“Moretti,” Matt said by way of goodbye. Then he steered Tasha away.
“Well, that was interesting,” Tasha said.
“Is that what you call it?”
“Yes. He wants to expand his business. And something about you put him on edge.”
“Because he was trying to steal my date.”
“Nah.” She didn’t buy that. “He reacted when I asked if he was expanding. And he’s revamping his website. He’s looking to make a move on your customers.”
“He’s looking to make a move on you.”
“Don’t be so paranoid.”
A wave of mottled mauve silk moved in front of them.
“Hello, Matt.”
Tasha was astonished to come face-to-face with Dianne.
“Dianne,” Matt said evenly. “What are you doing here?”
“Enjoying the season.” She eyed Tasha up and down, a delicate sneer coming over her face as she looked down her nose.
Tasha had seen that expression a thousand times, from women and girls who were certain they were a cut above a plain-looking mechanic and not the least bit hesitant to try to put Tasha in her place.
Still, Tasha felt like she should muster up some sympathy. Dianne was in a tough spot.
“Merry Christmas,” she said to Dianne in her most polite voice.
“I see you got out of those oily rags,” Dianne returned. “Is that last year’s frock?”
“I like to think Bareese is timeless,” Tasha said with an air of indifference.
Dianne wrinkled her nose.
Tasha took in Dianne’s opulent gown. “Your Moreau must be worth a fortune.” She blinked her eyes in mock innocence. “You could auction it after the party. For the funds, I mean.”
Matt stifled a laugh.
Dianne’s complexion went a shade darker. “Why, you little—”
“Time for us to take our seats,” Matt said, taking Tasha’s hand. “What is up with you?” he asked as they moved away.
Tasha winced. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It was really rude.”
The lights blinked, and the MC made his way onto the stage.
“Dianne was the one who was rude. And I’m grateful,” Matt continued, picking up the pace. “You keep it up, and she’s going to leave town in a hurry. Besides, she deserves a little of her own medicine for once.”
Matt’s odd compliment warmed Tasha. She wasn’t particularly proud of going mean-girl debutante on Dianne. But Matt’s life would be better if Dianne left. And Tasha found she wanted that, too.
Six
Matt’s speech had gone well. People had laughed in the right spots and clapped in the right spots. He was happy to have been entertaining. But he was happier still to watch Tasha’s face in the front row. Every time she’d smiled, he’d felt a physical jolt.
He couldn’t believe how feminine, how beautiful, how downright elegant she’d looked surrounded by the splendor of the ballroom. And now, swaying in his arms, she was graceful and light. The transformation was astonishing. Cinderella had nothing on Tasha.
“You’ve done this before,” he guessed as he guided her into a slow spin.
“Danced? Yes, I have.”
“Been the belle of a ball.”
She smiled at that as she came back into his arms. “I’m far from the belle of any ball.”
The dance floor was nicely filled. The music was superb, and beautiful women floated past on the arms of their partners. None could hold a candle to Tasha.
“You are to me,” he said.
“You’re flirting?”
“No. I’m disarming.”
She gave a short laugh. “It’s not going to work.”
He supposed not. “You have definitely done this before.”
“I’ve been to a few balls in my time.”
“I never would have guessed. I mean before tonight I never would have guessed. You sure don’t let on that there’s an elegant lifestyle in your past.”
“I don’t spend much time dwelling on it.”
“You’re very good at this.” He’d been stunned at her ability to make small talk, to get the other marina owners to relax and be chatty. They hadn’t come up with any solid leads or suspects, but they’d learned Waterside Charters was expanding and Rose and Company was taking delivery of a new seventy-five-foot yacht in the spring. Both would be competing head-to-head with Whiskey Bay Marina.
“You don’t have to like something to be good at it.”
“Do you like dancing?” he asked, wanting to hear that she did, hoping to hear that she liked dancing with him.
“Yes. But not necessarily in these shoes.”
He glanced down. “Do they hurt?”
“You’ve never worn high heels before, have you?”
“That would be a no.”
“Yes, they hurt. They don’t fit all that well.”
“Should we stop?”
“I’ll survive.”
He debated finding them a place to sit down. But he liked having her in his arms. So he settled for slowing the pace, inching even closer to her. It was a good decision.
“So where did you attend these formative balls?”
“Boston, mostly. Some in New York. Once in DC when I was around seventeen.”
“You’re a fellow Bostonian?” He was surprised by the idea.
She drew back to look at him. “You, too?”
“Southie.”
“And you left?” She seemed to be the one surprised now.
“I did. The rest of my family stayed in the neighborhood, though.”
The song ended, and another started. He danced them right through the change.
“Brothers and sisters?” she asked.
“Three brothers, two sisters. I’m the youngest. What about you?”
“Wow. Six kids?”
“Yep.”
“Your parents must have been busy.”
“It was busy and crowded. I had absolutely no desire to live like that. Where did you grow up?”
