The Beautiful Ones (Arabesque)

by Byrd, Adrianne

  “Just because you have money doesn’t meant you have to be so frivolous with—”

  “Frivolous?” he barked. His eyes danced with amusement. “We’re talking about our wedding—not about some luxury toy we don’t need.”

  “But flying my whole family—”

  “Fine. We’ll have the wedding here in Atlanta, and my family will fly down. Problem solved.”

  He leaned in for a kiss, but she quickly pushed him back. “How is that solving the problem? Your family is larger than mine. That’s even more money.”

  “Hardly,” he laughed. “My family can afford their own tickets.”

  “And what—my family can’t?”

  Jonas’s expression twisted in confusion as his arms dropped to his sides. “Did I miss something?”

  Ophelia stared at him, unsure where her sudden wave of irritation came from.

  “Are you purposely trying to start an argument?” Jonas laughed.

  Closing her eyes, Ophelia expelled a tired breath. “Forgive me. See? The wedding is already stressing me out.”

  He gently drew her back into his arms. “Well, I know a few things that can relax you.”

  One flash of his dimpled cheeks, and Ophelia was putty in his hands. “Are we back to that again?”

  “I have a feeling that this is going to be a hot topic for the next few months.” His hands cupped and then lightly stroked her chin. “But if waiting is something you truly want to do, then we’ll do it.”

  He smiled again and she watched as his head descended. Closing her eyes, she waited patiently for their lips to connect. This time there would be sparks—that magical something to reinforce her belief that this man was her destiny.

  At last his soft lips pressed against hers and, just like the times before, her heart dropped in disappointment. It wasn’t a bad kiss—far from it. However, she didn’t get that warm tingling rush like when…

  She abruptly pulled away from him. “I better jump in the shower.”

  When his expression twisted, she eased the situation with another smile. “You promised me Italian, remember?”

  He studied her a second longer before bobbing his head. “Yeah. I’ll speak with the chef.” Jonas backed away and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “Take your time.”

  Ophelia nodded and then sashayed her way toward the bathroom, knowing full well Jonas’s gaze followed her every move. Once she closed the door, she quickly moved over to the shower.

  What the hell was wrong with her? Jonas was an ideal catch. Any woman would be happy to have him. Not only was he good looking and successful, he was kind, caring, and attentive. What was there not to love?

  She laughed at herself. She was being silly. Of course she loved Jonas. That whole speech Solomon gave about not knowing Jonas was just his way of playing the role of protector. That was what he’d always been to her, really—him and Marcel.

  Casanova Brown married. She shook her head. She would’ve definitely put her money on him being the last—not the first in their screwball group to walk down the aisle. After all too many women, so little time had always been his motto.

  Well, she was going to be next. Instant warmth radiated through her at the sweet memory of the day she’d met Jonas—“the asshole” as she and her business partner, Stevie, had affectionately christened him. As owners of Missler & Lambert Sports Rehabilitation Center, she and Stevie had actually worked for the Carolina Panthers for years. However, when the NFL team got a new owner, Ophelia and Stevie received a pink slip almost immediately. Having never been fired in her life, Ophelia stormed over to the Hintons’ sprawling mansion determined to give the team owner a piece of her mind. Who knew the man would actually capture a piece of her heart as well?

  Ophelia slipped out of her gown, grabbed a satin hanger from the top of the towel rack, and hung the gown up on the back of the door. She admired the dress for a few minutes while her mind transformed the pink dress into a white wedding gown. Mrs. Jonas Hinton. She smiled. She could get used to that.

  * * *

  After Jonas gave his personal chef, Raul, the night’s menu, he quickly found himself pacing the floor of his bedroom. So far, he’d only managed to remove his tuxedo jacket and loosen his tie. He wasn’t at all thrilled with how the day’s events had played out.

  By all accounts, he should be a happy man. He had, after all, proposed to the woman of his dreams, albeit without a ring, and even though she’d said yes, he feared that he could actually lose her.

  “Solomon Bassett,” he spat, and then shook his head. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? In the four months he’d been dating Ophelia, she’d talked of little else. There was always the time when she and Solomon did such-and-such or had a ball at this place or another. Hell, she’d actually managed to convince him that this guy was nothing more than a brother figure. But after what he saw today, that b.s. was no longer going to fly.

  “But how in the hell am I going to keep those two apart?”

  Chapter 4

  Selma Parker pulled up to the Bassett estate and punched in the security code. She drummed her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel while she waited for the tall wrought-iron gate to creak open and allow her access to the property.

  It had been a full week since a drunk Solomon had called and dropped the bomb about Ophelia’s pending nuptials. Consequentially it had also been the last time she’d heard from him.

