by Nika Rhone
“I get freckles, Mother, not spots, and I’m not trying to embarrass anyone.” Unlike you. The unspoken words hovered in the air like a grenade waiting to go off.
“Well!” The word came out in a rush of haughty indignation. “That’s the thanks I get for trying to do my best for my only daughter, who would rather cavort with her uncultured friends than help with her own wedding plans!”
“Cavort?” Thea mouthed to Lillian with comically raised eyebrows.
“Uncultured?” Lillian mouthed back, looking equally amused.
They’d heard Mrs. Westlake’s “That’s the thanks I get” speech too many times to really take the words to heart. It was Amelia who would end up wounded. Her mother was never satisfied until she’d drawn blood.
“The last time I tried to help with my own wedding plans, I was told there was nothing for me to do. You and Mrs. Davenport hired a wedding planner to handle all the details, remember?”
“Well, of course, we did.” She sounded shocked at the mere idea that they wouldn’t. “It’s what one does for a Society wedding.”
Amelia made a small strangling noise. “You can’t have it both ways, Mother. You can’t hire someone to plan my wedding and then complain when I’m not doing what you’re already paying her to do.”
“You should be overseeing the details.”
“I would be, except for the little fact that every time I’ve spoken to her, it seems that you and Mrs. Davenport have already overseen everything to death.”
“Well, what else can we do? At least with Constance and myself handling things, we can be assured that everything will be done the right way. With class.”
There it was, Thea thought with an inward cringe. The blade had just been unsheathed.
“Meaning that if I were to handle it myself, I wouldn’t know how to do it with class?” Amelia’s voice was tight but steady.
“Well, I would never be so tactless as to say such a thing, dear.” But she wouldn’t dispute it when it fell from Amelia’s lips. With that deft thrust of the verbal knife, all of Amelia’s bravado evaporated, leaving her vulnerable to whatever other jabs her mother might be inclined to make. Thea and Lillian stepped into the breach before the woman could bring her daughter to tears.
“Is the president invited to the wedding?” Lillian asked.
Momentarily nonplused by the unexpected question, Mrs. Westlake gave Lillian a quizzical look.
“Yes, of course.” Her gaze went back to her silent daughter. “That’s why it’s so very important that everything—”
“You’re good friends with his wife, aren’t you?” Lillian persisted in drawing attention back to herself.
“Well, yes, yes I am.” Mrs. Westlake preened despite the fact that she’d been interrupted. It seemed rudeness could be overlooked for at least some reasons. “We were sorority sisters. Then when both our husbands entered politics, we were brought back together again. It’s good to have allies.”
Not friends. Allies. What a sad life politicians’ wives must lead, Thea mused and wondered again how Amelia would survive it. She didn’t have the requisite backbone of steel or rhinoceros hide for skin. Even now, Thea saw her friend’s hand surreptitiously clutching at a stomach that was probably mere months away from blossoming into a full-blown ulcer. But she loved Charles and was willing to brave the dragons of Washington for him. Thea just hoped Amelia had time to toughen up before one of those dragons gutted her like a kitten.
“It’ll be fun to meet him.” Lillian slanted Thea a sly look. “I mean, how often does one get to sit down to dinner with the leader of the free world?”
“Right,” Thea said, picking up her cue, “this will probably be the only time we get to have a nice long chat with him. At least, until Charles goes to Washington and we come for a visit.”
As hoped, in light of this new dilemma, Mrs. Westlake forgot all about Amelia. “Meet? Chat?” Her mouth managed to purse into a pinched line; a sure sign of her extreme agitation. “One does not chat with the president. One acknowledges him with the deference due his position and replies if, and only if, he speaks to you first, and even then you do not chat.” She seemed horrified by the thought.
“Okay, no chatting.” Thea’s obliging tone, along with the sweet smile she bestowed on Mrs. Westlake was enough to convince the woman that she was up to no good.
The woman drew herself to her full regal height and glared down her surgically narrowed patrician nose at her. “I know you’re plotting something in that devious little mind of yours, Cynthia Fordham, but you can be sure that you won’t have the opportunity to do whatever it is you’re thinking of doing. This wedding will be the event of the year, and I won’t allow you to ruin it for me.” After a final glare, she stalked her way back into the house. Unfortunately, the heavy smell of roses didn’t depart as quickly. Thea escaped it by retaking her seat.
