Rich (Benson Security #5) - Janet Elizabeth Henderson Page 0,107
doorway. “I’m fine,” she said. “Almost got toppled by one of the guards, but I’m fine. Is she ready?”
“I haven’t managed to get to her yet to find out,” Samantha said.
“Hello, Harvard darling.” Francesca reached up to peck him on the cheek. “Be prepared for fireworks.” With that, she opened Rachel’s office door and disappeared inside. “Pack up,” she ordered. “We’re going to look at wedding dresses.”
“No, we’re not,” Rachel said from behind the desk she hated and was in the process of replacing.
“If you’re getting married, you need a dress.” There was no give in her mother’s voice, which made Harvard think he was getting a glimpse into Rachel’s youth. Only a strong woman would have been able to deal with a daughter like Rachel.
Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Then pick one for me. Any one you choose is fine. I’ll only be wearing it for an hour.”
“She’s always been terribly romantic,” Samantha said drolly.
“Rachel Mary Francesca Ford-Talbot, get up out of that chair this instant. I do not have the energy to deal with your tantrums today.” Her mother pointed at the door. “Out. Now.”
Harvard’s eyebrows shot straight up his head as he watched Rachel glare at her mother while doing exactly as she was told.
“It’s like watching an eclipse, isn’t it?” Samantha said. “You understand the mechanics, but it’s so bloody rare, you’re still in awe. Only Aunt Fran could ever do this with Rachel.”
“Don’t say a word,” Rachel ordered as she stalked past them. “Especially you.” She pointed at Samantha, who made a show of zipping her lips.
Then Sam grinned at Harvard before following Rachel out the door.
Francesca linked her arm through Harvard’s. “I assume you’re coming too.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “You know, you could be a Southern Mother. My mom would welcome you into the club any day. I’m in my thirties, and I’ve yet to say anything to her except ‘yes, ma’am’. She’d skin me alive if I disagreed with her.”
“You are delightful,” Francesca said as they made their way out of the building. “I’m glad she has you.”
“Rachel feels exactly the same way,” he told her, and she rewarded him with a grin.
Instead of settling back into the family business after a decade away, or chasing down her blackmailer with her team, Rachel was in a backstreet in Covent Garden, looking at wedding dresses. If ever there was a sign that the universe was against her, this was it.
“Isn’t this fun?” her mother said as they sat on a replica Louis the Fifteenth sofa, complete with gold-leafed legs and embroidered satin cushions. “I needed a diversion from your father and his constant whining about bacon. Is it possible to have a bacon addiction? Maybe I should find a rehabilitation facility for him.”
“Just buy him fake bacon and tell him it’s real,” Harvard called from behind the lush white velvet curtain that divided the fitting room from the waiting room. He sounded highly amused.
Her mother turned toward the curtain. “Didn’t I hear you swear you’d act as though you were invisible?” she reprimanded, earning a deep chuckle from the peanut gallery. “It’s bad enough we’ve brought the groom wedding dress shopping. The least you can do is pretend you aren’t here.”
“I’m not just her fiancé,” Harvard said. “I’m her bodyguard. I go where she goes.”
“Well, if she gets attacked by a bolt of lace, we’ll call you in.”
There was more deep chuckling from outside the dressing area.
“That’s not true,” Rachel drawled. “He’s just being nosey. He doesn’t need to be here.”
“Oh, there’s a need,” Harvard said. “I’m here to make sure you actually buy a damn dress.”
“Isn’t this wonderful?” Samantha gushed as she ran her fingers over a rack of dresses. “All the best people are using this shop right now. The designer’s dresses are in dreadfully high demand. It was a complete nightmare getting you this appointment.” She lowered her voice and continued, “She’s fitted three Hollywood actresses, an Indian princess, and European royalty within the past month alone.”
“I’m sure you went to a lot of trouble,” Rachel said as the sales assistant handed them flutes of champagne. At least there was something decent to drink. “But was it really necessary? We haven’t even set a date for the wedding. There’s absolutely no hurry to find a dress. Perhaps we could do this another day.”
“Harvard darling,” her mother said, raising her voice, obviously deciding to include Harvard in the conversation after all. “When are you getting married?”