Barefoot in Lace (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 2)

  “Or I can be someone else,” Gussie said, probably because Alex had zoned out thinking about her mother. When would that stop?

  “No, you can be Peach. It’s fine.” It was right, somehow.

  She headed down the hall, fighting that weird sensation Momma used to call déjà woo-woo. She’d say, “We must have dreamed this was going to happen, Alex.”

  Alex wished all this was a dream. That she’d wake up and Momma would be sitting on her bed, making up her stupid poems and singing her silly good-morning songs.

  “Would you like something to drink, Gussie?” Uncle Tommy’s question broke through Alex’s thoughts.

  “Whatever you have,” Gussie said. “I won’t ask for Snapple, though,” she added with a laugh.

  Alex whipped around. “Why not?” Snapple had been Momma’s number one favorite drink. “It’s the best.” Of course her uncle had forgotten to buy the raspberry Snapple Alex had asked for.

  “Because I accidentally broke the bottle he was buying at Super Min today. Was it for you? God, I’m sorry I was such a klutz.”

  Alex burned a little, ashamed she’d assumed he’d forgotten. “S’okay,” she said.

  In the den, she turned on a light because she remembered Momma always wanted the light on when she played. Even when she got better at the game—which had taken months—she still needed the light to see the controller and remember which button was which.

  “I don’t need a wheel,” Gussie said as she settled on the sofa. “I can play with the stick.”

  Obviously, this lady didn’t need a lesson on the controllers. As Alex sat in the recliner, she couldn’t help giving Gussie a curious look. “Why are you doing this?”

  Oh, God, there she went again, blurting out stupid questions. But Gussie shrugged and smiled, glancing at the door and leaning closer as if they shared a secret. “I’m kind of addicted to the game,” she admitted on a whisper. “It’s hard to find a worthy opponent.”

  Alex smiled. “Me, too.”

  “I haven’t played the latest version yet, have you?”

  She shook her head. “Just this one. My mom was going to get me the new one for my birthday.” And another crappy fact came tumbling out of her mouth.

  “Well, let’s see how we do with this one,” Alex said quickly, probably because talking about her mother made people uncomfortable. She’d noticed that, even with the people who came to bring them food and make sure she was okay. No one really wanted to talk about Ruthie Whitman, but merely looked at Alex and made her feel even sadder.

  Her uncle came in holding three bottles of water. “Unless you need something stronger to play,” he said as he handed one to Gussie.

  “Oh, no, I need my wits about me to win.” Gussie winked at Alex. “You might be better than I think.”

  Alex looked over her head at Uncle Tommy, who had a slight smile on his usually scowly face.

  Gussie tapped her controller with one move, clicked through the Wii screens like a pro, then zipped through the characters.

  “Hello, Peachy,” she whispered when she picked her player and ride.

  Alex’s heart split wide open. Momma never said that, but Gussie was so much like her! Easy, happy, fun.

  “Alex?” Uncle Tommy asked, making Alex realize she’d been staring at their guest.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry.” She returned to the screen and clicked on Rosalina. “You can pick the course.”

  “Let’s start simple.”

  And just like that, Alex was back on the starting line at Mushroom Gorge, her thumb poised to hit the button exactly between seconds two and one to get a boost of speed that would leave her opponents in the dust.

  Deep in her heart, she didn’t know if she should be happy like a butterfly or curl up and feel guilty because…this wasn’t Momma.

  Except, before she blinked, Peach’s Sugar Scooter was flying so fast, Alex didn’t have time to do anything but catch up.

  “Whoa,” Alex muttered, leaning forward, a frown tugging. “Holy crap.”

  Gussie laughed heartily. “Weren’t expecting that, were you, Rosalina?” She fell back into the sofa with the relaxed ease of an expert player.

  Well, that wasn’t like Momma.

  “Which one are you?” her uncle asked.

  Gussie and Alex shared a quick look, the kind two players give each other when someone clueless watches the race.

