Gorgeous Grooms: Her Stand-In Groom / Her Wish-List Bridegroom / Ordinary Girl, Society Groom. Jackie Braun

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СКАЧАТЬ of coffee, when he walked into the room. An empty bowl sat on the table and she was reading the newspaper. Two things struck him immediately. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and she was dressed in pajamas. She didn’t need eyeliner and blusher to make her lovely. Those blue eyes needed no enhancing and neither did those high cheekbones. As for her clothing, he decided she could wear burlap and belt it with twine and still look classy enough to have tea with the Queen.

      They had hardly spoken since the last time they’d been together in the kitchen, and his conscience nipped him hard. He owed her an apology.

      “Good morning,” she said.

      “Good morning.”

      “I made coffee.”

      “Smells good.”

      “And tastes all right, too,” she said, taking a sip. “I’m done with the paper.” She folded up the Tribune and scooted it to the other side of the table.

      He couldn’t stand another minute of this polite, trite conversation.

      “About Tuesday night. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off.”

      “It’s forgotten.” She waved one delicate-looking hand. The cheap band on her ring finger somehow managed to catch and reflect the light. He’d have to do something about that, he decided.

      He helped himself to some coffee and sat across from her. Something was on her mind. He could tell by the way she shifted in her seat. She didn’t fidget, precisely. Someone who looked like Catherine didn’t fidget. But she was ill at ease, apprehensive.

      “What is it?”

      “Excuse me?”

      “Something’s on your mind.”

      “I have a…function tonight. A ball and silent auction to raise funds for literacy. I didn’t organize it, but the committee is hoping that I…that we will be there. If you’re not free, I’ll understand. It is rather short notice.”

      “Black tie?”

      “Yes.”

      “What time?”

      “Six.”

      “I’ll be happy to escort you.”

      “We’ll be the center of attention,” she said, her tone apologetic. “They’ll all be wondering about our marriage.”

      Stephen had long been the subject of gossip. This would be nothing new. But he meant it when he said, “Then we’ll be sure to give them something good to talk about.”

      That evening, as he stood in his foyer and watched Catherine walk down the stairs, he knew they would indeed be the talk of the town. His beautiful Ice Princess wore fiery red, an off-the shoulder sheath of curve-hugging material that reached to her ankles and shimmered with each step she took. She wore heels, the strappy kind that showed off neatly painted toenails the same color as her dress, and she’d left her hair loose.

      “Encantador,” he murmured.

      “What does it mean?”

      “Lovely.”

      “Thank you. And you look handsome. How would I say that?”

       “Guapo.”

      “Muy guapo,” she said, with a lift of her brows, adding the Spanish word for “very.” Full lips bowed into a smile that was as red and tempting as her dress.

      The ballroom at the Sheraton Towers was already jammed with several hundred of Chicago’s wealthiest and most influential people when they arrived. Stephen recognized many people in the crowd. Some had even been frequent guests at his grandparents’ home while Stephen was growing up. But he didn’t consider any of them his friends, and the feeling was mutual. He nodded politely, as did they, and offered the standard greetings.

      Catherine, however, worked the room like a veteran politician, shaking hands, air-kissing cheeks, chuckling in that reserved way of hers at every joke or even mildly humorous remark. He’d never seen this side of her at other social functions, but he should have guessed it was there. It was what made her such a good fund-raiser. She knew much of society thought her a vapid and wealthy woman who merely played at her job with the shelter, and she was smart enough to use it to her advantage, coaxing dollars from their pockets in much the same way a snake charmer coaxes a cobra from its basket.

      The seating was assigned—each round, linen-covered table set with service for ten. No one was at Catherine and Stephen’s table yet except for an older couple, Enid and Oscar Dersham. Stephen recognized them as contemporaries of his grandparents, although he didn’t recall them coming to the house often, maybe just at Christmas for the annual party.

      He snagged two glasses of champagne and headed in the direction of the table, content to wait there for Catherine. But he was waylaid before he could get there by a woman he had dated casually the summer before.

      “I’ve heard a nasty rumor,” Cherise Langston said.

      She stood much too close to him as she spoke, and had the audacity to take one of the flutes of champagne he held and sip from it. Her forward behavior was just one of the reasons he’d broken things off with her long before they could become serious.

      “Hello, Cherise.”

      “You’re looking as tasty as ever, Stephen. So, is it true?”

      He decided to play dumb. “True?”

      “The rumor about you and Catherine Canton. The tabloids are claiming the two of you are married.”

      “Catherine is my wife,” he said succinctly.

      Her eyes widened, filled with malice, although her tone managed to stay light. “And you told me you weren’t the marrying kind. I believe your exact words were, ‘I don’t plan to make that kind of commitment to anyone.’”

      He had said that, and he’d meant it, but that had been long before he’d learned about the codicil. Long before Catherine.

      “I changed my mind.”

      “Are you trying to tell me you fell in love with Catherine Canton?” She laughed, a grating noise that he’d found annoying even when he’d also found her attractive. Now it was truly offensive.

      “I found it hard to believe when she snagged your cousin, but then Derek likes a challenge, and he’s unencumbered by a conscience. I hear he was putting the moves on the wedding planner just minutes before their ceremony.”

      When he didn’t dignify her speculation with a response, she continued. “What a waste of manhood.” She held out her glass and clinked it against his in a toast. “Call me when you need some warming up. I’m not partial to playing second fiddle, but for you I’ll make an exception. Hasta luego, sweetheart.”

      Catherine joined him at their table a few minutes later, already looking tired, though she camouflaged it well enough. She greeted the Dershams with her usual charm.

      “You’re СКАЧАТЬ