CHAPTER TWEVLE – HAYLEY
I tiptoed downstairs, feeling oddly nervous. I had done as Beckett had asked me to do, understanding that he needed time to reconnect with his daughter. All the same, I couldn’t help a shiver of apprehension as I wondered what his daughter would think of me.
He needs her to like me.
I glanced down at the dress I had chosen—simple and classic. It should make me look trustworthy and less like the intrigue-seeking exploiter she probably imagined I was. At least my appearance might help to allay her fears. I hoped the rest of me would.
I imagined Beckett’s daughter would look like him: tall, with a strong face and dark hair. I was prepared for a stubborn character, probably willful and demanding. A bit like Beckett, in fact, only seventeen years old.
The thought made me want to laugh. As much as I liked him, I had to admit he was headstrong. I wouldn’t have liked to argue with him about anything. I suppose I had argued with him already, but not about anything serious.
I walked quietly from the stairway across the hall, my feet soundless on the marble tiles of the entrance hall, marveling again at the beauty of this vast, imposing mansion in which I found myself.
As I neared the sitting-room, I heard voices. I paused, feeling my heart thud with apprehension. There were two people in there talking. I could hear Beckett, and the other voice sounded how he would feel if he was twenty-something years younger and transformed into a woman.
“…and we could travel back the week before your term starts.”
“Okay, but only if that works for you, Daddy. Aren’t you going to want to go somewhere like, alone?”
He laughed. “No. Sweetheart. I…Oh!”
He looked up and saw me. Was it my imagination, or was that a flash of pleasure that crossed his face. My heart flipped with happiness. He was glad to see me! I grinned.
“Hayley.” He stood, beckoning me into the room, then turned to the person sitting with her back to me. “Estella, this is Hayley. The woman I told you about.” She turned around. I stared.
Elf-faced, with high cheekbones, blonde hair and a long, slim nose, her father’s firm chin and a long, elegant neck, she was beautiful. Her eyes were what struck me, though: Turquoise blue and slanted, large and wide, they held my attention as if they tugged my soul. I couldn’t look away.
“Hayley, please meet my daughter, Estella. Estella, sweetheart, this is Hayley Morris, my soon-to-be-wife.”
He smiled at me. He looked tense, I noticed, and I had to smother a grin. He was not, after all, a particularly fine actor. I had to hope I was better.
“Estella,” I said, smiling in a friendly way. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”
“Hayley,” she said, then frowned. “I guess it’s okay if I call you that?” She looked from me to her father, and the inquiring look on her face won my heart.
“Yes. Please do,” I insisted. I looked to Beckett, who nodded his head vigorously. “Well, will you sit? Estella and I were having coffee. Will you join us? Cappuccino, right?”
I nodded. He went over to fiddle with the machine, and I turned to Estella.
“You must have had a long trip,” I began shyly.
“Five hours,” she said, lifting a shoulder in a casual gesture. “It’s not too bad.”
“Legroom can be a problem,” I noted, then bit my lip, guessing she probably traveled first class all the way.
To my surprise, she nodded firmly. “Yeah!” She laughed. “It’s better when Dad comes to meet me in Boulder. It’s not really much closer, but there’s usually an evening flight.”
I laughed. “I hate morning flights.”
“Me too!” she nodded vigorously. I heard footsteps behind me and turned around.
“Your coffee, Miss Morris,” Beckett said, my cup in his hand. It was full of cappuccino and I felt my body give a jolt in anticipation of its daily caffeine intake. And it wasn’t just the anticipation of caffeine—not by a long way. It was him.
I looked into Beckett’s twinkling eyes. He was teasing me with the Miss Morris. I played along.
“Thank you, Mr. Beckett,” I said.
We both laughed, and it felt nice. The joke between us made an intimate space we could share. I looked across at his daughter, who was looking from me to him, a shrewd expression on her face.
“So, you met my dad a few years ago, right?” she asked. She made it sound like an innocent question, but I knew it was a test of sorts. I cleared my throat, looking at Beckett.
“Yes. We met while I was still on Broadway,” I said neutrally. I seemed to remember he had intimated something like that to me. We had discussed the story at some length this morning before he went to fetch Estella, making sure that I knew it seamlessly and could get the details right. I saw his head incline a fraction and felt absolute relief. I got it right!
She raised a brow. “Broadway! Wow. Cool! What were you in?”
“Well,” I said, feeling more confident now I was on familiar ground, true and steady. “I was in all the staples, like The Sound of Music…”
She laughed. “Really?”