  “I’m on the top screen,” Gussie said. “Watch and learn, my friend.”

  Alex heard him laugh and was vaguely aware of how close the two of them were on the sofa, but since she was currently in ninth place—ninth!—she paid attention to the game.

  Alex stole a glance to her right. “How often do you play this game?” She was an adult, despite the funky hair and wild makeup. “Aren’t you, like, forty or something?”

  Gussie let out something between a shriek and a grunt, taking her eyes off the game to give Alex a get real look. “Are you kidding me? I’ll be thirty on August first!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  But not really, since the comment made Gussie slip out of the lead.

  “Keep her distracted, Uncle Tommy!”

  “Uncle Tommy?” Gussie almost choked she laughed so hard. “Oh my God, please tell me I can call you that.”

  “Not if you want to live.”

  But Gussie cracked up and looked at Alex, and they both laughed. Hard. Alex’s shoulders shook, and her heart danced a little, and she almost couldn’t catch her breath because it was like she’d forgotten how to laugh.

  “Look at that.” Gussie waved her controller. “I was so gutted by being called an old bag that I let that little worm Koopa Troopa get ahead of me.”

  Alex giggled. “I didn’t say you were an old bag.”

  “Forty?”

  “Now you know how to beat her, Alex,” Uncle Tommy said, getting into it with them. “A well-placed insult obviously takes her off-track.”

  “Don’t help the competition, Tommy,” Gussie shot back, effortlessly flying back into first and over the finish line.

  Alex stared at the screen and her own pathetic finish. “How did that happen? I never lose this game.” She fell back on the recliner, her whole body buzzing from the fight.

  Or was it buzzing from something else? Fun. Laughter. That incredibly awesomely wonderful feeling of not being sad.

  Next to her, Gussie was trying to explain to Uncle Tommy how the controller worked, but the conversation didn’t interest Alex. All she could think about right now was how she felt, despite having lost the game.

  She felt…whole.

  It was the first time since Momma died that Alex felt like her arms and legs were connected to her body and her head wasn’t about to thud on the ground and her chest didn’t feel like a big empty pit of nothingness.

  Could that happen from one game of Mario Kart? That she’d lost?

  “Want to try something a little easier, Alex?” Gussie asked, a playful tease in her voice. “Moo Moo Meadows?”

  Alex turned, absolutely unable to wipe the smile off her face. How weird was that? “How about Ghost Valley?” No one—not real or a computer opponent set to “difficult”—had ever beaten her at Ghost Valley.

  “That’s my favorite course.” Gussie clicked through the game choices, barely looking at the screen. “Let me at it.”

  Uncle Tommy leaned his whole body closer to Gussie, his blue eyes—usually so scary to Alex—didn’t look terrifying at all when they were directed at Gussie.

  “You’re a beast,” he whispered, but Alex heard the tease in his voice.

  Gussie grinned back at him, the two of them looking at each other as if…as if…

  As if they liked each other.

  Alex tried to wrap her head around that, but the game started and Gussie kicked her butt one more time. But for some reason, it didn’t matter. This was too much fun.

  They played six more games, and Alex lost every one. Still, she never wanted the night to end, but when it d
id, Alex did something she hadn’t done since Momma died. She fell asleep without crying.

  Chapter Five

  An incessant, angry, relentless buzz hummed like a freight train under Tom’s head.

  “What the…” Managing to open one eye, he saw nothing but darkness. And heard nothing but the growl of—

  His phone. He reached under the pillow and pulled out the cell, blinded by the light of the unidentified number on the screen. And the time. 6:15. Who the hell would call him at this hour?

  Then his brain engaged, and he recognized the country code. France. He squinted at the words.

  L’Eau LaVie S.A.

  The French bottled-water company. Hadn’t his agent canceled that job? Or had it somehow slipped through the cracks? Grunting, he tossed the phone on the floor and flipped over, letting his eyes adjust to the palest streams of sunlight through the metal blinds his sister thought qualified as window treatments.

