Page 24 of Never Marry the Best Man (Whatever It Takes #4)

Tom

If Mum finds out about this, he thought, Christmas dinner is not going to be much fun this year.

Not Ranney–he knew his mother would love her.

But the elopement to Las Vegas? That would be another story.

He was destined from birth for an Anglican wedding in the village church, on an English spring day, with four little girls as bridesmaids and, if their luck held, the Prince and Princess of Wales in attendance.

Or maybe just Eugenie and Zara.

The Aegean Wedding Chapel needed to remain his and Ranney’s secret until such time as he could explain to Mum in person, preferably with Ranney there to smooth everything over. Because no one who met her could doubt his good judgment, not even his very judgmental mother.

Until that day, however, the circumstances of this union could be known only to himself, his bride, the Saltzman committee, and US immigration.

When they reached the car, he opened the rear door and bent forward slightly.

“Mrs. Phillips?” With the other arm, he gestured to the back seat. Achilles was busy starting the ignition and cranking up the air conditioner.

Ranney stopped in her tracks, whether from the stifling heat of the interior or from his possibly unwelcome joke he couldn’t tell.

“Was that in the paperwork you signed?” she asked, visibly alarmed. “Did you change my name? Because I’m not changing my name!”

“Well, technically, you are now Lady Phillips. I was Americanizing it.”

Ranney’s mouth dropped open a little, then she whispered something that sounded like “Maybe…”

“Maybe what?” he asked. “Ask me anything. Your wish is my command.”

“Not maybe, Mamie ,” she enunciated. “My mother. She’ll die. Lady Phillips…”

“Ah. Are you planning to tell her?”

“I wasn’t, but this is going to be hard to pass up.” She grinned.

“What about your daughter?” he asked, regretting it immediately when the smile disappeared from her face.

“Hmm. Not sure. I guess I’ll jump off that bridge when I get to it.”

“If I may interrupt the newlyweds,” Achilles called from the front seat, “we have a long drive ahead of us. Shall we get started?”

“You’re sure you don’t want to rent a car?” Tom asked under his breath.

“We can’t renege on him now!”

“It’s very… pink, this car.”

“And?”

“We’ll have to watch the speed limit, we’re not exactly under the, um, radar. Might even scare away the wildlife.”

“Let’s go, then.” He closed her door and walked around to the other side, humming “Love Me Tender” in a deeper-than-normal tone.

“Here’s what we should do,” he said as he clicked his seatbelt.

“We should find a blackjack table. I’m a lucky guy, led a charmed life really, and this is obviously my best day yet.

It’s Vegas! We should make the most of it.

If my luck holds and I win big, we could retire! ”

“May I suggest the Wynn, or perhaps the Bellagio?” Achilles, a born entrepreneur, was ever alert to the whims of his clients.

“Idaho,” Ranney said firmly. “And on the way there, we are going to test your luck by writing as truthfully as possible to the Saltzman committee and explaining the circumstances of your deep and unwavering commitment to United States citizenship.”

“Not to mention my deep and unwavering commitment to my new wife.” Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers, one at a time.

“We’ll be downplaying the ‘new’ part.” She disentangled her hand and reached for her laptop.

“They need to see your situation as a simple case of bureaucratic red tape causing an unexpected backlog. You were just pursuing your life plan, one step at a time–architects are very methodical, right?–but since you didn’t know you were being considered for the prize, you hadn’t attempted to expedite the normal process. Just following the rules.”

He nodded, picking up the narrative. “Then one day, while showing my little sister around my new hometown, I met the American woman who would turn out to be the love of my life. Lucky guy that I am, she returned my feelings and agreed to marry me. This, of course, would offer me another path to legal status, so I felt no immediate pressure. My… fiancée and I hadn’t set a date yet, but when serendipity offered a business trip to Las Vegas, we took advantage of the opportunity and, ah, what’s the expression? ”

“Tied the knot?”

“That’s it. But I had already purchased a home in Boston, and a car, become a taxpayer, all definite signs of commitment.”

Achilles, unable to restrain himself, applauded. “You will never regret it, my friend! America, the land of opportunity, the greatest nation in the world!”

It was hard not to like the guy.

“Achilles?” Tom was suddenly curious. “If it’s not too personal a question, do you have a wife? A girlfriend?”

