At the Billionaire’s Wedding by Katharine Ashe Miranda Neville Caroline Linden Maya Rodale Page A

about her childhood on a farm and the mysterious parents she avoided talking about. They couldn’t possibly be more bizarre than his and he wanted to tell her about them, too. With something like panic he realized she’d be leaving in four days and crossing the damnably wide Atlantic Ocean.
    The thought of a quick shag followed by her return to America, then nothing more between them but an occasional e-mail, was depressing. But what did he have to offer her?
    He’d listened to her and Mark chatting about places in New York he’d never heard of. A successful businesswoman with a glamorous life couldn’t possibly want to take on a dull Englishman with a quixotic determination to save a white elephant of a house he couldn’t really afford.

Chapter Eight
    The day before the wedding started badly. For the rehearsal dinner, at Jane’s request, Arwen had ordered special cream dessert cakes from a London bakery. Apparently this outfit was the successor to Gunter’s, a historic business that was big in Regency romance. The delivery had been made three days earlier and stowed in one of the giant refrigerators in the kitchen. That morning, it was discovered the thing wasn’t working.
    Since the Next Gordon Ramsey disclaimed all responsibility for a machine that didn’t contain his creations, they had no way of knowing how long the cakes had been unchilled. Arwen wasn’t about to risk giving a hotel full of guests food poisoning from bad cream. Compounding the problem, the Next G.R. steadfastly refused to turn around and provide desserts he hadn’t been contracted for.
    While venting her frustration to Harry, an unlikely savior appeared in the form of Duke’s lawyer, Archer Quinn, who had made the acquaintance of a woman in a nearby cottage. Arwen didn’t trouble to ask how a chef for one of the Boston area’s best restaurants happened to be in the vicinity with a cooler full of desserts. She merely thanked God for the existence of Natalie Corcoran.
    While she had signal, she called New York to check in with Valerie.
    “Guess what,” she said to Harry as they headed back to Brampton House from Natalie’s house. “Val heard that our lunatic chef has lost his investors for a US expansion because he’s impossible to work with. He’s about to be the Ex-Next Gordon Ramsey and it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”
    “Brilliant news. I take it you are no longer thinking of sleeping with the man.”
    “Puh-lease. He’s the last man in the world I’d ever do.”
    “I’m encouraged. I just moved up the list a notch.”
    “Idiot. You’re not an asshole.”
    “Thank you for the vote of approval.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    They walked on for a few minutes, Arwen sneaking glances at him as they went. His habitual calm was wonderfully soothing and she realized that after spending much of the last month in England, she’d come to appreciate a measured approach to life. Take last night. The Bull’s Head had been full of screaming wedding guests, so she’d taken her mother to The Pineapple of Perfection. It was a quiet night and Carol and Sheila had joined them and the four of them had a great chat over a bottle of wine.
    Molly and Carol bonded over organic food while Arwen and Sheila talked movies. It was also one of the few times in her life that Arwen could remember spending time with her mom without her dad being present. Perhaps they just needed a vacation from each other.
    Sheila occasionally got up to see to a straggler or two at another table and everyone was totally relaxed about it, so different from Arwen’s life in New York where everyone wanted everything yesterday and it was her job to provide it. Her life didn’t hold enough moments like this one, strolling through a gorgeous park in sunshine, with a good man at her side.
    “Do you miss living in London?” she asked.
    “Not at all. I had a job in a merchant bank and never knew how much I hated it until I left. Now I must try to make the hotel