Chapter 5
It had been a whim, Charlie told herself over the next few days. A proposition of the moment, when emotions were high and Ethan was only half-aware of what was coming out of his mouth. Neither one of them had mentioned the four words since he’d uttered them.
Though you should marry me seemed to linger in the air every time they looked at each other.
Which was why Charlie was happy to get away from the Archer’s beachside house this afternoon to spend some relaxing hours with her butler friends, Sara and Emmaline. They’d get her mind off the man and the ridiculous notion of wedding him.
At their favorite restaurant, they sat on the patio with tall glasses of iced tea and the scent of ocean salting the warm air. The first order of business was a demand for a Wells report.
“He’s doing great,” she assured the other women. “We’ve pretty much figured out how to keep him pain-free and entertained. We’re deep in plans for his upcoming birthday party.”
Both women beamed. “And he loved that Venus fly-trap you gave him,” she said to Sara. “Thrills him to his bloodthirsty soul. And we’re doling out the brownies, Emmaline. You know he’d gorge on them if he could.”
Their salads came next, and they ate in companionable silence for a few moments before Emmaline brought up Sara’s newlywed status. She and Joaquin Weatherford had run off to Las Vegas and married mere weeks before.
“Is it hard transitioning from butler to wife?” Emmaline asked. Days back, her boss, Lucas Curry, had put a big rock on the fourth finger of her left hand.
Sara shook her head. “Joaquin never wanted a butler in the first place. You know that. We’re finding our way through it all easily enough, and I’m getting more serious about my landscape design business too.”
Emmaline sighed a little.
Sara and Charlie traded concerned glances.
“Problem?” Sara enquired.
“I don’t have any outside talents,” she said. “Not like you, Sara. And Charlie could organize an army to invade several foreign countries all at once.”
Sara smiled. “I think, um, Lucas appreciates your inside talents, goose, just as they are. You’ve made a home for the two of you, and you run it smoothly. He enjoys the care you show him in all the small ways, and he shows his care for you back, right?”
Emmaline’s face turned pink. “There’s another thing. I’ve lost some of my usual efficiency. I don’t want to get up in the morning like I used to.”
Sara nearly snorted up her swallow of tea. “Emmaline…” She shook her head. “You don’t want to get up in the morning because Lucas is right there in bed with you.”
“He doesn’t want me to get out of bed,” she grumbled. “And I used to be a morning person.”
“I suppose Lucas rewards you for your new laziness, hmm?”
The two burst into laughter, and Charlie tried smothering the green fire of jealousy kindling in her belly. She should only be happy for them. It accomplished nothing to envy them the close physical bonds with a partner that came with regular sex.
Though she might be able to organize an invasion, it didn’t give her body another to snuggle with. What Ethan had called “creature comfort.”
You should marry me.
Shoving that thought from her head, she returned her attention to the conversation at the table. When the meal ended, Emmaline had a mysterious next stop on their afternoon of leisure.
She drove through an alley and took Charlie and Sara through the back door of a small bungalow, which at first revealed to them nothing. A tiny tiled kitchen, a bathroom the size of a closet, then the space opened into a boudoir-styled room. Hanging from various wrought-iron and wood stands set about were dresses—wedding gowns and bridesmaid’s frocks.
Sara’s hands clapped together. “Did you set a date, Emmaline?”
The other woman grinned. “Not yet. But Lucas’s sister Stella knew of this very private, very posh bridal salon. I thought we could spend the afternoon playing dress-up.”
A thin, Parisian-looking woman glided through a doorway in a spare, ash-colored suit. “I picked out some samples for you and your friends to try, Emmaline. Do you need my help…?”
“No. We have this, thank you, Marie.”
The woman nodded. “I’ll bring a tray of tea and champagne in about an hour.”
As silently as she’d arrived, she exited.
Emmaline squealed then threw her arms around herself. “Someone pinch me,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy!”
“Even when Lucas kept you in bed this morning?” Sara asked slyly.
Ignoring her, Emmaline rushed toward a cocktail dress in a frosted-lemon shade. She held it toward Sara. “I think this would look perfect on you.”
A similarly styled dress in a delicate periwinkle was shoved at Charlie.
“Hold this in front of you,” Emmaline demanded, then stood back. “Yes. It picks up the purple in your eyes.”
Then she dropped onto a tapestry-covered loveseat and eyed them expectantly. “What are you waiting for? Try them on.”
Charlie looked around for a dressing area while Sara began disrobing.
“Don’t bother,” her half-English friend told her, with a faint sneer. “We’ve seen your nun-like cotton undergarments before.”
