Page 5 of Dreaming of You

"Thanks." As Olivia moved away, she couldn't help noting that Barrett was no longer in the living room. With any luck, he'd only stopped in to the party for a drink.

She moved into the dining room, noting the glistening china, silver, and crystal, and all the other little party details, so that she could get a sense of what Olivia Hunt liked. Everything was certainly beautiful, impeccable, and very sophisticated.

But what she really needed to know was how Candice's taste differed from her mother's. She was looking forward to hearing from the bride herself.

But as the minutes passed, and there was no sign of Candice or her groom, her party smile began to feel a little forced. It was hard to mingle. Most everyone seemed to know each other, and their circles of conversation felt very closed off. Needing some air, she made her way into the gardens, which offered a patio and fire pit where some younger guests were sitting on couches, sipping champagne and nibbling on appetizers.

The house was built into the hillside, and one garden descended into another. She headed down the stairs to the lowest level, which still offered the same amazing view of the San Francisco city lights. Resting her arms on the railing, she took in a deep breath and let the magical view wash over her. This was the view Candice had grown up with or at least was familiar with. Maybe there was inspiration to be found in the lights.

"Should I run for cover or did you come unarmed?" a voice drawled mockingly from the shadows.

She whirled around at the sound of Barrett's voice. "I thought you'd left the party."

"And I was wondering why you were here," he said, moving into the light.

"Candice Hunt is considering using my services for her wedding."

"Ah, that explains it."

"Why? You don't think I could just be a guest?" she challenged.

"I've been coming to the Hunts' parties for years. It's always the same crowd. That's why I was surprised to see you—a new face."

"And one you've taken an instant dislike to."

"It's not your face that bothers me."

"Just my statues."

"Yes. Did you make arrangements to move them?"

"I will get them out of there by Monday."

"Is someone really using those statues at their wedding? Are they part of some strange wedding tradition, or just an exercise in bad taste?" he asked, joining her at the railing.

"They were supposed to be six inches, not six feet. They were going to be part of a table centerpiece. But there was a misprint."

"Why didn't you send them back?"

"Because the bride suddenly decided that they'd make a great receiving line for her wedding walk into her reception—like a line of soldier cupids guarding their love."

He shook his head in bemusement. "That's…crazy. I predict that couple will be divorced within two years."

"Why would you say that? You don't even know them."

"No man worth his salt would allow his bride to make a fool of him. That poor guy will suddenly wake up and realize he's been taken for a fool."

"I don't think the groom has a problem with the cupid statues. He also adores his bride and wants to make her happy. Predicting a divorce based on some wedding décor is ridiculous."

He shrugged. "I stand by my prediction."

She frowned at the cynical edge in his voice. "I assume you're not married."

"Not anymore."

She was surprised. "Oh, I didn't realize…"

"That I'd made it down the aisle? Yes, I did, and that wedding was the most important thing to my fiancée. She spent almost a year planning every last detail, from the swan ice sculptures to the horse-drawn carriage and the rose-petal path to the altar. Unfortunately, it turned out that the wedding was really all she wanted. The marriage could never live up to the hype of that day. We were divorced within fifteen months. All that money her parents spent went down the drain. And it was a lot of money."

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