  The moment the gate opened wide enough, Selma stepped on the accelerator and peeled down the long driveway.

  “If he’s not dead, I’m going to kill him,” she vowed. During the past seven days, she had imagined every possible scenario as to why he wasn’t returning her calls, and each one was worse than the last. “C’mon, Selma. He wouldn’t do anything stupid,” said her inner voice of reason. Yet she wasn’t entirely convinced.

  She screeched to a halt, shut off her engine, and exited the car—almost at the same time. Seconds later, she hammered on the oak door like she was the police. When she didn’t get a response, she took to playing musical numbers with the doorbell.

  “I’m coming,” came a bearlike growl.

  She eased off the bell and jabbed her fists against her waist. When she heard the last of the three locks, she grabbed hold of the doorknob and forced her way into the house.

  The door banged against something hard, and at Solomon’s explosive expletive, she peeped around the heavy partition. “There you are!”

  “If you say so,” he mumbled, rubbing his head.

  A dog’s bark drew her attention, as well as the sound of paws slapping against hardwood floors.

  “Brandy, don’t you dare jump on my new suit,” Selma snapped.

  Reacting to the tone of her voice, Brandy stopped and cocked her head from side to side.

  “It’s good to know I’m not the only one afraid of you,” Solomon said, closing the door.

  “You should be scared.” She popped him on the arm. “Having me all worried about you. Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?”

  “I’ve been busy.” Solomon tightened the belt on his robe and shuffled past her.

  “Busy my ass.” She fell in line behind him. “Admit it. You’ve just been moping around here feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “If you came over to cheer me up, you’re doing a lousy job.”

  “I’m not your damn cheerleading squad. I came because—what in the hell—?” She stopped at the entryway of the living room, but feeling something underfoot, she glanced down and kicked at an underwire bra.

  “It was just a little party.” Solomon plopped down on a nearby sofa.

  Selma stepped away from the undergarment. “Something tells me I need to spray this place down before I touch anything.”

  “Whatever.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

  Tsking and shaking her head, Selma inched farther into the room while her gaze darted around. Everything was covered in confetti, stringy things, beer cans, and plastic cups. “I
t must have been one hell of a party.” From the corner of Selma’s eyes, she noticed what looked like two bullet holes in the wall. “Please don’t tell me your uncle Willy threw this party.”

  Solomon shrugged. “He was trying to cheer me up.”

  “I see it worked wonders.” She sucked in an exasperated breath and tried to venture farther into the living room. “How long has this place been like this?” The moment she asked the question, Selma caught sight of Brandy eating leftover cake from off the coffee table. “Brandy, no!” She stepped over piles of only God knows what to shoo away the Doberman.

  “Solomon, you can’t let the dog eat this kind of stuff.” She gathered up paper plates.

  “Oh, it’s not going to kill her,” he grumbled.

  “Maybe not, but Marcel will kill you if anything happens to his dog.” She turned sharply and grumbled the whole way to the kitchen, where more chaos loomed. The very thought of the kinds of germs lurking in the piles of dishes and strewn beer cans had Selma bolting from the room like an Olympian.

  Returning to the living room, she was more than ready to give her friend a dose of tough love, but his pain-filled voice stopped her in her tracks.

  “Selma, I really screwed things up.”

  Ophelia. It wasn’t a hard conclusion to draw. “So how are you going to fix it?” she asked, unwilling to participate in a pity party.

  Solomon didn’t answer, but instead stared up at the cathedral ceilings as if waiting for a sign from above.

  She jumped at the unexpected sound of giggling. In the next second, two scantily clad model types sauntered into the room. Selma immediately sucked in the small pouch around her waist and frowned at her physical opposites. “Sol, baby, Willy wants to know if you’re coming back out to the pool?”

  “He’s busy,” Selma snapped.

  The women’s gazes jumped to hers and then performed a slow drag over her attire. As if concluding that she wasn’t a threat, sly smiles curled their lips.

  “Hey, you’re more than welcome to come out and join us if you want,” one of them offered, undoubtedly knowing that she wouldn’t.

  “I’m busy, too.”

  “Tell my uncle I’ll be out later,” Solomon said. His gaze was still glued to the ceiling.

  “Whatever you say, Sol, baby.”

  “Please stop calling me that,” he said. “I hate that name.”

  The women shrugged and gave Selma a final once-over before they turned, with most of their butt cheeks hanging out, and walked out.

  Selma rolled her eyes and marched to one of the large windows. She pushed aside a long curtain panel and glanced out. The pool, about fifty yards from the main house, was crawling with half-dressed women.

  “So this is how you’re planning to get over Ophelia—surrounding yourself with a bunch of chickenheads?”