“They’re serviceable,” Charlie protested, stripping down to pale-blue cotton. At least her bra matched her panties today.
Emmaline hopped up. “Marie carries a few lines of luxury lingerie. I’ll be right back.”
“See what you’ve done?” Charlie rolled her eyes at Sara. “The bride-to-be is going to try to bully me into frilly items I’ll have to wash separately and that no one else will ever see.”
You should marry me.
But that last thought was lost when she and Sara zipped each other up and turned to gaze in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
“Oh,” they said together, then glanced at each other and laughed.
Charlie fingered the delicate fabric. “Silk organza,” she said.
Sheer straps and a bodice with floral artwork in the same color as the dress led to a simple A-line skirt, with more embroidered flowers dropped here and there.
“They’re beautiful.”
Emmaline strolled in, stopped, tears springing to her eyes. “You two are beautiful. You will be my bridesmaids, right?”
“Even in sackcloth,” Sara said, moving forward to hug their sentimental friend. “Do you want us to try another selection?”
The bride-to-be shook her head. “I think they’re perfect.”
“Agreed,” Charlie said. “But I demand you have a go at more than one wedding gown.”
In minutes, the bridesmaids were helping their friend into a dramatic dress, princess style. They sighed as they fastened the back of the corset bodice.
“Wow.” Charlie swallowed. “You look…”
“Too busty,” Emmaline declared. “I might knock someone’s eye out.”
Sara smiled. “On to the fit-and-flare.”
It was the fifth choice, a lace dress, that made them all gasp. The bodice of nude mesh rose to her throat and ran over her shoulders, with strategic lace cut-outs affixed that covered her breasts in a manner both modest and sexy. More lace flowers decorated her shoulders and were strewn down the back of the dress along her spine. The effect was to appear as if Emmaline’s top half was sprinkled with flowers. A narrow jeweled belt wrapped her waist, then ivory skirts fell to the ground in delicate layers of netting, scattered with more lace flowers.
“Oh, Emmaline,” Charlie whispered. “The whole room will fall to their knees, Lucas first.”
“The very endorsement I’m looking for,” Emmaline said, smiling. Then she glanced around the room. “Oh, I didn’t get a chance to try that one.” She pointed at another gown.
“We can do it next—”
“No,” Sara decided. “She needs to keep this one as the last image in her head.”
Emmaline frowned. “But I want to see someone wearing it.”
“You give it a try, Sara,” Charlie said.
“Nope. It’s bad luck for a married woman to put on a bridal gown. It’s up to you.”
With her hands clasped together under her chin, Emmaline turned her pansy-soft eyes on Charlie. “Please. Just so I can be sure I didn’t make a mistake.”
Grumbling the entire while, Charlie let Sara help her into the last dress. It was much plainer than the others—no lace, no flowers. Of eggshell-colored satin, it had narrow, off-the shoulder sleeves, fit tight to the waist, and then flared into a full, elegant skirt.
They all three stared at her reflection.
“Oh,” Emmaline said on a sigh. “It’s made for you.”
“You could be another Middleton sister,” Sara added. “You know, along with Duchess Kate and Pippa.”
Charlie, ever-practical, had never imagined herself in a wedding dress. But now her imagination took flight. The sound of violin strings, or maybe just the ocean. Flowers trembling in her hands. A man, waiting for her.
The man. Ethan.
She whirled to face her friends, and the words she’d been wanting to forget spilled out. “You should marry me.”
Both women blinked. Sara recovered first, a hint of a smile on her face.
“Already did the deed,” she said, lifting both hands, one to point to the sparkling engagement ring and wedding band. “So I’ll have to regretfully decline.”
“It’s what Ethan said the night Wells stayed in the hospital—following his operation,” Charlie explained, feeling herself flush. “He told me, ‘You should marry me.’”
Emmaline sank to the small couch, her eyes wide. “Because…”
Charlie lifted a shoulder. “We’d been talking. He has fears about something happening to him and leaving Wells alone in the world. Understandably.”
“How did that turn into a proposal?” Sara asked.
“I told him about how I didn’t see myself ever, you know, marrying for romantic reasons.”
Emmaline groaned. “Oh my God, you didn’t tell him about your stupid ‘practical partnership’ idea, did you? Your marriage-for-companionship?”
“What’s wrong with it?” Charlie asked, getting huffy.
“Because nobody does that,” she said.
“People get married all the time for reasons beyond grand passion. For all of history, by the way.”
“You deserve grand passion,” Emmaline said, stubborn.
“That would probably end in a grand flame-out, like what happened with my parents.” Like had happened with the boy she’d fallen for at nineteen. “If I want to make a promise to someone, isn’t it sensible to choose someone whom I like and whom I can see as a life companion instead of relying on my hormones to guide me?”