  The house was small and lowbrow, but, damn, there’d been some laughter in it last night. Alex’s giggles had been music to his ears, and he knew who he had to thank for that.

  The phone buzzed again, which was definitely not music to anyone’s ears. Well, shit, he was awake now. Reaching down, he patted the floor, found the phone, and thumbed the screen, mentally cursing his overpaid agent who probably handed the cancellation off to an assistant who’d screwed up.

  His bad mood firmly established, he hit the screen hard. “DeMille.”

  “Monsieur DeMille!” The woman’s voice was thickly accented, low-pitched, and unfamiliar. “Oh, bien, bien! Madame Voudreaux, le directeur de—”

  “English or I hang up.” You had to be rude to the French. It was the only attitude they really respected.

  “Bien. Of course. I am sorry. I am Suzette Voudreaux, the vice president of advertising for LaVie.”

  The VP was calling? Shit. He sat up, his head clearing. “You were supposed to be contacted by my agent.”

  “Oh, we were, monsieur, and he explained your situation. May I offer my deepest condolences for the loss of your sister?”

  “Thank you.” He barely whispered the words, her genuine sympathy coming through enough for him to feel bad for hating on his agent and even worse for having to cancel the job. “And I’m sorry I had to bail. Your campaign sounded interesting.”

  He didn’t take a lot of commercial product work, but they’d planned to shoot the iconic LaVie bottle as a fashion accessory, as he understood the concept, and they wanted TJ DeMille to give the photography that ultra-couture look. Which he totally could have done, except—

  “Monsieur, I am calling personally to ask you to reconsider your decision.”

  It was hardly a decision. “I can’t,” he said simply. “I’m not working…for a while.” Except for a wedding this weekend. “The situation is complicated.”

  “I understand the situation, monsieur. And I have a proposal for you.”

  No, she didn’t understand the situation. He couldn’t go. He winced and rolled over, ready to dump the call.

  “We are prepared to offer you a completely enhanced compensation package.” She practically purred this news. “We will provide you a fully furnished three-bedroom apartment in the center of Nice.”

  Nice. That was exactly the problem—only it was spelled differently, even if it was pronounced the same. “I don’t think you fully understand my—”

  “You have a child in your care. We are completely aware of that, monsieur, and we will arrange for a full-time au pair unless you would prefer to bring your own, and we will cover her compensation as well. We will pay all transportation and costs, including the use of our president’s private jet to get you to and from France, and of course, we will increase your base fee.” She lowered her voice and whispered a number that made him mouth a dark and frustrated curse.

  “In euro,” she added at his silence, adding even more dollars to the pot.

  “Really.” He heard her murmur something in French to another person. Something that probably translated to “even DeMille has a price.”

  But he was wide awake now. He’d never considered taking Alex to France. Would it be possible? Legal? Did she have a passport? Would she go?

  “I’ll have to let you know,” he said.

  “Our meetings with the advertising agency begin on Wednesday in Nice, and you must be there,” she replied. “We are brainstorming sets and locations and making final decisions on the models. The theme is ‘drink beautiful, be beautiful,’ and your advice will be invaluable.”

  “I’ll think about it.” A lot.

  “We want you there,” she urged. “It will be good for you. What better place for a grieving young girl to spend your summer than the exquisite city of Nice, non?”

  She made a lot of sense, but something told him Alex wasn’t about to jump on a private jet and hit the Promenade des Anglais.

  “While you decide, I will send you some of our concepts and storyboards for your consideration. And pictures of the apartment. It’s owned by LaVie, and I assure you, it is lovely.”

  Oh, he bet it was.

  “And only a short distance from the beach and Vieux Nice.”

  The Old Town of Nice. One of his favorite places in the world.

  A moment after signing off on the call, he was at the desk in Ruthie’s room where he’d stored all of her most important papers. Shuffling through the files, he found two passports, both valid.

