For a moment, he contemplated asking Sydney from his firm, but she had a teenage son, and he wouldn’t want to jeopardize the boy’s life, so no, Sydney was off-limits.
“You can’t marry some random woman. No one will believe it.” Ella’s eyes thinned as her focus lowered to the ground, and heaven help him, he knew what this sassy and stubborn woman was about to say, and—
“No, absolutely not,” he rejected her before she had a chance to utter the insanity he knew was coming.
“Like you said, if this guy sent someone here to snoop around, they’d quickly discover that the whole of Walkins Glen thinks you and I should . . . be together.” A touch of sorrow clung to her words, but it was the proposal he knew was coming that was enough to slap the breath from him. “And not to state the obvious, but if this guy has already started going after those he believes responsible for his wife’s death, he’ll assume word has gotten out to the ‘shooter’ that he’s coming for him too.” She tossed out air quotes while talking.
But shit, he hadn’t been thinking clearly, and she was right, putting a dent in his fake marriage plan. Whether Zoran had his name yet or not, Zoran would expect Jesse to know the shooter from that day would be on the man’s hit list. And Zoran would recognize the fake wedding as an attempt to bait him.
“That’s why the marriage needs to be real. Well, believable. He won’t be able to resist coming after me whether he suspects you married me only to draw him out or not. Because he’ll easily be able to confirm—”
“How I feel about you if he asks around town,” he finished for her, his voice breaking this time. The knot of emotion thick in his throat as he admitted the truth.
“The wedding idea was yours,” she sputtered a bit defensively. “He’ll still want to kill me to hurt you no matter what. I’m just suggesting a solution that will still draw him out regardless of whether he buys into the wedding or not. The nuptials would be the, uh, icing on the wedding cake, so to speak.”
“It’s an insane solution.”
She shook her head. “Everyone in town will buy into it. You learned I was going to Paris, and that was why you proposed, and we decided to have a quick wedding.” She twirled her hand in the air. “Your people can fix the government records to make the marriage look real, right? So, if he does some digging, he’ll see the marriage license.”
When Jesse reached for her, she didn’t back away this time as he expected. Without thinking, he took hold of her forearm and gently pulled her closer.
Her hand landed on his bicep as his other palm splayed across her back. Now nearly flush against his frame, her breathing picked up as she stared into his eyes.
He wanted her close enough to hear the resounding no he was about to hiss in her ear. No way would he fake marry her to draw out a criminal. She was a school teacher, not an operative. He would never let her do this.
Jesse tipped her chin up with his free hand, a silent demand for her eyes to meet his, and in a low, gravelly tone, he said, “I’m not marrying you to make you bait.” He leaned closer so that their mouths practically touched, and repeating her earlier pronouncement, he added, “End of fucking story.”
Chapter Six
“Never in all my years of running a fashion empire have I seen such a stunning wedding dress.” Henry Rochella’s deep voice and British accent had Ella shivering, but more than that, his praise filled her with pride.
She turned to see her guest with his hands in his pockets, staring admiringly at the gown. The gown she’d never intended to wear for her wedding with Brian because, in her heart, this dress had only ever been meant for one man.
Ella raced her fingers along the train of the dress she’d designed years ago. “Thank you for making the last-minute drive out to the ranch tonight.”
She and Henry were inside the small design studio her father had built not far from the main house. With shaky hands, she removed her jean jacket and tossed it onto a nearby stool. Her nerves were shredded at the fact she was going behind Jesse’s back to try and force his hand into fake marrying her. Also, the prospect of Henry changing his mind and un-inviting her to Paris once he’d seen her designs in person might have had her on edge a bit too.
“This dress alone was worth the drive.” Henry’s gaze left the wedding gown to meet her eyes. “But you said you have something you’d like to tell me. Are you giving me an early answer?” He’d changed from his impeccably tailored suit and into jeans, a white polo, and a black leather jacket. Both looks worked for him.
“I’m getting married on New Year’s Eve,” she announced, a little breathless. “It was going to be a surprise wedding. Well, it’ll still be a surprise to pretty much everyone.” Dear lord, Jesse was going to kill her for this, but . . .
Ugh, that might not have been the best choice of words given his previous line of work.
“I thought it was important you know I’m getting married, and well, my husband would want to come with me to Paris if I were to accept,” she said, her voice firm as she fought the tremble in her limbs.
A fleeting look of disappointment crossed Henry’s handsome face, but he quickly recovered with a charming smile. “Congratulations.” Then, with raised eyebrows, he gestured to the wedding gown.
“Oh, I’m not wearing that,” Ella sputtered.
Henry Rochella was in her design studio in a town that was barely a blip on the map. My studio. But that wasn’t why her heart was pounding like she was a barrel racer in the thick of it. It was Jesse’s insane words an hour ago that kept flying around her head that had her on the mother of all edges. The highest of cliffs.
“You can’t possibly be serious. Not wear this dress?” Henry moved around her and ran his hand over the princess ball gown hanging from a hook on the wall, admiring it.
Delicate silver leaves and sequined flower petals covered the sheer corset top. The shimmery silk tulle skirt was chic and a combination of both milky white and light blush. It had to be the most beautifully romantic thing Ella had ever designed, closely tied with the gown she’d made for Rory’s wedding.
But no, Ella wouldn’t be saying a fake I do to Jesse before her family and friends in a gown that was meant for a real ceremony.
“I didn’t make it for me.” Ella shrugged when he faced her. “Or for anyone, really. Just made it.”
“That dress shouldn’t be worn by anyone other than you, love.” Henry’s eyes journeyed over her body as if picturing her wearing it. Not in a predatory way, but in a way she assumed a man with an eye for fashion would do. Not that there were any guys in her small town who knew anything about couture. They wore jeans. Plaid. Cowboy boots. Tees. “I certainly wasn’t expecting a surprise small-town wedding or this dress. But if you’re saying yes to Paris, then I implore you to wear this gown. The springtime wedding edition for our magazine is already put together, but we can upload some images to our website. Other social media outlets. This has to be seen.”
“What?” How many more times would she be surprised tonight?
It’d been the textbook definition of a long day . . . and now at nine o’clock at night, she was meeting with Henry and telling him she was getting married.