Holiday Wedding (Holiday Romance-Spicy Version #2)

2

Tuesday, December 10

14 days until the wedding

Jenny

Stop fidgeting,” Dean hisses out of the side of his mouth. His lips are pursed in an angry scowl while his gaze remains firmly planted on Caleb’s back.

Ignoring him, I twirl my curly dark-brown hair around one finger. I spent a long time this morning straightening and then curling it into my favorite style. My watch says it’s 11:00 a.m. I get busy taking notes and shooting an occasional photo. The camera clicks as I capture the line of fans who stretch out the theater’s double doors and onto the ice-slicked Manhattan sidewalk. They huddle in bulky jackets and fuzzy earmuffs as their breath clouds the air in little white puffs. Many of them have brightly wrapped presents tucked under their elbows.

Caleb’s giving out autographs today, a publicity event put on by the Broadway theater where he performs several times a week. This signing is holiday-themed, with staff handing out complimentary scarves that come in one of three choices: a grinning Santa, a snowman with a black top hat, or a red-nosed reindeer. Caleb wears the Santa scarf. I straightened it for him earlier, making sure the rosy-cheeked St. Nick was clearly displayed.

I stand in the theater lobby and press my eye to the viewfinder to capture an older woman as she hands Caleb a large box with a big blue bow. He opens it to find a handmade quilt featuring all of his movie posters. I can’t imagine how long it took to make something so beautiful. Caleb gives the fan a one-armed hug and grins while she grabs a selfie with her cell phone.

To everyone else, he looks happy, but I’ve spent enough time around him to know he’s acting. Before the fans arrived and he plastered on that false grin, he’d been subdued, reserved. Not his normal self at all. He’s been that way ever since he dropped Gwen off at the airport this morning. It’s like he can’t shine quite as bright without her light to channel.

I understand. Gwen’s been my best friend since sixth grade. I love her just as much as he does.

My phone rings. I pull it out and peer at the tiny screen. My stomach lurches when I see the incoming call labeled “Butthead.” Not in the mood to talk to him, I silence my cell and put it away. A quick glance around shows no one’s paying attention to me. I reach into my pocket and retrieve a sugar-free butterscotch candy. The wrapper makes a crinkling sound when I untwist the ends. I pop it into my mouth and hum quietly as it melts on my tongue. When I bite into it, the candy makes a loud crunch, which earns me a glare from Dean.

The crowd continues to inch forward. Every time the doors open to allow the next person in, an icy breeze enters with them. Out on the street, people stomp frozen feet and blow breath-warmed air onto their hands. These fans must really adore Caleb to be out in weather like this. On the drive over, the radio said we’ve got a bad storm heading our way.

“Caleb,” I call over and get his attention, “hold up that quilt.”

He obliges. I take a photo using my heavy-duty professional camera and then another quick shot with my cell phone. The second picture I send to Gwen, who should still be at the airport.

Jenny: Check out what some lady made your fiancé.

Gwen: Wow. Amazing. What scarf is Caleb wearing?

Jenny: Santa. I got one, too.

Gwen: I want to see.

I shoot a selfie and check it to make sure my reindeer scarf is visible. My light-brown eyes stare back from the photo, tinged red from the flash. A couple of dark, springy curls hang over my forehead, and the rest of my long hair tumbles over my shoulders. I send it to Gwen.

Gwen: Cute scarf. I like it!

Jenny: Of course you do, you Christmas-loving freak.

Gwen: It’s true. Plane’s boarding. Tell Caleb I love him forever and always. Love ya, too.

Jenny: Love you. Travel safe.

I make a mental note to grab a scarf for Gwen before I leave. The snowman, so between her, Caleb, and me, we’ll have the complete set. I smile, picturing how it’ll complement her long, blonde hair and pretty, light-blue eyes. It was no surprise to me when Caleb fell for her. Gwen’s got outer beauty, that effortless California girl look, but even more she has inner beauty with her kind heart, so loyal and caring.

