Once Upon a Honeymoon (Harlequin American Romance)

by Julie Kistler

  “We’re not fighting,” Tripp said tersely. “We’re having a discussion.”

  “Well, you know,” Kitty Belle offered helpfully, “when passions run high, these disagreements happen. Don’t worry, children. It’s a good sign. A very good sign that my decision is the right one.”

  Bridget remained silent, glaring daggers at all of them. Kitty Bell was positively glowing. One moment she was paler than pale, hiding under thick makeup, and the next she seemed to be the very picture of health. Maybe it was part of her illness.

  “Decision? What decision?” Tripp inquired.

  “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. And that’s why I came, of course.” Looking as if she had just personally hatched a golden egg, she confided, “You’re going to be so happy. I’ve set a date!”

  “A date for what?” he asked doubtfully.

  “The wedding, of course.”

  “Next spring,” Bridget interjected. “Or summer. I always wanted to be a June bride. Or how about Christmas 1995? Or Christmas ‘96?”

  “Oh, but I can’t wait that long.” Kitty Belle pulled out her date book. “I’ve got it all set for November fifth.”

  “The fifth? But that’s only two weeks away. Not even two weeks.” Bridget’s eyes were round with horror. “Tripp, stop this right now.”

  “I know you’re worried, and yes, it is a very short time. But we’ll make it,” Mrs. Ashby said cheerfully. “After all, I don’t have much time, so I have to make the most of what I’ve got. Leave everything to me.”

  “I don’t want to leave it to you.” She didn’t want to leave it to anyone. She wanted to put a stop to it, right now.

  “Your concern is sweet, dear, but completely unnecessary. I see now that you were right about keeping it small. Now we can do everything we want, and so quickly! Lucinda Gibson will lend us her conservatory, and we can have a string quartet in her gazebo afterward. Of course, your gown may be a problem, my dear.” She frowned. “I’m afraid we’re going to be forced to buy off the rack.”

  “I am not getting married in two weeks,” Bridget hissed in his ear. “I’m not getting married at all. Tripp, do something!”

  “I’m trying to think,” he shot back in the same fierce whisper.

  “So, all set for the fifth.” Kitty Belle packed up her calendar and prepared to go.

  “Okay, Mother, we’ll go for the fifth.” As the bottom dropped out of Bridget’s stomach, as she flashed him a paralyzed look, he went on, “But not at Lucinda’s. We want to get married at Lake Tahoe, don’t we, Bridgie?”

  “At Lake Tahoe?”

  “That’s right.” He squeezed her hand so tightly, she let out a little squeak of pain. Right about now, she wanted to kick him. Hard. “That’s where we fell in love, isn’t it, darling?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is that where it happened?”

  He was selling her down the river. She distinctly remembered him telling her they would never have to go through with it. I’m just asking for an engagement—a temporary engagement—not a wedding. Only a few months... Once she’s gone, we can fold up our engagement and put it away, and no one will ever be the wiser. Don’t worry, he’d said. I’ll take care of it.

  Oh, yeah. He’d taken care of everything, hadn’t he? At this rate, they’d be celebrating their tenth wedding anniversary before this “fake” engagement was folded up and put away.

  “We have our hearts set on Tahoe.” Tripp fixed a determined smile on his face. “We’ll invite my buddies, since they’re the co-owners of the cabin. That will take care of witnesses. And since it’s Nevada, we can get a license in about five minutes. No problem.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go to the Cupid’s Arrow Chapel of Perpetual Motion?” Bridget asked maliciously. “I’m not sure there’s enough snow for the ski-by wedding, but we could definitely get Elvis.”

  “Oh, my word!” Kitty Belle gasped.

  For the first time since they’d found out about her terminal illness, Mrs. Ashby actually looked as if she might expire at any moment.

  “No Elvis,” Tripp said firmly.

  “No nothing,” Bridget returned, just as firmly.

  And then the phone rang.

  “Don’t decide anything without me,” Bridget warned them. “I’ll be right back.”

