arrived with a small cart, disrupting old memories. He activated a tray on the side of her seat and placed a covered plate in front of her along with a glass of soda. Real china, real crystal, real silverware. Nice. And then he lifted the cover and the luscious scent of braised meat and rich sauce reached her.
“Mmm.” She hummed her approval. “This looks fantastic.”
“I can promise you it is,” Dan assured her. “Chef LaSalle is the pride of the skies.”
She took her first bite as he served Sullivan and moaned again. She couldn’t help it, the flavors burst in her mouth, seducing her taste buds.
“Careful, Ms. Reeves,” Sullivan cautioned. “You sound like you’re having a good time over there.”
“Eat. You’ll understand.” She took a sip of her drink, watching him take a bite. “Or maybe not. After all, you’ve already eaten.”
“I wasn’t hungry earlier. Damn, this is good.” He pointed to the video screen. “Shall we watch a movie with our meal?”
She was tempted. Surprising. After the disaster of last year, work had been her major consolation. She rarely took the time to relax with a movie. She was too busy handling events for the stars of those movies. A girl had to work hard to make the stars happy in Hollywood. And she had to work harder than the rest after allowing an old flame to distract her to the point of putting her career at risk. But she’d learned her lesson.
Luckily she’d already signed the contract for this gig. And she planned to make the royal wedding of the Crown Prince of Halencia, Antonio de l’Accardi, to the commoner, Christina Rose, the wedding of the century.
Thirty days from now no one would be able to question her dedication—which meant returning to the puzzle of the table seating.
“You go on,” she told Sullivan. “I have to get back to my work.”
“What are you doing over there? Those earlier moans weren’t as pleasant as your dinner noises.”
“It’s a creative new form of torture called a seating arrangement.”
“Ah. It sounds excruciating.”
“Oh, believe me. It’s for a political dinner and there are all these levels of protocols of who can sit with whom. And then there’s the added element of personal likes and dislikes. It’s two steps back for every one step forward. And it’s a lot of manual double-checking...talk about a headache.”
“Politics usually are.” The grimness in his tone told her there was something more there. Before she had time to wonder about it, he went on. “The information isn’t on spreadsheets?”
“It is, but there are more than a hundred names here. I have to seat a table and then check each name to see if they’re compatible.”
“You know you can set up a program that can look at the information and tell you whether the table mates are compatible at the time you put the name in.”
She blinked at him. “That would be wonderful. How do I do that exactly?”
He laughed, a deep, friendly sound, then rattled off a string of commands that had her eyes glazing over. “The setup will take a few minutes but will likely save you hours overall.”
“Yeah, but you lost me at the word ‘algorithm.’” She wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin. “You really had my hopes up for a minute there.”
“Sorry, tech talk. I own a company that provides software for cyber security. A program like this really isn’t that difficult. Let me see your computer after dinner and I’ll do it for you. It’ll take me less than an hour.”
This man was tempting her left and right. She weighed the hours she’d save against the confidentiality agreement she’d signed and sadly shook her head.
“Thank you for offering but I can’t. This is a special event. I’m not allowed to share information with anyone except my staff, designated officials and pre-approved vendors.”
“This is for the royal wedding of Prince Antonio of Halencia, right?”
Her eyes popped wide. How could he know that?
“Come on, it’s not hard to guess. The wedding dress, the seating chart. We’re on a flight to Florence. And I know they have an American event planner. Hang on, I’ll take care of this.”
He pulled out his cell phone and hit a couple of buttons.
“What?” she challenged. “You’re calling the palace in Halencia? Uh, huh. I don’t think so. You can hang up now.”
“Hey, Tony.” He raised a dark eyebrow as he spoke into the phone.
Tony? As in Antonio? Yeah, right.
“I got your text. Don’t worry about it. I’m here for a month. I’ll see you next week.” He listened for a moment. “Yes, I had dinner with them. They were thrilled with the invitation. Hey, listen, the wedding planner is on my flight and she needs some programming to help her with the seating chart. She’s bound by the confidentiality agreement from letting me help her. Can you give her authorization? Great, I’m going to put her on.”
He held the phone out to Lindsay. “It’s Prince Antonio.”
LINDSAY ROLLED HER eyes at the man across the way, wondering how far he meant to take this joke and what he hoped to achieve.
“Hello?”
“Buona sera, Ms. Reeves. I hope you are having a nice flight.”
“Uh, yes, I am.” The voice