Brown-Eyed Girl (Travis Family #4)(12)

By some miracle, the ceremony started on time. And the wedding unfolded more perfectly than Sofia or I could have imagined. Lavish arrangements of thistle, roses, and field flowers had been wrapped around every column of the pavilion. The bagpipe processional established a solemn but electrifying tone for the bridal party’s entrance.

As Sloane proceeded along the flower-strewn aisle runner, she looked like a princess in her white lace gown. Charlie looked entirely happy as he stared at his bride. No one could have doubted that he was a man in love.

I doubted anyone even noticed the sullen scowl on the best man’s face.

After the vows were exchanged, a flock of white pigeons burst into flight and soared through the coral-glazed sky in a moment so picturesque that the entire congregation let out a collective breath.

“Hallelujah,” I heard Sofia whisper in the earpiece, and I grinned.

Much later, while the guests danced to orchestra music in the reception tent, I stood in a quiet corner and spoke to Steven on the headset. “I see a potential carry-off,” I said quietly. “Over.” On occasion, we had to perform a discreet assisted removal for guests who’d had too much to drink. The best way to avoid problems was to catch them early.

“I see him,” Steven replied. “I’ll have Ree-Ann handle it. Over.”

Aware of a woman approaching, I turned and smiled automatically. She was whippet-thin and elegant in a beaded panel-construction dress. Her blond bob was perfectly highlighted with a bar code of platinum streaks.

“Can I help you?” I asked with a smile.

“You’re the one who planned this wedding?”

“Yes, along with my sister. I’m Avery Crosslin.”

She sipped from a glass of champagne, her hand weighted with an emerald the size of an ashtray. Noticing that my gaze had flickered to the beveled square-cut gem, she said, “My husband gave it to me for my forty-fifth birthday. A carat for each year.”

“It’s remarkable.”

“They say emeralds bestow the power to predict the future.”

“Does yours?” I asked.

“Let’s say the future generally happens the way I want it to.” She took another dainty sip. “This turned out nice,” she murmured, surveying the scene. “Fancy, but not too formal. Imaginative. Most weddings I’ve been to this year have all looked the same.” She paused. “People are already saying this was the best wedding they’ve been to in years. But it’s only the second best.”

“What’s the best wedding?” I asked.

“The one you’re going to do for my daughter, Bethany. The wedding of the decade. The governor and an ex-president will be attending.” Her lips curved in a slender, catlike smile. “I’m Hollis Warner. And your career’s just been made.”

Four

As Hollis Warner sauntered away, Steven’s voice came through my earpiece.

“Her husband is David Warner. He inherited a restaurant business and parlayed it into casino resorts. Their fortune is obscene even by Houston standards. Over.”

“Do they —”

“Later. You’ve got company. Over.”

Blinking, I turned to see Joe Travis approaching. The sight of him kicked my heart into a drumfire rhythm. He was dazzling in a classic tux, wearing it with unself-conscious ease. The white edge of his collar formed a crisp contrast to an amber tan that seemed to go several layers deep, as if he’d been steeped in sun.

He smiled at me. “I like your hair down like that.”

Self-consciously, I reached up to try to flatten it. “It’s too curly.”

“For God’s sake,” I heard Steven’s acid voice in the earpiece. “When a man gives you a compliment, don’t argue with him. Over.”

“Can you take a break for a few minutes?” Joe asked.

“I probably shouldn’t —,” I began, and I heard both Steven’s and Sofia’s voices at the same time.

“Yes, you should!”

“Tell him yes!”

I yanked off the earpiece and mike. “I don’t usually take a break during the reception,” I told Joe. “I need to keep an eye on things in case anyone has a problem.”

“I have a problem,” he said promptly. “I need a dance partner.”

“There are a half-dozen bridesmaids here who would love to dance with you,” I said. “Individually or collectively.”

“None of them has red hair.”

“Is that a requirement?”

“Let’s call it a strong preference.” Joe reached for my hand. “Come on. They can do without you for a few minutes.”

I flushed and hesitated. “My bag…” I glanced at the bulk of it wedged beneath the chair. “I can’t just —”

“I’ll watch over it,” came Sofia’s cheerful voice. She had appeared out of nowhere. “Go have fun.”

“Joe Travis,” I said, “this is my sister Sofia. She’s single. Maybe you should —”

“Take her away,” Sofia told him, and they exchanged a grin.

Ignoring the dirty look I gave her, Sofia murmured something into her radio mike.

Joe kept possession of my hand, pulling me past tables and potted trees until we’d reached a semisecluded area at the other side of the reception tent. He signaled a waiter who was holding a tray of iced champagne.