  But the minute she picked up the phone, Marie’s annoying whine jumped out at her. “Ms. Emerick, where are you? If you weren’t coming in today, you should’ve called to let us know.”

  “Where am I?” She glanced at the kitchen clock. Ten-thirty. Ten-thirty? And this was a Tuesday. She was due at Niles, Tweed and Sternham two hours ago! “I have plumbing problems,” she made up on the spur of the moment. “My whole apartment is flooded. I’ll be in as soon as I can.”

  She came charging back into the dining room, just long enough to tell Tripp and his mother that she had to go to work, and to let themselves out. What was wrong with her? A weekday, and she’d completely forgotten about her job.

  She was losing her mind.

  Struggling with the buttons on her blouse, she almost didn’t hear Tripp slip into her bedroom. She would’ve known he was there, anyway. It was as if she had radar out all the time, tuned into his frequency.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” he offered. “There was nothing else I could do.”

  “Yeah, right. Where have I heard that before?”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “You’re right. It’s my fault. I should’ve known the engagement thing wouldn’t satisfy her. But she says she wants to see me married—to actually see my wedding—before she dies. That sounds reasonable.”

  Bridget shoved her arms into her suit jacket with enough force to knock herself off balance. “How could you say yes?”

  But Tripp grasped her by the shoulders, holding her there at arm’s length while he talked to her. She didn’t want him to touch her; she was afraid she would weaken. She already felt herself melting and sliding.

  “It won’t be so bad, Bridgie,” he said softly. “No strings—nothing either of us can’t handle—just a small, quick wedding ceremony at the cabin, with a few hand-picked friends there who’ll know the truth. You know, Deke and Ki and Steve. No big deal. And then, after everyone leaves, we’ll spend our pretend honeymoon right there at the cabin, with no one to notice the fact that we’re not gooey and in love like real honeymooners.”

  Not gooey and in love? Speak for yourself, Trippett, she thought mournfully. No. She wasn’t in love with Tripp, and she never had been. So she’d lusted after his body from afar, and recently, not so far. Every woman at Beckett College had lusted after him. It was part of the core curriculum. But it was harmless.

  “It’ll be over before you know it,” he promised.

  “Over? Will any of this really ever be over, Tripp?”

  “As soon as Kitty Belle...” His voice drifted away. He wasn’t willing to say it right out, but they both knew what they’d be waiting for.

  It was ghoulish and ghastly, but it was the only way.

  “We’ll get a quiet annulment, even quieter than the wedding.” He smiled wanly. “No problem.”

  “Tripp,” she said bluntly, “you’ve lost your mind. I can’t marry you. I can’t even be in the same room with you.”

  And with that, she swept past him and out of the room, sailed down the hall, pausing only to grab her coat and her briefcase from the hall closet.

  Right behind her, Tripp kept talking. “It will be a vacation for both of us. You know it’s beautiful up there. We can hike and ski and do a little boating. Even hit the casinos if you want to. You’ll love it. You can take some time off from the firm, can’t you? Didn’t you say you were taking a leave of absence after Christmas to work on Jay’s campaign? So just start it a couple of months early—get a vacation in before the campaign starts.”

  Bridget stopped. She leaned her forehead against the closet door, taking deep breaths.

  “Come on, Bridgie. We’re in this up to our necks. Ca
n it really hurt to take the last few steps?”

  “Yes, it can.”

  “Trust me.” He spun her around and kissed her, a quick, hard, brave kiss that made her want to be brave, too. “We’ll get through it together.”

  “We haven’t done so hot together so far,” she murmured.

  “It will be different up there. Here, we’re under a lot of pressure.” He put an arm around her, pulling her closer. It was tempting to just snuggle in to his warmth and his strength. “There, it will be just us.”

  “Just us,” she echoed.

  What a terrifying idea.

  * * *

  NOT EVEN WORK could dull the emotional turmoil raging in her heart. She stabbed a pencil into her blotter, jamming it so hard, it broke in two.