  “It worked for the first twenty-four hours,” he confessed.

  She turned away from the window to see he still hadn’t moved. ‘So what’s plan B?”

  “Die of a broken heart, I guess.” He huffed out a breath. “It seems to be working.”

  Her frown deepened as she stared at him. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone more pathetic.”

  He dropped his head again and puffed out a long breath. “That’s nice to know.” He shook his head. “When she told me, I couldn’t say anything,” he said. “I just stood there.”

  “It was bound to happen,” Selma said as gently as she could. However, her words just seemed to crush Solomon.

  The phone rang. Solomon glanced over at the silver and black cordless.

  “I’ll get it.” She rolled her eyes.

  “It’s her. Let the answering machine pick it up.”

  “How do you know it’s her? It could be Marcel checking to see what a lousy job you’re doing with Brandy.”

  “It’s her. I just know it.”

  “Hey, Solomon, it’s me,” Ophelia’s voice rang out from the answering machine.

  Selma stiffened and glanced back at Solomon’s I-told-you-so expression.

  “I was just calling because I wanted to bounce some ideas off you about the wedding. We’re thinking about having it at Château Élan. Won’t that be great? Man, I still can’t believe this is happening. Anyway, I really want you, Marcel, and Jonas to spend some time together. You know…try to make him feel like one of the gang. It would mean the world to me.”

  Solomon plopped his head back against the sofa again.

  “So,” Ophelia continued, “just give me a call on my cell when you get this message. Love you, bye.”

  Selma closed her eyes.

  “Oh, by the way,” Ophelia added. “We’ve moved the date up. We’re now getting married in November. Isn’t that great? Okay, bye. Call me.”

  After the loud click, the living room filled with an awkward silence.

  In Selma’s mind, she ran through a short list of things she could say, should say, but she knew none of it was going to help ease her friend’s pain.

  “Selma?” Solomon croaked.

  “Yes?”

  “Could you please just shoot me?”

  * * *

  Ophelia stared at the phone long after she hung up. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Solomon was home but had chosen not to answer.

  The doorbell rang and broke her trance.

  Pushing the incident to the back of her mind, she raced through the condominium, wondering if Jonas had forgotten his key. But when she jerked open the front door, she was taken aback at the sight of her mother, Isabella, and her good friend and Delta sister, Kailua.

  The three of them screamed.

  “What are you two doing here?” Ophelia finally asked when her mother’s arms wrapped around her.

  “You’re engaged!” her mother announced while squeezing a little tighter and bouncing on her toes. “I’m so excited for you.”

  Ophelia’s excitement dropped a notch. She hadn’t told her mother the news, so Jonas must have. Why hadn’t he waited until they could tell her parents together? “I—I’m so happy that you came.” She finally eased her mother out of her arms and accepted her friend’s embrace.

  “Well, I don’t know about anybody else, but I’m still in shock,” Kailua said, delivering a quick peck to Ophelia’s cheek.

  “What do you mean?”

  Isabella quickly gave the young woman a reproachful glare. “Nothing. She doesn’t mean anything.”

  Ophelia pulled back and stared into eyes that so closely resembled her own. However, her mother was a professional at dodging taboo subjects.

  “Your father is out of town on business but sends his love. He should be back Thursday.”

  She nodded. “Well, I—I sort of hoped Jonas and I would tell you and dad together.”

  Her mother promptly shooed off her concerns. “Don’t blame Jonas. I practically dragged the information out of him when I called here this morning.”

  “You called?”

  “Yes, dear. I wanted to know how Marcel’s wedding went, but Jonas said that you were still sleeping. Separate beds, I hope.”

  Kailua nearly choked trying to stifle her laughter.

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” Ophelia closed the door and then led them into the condo.

  “Baby, where’s the bathroom?” her mother asked.

  Ophelia directed her to the hallway. “Straight down. Last door on your right.” She smiled and then returned to the living room.

  Kailua waltzed around and whistled impressively. “Hot damn! You always seem to hit the jackpot.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Ophelia laughed awkwardly.

  Her Delta sister shook her head while she ran her hand along the sofa’s soft Italian leather. “It must be nice having your choice of millionaires just waiting at the tips of your fingers.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  A beautiful smile bloomed across Kailua’s full, shapely lips. “I mean Solomon, of course. You can’t tell me he doesn’t have a
few bucks in the bank.”

  A chilling and awkward moment passed between the two women.

  “C’mon, girl.” Kailua smacked her playfully, and painfully, on the arm. “You can’t blame your girl for being just a little envious.”

  Ophelia rolled her eyes as her smile widened. “I wish everyone would just stop with that.”