“She’s probably going to sic the Secret Service on you, you know,” Lillian said to Thea. “You won’t get within a mile of the president now.”
“Gee, color me disappointed.” Thea looked at Amelia and felt a rush of sympathy for her friend. “You okay?” She nodded at the roll of antacids Amelia had withdrawn from her pocket.
“Peachy.” She grimaced as she chewed two of the chalky tablets and then rinsed her mouth with the last of her iced tea. “Sorry about all that,” she said with a vague wave of her hand. “The closer the engagement party gets, the worse she is, barking out orders and biting off everyone’s head if everything isn’t perfect.” She said the last word like it was a curse. Fiddling with the roll of antacids, she said, “If you’re wondering what to give me for an engagement present, a few cases of these wouldn’t go to waste.” It was supposed to be a joke, but there was a slight tremor in her voice that said it wasn’t that far from the truth.
“You could always elope,” Lillian said.
Amelia gave a harsh laugh. “You heard my mother. My wedding is going to be the event of the year. She’d never forgive me if I took that away from her.”
“It’s your wedding,” Thea said, “not hers. And it’s supposed to make you happy, not insane. Just tell your mother you want something smaller, more intimate.” But even as she spoke, Amelia was shaking her head.
“But it’s not just my wedding, though. I have to think of Charles. His career is just getting started. Between his father and mine, he’s got a foot in the door, but if he can make a good impression on even half the people who are invited, his political future is almost guaranteed. With the right support, he’ll be able to bypass the lower, local offices and go right for a seat in Washington. It could put him on the fast track to the White House.”
Those sounded an awful lot like William Westlake’s words coming from his daughter’s mouth, but Thea didn’t bother to point it out. It was no secret that the former senator, recently retired from politics due to a bad heart, had long planned a run for the White House himself. Now that that dream had been taken away from him, Thea wouldn’t put it past him to be a driving force behind putting his future son-in-law into the Oval Office in his place.
“So Charles gets exposure and a boost to his career by letting the dragons plan the wedding of the century.” Lillian’s remark held a sour tone. “What do you get out of it?”
Thea’s heart broke a tiny bit when Amelia stared off at some unseen spot and said simply, “Someone to love me.”
“Does he?” Thea couldn’t keep herself from asking. “Really?”
“He really does.” Amelia smiled, and the happiness of it reached her eyes for a change. “I know you don’t see it, but he’s quite romantic and sweet. Since he’s been on the road with his father so much since the engagement, he’s been sending me little notes to let me know he misses me.” Her smile turned very cat-ate-the-canary. “Love notes.”
“Sexy love notes?” Lillian asked, sitting forward in sudden interest.
Amelia’s cheeks got pinker. “Maybe just a little.”
“Wow. Way t
o go, Charles.” Lillian toasted the absent groom-to-be with her glass.
Thea was surprised. She never would have guessed that Charles had a romantic streak. From her few encounters with him over the past few months, she’d always thought he was a bit of an emotionless jerk. It was good to know she’d been so wrong.
“I’m happy you’re happy, Mellie,” she said, “but you still should put your foot down about not getting a say in your own wedding plans.”
The sparkle in Amelia’s eyes dimmed and her smile grew tight. “It’s okay. All I have to do is keep from going homicidal for the next nine months. After twenty-two years, nine months is a piece of cake. Once the wedding is over and done with, and Charles and I are settled into our lives in Connecticut, and his parents are back in Washington, aside from missing you guys, everything will be perfect. You’ll see.” She tapped her finger against her glass in an agitated staccato. “Anyway, enough about my issues. We’re supposed to be helping you on your manhunt.”
Somehow Thea doubted it would be quite that simple to dislodge Amelia’s mother and mother-in-law from her life. But she could tell that Amelia was desperate to turn the subject away from herself, so she swallowed her protest.
“Right.” Thea looked to Lillian and grimaced. “So? We’re back to strut, shake and…jiggle.” She practically had to choke out the word. “I suppose you’re going to teach me how?”