“Yes,” I nodded, and I continued. Strangely, discussing my years in theater with her was a catharsis I had not experienced before. Everything was taken at face value—new, exciting, and glamorous. Estella had no idea of what the pressures might be like, and I found I didn’t want to discuss it with her. Seeing her face—interested and wistful, as if it was a glamorous life—made me feel confident about it in ways I had not before.
When we finished, she looked up at her father. “That’s cool. We haven’t seen a Broadway show for ages, Dad.”
He sighed, then chuckled. “True, sweetie. You must let me get married first, sweetheart,” he protested.
“Oh yes!” Stella giggled. “I forgot. The big day is soon, isn’t it. Where is it?”
“I asked Cameron if we could have it at his chapel,” Beckett said quietly. “I want it to be, well…private,” he said. He looked awkward and I guessed he was trying to think of what to say if Estella insisted on being there with us. I cleared my throat.
“It’s my fault, I’m afraid,” I spoke up. “I got…I had a nervous breakdown a couple of years back,” I confided. “The publicity, the pressure…” Will she understand any of this? I carried on boldly despite any misgivings I might have had. “Beckett agreed we could nip off to a private location and do the vows there, and then get together with the wedding party and do the photo-shoot and celebration and things. Just to keep the press away until after the vows are through.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Beckett spoke up. Was it my imagination, or did he look immeasurably relieved? He shot me a glance, then continued. “So we’re going to stay over at Cameron’s place, say the vows in the morning, and then you’ll come and join us and we’ll all set off to the reception. If that’s okay?”
“I get that you don’t want the press there,” Estella said slowly. “I hate them too sometimes. Living in the public eye is stressful. I totally get how that nearly ruined your life.”
She was looking at me with an expression that held new-found respect. I was touched. Of all the people I’d told, besides Brianne, she understood the fastest. She has probably faced her own challenges with the media.
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “I really appreciate that.”
“No problem,” Estella said lightly. “Now, I was just telling Daddy about my design project. It was awesome. Let me see…maybe I still have some pictures of it on my phone…”
As she hunted on her device for the pictures, I looked up at Beckett. He was looking at me and his eyes were soft with tenderness. I gulped. I smiled at him and he smiled back. Our gaze met.
Oh please, I thought crazily. Please tell me I’m not starting to fall in love.
I looked up again, and he was still looking at me. The tenderness was still in his expression and I swallowed hard, feeling an answering care well up from deep inside me.
I don’t know what to do about it, I thought a little desperately as Estella claimed me to look at pictures of her latest design project, but I am falling in love.
“…and my teacher said next year we can enter a competition. I don’t think I’ll win, but I’m really excited…”
“Why don’t you think you’ll win?” Beckett piped up.
“Oh, Daddy! The competition is so tough, and I’m not in their league…”
“Nonsense,” he retorted. We all laughed.
“Oh, Daddy,” she said fondly. I looked between them, touched by their closeness and affection. This is what a father-daughter relationship can be.
Far from being envious of their closeness, I valued it. It showed me that I had not been wrong in thinking my own father was less than, well, fatherly. Seeing another way of being made me happy. Made me realize such care was accessible.
“…and I’m so excited! You must be?” Estella turned to me, a frown on her smooth brow.
I blinked. I had missed most of what Estella had been saying. “Sorry?” I asked.
She shook her head, chuckling. “How can you not pay attention to such an exciting conversation?” she asked, eyes dancing. “We were just discussing the wedding dress! Daddy said you’re not into Dior, so we’re going to go with one from the family couturier. She’s good, she really is. I really admire her a lot.”
“Well, you’re the one with the talent in design,” I said.
She beamed. “Thanks, Hayley,” she said sincerely. “That’s nice.”
“It’s true,” I said.
I looked across at Beckett, but he had suddenly gone stiff and pale. I wondered why.
“Well, excuse me a minute, ladies,” he said, standing up. “I just have to answer this phone-call.”
“Okay,” Estella said with careless affection. “We’ll see you in half an hour.”
He laughed, though it sounded unnatural. “Oh dear! It won’t take that long, I think…I hope.”
“I won’t bet on it,” Estella called lightly. “Now, Hayley, tell me about the dress. And maybe you can help me choose mine? I’m stuck between burgundy and blue. What do you think? Burgundy is fashionable at the moment, but blue…”
I almost sighed with relief as I realized I had no idea what the dress looked like and would have had to wing it drastically. Her dress was another matter.
“Well,” I began slowly, “Burgundy is really fashionable, but with your eyes? Well, blue is a clear choice.”
“Thanks,” she said lightly. “Now, I was thinking that I usually like a classic line, so maybe I’ll go for a simple shift. I’m imagining it with no waist, down to my ankles; a sort of navy color?”
I smiled. I tried to get into the ensuing discussion about waists and skirts, but I was not entirely present. Half my thoughts were with Beckett, wherever he was in this vast mansion.