“Oh, save me.” Emmaline rolled her eyes in dramatic fashion. “She’s using ‘sense’ to choose a husband and forgetting her heart altogether. As an Italian and a woman and a…a human being, this offends me.”
“I don’t know,” Sara said slowly. Tilting her head, she considered Charlie. “I think she should do it. Marry Ethan.”
Charlie stared, appalled by the other butler’s approval of the idea.
“I’m not going to marry Ethan!” But the traitorous longing to do that very thing shot through her, likely due to being swathed in yards of white designed by a woman with weddings on the mind and stitched by others who paid their rent by bridal delusions. “I’ve got to get out of this gown.”
“He probably didn’t even mean it,” she continued, struggling to reach the buttons. “It was a slip of the tongue.”
“Sure,” Sara said, walking up behind Charlie to unfasten the dress. “And even if it wasn’t, you’re probably right. You shouldn’t risk it. Ethan might end up falling for you and ruining your entire practical plan.”
“He’s not going to fall for me,” Charlie said. “He’s adamant that the one love of his life was his late wife.”
“And you’re not going to fall for him.” Sara returned the dress to the hangar as Charlie tugged her bra straps back into place.
“Wouldn’t I have done so already if it was going to happen?” Charlie demanded, suddenly bad-tempered. “He’s gorgeous, he’s sexy, he’s a great father. What’s not to love?”
“Indeed,” Sara said, the crisp edges of her half-English accent giving the word additional emphasis.
Charlie scowled at her, then, on general principle, turned it on her friend Emmaline as well.
Who smiled sweetly and waved a lavender paper bag in her direction. “Maybe this will improve your mood. I bought you a pretty lingerie set.”
Stomping over, Charlie snatched it out of her hand.
“Thank you.” Softening, she sank down to the cushions beside her friend. “I’m sorry for hijacking your wedding dress appointment with my histrionics.”
“Charlie having histrionics has made my day,” Emmaline said, smiling. “It gives me hope.”
“Hope for what?”
“The grand passion that every butler needs in her life beyond polishing silver and arranging furniture.”
Charlie shook her head. “You’re not listening. I don’t want grand passion.”
Emmaline nudged her with an elbow. “It creeps up on you. Or sometimes it hits you over the head. And face it, you already have a grand passion. You’re totally gone for Wells. You love that little boy.”
Wells. Think of him.
Yes. Wells.
Think of the one person who should make even nebulous daydreams of bouquets and bridal gowns and Ethan Archer impossible.
In the afternoon, Ethan drove from home to his son’s school, stewing over the situation with Charlie as he had every free minute since he’d blurted out the quasi-proposal. So far they’d managed to step around the elephant in the living room, but he didn’t think they could avoid it much longer.
And he had no idea how to address the issue.
Yeah, emotions had been running high those hours he waited to hear the outcome of the surgery. And the subject of marriage had been in the air because she’d disclosed to him that she wasn’t having one—or if she did enter into a partnership it would be the kind based on practical considerations, not love.
Seeing her later with his son, tucking that duckbilled platypus beneath his chin, the idea of her as wife and mother had jumped into his head. Lodged there, damn it. Despite knowing the timing was all wrong and probably the entire notion as well, he’d put it out there. Out loud.
Charlie, you should marry me.
Now he found a place to park in the lot adjacent to the school and walked through its gates, his attention instantly snagged by Liz Fields, who waved to him from behind the table designated for Book Fair signups. Crossing to her, he smiled at the perky blonde and the thumb-sucking toddler on her hip.
“Liz,” he said. “Miss Rosalie.”
The little girl wiggled the pinky of the hand curled around her snub nose.
He directed his gaze back to her mom. “Once I collect Wells from the classroom, I know I’m supposed to man the table for fifteen minutes before packing up and taking everything back to Charlie.”
“Great,” Liz said, obviously relieved. “I have to leave as soon as the bell rings. I should have known Ms. Efficiency would have it covered. Where is she?”
“Out for the afternoon.” He hesitated. His butler and the mom of Jake and Miss Rosalie were friends. Might she know something about Charlie’s current frame of mind? “Has she, uh, said anything to you?”
Liz blinked. “All manner of things. About Wells’ injury and the new yogurt place and your son’s upcoming seventh birthday party. Do you have something specific in mind?”
“Uh…” He cleared his throat. “Has she mentioned anything about leaving my employ?”
That was his most immediate concern—that his hasty words had made her uncomfortable enough that she might be planning on leaving him and Wells.
His gut tightened just thinking about it.
