Best Man for the Bridesmaid

“But...but what about my scars?”

“The one by your eye is hardly noticeable. It’s your green eyes that draw my attention. The gold flecks in them catch the light just right. And your pert nose is just perfect. And then there’s your lips—they are quite fascinating. They look as though they are just ripe for kissing.”

The breath hitched in her throat. He was seducing her with his words. No one had ever done that before, and all she wanted him to do now was put some action behind his compliments.

Then in the next breath his hand pulled away from her chin, and he stepped back. “If that’s the only reason you wear all of that makeup, then don’t. You are much more beautiful without it. Trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Maybe he wouldn’t. He’d just lead her on and then leave her wanting a kiss that wasn’t coming. How in the world was she ever going to concentrate on anything but him?

“I’ll consider it.” She’d been wearing makeup since she was a teen, hiding her scars.

“Are you still making flowers?” He glanced around at the array of papers on the floor.

“The shower gave me renewed energy, and I thought I might make some more before lunch.”

“I see your helper faded away.”

“Apricot wore herself out chasing the paper and then sliding across the floor. When she got bored of that I rolled a piece into a ball. She batted it everywhere until at last it went under the bed. Instead of going after it, she clawed her way up the bedspread and laid down.”

There in the middle of her bed, in a pink fuzzy blanket Jules had bundled up into a circle with a divot in the middle, was Apricot—belly up and sound asleep. The kitten was so sweet. She didn’t know how she’d ever leave her behind.

“Seems as if she couldn’t be happier.” He turned back to Jules. “You’re really good with her. Someday you’ll make a great mother.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

She waited, but he didn’t say anything else on the matter.

Deep inside she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that she could someday be a mom. Lizzie wasn’t the only one who’d dreamed of having her own family. But knowing she wasn’t cut out to raise children, Jules had turned her focus to social work. She thought she could care for the kids from a distance. Until she’d found out that she was unable to maintain a professional distance. Frustration knotted her stomach.

Stefano made himself comfortable on the floor and started to gather a stack of papers. “So how do you do this?”

“You really want to make a flower?” She surely hadn’t heard him correctly. There was nothing about this jean-clad, muscle-bound businessman that said he had a crafty bone in his body.

“Of course I do. I told you that I would do everything I could to help with this wedding. Speaking of which, I ordered those wedding favors.”

“You did?”

He nodded. “You wouldn’t believe all of the party favors they offer. I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered a few other things. Of course, you get final approval.”

Impressed with his new attitude toward the wedding, she sat down next to him. “Thank you. I can’t wait to see them.”

She went on to instruct him about making flowers by taking eight sheets of tissue paper and aligning them with the round paper cutter. For a while she gave him her undivided attention, but he was a quick learner. His flower wasn’t perfect, but it impressed her—he impressed her. It wasn’t just his flair for crafts, but his ability to put aside his misgivings about the wedding for his brother’s happiness.

“Not exactly like your flowers,” he said, surveying his rather limp effort.

“But not bad for your first try.” She gave him some pointers, and he tried again.

“That’s better.”

“Yes, it is.”

He turned to her. “Now that I have this flower stuff figured out, how about you tell me more about your decision not to have a family? I see the motherly instincts come out in you every time you gather that little bundle of fur in your hands.”

But Apricot was so easy. She wasn’t stressful. Jules didn’t have to worry about messing her up for the rest of her life.

Jules punched another set of papers. “You don’t want to hear this.”

“Yes, I do. If you’ll tell me.” He sat there holding a stack of deep purple papers in his hand, staring at her with such compassion in his eyes.

What did it matter now if she told him the bitter truth? He knew the answers already; he just hadn’t put it all together. But delving into those deep, dark memories made her heart pinch. It was a subject that she didn’t share with anyone. She’d learned how to push those painful memories to the far recesses of her mind.