The wicked smile on Lillian’s face should have served as warning. “Oh, no, not me. But I know just the person who can.”
Chapter Six
“Thea, darling!”
Enfolded in an enthusiastic hug that made her wince, Thea had to wait until she was released to draw enough breath for a reply.
“Good to see you, too, Des.” She grinned as the same rib-crushing greeting squeezed a surprised squeak out of Amelia. What Des lacked in height and bulk—he only topped Thea and Amelia by a few inches—he more than made up for in exuberance.
Des turned to Sam Britten, who had insisted in his quiet but firm way that he’d have to come inside with them, old friend of Lillian’s or not. Des’s lips kicked up into a pleased half-smile. “And who is this you’ve brought along, kittens?”
“My shadow for the day, Sam Britten,” Thea said. “Sam, this is Desmond Finkle.”
“Just Des is fine,” Des said, taking the bodyguard’s hand in a lingering shake. Thea groaned to herself. She’d forgotten Des’s penchant for blond-haired, blued-eyed men. He laughingly said that aesthetically they were the perfect counterpoint to his own mixed-Mediterranean skin tone and dark hair, but Thea thought it had more to do with the man he’d loved and lost and still hadn’t quite gotten over. Not that she’d ever say as much. For all his flamboyance, Des was one of the most private people she knew.
When Des flashed her a quick, questioning look, Thea shook her head. Nope, Sam was as straight as the days were long; more’s the pity for Des’s hopes. Des pursed his lips and sighed.
“Ah, well,” he murmured before sweeping them all toward the duplex’s large living room with a courtly gesture. Thea wasn’t sure if Sam had caught or understood the byplay, but, wise man that he was, if so he had chosen to ignore it.
Des settled the women onto the comfortable, overstuffed furniture that filled the oblong room, which was tastefully decorated (thanks to Thea’s talent) but filled with enough kitschy tchotchkes to feel homey and lived-in (thanks to Des’s eclectic taste).
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure, loveys?”
Both Thea and Amelia glanced at Lillian, who in turn threw a glance at Sam, who had moved to the far side of the room to provide at least the appearance of privacy.
With a glint of understanding lighting his eyes, Des jumped back to his feet like a large cat. “Wait, where are my manners! Let me get some cool drinks, and then we can have a nice coze.” That fast, he was gone from the room.
“How are we supposed to talk to Des about…things with Sam in the room?” Amelia whispered. Lillian gave her a knowing grin.
“Trust me. Des will take care of it.”
Sure enough, Des returned a few minutes later with not only a pitcher of lemonade and glasses, but with his roommate, Sheila, as well. The petite redhead was dressed in snug jeans and a cropped baby blue T-shirt that teased at her pierced navel and carried a dish of sugar cookies that smelled as though they had just come out of the oven. Thea had to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the sudden look of interest on Sam’s face. Food and sex. Trust Des to use a two-pronged attack to go right for a man’s greatest weaknesses.
“You three all remember Sheila, yes?” Des said, knowing full well that they did. He turned to Sam with a wicked smile. “Mister Britten, allow me to introduce you to my roommate and dear, dear friend, Miss Sheila Anderson.”
“My pleasure, Miss Anderson.”
“Sheila, please.” Her voice held the soft lilt of Ireland, which seemed to fascinate Sam as he took her offered hand.
“A pleasure, Sheila.”
Jumping at the golden opportunity Des had manufactured, Thea said, “Sam, didn’t you come inside so you could check out the rest of the apartment?”
“Oh, I’d be happy to give you a tour of the place.” Thea wasn’t sure if Sheila volunteered because Des had primed her to her role as a distraction, or because the look of interest she gave Sam was as real as the one she received in return. Either one suited her purpose, but Thea still felt a pang of conscience. She liked Sam. She didn’t want his feelings toyed with just to get him out of earshot.
“Be sure to show him what you have in the kitchen, love.” Des winked.
