Page 54 of Never Marry the Best Man (Whatever It Takes #4)

The huge stone terrace was softly lit, with white lights draped everywhere like strings of stars.

Most of it was now a dance floor, where a ten-piece band was playing the kind of bluesy, swingy Texas-inflected country music that gets everyone up and dancing, or at least swaying along.

At the far end, half a dozen stone fire pits were surrounded with chairs, for conversation or just enjoying the warm glow.

As her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, though, Ranney’s heart sank. How was she ever going to find him in this constantly shifting crowd, and even if she did, how could they possibly have any kind of meaningful conversation?

Very slowly, she began edging her way along the perimeter, looking intently for his face, his hair, the set of his shoulders. Nothing. A little knot of anxiety started to form in her chest.

Nonsense , she thought. It’s a big crowd but it’s a wedding, not the TD Garden letting out after a game. He had to be here somewhere. She’d find him.

She continued her slow, step-by-step progress around the terrace, her attention so completely focused on her search that when she felt the jolt of bumping hard into someone, she let out a gasp.

“I’m so sorry!”

“Why did you do that?” a woman’s voice asked. Ranney was no expert on accents but she’d heard recordings of Queen Elizabeth and the similarity was striking.

“I was looking for someone instead of watching where I was going. I’m so–”

She realized it was Tom’s mother.

“Yes, I could see that. What I meant was, why did you have me questioned as if I were a party crasher or a terrorist or something?

Did I strike you as a threat to public welfare?

Do I really strike you as someone so impoverished I would work fo -- " she cleared her throat as if disgusted, "A tabloid photographer?”

“Oh, Mrs. Phillips–” Ranney was not an easily flustered person, but right now she had no easy answer for that.

“It was Lady Phillips, but that is no longer my name.”

“Right, of course. I was–actually, I was looking for your son…” Ranney stammered. Why am I telling her this? Too much information!

“Were you? And why is that?”

The only response Ranney could muster was the truth.

“Because I need to apologize to him. I haven’t treated him very well or been very respectful of his feelings and I need to tell him how sorry I am.”

“My goodness, you’re having to apologize to everyone, aren’t you? But he can’t be very put out. I understand from him that he’s quite in love with you.”

“You understand that he’s… what?”

“In love with you. Yes. I assumed you knew.”

“Well, he’s been very sweet but ‘in love’ is a serious thing to say.”

“I think we should defer to his judgment on that. I can tell you that I’ve never heard him say it before. And–what’s your expression here?” She waved her hand, “This is not his first rodeo.”

A few minutes ago, Ranney had set out to find Tom and tell him that she was willing to follow her heart, abandoning societal norms and common sense.

Instead of the intimate, emotional conversation she had pictured, though, she somehow found herself having that conversation with his mother, who had just professed his love like some Shakespearean go-between.

In the background, a country singer performing at a $400,000 wedding was crooning that his girl, his dog, and his truck were all he would ever need or want, as numerous members of the English aristocracy joined in enthusiastically on the chorus.

This must be what they mean by dysphoria, she thought.

“What should I call you?” she asked.

“Antonia.”

Ranney took a deep breath. “Antonia, I realize this is not a normal situation–not what you might have been expecting. It certainly wasn’t something I was looking for, and I don’t know where it might go, but that would be true if Tom and I were the same age.

I was married before and I have a grown daughter of my own, so I know you must have concerns and I’m not insensitive to them. Please try not to worry.”

“Worrying about Tom has never done the slightest bit of good. He goes his own way and somehow it all seems to work out. We got off on the wrong foot, you and I, but I hope we can be friends.”

“I’d like that. I’m sorry about the security issue. It’s my job to be hypervigilant. I hope you understand.”

“One day we will laugh about it. Probably. Just not today.” Antonia smiled. A little. “You were looking for Tom when I interrupted you. I’ll let you get on with that.”

“Thank you.” Ranney touched her arm lightly and moved away.

The song had changed: The chords were similar but this one included a bartender and a bottle of whiskey because the girl who was all the guy would ever need had left with his dog and his truck. Ranney found herself sympathizing with the guy’s romantic problems.

After two complete navigations of the terrace, she came to a halt. What if they were circling each other? Maybe she should try staying in one place and waiting to see if he passed by?

And that was when she saw him. He was standing at the very edge of the crowd, his silk tie now hanging loose, talking to a silver-haired couple.

The gentleman was leaning on a cane and as she watched, they made their way to the nearest fire pit.

Tom gently held the woman’s arm as she sat, then listened for a moment and straightened up, scanning the area.

His gaze stopped when it met hers.

Relief poured through her. Now she could fix it, now she would tell him that she did feel what he felt, that she was so very sorry she’d been so bound by convention that she hadn’t let herself admit it.

That she could no longer imagine her life without him in it.

He smiled at her slightly, as you would to a friendly acquaintance, and turned away.

Wait– what? No! Her own smile fading, she raised a hand, but he wasn’t looking at her anymore. In fact, he was headed for the bar, apparently fetching drinks for his little group.

Any awareness that she was supposed to be working dropped away from Ranney’s consciousness. A problem solver to her core, her sole objective was to get to Tom and fix this (she hoped) fixable misunderstanding.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, squeezing between the dancers, weaving through the crowd. “Excuse me, sorry!”

Holding three glasses in his two hands, Tom was just moving off from the bar when she arrived at his side, slightly out of breath.

“Oh, hello,” he said pleasantly. “Aren’t you on duty?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Ah. I’m just sort of in the middle of something at the moment. If it’s important, we could meet for coffee next week... Tuesday, maybe?”

“It’s very important, and we need to talk now.”

“ Now? Now is not a good time, Ranney. I’m sure whatever it is can wait a few days. Is it a legal concern? Because you don’t need to be worried about that, we’ll get it straightened out quickly. But right now, I need to deliver these, so if you’ll excuse me…”

Condensation from the glasses was in fact starting to drip onto his fingers. His smile was friendly but firm as he walked away from her.

If he'd been rude, this would have been easier.

Oddly, it was the politeness that was a knife to her heart.