The crowd moves forward. A kid, about six years old, standing in line, holds his mom’s hand and stares blankly ahead, bored. When he glances my way, I cross my eyes and stick my tongue out the side of my mouth. A delighted smile spreads over the little boy’s face. He imitates me. Next, I suck in my cheeks and blink comically, giving him my best fish impression. Soon, the boy and I are giggling, trading funny faces with each other.

Dean observes our exchange with a strange expression. Annoyance, I assume.

A gust of winter-chilled wind sweeps in, distracting me from Dean and the boy. I shiver and pull the cream-colored sleeves of my sweater down to cover my hands. I’ve always loved its fuzzy cashmere yarn, how the light color contrasts against the warm brown of my skin, a gift from my Nigerian ancestors. I sigh and adjust the hem of my sweater to make sure it covers my stomach.

My weight fluctuates based on a million different circumstances. It can depend on the weather, if I’m about to get my period, and, of course, on what food I put in my mouth. I work out every day, but still my body remains soft and curvy. I run my fingers over the fabric one more time, smoothing it out.

“You’re doing it again,” says Dean next to me. “Stop moving.”

“I can’t help it,” I whisper back.

His tan cheeks flush red beneath his five o’clock shadow—ridiculously named since it’s only a little after 11:00 a.m. His stubble matches his hair, both brown, so dark in color it’s just shy of being black. He wears his usual attire, a navy-blue suit and white button-down shirt. The top buttons are undone, showing off well-defined collar bones and the beginning of a muscular chest. No tie for him, yet he manages to radiate professionalism with an edge of intimidation. Not the kind of guy you want to piss off. Too bad for me. I ticked him off two years ago, and he’s still not over it. When his glower shifts my way, I avert my gaze, not wanting to get caught staring.

I try unsuccessfully to stop the twitching of my foot, the shifting of my weight, the plucking of my collar. I’ve always been like this. Unable to hold still. I’m too full of energy, with a constant need for motion. It’s as if my mind and body are set to fast forward, speeding along twice as quick as everyone else.

“You’re distracting me,” Dean says. He stands motionless. Every limb in place, exactly where it should be. The very picture of control.

“So don’t look,” I counter. Irritation zings through my nervous system, which only makes me squirm more.

Although I’m annoyed by Dean’s criticism, I do understand it. As Caleb’s lead bodyguard, he has to stay focused to do his job. Unfortunately for him, his job and mine have overlapped a lot in the past month, ever since the newspaper I work for, the Los Angeles Times, sent me here to New York. I’m its primary reporter assigned to Caleb. Once a week, I write an article recapping all of his activities. As a famous actor, singer, songwriter, and restaurateur, everything he does is considered noteworthy.

“Do you have to come to all of Caleb’s events?” Dean swings his head my way, his gaze unflinching. Sometimes, when he looks at me, his eyes are like laser beams, designed to burn a hole right through my center.

“Yes, Dean,” I spit out, equally frustrated by our role as begrudging co-workers. “You know the drill. Don’t make me explain it to you again.”

He snorts. “All the newspaper really cares about is the wedding. They’re using your friendship with Gwen to get exclusive access. It’s no coincidence that you leave as soon as the ceremony’s over.”

He’s right. I’m under no illusion that my reporting skills landed me this job. Before the newspaper learned of my connection to Gwen and Caleb, I spent most of my time fetching the senior reporters coffee and doing their online research. I was good at that, tracking down leads and then having my co-workers take credit for them.

I’d been surprised to be called into my editor-in-chief’s office. I was even more surprised when they said I was getting a “promotion.” For a fleeting moment, my heart had soared, thinking I was being transferred to the investigative journalism department where I so desperately wanted to work. But no, it was yet another assignment in the entertainment division, the last place I want to be.

“They ask you to spy for them, and you’re totally okay with that.” Dean gives me a disgusted glare.