“Of course! Andromache–I could never do this without her! We met each other in Athens but our families come from same small town. She is everything to me. Your wife, she is the other half of you–you will see. You are starting later, but now you will see what you were missing.”

This was said matter-of-factly, as if he were discussing a nutritional supplement he was taking, but there was a deep sincerity in his tone that made Ranney and Tom exchange glances. His was amused, but to his surprise, there were tears glistening in her eyes.

“Yes, better late than never,” Tom replied, smiling. “What does your wife do? Does she work for Uber also?”

“She is obstetrician.” Achilles’ voice was full of pride. “She is studying now to be licensed here. Babies come the same way in every country but the words are different, the process is different. It means a little extra work but it will be worth it.”

“Very impressive. What line of work were you in when you lived in Athens?”

“Ah.” In the many hours they’d now spent together, this was the first time Achilles had seemed to droop a little.

“Greece is a place of much history, this is well known. My business there was to share our history with the visitors. Tours of World Heritage sites. Tours based in literature, in classical theater, in mythology. Military history, great battles. Custom tours, groups of any size. It brought me great pleasure.”

“I can imagine.”

“Very different from bringing babies, yes?” He brightened.

“When my wife is granted her license, it will be my turn. Then I will study for graduate degree, PhD, in ancient history. I will teach at university. Will be same work I did before, but without–you call them field trips? And no tips!” Chuckling, he added, “My wife and me, very different. But what is the same is the passion. That is what matters, the passion.”

“Agreed,” Tom said, but he was looking at Ranney.

Passion was a word that had always held special meaning for him.

He considered himself blessed to have a passion for architecture, because–to Achilles’ point–what greater gift is there in the world than to love what you do for a living?

A job can be a tiresome and grinding thing, all those hours of your life swallowed up by something meaningless to you.

But when you wake up every morning and can’t wait to get to work, that’s not a job.

It’s a calling.

It was his personal goal to live a life defined by passion, not just professionally but in every aspect.

He had never been interested in a predictable home life, tea in the morning, watching the news at night, the washer is broken, call the repairman.

Peaceful weekends in the Cotswolds, Christmas with the in-laws–dreadful.

He’d always sought the accomplished, compelling, talented women, those with deep passions of their own.

Not that those relationships had always gone smoothly.

Passion was by definition an exciting quality, and it had led to some fascinating learning experiences, great highs, breathtaking sex–life-changing stuff.

Looking back, though, there was always a flip side: He’d mistaken drama for passion on more than one occasion.

Quite a few occasions, to be honest.

When Viviana smashed the lamp against the hotel room wall because he’d smiled at the waitress in a way she found unacceptable, and they’d charged him $1500, was that passion or drama?

Philippa, when he’d taken her to dinner in London with his boss at the time and the firm’s most important client–the “dress” she had worn, one of her own designs, had been a literal showstopper, mostly beige net with a few carefully placed sequins. Was the artistic statement worth losing his job?

Ranney didn’t seem like much of a lamp smasher, and he couldn’t imagine her standing in her closet trying to decide which outfit would be most likely to shock and upset her hosts. Even exhausted and under stress, she’d been the opposite of volatile.

Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about her, was drawn to be with her. He certainly didn’t find her boring. What had come over him?

Against his will, he heard his mother’s dry whisper in his ear: Maturity, darling?

But he shut it down. He was a grown man–middle-aged almost!–with a respectable career and an excellent credit rating, a man who had traveled the world. No one was more mature than he was.

Pffft .

He was looking down at Ranney and wondering what color her underwear might be when his mature line of thinking was interrupted.

“For the GPS,” Achilles said, returning to the business at hand, “what is our exact destination, please?”

Ranney opened her phone and read him the address, then paused to read a new text.

“What did you say the name of your younger sister is?” she asked.

“My stepsister? Thea. Thea Farrow. Why do you ask? Getting interested in your new family?” he asked, arching an amused eyebrow.

“No! Don’t be silly–it’s just that someone called Thea has apparently turned up at the Freestone Club, with a group of friends. It’s an unusual name, so I just wondered.”

“What do you mean, turned up?”

“Not a lot of information here, but I gather they weren’t expected? Claire’s asking if I knew about this.”