Page 112 of Whatever Lola Wants

Grant glanced up. “Yeah, Mom really went all out. She and Anna have had their heads together, talking on the phone almost every day. Thank God they get along.”

Simon’s lips twitched. “They’ve probably compared notes on you, you know.”

Grant’s eyes widened, and he actually went a little pale. “Okay, let’s pretend that’s not true.”

Simon chuckled, accepting the glass Grant held out. He raised it slightly. “To a long and happy marriage.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Grant enthused, and clinked his glass against Simon’s.

“Can I ask you something?” Simon asked.

“Sure.”

“Do you think I did the right thing?”

Grant didn’t pretend not to know what he was talking about. He looked at Simon over the rim of his glass. “I can’t answer that.”

Simon tamped down on frustration. “You must have an opinion.”

“Yeah. But my opinion isn’t what matters.”

“I’m asking you for your opinion.”

Grant shook his head. “Nope. You’re not pulling me in to this.”

“Grant.”

“I can’t tell you if you did the right thing or not. It’s not my call to make. But if you want an opinion, I’ll give you this one. I’ve seen you with a lot of women over the years, and I’ve never seen you with one that made you as happy, as content, as you were with Lola.”

Simon stared into his glass, his gut in knots. “She made me happy.”

“Yeah, she did. So, I’ll ask you again; why do you think someone else will make you happier?”

He set his glass down on a side table. “I don’t know.”

“Well, when you figure it out, you’ll know if you did the right thing.”

Lola stood at the arbor, the early evening sun in her eyes. The rehearsal was under way, the minister walking Anna and Grant through the vows they’d say tomorrow. She stood at Anna’s left, and Simon stood at Grant’s right in the positions they’d take during the ceremony.

It was hard not to look at him.

The sunlight hit his hair, burnishing the rich chestnut with gold and deeper hints of red. He was watching the minister with a little smile on his face, his golden eyes glowing with warmth.

Then he turned and met her gaze.

She tried to look away, but something in his eyes, the way he was looking at her, wouldn’t let her. She couldn’t hide the hurt; she was too tired, her emotions too close to the surface. Her camouflage wouldn’t work now. She felt the hitch in her breathing, the stab of pain just under her heart.

He’d probably do this someday. Get married. He was a very traditional man, and when he found his perfect mate, his ideal submissive, they’d stand up in front of a minister and promise to love, honor and obey. Well, she’d promise to obey. He’d probably promise to protect, or something like that.

That she could see it so clearly just made it hurt all the more, and finally gave her the strength to tear her gaze away.

And just in time. The minister was sending Grant and Anna back down the aisle behind Henry, who was thoroughly enjoying the attention he was getting as ring bearer. Following her cue, Lola fell in behind them, Simon at her side. He offered his arm to escort her, and knowing it would look odd if she didn't, hooked her hand on his elbow.

She tried to ignore the warmth of his arm under her hand, the subtle flexing of hard muscle. She smiled blindly at the people that milled about in the garden, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. As soon as they were inside, she could let go.

But he laid his hand over hers and leaned down, his lips next to her ear. “We have to talk.”

Her smile felt like it was pasted on her face. “No, thank you.”

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