“Not a word,” Liz replied, big-eyed. “Do you think that’s on her mind?”
“No, no.” Ethan brushed the thought away. “Forget I said anything. It’s just…she’s great. We’d be lost without her. I mean, Wells would be lost without her.”
Liz opened her mouth again, but the loud bell sounded. She glanced at her watch.
“I’ll collect Wells and Jake,” Ethan offered, “then take your place.”
“Sounds good.” She hesitated. “I hope you’re braced for the Single Dad Deluge?”
“The what?”
“You’ll see,” was all she would say.
The boys bustled through the doorway of their classroom as Ethan arrived. He took the backpack from his son, even though the boy was managing well with his plastic-splinted arm. A little girl in pale candy colors passed by and stuck her tongue out at Wells.
“There’s a charmer,” he murmured.
“What, Dad?”
“That girl there…who is she?”
“That’s Serafina.” Wells shrugged. “I think she doesn’t like me.”
“Why?” he asked, directing his son toward the exit with his hand on his shoulder. “Have you done something…”
Jake piped up. “You don’t have to do anything for Serafina not to like you. This is the second year in a row she hasn’t liked me.”
The towhead seemed to take it in stride.
But Wells… “Are you okay with that, son? How do you respond to her, uh, attitude?”
“Charlie says I have to be friendly to everyone, but I don’t have to be everyone’s friend.”
“Wise words,” Ethan said, and wished he’d shown as much intelligence lately. “By the way, we’ve got to stick around a few minutes to do the book fair thing.”
“Okay,” his son said. “I’ve got reading.”
Ethan ruffled the boy’s hair and found him a seat in the shade, then traded places with Liz, who took off in a hurry and without any more hints about the Single Dad Deluge.
But he figured it out himself soon enough. Women clustered around the table, all bright smiles and brighter laughs. They hadn’t seen him in ages. Did he want to set up some play dates? Had he heard they were divorced/separated? One guy in a well-pressed madras shirt and loafers mentioned his husband was away on business a lot.
Bemused, Ethan fielded their questions and overtures as best he could without making any commitments…he hoped. They were an aggressive lot, and he was unprepared. He decided to be annoyed at Liz for leaving him in the dark, or, better yet, Charlie. If she’d agreed to his proposal the other day, then by now he’d be a taken man, and—
No. That scheme couldn’t be allowed a serious place in his mind.
But he did have to wonder how he’d escaped this kind of attention before. Was it there all along and he hadn’t noticed? Probably. For years he’d existed in a fog of grief that had lifted only off-and-on, when he was in the sunshine of his son’s company or when he could escape it by total focus on work. Now, it seemed to have moved farther off.
He felt lighter. Younger, he realized. The world again filling with possibilities.
Huh.
“Babysitter busy today, Ethan?” a voice asked.
He pulled out of his ruminating to note the presence of the woman across the table. Piper Taylor. They’d met, he recalled, at some school event the previous year. At her elbow was Serafina, apparently her daughter, who didn’t like Wells.
He resisted giving the little girl the stink eye, but let his gaze narrow on her mom. “Excuse me, Piper?”
“Your babysitter. Jamie? Junie?”
“Charlie,” he said, and started gathering up the book fair materials. “She’s a member of my household.”
And didn’t that sound pompous as shit, but this lady looked to be sharpening her talons. To what end?
“Can you ask her to give me a call?” Piper said, voice sweet as saccharine. “My number’s in the school handbook. I need to coordinate some volunteers for classroom events, and it seems she wants to be helpful.”
“You could talk to me about it.” Ethan gathered up everything he needed to take back home and tucked it under his arm.
“Oh, I thought she was your employee—”
“We’re a team.”
“Oh. Are you?” She drew out the question like he’d just confessed he and Charlie had been having sex on every stable surface in the house.
Shit. Just something else he shouldn’t have in his head.
“I’ve got to go.” He looked toward his son. “Come on, Wells.”
In the parking lot, he shoved the book fair stuff into the cargo bay as Wells slipped into his booster seat. Ethan prepared to climb behind the wheel, when a man’s voice called his name. Looking over, he saw a face he hadn’t seen in years.
“Steve!”
They clasped hands, and the other man clapped Ethan on the shoulder. “How are you doing?”
Steve McDonald had run the grief group Ethan had attended for a few months after Michelle’s death. The fifty-five-year-old had lost his beloved wife to ovarian cancer and had been a few years ahead of Ethan in the process.
“I’m managing.” Talking about his feelings had been more burden than relief, so Ethan had stopped attending. But he hadn’t forgotten the older man’s kindness and empathy. “You?”