“What does she have in the kitchen?” Thea couldn’t resist asking when Sam and his escort had left the room. Sheila was a pastry chef for one of the local upscale restaurants and spent most of her spare time coming up with new and exotic desserts. Amelia had wanted to hire her to make her wedding cake, but the dragons had both vetoed the idea. No mere local pastry chef could possibly be up to the task of such an important event. They were flying someone in from Paris or somewhere to do the deed, even though Thea had no doubt that Sheila could do the job twice as well for a fraction the cost, not to mention the huge boost it would have given her career.
Yet another loss for Amelia on the wedding war front.
“She’s working on a commission for a bachelorette party this weekend. They wanted her to design something appropriate to the occasion, but she’s having a little trouble getting the desired results.” The twinkle in Des’s dark, Mediterranean eyes spoke volumes of forewarning, but poor Amelia fell right into his trap.
“What kind of results?”
With gales of laughter in his look but a mere faint smile on his full lips, Des replied, “It seems the centerpiece to the whole design is having trouble holding its erection. It keeps wilting after mere minutes.” This, he illustrated with his hand. “For the bride’s sake, I hope it’s not a portent of the upcoming wedding night.”
Amelia colored bright red and took refuge in her lemonade.
Choking back laughter even while trying to picture the malfunctioning bit of pastry, Thea shook her head. “You’re too bad, Des.”
“Yes, I know. A fatal flaw, I’m afraid.” He sighed dramatically and then recovered. “So. While Sheila still has sumptuous Sam occupied, why don’t you tell me what’s brought you to my door.” With a shrewd look at Thea, he asked, “Are you in some kind of trouble, sweet? You don’t usually have a watchdog on your heels.”
“No, no real trouble,” Thea assured him, although that wasn’t strictly true. “Sam’s more of a precaution than anything else.” She made a moue of distaste. “Doyle’s orders until my father gets back.”
As usual, Des saw too much. “Ah, yes, Mister Doyle,” he purred. “And how is the dear man?” Thea shrugged, but Lillian wasn’t so reticent.
“He’s stubborn and blind where Thea is concerned, and we need your help teaching her how to make the most of her assets so he’ll stop being an idiot and notice her.
She’s got self-confidence issues,” she said in a confiding-a-secret tone.
Des looked surprised. “Whatever for?”
“Bad boyfriend experience.”
“Ah.” Des nodded. “Once bitten, twice shy. Understandable. But definitely something we can overcome.”
Rather than crawl under the chair, which was her initial inclination, Thea shot Lillian a dirty look instead. “You didn’t have to just blurt it all out like that. I sound pathetic.”
“Yes, I did, and no, you’re not. We just don’t have time to beat around the bush. The house is only so big, and Sheila can’t keep Sam occupied forever.” Lillian looked at Des, who was looking at Thea with a speculative gleam in his eye. “So, do you think you can help her stand out in a crowd?”
Des laughed. “Oh, kitten, standing out in a crowd is what I do best!” He sobered and motioned for Thea to stand up, which she did with a great show of reluctance. What other choice did she have, though? She needed to do something to make Doyle take the next step.
“The clothes are good,” Des mused, almost to himself as he studied Thea’s new teal sundress and matching Jimmy Choo sandals, both of which highlighted her long, tanned legs. “Not that they were ever bad,” he added quickly at Thea’s frown, “but it’s all about the presentation. The body language. Right now, you aren’t saying ‘look at me, I’m a beautiful woman.’ You’re saying ‘I feel awkward and I’m not quite sure what to do with my hands.’”
Embarrassed, Thea tucked the offending appendages behind her back. “Well, I do feel awkward,” she said, thrusting her chin up. “I don’t like being on display.”
“Sweetheart, the mating dance is all about being on display.” Des stood and walked over to her, gently pulling her hands from behind her and holding them in his own. “Your body is the best marketing tool in the world. You can be the most amazing, wonderful woman ever to draw breath, but if you can’t get your man to take notice of that fact, then you’re sunk.”
“I don’t want it to be all about sex.” Because that was all she’d had with Dave. She’d thought there was more between them—friendship, at the very least, if not true affection—but he’d disabused her of that notion when he’d cheated on her and then dumped her with brutal indifference for a perky transfer student with a double-D cup and a mind-boggling amount of flexibility.