  Had it only been a few days since she’d sworn off Tripp for good? In this very office, she had promised herself she would put him out of her life. Only, somehow, he was more firmly embedded in her every thought, her every breath, than ever before.

  The light began to flash on her phone, and she reached for it, welcoming the intrusion.

  “Ms. Emerick, there’s someone here to see you.”

  “Who is it?” she asked wearily. “If it’s someone I need to see, I’d appreciate it if you could set up an appointment for later. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “But he’s on his way in.”

  “Tripp?” she asked, half rising.

  But it was Jay. He shut the door neatly, and then just stood there, watching her. His eyes were calm and pleasant, and he was even smiling, but there was a set to his jaw she hadn’t seen before.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” he said smoothly.

  “Hi, Jay.” Bridget sat back down. She picked up the broken pencil and gave it another stab. “I saw the latest poll results on TV last night. You’re up another three points. Looking good.”

  “Yes, the primary seems to be firmly in hand.”

  “Good.” She waited a moment. “Is there something else? It’s kind of unusual for you to stop by the office like this without telling me ahead of time.”

  “Actually, there is something.” He removed a folded newspaper from his pocket and then laid it down on her desk. “Something unusual that has been brought to my attention.”

  “It looks like a newspaper.”

  “It is a newspaper, darling,” he said kindly.

  “And what’s wrong with it?”

  “Tripp Ashby is in it.”

  This was like pulling teeth. “So?”

  “He’s getting married. Or he’s already married. Do you know anything about that?”

  For one small moment, she actually considered telling him the truth. But she knew Jay. He was perfect. It would never occur to him to betray his fiancée this way, and it should never have occurred to her. She wanted to be as perfect as he was, really she did, but it was always a struggle.

  It was a terrible truth, but it was so much easier to lie.

  So Bridget played dumb. “Should I?”

  “Are you the bride?”

  “Me? Is this a joke?”

  “You tell me.” He smiled again. “Read the story, Bridget. And then you can fill me in.”

  It was a column, not a wedding announcement, and she was relieved to see that at least.

  “‘Tongues are wagging about Tripp Ashby, son of Kitty Belle and the late T. M. “Tommy” Ashby,’” she read out loud. “‘Is the scion of a prominent local family secretly married to a flashy brunette? This observer has heard it’s a done deal, that Mr. and Mrs. Ashby did the quickie Vegas two-step, even though she’s a complete stranger to those in the know on the local social scene. Who’s the bride? And what’s the big secret?’” Bridget glanced up. “But, Jay, this is a gossip column.”

  “Exactly. Is that you?”

  “The flashy brunette? When has anyone ever called me flashy?” She hid a small smile. It wasn’t hard to figure out the source of this story. Miss Ski Pants. Miss Ski Pants thought Bridget was flashy. And wasn’t that amusing?

  “I didn’t think it was you, but still... There’s more. Read on.”

  She traced her finger under the next line. “‘Other sources claim Tripp Ashby is still Chicagoland’s most eligible bachelor, if not for long. Seems he’s planning a wedding in a few weeks, and poor mom Kitty Belle is frantically working to pull it off. This version of the story features the same mysterious brunette as the bride-to-be. Let’s hope somebody chez Ashby clears up the mystery soon.’”

  “It’s suspicious, don’t you think?” Jay demanded.

  The jig was up, but she wasn’t giving an inch. “What has this got to do with me?”

  “Is it you, Bridget? I know you’ve been friends a long time, and that when he needs you, you have a tendency to come running.” Jay considered her. “I also know that I’ve been very busy lately, and you might have sought solace from an old friend to take up the slack. I hope it’s not true, Bridget, although I would understand that it is partially my fault if it were. Is something going on between you and Tripp Ashby?”

  “You can’t be serious.” She managed a laugh that sounded hollow, even to her own ears. “Don’t you think you’d know if I were seeing another man? And how could I possibly be engaged to two men at once? Why, it’s preposterous.”

  Yeah, right. Preposterous. Too bad it was also true.

  She braced her hands on her desk, all ready to stand and make soothing noises for Jay’s benefit. But as she rose, she happened to glance down at her left hand, in full display there on the desk, and she did a double-take.