“I pick up the grandkids from kindergarten a couple of days a week for my daughter,” he said, indicating a cute pair of twins. “They’re a reason to get up in the morning.”
“That’s good.” With another handshake, and sincere good wishes, they parted ways.
Ethan drove the familiar route home, enjoying the sun in the sky, the sound of his son’s chatter, and a renewed sense of well-being. No doubt he’d find a way to address the awkwardness between him and his butler, and everything between them would return to normal.
He pulled into the garage and Wells was out of his seat and into the house in one heartbeat. Ethan followed more slowly, taking time to retrieve the paraphernalia from the back. As he let himself into the house, he heard his son’s high-pitched voice, Charlie’s lower tones, and then…and then a man’s deep, amused laugh.
Something primal, from deep in the heart of him, drove him to rush toward the kitchen. Smoke practically billowed from his heels when he skidded to a halt, taking in the scene.
Wells digging in the cookie jar with one hand. Charlie, her hair loose around her shoulders instead of her more usual ponytail or bun. She wore a blue-and-cream striped summer dress that complemented her tan and her brilliant eyes. Short-heeled, dressy sandals. Her bow-shaped lips, delectable, tempting, were colored a soft raspberry, and they were curved in a smile directed at…
The VP of his company, John Packard.
“Hey,” John said now, glancing over with the casual air of a man who felt right at home. Built like a running back, he sat on a stool pulled up to the kitchen island. There was a sweating glass of tea in front of him and a crumb-strewn plate, signaling he’d been in the cookie jar as well. “What’s up?”
“What are you doing here?” Ethan said, trying to dial down the tone of demand, but thinking he must have failed because John’s brows shot high.
“Checking on Wells,” he said. “I brought him a get-well gift.”
“See, Dad?” Wells said, holding high a miniature Woodie complete with tiny surfboards strapped to the roof.
“Nice,” Ethan said, then directed his gaze back to his friend. “I didn’t notice your car.”
John shrugged. “It’s there in your driveway. Behind the pool guy’s truck.”
Apparently he’d been so engrossed in his thoughts, Ethan had missed it. Feeling foolish, he continued into the room and took a closer inspection of the gift his buddy had brought his son. “Thanks, John. That was thoughtful of you to stop by.”
“Oh, I had my ulterior motive. I know that Charlie bakes on Thursday mornings.” He patted his flat belly. “Fresh cookies.”
How the hell did John know Charlie’s schedule? And since when did he look at Ethan’s butler with that twinkle in his eyes?
For her part, Charlie was sending him another easy smile and crossed over to offer John the open jar. “Flattery will get you everywhere…including into my cookies.”
The other man laughed. “What I dream of every night,” he said, and dipped in for another Snickerdoodle.
Ethan’s favorite.
There was no explaining how the sight of the treat in his friend’s hand caused Ethan to burn with…fuck, was it jealousy?
Jesus. He shoved his fingers through his hair and tried ignoring the edgy possessiveness snaking through him. His kitchen. His cookies. His Charlie.
It tied his tongue and made knots of his gut. He cleared his throat as the butler came toward him with another glass of tea.
“Thanks,” he said gruffly, taking it from her. “What else is going on?” he asked John. “Did you go into the office this morning?”
Since the last trip, they’d been taking it easy, doing most of their work from their respective homes, with the occasional physical check-in with their assistants and associates in Beverly Hills.
“All’s running smooth,” his VP said, “which leaves me free to shore up my weekend plans. What do you say, Charlie? Shall we make a date?”
The smile he turned on her was that winning one he used when negotiating deals—full of charm and smarts. Ethan recognized it for what it was, John intending to get everything he wanted. Soup to nuts. The keys to the kingdom and the one next door too. The beautiful butler in his bed.
Ethan should let Charlie decide for herself. She was an adult free to make her own choices. John, at core, was a gentleman, and wouldn’t pressure her into taking off her clothes and getting naked unless she was on board.
But…fuck. His butler taking off her clothes and getting naked.
Charlie, you should marry me. Damn, but the notion still held so much appeal for Ethan.
“Charlie?” John prompted, with another I’ve-got-the-football-at-the-goal-line grin. “You ready to agree we’ll go out on Friday night?”
“She can’t,” Ethan answered for her, his voice flat. “She already has a date.” His gaze shifted to meet Charlie’s widening bright blues. “With me.”
Satisfaction seared through him as she opened her mouth, closed it. No objections from her…good.
Because he’d decided right then and there to hell with making things less awkward between them. To hell with dismissing the marriage proposal as some whim-of-the-moment.
It was time to seriously consider the idea.
Because taking Charlie as a wife seemed increasingly sensible. Practical.
Damn necessary.