Whatever that call was, it worried him.
This was the second time I had seen a similar expression on his face. On my first day here, he had needed to make a call, and that same guarded look had come over his face. I had assumed then that it was something to do with wanting to get away from me for a bit. Things were getting a bit hectic, a bit fast for both of us. But now I was not so sure.
I wonder.
There was some secret in Beckett’s life, that much was certain. But all I could do was wait and hope he would tell me.
I hoped he trusted me that much.
While he was gone, I found myself chatting to his daughter. She was a nice companion—mature and wise for her age, but with a peculiar sweetness that made her at once seem younger than seventeen. I was profoundly grateful that she was the way she was: I had been prepared for suspicion, for mistrust, even downright hostility. All would have been acceptable ways to respond to what Beckett must have told her—that he was marrying in a week’s time to someone she’d never heard of before. But she was talking to me as if we were old friends. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“…and I was thinking a simple oval for the neck, and the sleeves would be thin straps? What do you think? They’re a bit unfashionable right now, but they’re like, classic and chic, which is what I want.”
“Well, I think classic and chic sounds right for you,” I said. She grinned.
“You know what?” she said thoughtfully.
“What?” I asked.
“I think I could get to like you.”
I leaned back on the padded armchair and let out a long sigh of relief. “Thank you,” I said sincerely. “I like you too.”
I meant it. For all my initial terror, my expectations of rejection and anger, my fears, I had met a girl whom, had I been ten years older, could have been my daughter. Not that I had such a gentle, forgiving personality, mind you.
I am actually looking forward to this wedding.
When Beckett came back about ten minutes later, he was looking slightly calmer. I still noticed he was paler than he had been, however, and there was a tightness to his face and manner that still seemed like his cheeriness was forced.
“Well,” he said, looking from me to Estella, “you two were getting along okay?”
Maybe that’s what’s worrying him.
“Yes,” I agreed, nodding vigorously. “We really were.”
“Yeah,” Estella said, though she sounded somewhat less committed to that than I did. “Daddy? Was it something serious?”
She had seen it too; a fact that made me like her even more. She seemed mature for her age; very grown-up, in fact. And she loved her father deeply. I was glad.
“No, sweetie,” he said gently. “Just some annoying people trying to convince me to insure with them.”
I frowned. If it had been something like that, there was no reason for him to have taken so long. And would they have called him at home? Outside working hours? That didn’t ring true to me.
“Oh,” she said, shrugging. She accepted his comment at face-value, and I supposed I should too. “Well, we were talking about the dresses. And I wanted to ask, can we have Bethany around here? I want to plan my gown with her.”
“Okay,” Beckett said, shrugging. “I don’t see why not. She’s going to have to visit regularly anyway.”
He was looking at me, a teasing smile on his face, and I wondered why.
“Oh?”
“Well, of course she will!” he said, laughing. “She has to do fittings for your gown!”
We all laughed and the rest of the evening passed in a merry way. We all seemed to get along very well and even Beckett’s mood lightened, though his eyes still looked watchful and concerned. I wondered what exactly it was that was going on.
But it was none of my business.
Later, he passed me on the stairs. I tensed, as I always did, feeling him close to me. He smiled down at me in the bluish darkness of the hallway, stopping just ahead of me.
“Hayley?”
“Yes?” I asked. He was very close in the darkness and my heart was thudding in my chest.
“I was just thinking…you’ll have to meet some people. Cameron, for example. And Leona.”
“Oh?”
“They’re some of my close friends,” he explained. “You’ll have to meet Cameron, for certain. Could we go there on Thursday night, for dinner?”
“Sure,” I said, my voice tight in my throat. Cameron was the one who owned the chapel where we would be getting married.
“Good,” he said. His voice was velvety and I felt my heart melting with wanting him. It was ridiculous, but being this close to him always did that to me. I could smell his expensive cologne and I could almost feel the heat of his body across the inch-scale gap between us.
“Beckett?” I asked.
“What?” he said softly.
I had wanted to ask him who the phone-call had really been from, but I couldn’t find the words. It really wasn’t any of my business who it was. And he had said it was the insurance people. Had I any real reason to disbelieve that? Not really.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Oh,” he replied softly.
His hand touched mine and, slowly, very deliberately, he raised it to his lips. His eyes watched me intensely as he kissed the back of it, the warmth of his lips on my cool skin arousing me in a way I would never have believed was possible of such a simple thing.
“Goodnight, Miss. Morris.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Sand.”
I went to bed feeling confused and puzzled, but all the same, I felt quite wonderful. The memory of his face drifted into sleep with me and I had sweet dreams. They were all of him and what the future might hold.