Since she’d talked about balls and flying off to New York and Washington for parties, he was guessing she wasn’t a Southie.
It took her a minute to answer. “Beacon Hill.”
So, she had lived posh.
“It’s nice up there,” he said.
“It’s snooty up there. At least the people I knew, and especially my parents’ friends and associates. I couldn’t wait to get away from their judgment.”
“Spread your wings?” he asked.
“Something like that. Yes, very much like that.”
He found the insight quite fascinating. “Does your family still live there?” For some reason, learning she was from Boston made their connection seem stronger.
“Absolutely.”
“Brothers and sisters?” he asked when she didn’t offer details.
“Two sisters. Youngest here, too,” she said with an almost guilty smile.
“Makes it easy to get away with things,” he said.
“Made it easy to slip town.”
“Are you close to them?”
He’d never heard her talk about her family. Then again, they hadn’t had a whole lot of in-depth conversations about either of their backgrounds. Mostly he liked to leave his alone.
“We don’t have a lot in common.” There was something in her tone, not regret exactly, but acceptance of some kind.
“I hear you,” he said, recognizing the emotion.
He and his family seemed to operate in different dimensions. He saw value in financial success. He’d worked hard to get here, and he had no pr
oblem enjoying it. The rest of his family held financial success in suspicion. He’d tried to get his mind around it, but at the end of the day he just couldn’t agree.
Dianne had understood. It was one of the things that first drew him to her. She liked the finer things, and was unapologetic about her ambition. That trait might have turned on her now. But the theory was still sound. He was still going after success.
“My family...” he began, wondering how to frame it. “They’re content to pay the bills, throw potlucks on Sundays, take their kids to community center dance lessons and cheer for the Red Sox at tailgate parties.”
“Oh, the horror,” she mocked.
“I want more,” he said.
“Why?”
“Why not?” He looked around the ballroom. “This is nice. This is great. And who wouldn’t want the freedom to take any trip, eat at any restaurant, accept any party invitation.”
“Are you free, Matt? Really?”
“I’m pretty damn free.”
His choice of lifestyle had allowed him to work hard, to focus on his business, to succeed in a way that was satisfying to him. If he’d strapped on a tool belt in Southie, met a nice woman and had a few kids, it would have meant being dishonest about himself.
It was Tasha’s turn to look around the room. “This all doesn’t feel like a straitjacket to you?”
“Not at all.” He didn’t understand her attitude. She seemed to be having a good time. “And I’m here by choice.”
“These people don’t seem disingenuous to you?”
“Maybe the ones that are sabotaging my boats. But we’re not even sure they’re here. It’s just as likely they’re at the Edge.”
“What’s wrong with the Edge?”
“Nothing. Did I say there was something wrong with the Edge?”
“You used it as a negative comparator to this party.”
“It’s a whole lot different than this party. Like Beacon Hill and Southie. Do you honestly think people prefer Southie?”
“They might.”
Matt wasn’t buying the argument. “Sure. People from Southie are proud. I get that. Believe me, I’ve lived that. But you give them a real and serious choice, they’d be in Beacon Hill in a heartbeat.”
Tasha’s steps slowed. “It’s kind of sad that you believe that.”
“It’s not sad. And I don’t just believe that. It’s true.”
She stopped. “Thanks for the dance, Matt.”
“You can’t honestly be annoyed with me.” It wasn’t reasonable.
“I’m going to rest my feet.”
“I’ll take you—”
“No.” She put her hand on his chest and moved back. “Go mingle. I’ll see you later on.”
“Tasha.” He couldn’t believe she was walking away.
* * *
Tasha wasn’t angry with Matt. She felt more sad than anything.
Sure, he’d made some money in his life. But up to now he’d struck her as being mostly down-to-earth. She’d thought the money was incidental to him, running a business that he loved. It was disappointing to discover that his goal had been wealth.
Seeing him tonight, she realized her initial instincts were right. He was exactly the kind of man she’d left behind. Ironically, he was the kind of man her parents would love.
If this were a Boston party, her parents would be throwing her into his arms. The Lowells were an old Bostonian family, but her parents wouldn’t hold Matt’s Southie roots against him, not like her grandparents or great-grandparents would have.
In this day and age, money was money. Her father in particular respected men who pulled themselves up from nothing. It was a darn good thing they weren’t back in Boston right now.
She crossed the relative quiet of the foyer, following the signs to the ladies’ room. She needed to freshen up. Then she really was going to find a place to sit down and rest her feet. The shoes might be slightly large, but they were also slightly narrow for her feet, and she had developed stinging blisters on both of her baby toes.
As she passed an alcove, she caught sight of Dianne’s unmistakable mauve dress. Dianne was sitting on a small bench, gazing out a bay window at the city lights. Her shoulders were hunched, and they were shaking.
Tasha felt like a heel. One of the reasons she avoided these upper-crust events was that they brought out the worst in her. She seemed too easily influenced by the snobbery and spitefulness.
