Page 27 of Seaside Cowboy's Marriage of Convenience

Or maybe Kennedy had chosen this painting because the girl had the same mischievous look in her eyes Zoey once had. She suppressed a sharp pain in her chest with a familiar effort. It was probably as difficult to balance the ache her desire to keep Zoey alive in her memory caused as to balance herself on a fountain’s edge without falling in. They’d been like sisters, in appearance and in souls.

The joy in the girl’s eyes matched the newfound joy in Skylar’s, and Kennedy loved the uplifting sensation emanating from the canvas. She glanced at Austin, and the fountain’s sparkling clear water seemed to match his personality. So far, he appeared just as transparent and just as sparkling.

She hid a smile as her chest expanded when their eyes met and a slow grin spread over his handsome face. Her heart fluttered, and she couldn’t look away. Marriage of convenience or not, an invisible bond linked them already.

He reminded her of a different fountain she’d had to get for a couple of weddings at the hotel. A chocolate fountain to dip strawberries into. He was just as sweet.

Her gaze shifted to the picture behind him, a gigantic, floor-to-ceiling oil portrait of her mother in a stunning off-shoulder crimson evening gown. Dazzling in a diamond necklace and earrings, she held a bouquet of magenta hibiscuses. How ironic that her mother’s favorite flowers were the ones Kennedy was allergic to. Her mother was gorgeous to start with, but she’d demanded the artist make her nose even more delicate and her lips plumper. The artist’s brushstrokes had been the original filter before those used on social media now.

Sadness and nostalgia unraveled inside Kennedy. Absent mother or not, Kennedy missed her—or maybe the idea of having a mother—and that created her own filter, especially on a day of planning a wedding.

Would her mother help her prepare for the wedding? Or would Kennedy once again disappoint her with an intimate gathering instead of a huge party with important people? Her mother loved parties. Her parents’ wedding was the talk of the town for a long time. Kennedy would never know how her mother would’ve reacted, and she wanted to.

As if feeling the void, Mrs. Lawrence got up and hugged Kennedy again. Unlike Kennedy’s family, Austin’s seemed to be big on hugs and affection. “Honey, I know I’m not your mother—and I’d never try to be. But whatever you need, please know you can come to me.”

A lump formed in Kennedy’s throat again, and grateful tears sprang to her eyes. But having been taught that big girls shouldn’t cry, she held them in. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.” And it did. Far more than anyone could know.

“Don’t mention it. When you marry one of my sons, you get the rest of the family, too.”

“That can be a bit scary,” Austin muttered.

The door opened, and two dashing young men who moved silently without drawing attention to themselves rolled in carts that emanated delicious aromas. Her uncle had asked for everyone’s preferences two days ago and offered options, and they’d agreed on lamb chops with Greek salad and rice. His personal chef used to work in one of the upscale New York restaurants but far preferred their more relaxed atmosphere and ocean community. Maybe because Christos was of Greek descent and had grown up on the Mediterranean.

Now, Kennedy’s nose followed the mouthwatering scents of the spices he’d brought from his home country. Plates with Mediterranean motifs, platinum utensils, crystal glasses, and teal-hued linen napkins appeared in front of everyone. The guys, dressed in impeccably crisp white shirts and ironed black slacks, poured drinks.

“Anyone need anything else?” her uncle asked.

“We’re good,” Austin and Kennedy said in unison, then glanced at each other.

Everyone else chorused, “No thanks.”

At Uncle’s gesture, the young men disappeared as if they never existed. The first rule for the staff was to provide any needed assistance while being as close to invisible as possible.

“Well, doesn’t this look awesome?” Mrs. Lawrence couldn’t be invisible if she tried, and that was one of many things Kennedy loved about her. “Anyone mind if I say grace?”

“Of course not,” Kennedy said fast. Her parents were Christians, and so was her uncle. So she’d sort of slipped into faith the same way she’d slipped into her role with the family business. But they were more the look-how-much-we-donated kind than the intimate-relationship-with-God kind that the Lawrences were.

She bowed her head but didn’t say anything. She was used to which utensils one used during a meal being far more important than grace being said. Could that change?

Afterward, she tried the yummy lamb, and the robust herbs burst with a fantastic flavor. But then she didn’t expect anything else.

“Is this some kind of soup?” Mrs. Lawrence took a sip from a small bowl.

Kennedy’s eyes widened while her uncle cleared his throat. “It’s scented water to wash your hands.”

Austin gulped and seemed to stifle a yelp. Uh-oh.

Mrs. Lawrence didn’t even blush. “Oh. I wondered why it didn’t have any flavor. I was going to give your cook a good soup recipe.”

Kennedy and Uncle exchanged glances again, and amusement danced in his. They both could imagine how well it would go if Mrs. Lawrence advised Christos how to cook.

Austin’s mom didn’t dry her hands on the napkin placed for that purpose but just waved them in the air, so droplets splashed Uncle’s face. Then she eyed the crystal water goblet, with the as-yet-unfilled glasses beside it. “Is this the one to drink? Or am I supposed to wash my face with it or something?”

“It’s to drink, Mom.”

Mrs. Lawrence scrunched her nose at the three forks. “Which one of these forks am I supposed to use with the lamb and which one with the salad? Frankly, I don’t understand why one needs so many utensils.”

Austin paled and showed her.

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