Wish Upon a Wedding. Kate Hardy

the two weeks before the wedding show Claire was crazily busy and had almost no free time for dates. Sean took over and brought in takeaways to make sure she ate in the evenings; he also made her take breaks before her eyes started hurting, and gave her massages when her shoulders ached.

      Even though part of Claire thought he was being just a little bit overprotective, she was grateful for the TLC. ‘I really appreciate this, Sean.’

      ‘I know, and you’d do the same for me if I had an exhibition,’ he pointed out. ‘By the way, I’m in talks with a couple of manufacturers about joint projects and licensing. Talking to you and brainstorming stuff like that,’ he said, ‘really helped me see the way I want the company to go in the future.’

      ‘Following your dreams?’

      ‘Maybe,’ he said with a smile, and kissed her.

      * * *

      The week before the wedding show, Claire took Sean to meet her family—her father, her grandmother, Aunt Lou and her cousins. Clearly she’d talked to them about him, Sean thought, because they already seemed to know who he was and lots about him. Then he realised that they knew Ashleigh and his background was the same as hers.

      Even though they were warm and welcoming and treated him as if he were one of them, chatting and laughing and teasing him, he still felt strange. His grandparents would’ve been older than Claire’s and had died when he was in his teens. This was the first time for years that Sean had been in a family situation where he wasn’t being the protective big brother and the head of the family, and it made him feel lost, not knowing quite where he was supposed to fit in.

      It didn’t help that Claire’s father grilled him mercilessly about his intentions towards Claire. Sean could understand it—he shared Jacob’s opinion of Claire’s previous boyfriends, at least the ones that he’d met—but it still grated that he’d be judged alongside them.

      And he could also see what Claire meant about her dad not believing in her. Jacob didn’t see the point of spending time and money making six sets of wedding clothes that hadn’t actually been ordered by clients, and he’d said a couple of times during the evening that he couldn’t see how Claire would possibly get a return on her investment. Claire had smiled sweetly and glossed over it, but Sean had seen that little pleat between her brows that only appeared when she was really unhappy about something. Clearly she was hurt by the way her father still didn’t believe in her.

      Well, maybe he could give Jacob Stewart something to think about. ‘I always do trade shows,’ he said. ‘They’re really good for awareness—and it makes new customers consider stocking you when they see the quality of your product.’

      ‘Maybe,’ Jacob said.

      ‘I don’t know if you saw the dress Claire made for my sister, but it was absolutely amazing. She’s really good at what she does. And what gives her the extra edge is that she loves what she does, too. That gives her clients confidence. And it’s why they tell all their friends about her. Her referral rate is stunning.’

      Jacob said nothing, but raised an eyebrow.

      Sean decided not to push it any further—the last thing he wanted was for Jacob to upset Claire any further on the subject and knock her confidence at this late stage—but he had to hide a smile when he saw the fervent thumbs-up that Claire’s grandmother and aunt did out of Jacob’s viewpoint.

      Though he was quiet when he drove Claire home.

      ‘I’m sorry, Sean. I shouldn’t have asked you to meet them—it’s too early,’ she said, guessing why he was quiet and getting it totally wrong. ‘It’s just, well, they’ll all be coming to the wedding show and I thought it’d be better if you met them before rather than spring it on you then.’

      ‘No, it was nice to meet them,’ he said. ‘I liked them.’ He wanted to shake her father, but judged it not the most tactful thing to say.

      ‘They liked you—and Dad approved of you, which has to be a first.’

      He couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘Even though I argued with him?’

      ‘You batted my corner,’ she said. ‘And I appreciate that. I think he did, too. Dad’s just...a bit difficult.’

      ‘He’ll come round in the end,’ Sean said. ‘When he sees your collection on the catwalk, he’ll understand.’

      ‘Hardly. He’s a guy. So he’s not the slightest bit interested in dresses,’ Claire said, though to Sean’s relief this time she was smiling rather than looking upset. ‘I just have to remember not to let it get to me.’

      ‘You’re going to be brilliant,’ Sean said. ‘Come on. Let’s go to bed.’

      She smiled. ‘I thought you’d never ask...’

      * * *

      Over the next week, Claire worked later and later on last-minute changes to the wedding show outfits, and the only way Sean could get her out of her workroom for dinner was to haul her manually over his shoulder and carry her out of the room.

      ‘You need to eat to keep your strength up, and you can’t live off sandwiches for the next week,’ he told her, ‘or you’ll make yourself ill.’

      ‘I guess.’ She blinked as she took in the fact that her kitchen was actually being used and something smelled gorgeous. ‘Hang on, dinner isn’t a takeaway.’

      ‘It’s nothing fancy, either,’ Sean said dryly, ‘but it’s home-cooked from scratch and there are proper vegetables.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘And at least you have gadgets that help.’

      ‘My electric steamer. Best gadget ever.’ She smiled back and stroked his face. ‘Sean, thank you. It’s really good of you to do this for me.’

      ‘Any time, and you know you’d do the same if I was the one up to my eyes in preparation for a big event, so it’s not a big deal.’ He kissed her lightly. ‘Sit down, milady, because dinner will be served in about thirty seconds.’

      But when he’d dished up and they were eating, he noticed that she was pushing her food around her plate. ‘Is my cooking that terrible? You don’t have to be polite with me—leave it if you hate it.’

      ‘It’s wonderful. I’m just tired.’ She made an effort to eat.

      He tried to distract her a little. ‘So do you have a dream of a dress?’

      ‘Not really,’ she said.

      ‘So all these years when you’ve sketched wedding dresses, you never once drew the one you wanted for yourself?’

      ‘I guess it would depend when and where I got married—if it was on a beach in the Seychelles I wouldn’t pick the same dress, veil or shoes as I’d pick for a tiny country church in the middle of winter in, say, the far north of Scotland.’

      ‘I guess,’ he said. ‘So which kind of wedding would you prefer?’

      ‘It’s all academic,’ she said.

      He could guess why she wasn’t answering him—she was obviously worried he’d think she was hinting and had expectations where he was concerned.

      ‘Is that why the outfits in your wedding collection are so diverse?’

      ‘Yes—four seasonal weddings, one vintage-inspired outfit, and one that’s more tailored towards a civil wedding,’ she explained.

      ‘That’s a good range,’ he said. ‘It will show people what you can do.’

      ‘I hope so.’ For a second she looked really worried and vulnerable.

      ‘Claire, you know your stuff, you’re good at what you do and your work is really going to shine at the show.’ He reached over to squeeze her hand. ‘I believe in you.’

      ‘Thank you, though I wasn’t fishing