The last thing in the world she wanted to do was comfort Matt’s ex-wife. But it was partly her fault that Dianne was upset. She’d been insufferably rude in suggesting she auction off her dress.
Tasha took a turn and crossed the alcove, coming up beside Dianne.
Dianne looked up in what appeared to be horror. She quickly swiped her hand beneath her eyes. But the action did nothing to hide the red puffiness.
“Are you okay?” Tasha asked.
“I’m fine.” Dianne gave a jerky nod. “Fine.”
It was patently obvious it was a lie.
Tasha gave an inward sigh and sat down on the other end of the padded French provincial bench. “You don’t look fine.”
“I got something in my eyes. Or maybe it was the perfume. Allergies, you know.”
Tasha told herself to accept the explanation and walk away. She didn’t know Dianne. Given the circumstances, fake though her relationship with Matt was, she was likely the last person Dianne wanted to talk to. But it would be heartless to simply leave her there.
“You’re obviously upset,” Tasha said.
“Aren’t you the observant one.”
“Don’t.”
“Why? What do you want? To rub my nose in it? Again?”
“No. I want to apologize. I was nasty to you earlier. I’m really sorry about that. I thought you were...” Tasha struggled for the right words. “Stronger. I thought you were tough. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Dianne’s tone changed. “It’s not you. It’s...” She closed her eyes for a long second. A couple of more tears leaked out. “I can’t,” she said.
Tasha moved closer. She put a hand on Dianne’s arm. “Will talking to me make it any worse?”
Dianne drew in a shuddering breath. She opened her eyes and gazed at Tasha for a long time.
“I’ve made such a mess of it,” she finally said.
“You mean losing the money?”
Dianne nodded. “François was charming, attentive, affectionate. Matt was working all the time. He never wanted to travel with me. I thought... I thought our life together would be different. But it wasn’t any fun. It was all work, work, work. And then I met François. It wasn’t on purpose. I’m not a bad person.”
“I don’t think you’re a bad person.” Tasha was being honest about that.
Dianne might not be the right person for Matt, and maybe she had a selfish streak, but right now she just seemed sad and defeated. Tasha would have to be made of stone not to feel sympathy.
Dianne gave a brittle laugh. “I thought François not wanting a prenup was the perfect sign, the proof that he loved me for me. He seemed to have so much more money than I did. And he’d invested so successfully, that I thought I couldn’t lose...but I did lose. And I’d hoped Matt...”
“What exactly do you want from Matt?” Tasha might be sympathetic, but she knew sympathy alone wouldn’t help Dianne.
Dianne shrugged. “At first... At first I thought there might still be a chance for us. I was the one who left him, not the other way around. I thought he might still...” She shook her head. “But then I met you, and I realized he’d moved on.”
A part of Tasha wanted to confess. But she knew Matt wouldn’t consider a reconciliation with Dianne. And telling Dianne she and Matt weren’t dating would be a betrayal of h
im. She couldn’t do it.
“So, now what?” Tasha asked.
“I don’t know.” Dianne’s tears welled up again. “I honestly don’t know.”
“You need to know,” Tasha said as gently as she could. “You need a plan. You need to take care of yourself.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. Everyone can. It’s a matter of finding your strengths.”
“My strength is marrying rich men.”
“That’s not true. It’s not your only strength. And even if it was your only strength, it’s a bad strength, not one you want to depend on. Look what happened last time.”
“I have no money,” Dianne said, looking truly terrified. “I’ve nearly maxed out my credit cards. I’ve missed payments. They’re going to cancel them. I really will be selling my clothes on the street corner.”
“Okay, now you’re being melodramatic.”
“I’m not,” she moaned.
“What about your family? Could you stay with family?”
Dianne gave a choppy shake of her head. “There’s no one.”
“No one at all?”
“My dad died. My stepmother sent me to boarding school. She couldn’t wait to get me out of the house.”
“Are they in Washington State?”
“Boston.”
Tasha was surprised. “You, too?”
Dianne stilled. “You’re from Boston?”
“I am.”
Dianne searched Tasha’s face. “You’re a Lowell. The Lowells?”
Tasha was embarrassed. “I don’t know if there are any ‘the’ Lowells.”
“The Vincent Lowell Library?”
“My grandfather,” Tasha admitted.
“Does Matt know?” Before Tasha could respond, Dianne continued on a slightly shrill laugh. “Of course he knows. Why didn’t I see that before? You’re his dream match.”
Tasha was confident Matt didn’t know. And there wasn’t much to know anyway. The Lowells might be an old Boston family. But there were plenty of those around. It wasn’t all that noteworthy.
“Do you want to go back to Boston?” Tasha asked, turning the subject back to Dianne.
“No. Never. That’s not in the cards.”
“Do you want to stay here?” Tasha was trying to find a starting point, any starting point for Dianne.
Twelve Nights of Temptation Page 9