  He took a minute to look at Ruthie’s picture, seeing how she’d changed…and yet remained the same girl he’d worried about and worked to raise all those years. Her smile had always been easy, her heart surprisingly light for a girl who’d lost her parents so young.

  But then she’d met that asshole Whitman and lost her mind, and Tom’s respect. Putting her passport away, he took Alex’s and let his hopes soar. He needed to get away, needed to travel and work and leave this little island. And now he could. If only he could get her to say yes.

  Maybe, after last night, she’d be willing to be a little adventurous and come out of her funk. Surely he could make her do that, right?

  After a shower, he pulled on some clothes and headed to the kitchen in search of coffee, surprised to find Alex’s bedroom door closed tight. She rarely slept late. He wondered if she slept at all some nights. He’d hear her moving about at one in the morning, then she’d be up and in front of that game before seven.

  But last night had been different. She’d had an indescribable connection with Gussie.

  And so had he.

  Only he could describe it perfectly in one word: attraction. She’d driven herself home last night and denied him even the chance to steal a kiss good night, but that would change. It had to.

  Coffee in hand, he lost himself in reading email after email from France.

  By the time he’d finished, he was on fire for the idea of taking this job. They not only needed him, there wasn’t another photographer in the world who could make this ad campaign celebrate beauty the way he could. Images sprang to life already, his juices flowing at the thought of the resources, the possibilities, and the—

  “Hey.”

  It was the closest thing to a “good morning” he’d had in four weeks. “Hi, Alex. How’d you sleep?”

  She shrugged a slender shoulder that slipped out of a ripped T-shirt and opened the pantry, reaching for her usual breakfast of chocolate-chip cookies and a side of Milky Way.

  “Did your mom let you eat like that?” The minute the words were out, he regretted speaking.

  Everything closed up—her eyes, her arms, her mouth. She started to leave without answering. Shit. He shouldn’t even try to be a parent.

  “Wait, wait, Alex. Stay here for a minute.”

  Slowing her step, she bit into a cookie but still didn’t make eye contact.

  “I want to ask you something.”

  “The answer is yes,” she said, so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.

  “You don’t know what I’
m going to ask.”

  She finally turned, her dark eyes blank and cold. Ruthie had had those brown eyes, too, only they hadn’t been cold. “I meant yes, she let me eat junk food whenever I wanted. She knew it was a mistake, but since I’m so skinny, she’d let me eat anything.”

  He nodded, not sure what to say to that. Like so many aspects of her life, he had no clue how to discuss what she ate, what she weighed, how she lived. Hadn’t Ruthie given one second’s consideration to how woefully ill-equipped he was to raise a young girl?

  He turned on the barstool to face her and figure out how to introduce the idea of a long, long trip. Other than carefully.

  “Did you have fun with Gussie last night?”

  She gave a single nod. “She’s nice.”

  “Yeah, she is.”

  “Do you like her?” Alex asked.

  The question threw him, and not because it was possibly the first personal thing she’d ever asked. He couldn’t believe she cared.

  Again, he chose every word like a well-timed shot, getting his angle and aperture just right. “What’s not to like? She’s funny and”—adorable and sexy—“great.”

  “I meant do you like her. You know, how you like a girl.”

  Yes, he knew. But did she? How much did twelve-year-olds know, anyway? He had no clue.

  “Well, I’d call her more of a woman than a girl, but yes, I do. Don’t like the idea of wedding photography,” he added, “but no getting out of it now.”

  She nodded, backing away, that state of semidiscomfort and semidistrust already enveloping her. Why couldn’t he talk to her? What was it that created the weird barrier between them, and would it ever come down? It had come down last night. But Gussie wasn’t here now to provide that buffer of some kind of female game-playing connection. Without it, he had no idea how to approach this.

  But he had to. “I want to ask you a question, Alex,” he said.

  She stared back at him.

  “How would you like to get away for a while?”

  Another shrug. “I guess. I’m not doing anything today.”

  That was a bit of progress. “I actually meant for a long time.”