The Welcoming

his mouth to hers. “I want you to belong to me. God, I need to belong to you. Do you believe that?”
    “Yes.” Breathless, she touched a hand to his cheek. “Roman, we’re talking about marriage, a lifetime. I only intend to do this once.” She dragged a hand through her hair and sat down again. “I guess everyone says that, but I need to believe it. It has to start off with more than a few words in front of an official. Wait, please,” she said before he could speak again. “You’ve really thrown me off here, and I want to make you understand. I love you, and I can’t think of anything I want more than to belong to you. When I marry you it has to be more than rushing to the J.P. and saying I do. I don’t have to have a big, splashy wedding, either. It’s not a matter of long white trains and engraved invitations.”
    “Then what is it?”
    “I want flowers and music, Roman. And friends.” She took his face in her hands, willing him to understand. “I want to stand beside you knowing I look beautiful, so that everyone can see how proud I am to be your wife. If that sounds overly romantic, well, it should be.”
    “How long do you need?”
    “Can I have two weeks?”
    He was afraid to give her two days. But it was for the best, he told himself. He would never be able to hold her if there were still lies between them. “I’ll give you two weeks, if you’ll go away with me afterward.”
    “Where?”
    “Leave it to me.”
    “I love surprises.” Her lips curved against his. “And you . . . you’re the biggest surprise so far.”
    “Two weeks.” He took her hands firmly in his. “No matter what happens.”
    “You make it sound as though we might have to overcome a natural disaster in the meantime. I’m only going to take a few days to make it right.” She brushed a kiss over his cheek and smiled again. “It will be right, Roman, for both of us. That’s another promise. I’d like that champagne now.”
    She took out the glasses while he retrieved the bottle from the water. As they sat together on the blanket, he released the cork with a pop and a hiss.
    “To new beginnings,” she said, touching her glass to his.
    He wanted to believe it could happen. “I’ll make you happy, Charity.”
    “You already have.” She shifted so that she was cuddled against him, her head on his shoulder. “This is the best picnic I’ve ever had.”
    He kissed the top of her head. “You haven’t eaten anything yet.”
    “Who needs food?” With a sigh, she reached up. He linked his hand with hers, and they both looked out toward the horizon.

Chapter 10
    Check-in on Tuesday was as chaotic as it came. Charity barreled her way through it, assigning rooms and cabins, answering questions, finding a spare cookie for a cranky toddler, and waited for the first rush to pass.
    She was the first to admit that she usually thrived on the noise, the problems and the healthy press of people that proved the inn’s success. At the moment, though, she would have liked nothing better than having everyone, and everything settled.
    It was hard to keep her mind on the business at hand when her head was full of plans for her wedding.
    Should she have Chopin or Beethoven? She’d barely begun her list of possible selections. Would the weather hold so that they could have the ceremony in the gardens, or would it be best to plan an intimate and cozy wedding in the gathering room?
    “Yes, sir, I’ll be glad to give you information on renting bikes.” She snatched up a pamphlet.
    When was she going to find an afternoon free so that she could choose the right dress? It
had
to be the right dress, the perfect dress. Something ankle-length, with some romantic touches of lace. There was a boutique in Eastsound that specialized in antique clothing. If she could just—
    “Aren’t you going to sign that?”
    “Sorry, Roger.” Charity pulled herself back and offered him an apologetic smile. “I don’t seem to be all here this morning.”
    “No problem.” He patted her hand as she signed his roster. “Spring fever?”
    “You could call it that.” She tossed back her hair, annoyed that she hadn’t remembered to braid it that morning. As long as she was smelling orange blossoms she’d be lucky to remember her own name. “We’re a little behind. The computer’s acting up again. Poor Bob’s been fighting with it since yesterday.”
    “Looks like you’ve been in a fight yourself.”
    She lifted a hand to the