belt on her robe. “Cal’s timing stinks on ice. Don’t think we’ve gone all
Sixteen Candles
and forgotten your thirtieth. We’ll do your birthday up right when we get back to Seattle.”
“Men never think,” Helen said. “That’s why they get married, to have someone do the thinking for them.”
They all laughed as the hostess led them to the massage chairs circling a fish tank. Mira reclined in her chair and slipped her feet into the bubbling warm water. The spa smelled like the ocean, only cleaner.
“You know what I think?” Tina asked.
Mira leaned forward, desperate for insight. After a few frustrating years at the DA’s office, Tina had become a jury profiler. Her observations always came with some perceptive insight everyone else missed.
“Cal is confronting his own mortality after the death of his father. Mark my words, he’ll have a baby in under a year.” She shared a grin with Molly. “Something to make him feel connected to the future again. This woman will be more maternal than we’d ever imagined for him. Maybe someone like his mother.”
Except Cal’s mother was anything but maternal. Mira leaned back in her seat, not wanting to share how much she knew about the tenuous relationship between mother and son.
Bridie had been married to Hamish Kerr for thirty-five years, yet in the week after his death she didn’t try to comfort their only child. Instead she’d wanted to talk business. It had been almost as hard to watch as when Cal had to make the funeral arrangements alone. Mira had made most of the decisions herself, as he’d sat in numb silence.
No wonder Cal sought out a marriage of convenience; he was the product of one. A family tradition she’d be supporting if she agreed to marry him. But what choice did she have? Let him marry someone else? Or be the reason he lost the thing that meant the most to him?
Cal stood beside the black limousine, the insidious Nevada heat swirling through the exhaust-filled air in the covered area at the entrance to the hotel. The driver stood at attention as shuttle buses and taxis moved through. He checked the obsidian face of his watch for the third time and his stomach sank.
Mira was never late. She’d jilted him, leaving him standing beside the limo for any of their friends to find if they happened to step outside. Thank goodness for the heat.
He’d managed to evade the guys by distracting them with a poker lesson from a pro. Until he knew Miranda would come through, he didn’t want to see or talk to anyone who might remind him of the absurdity of his predicament.
Time alone in a honeymoon suite that smelled like roses only served to dampen his mood. If Miranda refused, his mother would lose the company she’d sold her soul to save. And it would be his fault for not forcing the issue with his father, and for trusting Dirk to do the right thing.
Strangers poured out of the revolving doors of the hotel, but he only registered them as not Mira. He pulled his phone from his pocket and texted her a single word.
Please.
“Mr. Kerr?”
Cal blinked, turning toward the female voice. He had no idea how long Tonya, the wedding concierge, had been standing there. He’d only met the woman this morning when he checked in, but he’d spent the better part of his week on the phone with her because she kept wanting input on wedding details he couldn’t care less about.
“Are all the plans to your liking?” She stared up at him like a deer in headlights.
He nodded and forced a smile. He hated when people were afraid of him. Fear had been his father’s motivator of choice; Cal preferred to stick with recognition and cash.
“Everything met with your satisfaction so far? The room, the bouquets?” She clasped her hands in front of her, her fingers toying with the slim belt of her gray dress.
“It’s fine.” And a waste of time unless Mira came out of those doors in the next two minutes.
“Did Miss Rose have any requests? There’s not a