  Tiny stars danced in the periphery of her vision. Bridget fell back into her chair.

  She was wearing the wrong ring.

  Tripp’s ring! How in the hell did that get there? She’d had it this morning when he was trying to make her wear it for his mother, and she remembered tossing it on her bureau when she went back to get dressed. In the hurry to get out the door, in her state of mental confusion, she must’ve picked up Tripp’s ring instead of Jay’s ring.

  Talk about Freudian slips.

  Quickly she stuffed her hand down under the desk where Jay couldn’t see it.

  “Is something wrong? You look very odd all of a sudden.”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  But he peered closer. “Something is wrong. Your face went white as a sheet, and your hand is shaking. See?”

  “M-my hand?” But of course, he meant her right hand. The ringless hand. “I’m just upset. All these accusations of yours. Anyone would be a little on edge.”

  “Darling, I haven’t accused you of anything. But I’m not blind. I know how you feel about Ashby. Bridget,” he said more sternly, “I want you to tell me the truth. If I need to do damage control, I need to know now.”

  Under the desk, she was struggling to get the damn ring off. It seemed to be stuck. “What did you say? I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Are people going to be asking me questions about my fiancée and another man? Should I be prepared with answers?”

  She had to tell him something. He was right. If this blew up in their faces, it would ruin his campaign. Jay had always been so patient with her, so giving, so selfless, that she couldn’t risk his political career just on a whim.

  As she tried to put her thoughts together, she could only say, “I can’t explain what’s been happening, Jay.” That was true enough, wasn’t it? She couldn’t explain—not even to herself. “But I want you to know, I would never willingly do anything that might sabotage your career or your campaign.”

  “Okay. But what exactly are you saying?”

  She had to get out from behind that desk. With her ring hand firmly clasped inside the other one, she stood up awkwardly. “I’m saying that I know I’ve been acting strangely lately. Irritable and uncooperative. Ever since...well, ever since I said I would marry you. I guess I’ve been mixed-up about what I wanted to do. Getting married is a big thing to think about, especially to someone like you, someone in such a promin
ent position. It’s very—” she took a deep breath “—confusing.”

  Especially when there were two grooms, and marriage to either of them seemed like a one-way ticket to disaster.

  “Don’t tell me—”

  “I’m beginning to think I said yes too quickly.”

  Jay’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you saying you want to call off the engagement? Bridget, I really think that would be unwise. There is simply no way to make that palatable to the general public this close to the primary.”

  “I’m not calling it off,” she rushed to assure him. “Not exactly. I just need some time to think things over.”

  “You can have all the time you want,” he said kindly, “as long as you make the right decision. We belong together, Bridget. We’re the kind of bright, committed people America needs at the helm. And together, we can really make a difference.”

  She had always thought what he said was true, for her as well as him. But now she wasn’t so sure.

  “If you think Tripp Ashby has more to offer you than I do, you’re dead wrong,” he said suddenly.

  “I never said anything about Tripp.”

  It was funny. The one tiny Achilles’ heel Jay had was his dislike of Tripp. She never had understood it, but she was beginning to. It wasn’t Tripp; it was the way she felt about him. Jay was so controlled and so impassive that he just didn’t understand her emotional attachment to Tripp. It frightened him.

  Well, it frightened her, too.

  Jay offered a serious devotion to duty. Tripp offered laughter and chocolate cake. Jay offered ambition and idealism. Tripp offered a chance to be reckless and crazy, head over heels.

  And he also offered passion. It was no small thing. Tripp offered to quench a smoldering need that she had never once felt for her other fiancé.

  Was it wrong to want that passion, just once in her life?

  “It’s not Tripp,” she said slowly. “It’s me. I need to put our engagement on hold for a few weeks, while I go away and get things clear in my mind.”

  “You’re going away?”

  “Yes,” she returned swiftly, speeding up as she became more sure. “I’ve put in for a few weeks of vacation. I’m going to Lake Tahoe.”