“I am not,” I protest. “Caleb gets approval on anything I write. He’s in control. Not me.” The newspaper editors hadn’t liked it when I said I would take this job on that one condition, but, after weeks of heated negotiations, they’d given in.

A handsome man with dark blond hair comes over to Caleb’s table. He stoops down and gathers a bunch of the gift boxes Caleb’s accumulated into his arms. Carefully, he piles them on top of each other, stacking them as high as his chin. He walks toward me. I do a double-take as he gets close. The man looks eerily like Caleb. Same coloring, but his jaw is a little less square and his eyes are wider set.

“Need help, Justin?” Dean asks.

The man smiles pleasantly and says, “I got it.” Using his shoulder, he pushes the heavy front door of the theater and walks outside, where a brisk wind makes the tower of presents sway dangerously. I hold my breath, waiting for them to topple, but the man shuffles his feet, balancing the stack until they steady.

“Where’s he taking those?” I ask Dean.

He glances at the door. Justin is no longer visible, having walked farther down the sidewalk. “He’s giving them to Janice. She’ll load them in her van to take to Caleb’s storage unit and sort them out later.”

“Storage?” I tilt my head, peering up at him. I know who Janice is, Caleb’s personal assistant. A nice grandmotherly type of woman who helps with Caleb’s day-to-day tasks. But I’ve never heard of this storage unit.

“Caleb has an entire storage unit filled with gifts that fans have sent him. Most of it gets donated to charity. Janice figures out what goes where—” Dean’s shiny dress shoe inches over to step lightly on my foot, which has been tapping the ground. With firm pressure, his shoe traps mine, halting the motion.

Darn it. I didn’t realize I was doing that.

He lets out a frustrated huff, clearly displeased.

“So sorry, Mr. Roboto,” I say sarcastically and roll my eyes. Dean does remind me of a robot, all stiff movements and very little change in his facial expressions. I’ve never seen him smile. Not once.

“Apology not accepted, Jennifer.” He says my name like it’s poison and he needs to spit it out before it kills him.

Jerk.

I turn toward him and ask, “Why do you despise me so much?”

His jaw ticks, the muscle jumping. Geez, even his cheek has muscles. What does this man do to get so strong? He’s tall, at least six feet, and built like you would expect for a bodyguard, as if he works out 4/7. I picture him on his rare days off, shirtless and sweaty at the gym, deadlifting weights twice the size of my head. The mental image is startlingly vivid, each detail clear in my imagination. It’s…disorienting. It takes me a minute to refocus on my surroundings.

Dean glares forward as he answers my question. “You know why, Jabber Mouth.” Not a single glance in my direction.

He’s dedicated. I’ll give him that.

Shame rushes from my chest and over my cheeks, heating them. I drop my gaze to the ground, unable to come up with a retort for that. I do know why he detests me, and I hate myself for it, too. I’m the reason Gwen and Caleb broke up last year. My thoughtless remarks led the paparazzi to their door and forced Caleb to walk out. If I’d kept quiet, they could have stayed together. Instead, I ran my big mouth and Gwen, who had already endured too much, had Caleb leave her.

When Gwen found out it was me who spilled her secrets, I almost lost our friendship forever. Somehow, by the grace of her enormous heart, she forgave me. Even though she’s let that dreadful past go, I can’t do the same. The knowledge of how I could have ruined their relationship haunts me. I don’t need Dean to remind me of what I’d done. I remember every time I look in the mirror.

“Dean.” Caleb’s voice, unnaturally high and strained, snaps me out of my thoughts. I glance up to see Caleb standing where he’d been signing autographs. He stares with a wide-eyed expression of horror at a large white box open on the table in front of him, with a discarded red bow next to it. A scruffy young man before him stammers, “I—I didn’t know what it was. I swear! Some guy gave me $50 to bring it to you.”

Dean strides over to Caleb and sweeps the box off the table, slamming the lid on it before I glimpse what’s inside. His narrow-eyed gaze scans the crowd as he announces in a firm voice, “That’s it, folks. Signing’s done for today.”