Secondhand Bride (The Almost Wives Club Book 2)

by Nancy Warren

  “Can you work here?”

  “It’s quiet, apart from your infernal splashing every morning.”

  He glanced at her as he said it and their gazes connected. If she’d been writing a movie she’d have typed, Wham, Pow, like in a comic book. Because when he looked at her, that’s what she felt: powed, whammed. The thought made her glance down at her hands where the sparkle of diamond reminded her why wham and pow were bad ideas.

  “I’m going to disturb your quiet even more,” she said. “Uncle Duncan and Aunt Millicent are throwing an engagement party for me.”

  He blinked. “You’re engaged?”

  “Yes. To Eric Van Hoffendam.”

  “Wow. Don’t know him, but congrats.” He didn’t seem too upset that she was unavailable for wham and pow. He seemed relieved.

  “You don’t seem like the engagement-party type.” And so far he was the only one who had noticed.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve changed a lot since I was fifteen.” Though not about certain things.

  “When is this big celebration?”

  “Next Saturday night. I know you got an invitation.” Because, even though the party was for her, Aunt Millicent had still made her address the invitation cards. She bet Cinderella never had to write out the invitations to her ball once she bagged her prince.

  “I haven’t been picking up my mail.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “In fact, I haven’t been doing much of anything apart from writing wooden female characters and gangsters who have to run lines with real guns in order to feel the part. God, when did I turn into such a hopeless hack?”

  “You’re not hopeless. I bet Vanessa Moore, who really does seem like a bimbo, has pissed you off so much you are having trouble writing your next female character, that’s all.”

  “I should be more of a professional.” He turned to her and frowned. “And when did you turn into GI Jane? You were pretty impressive back there, and way more authentic than Mike Konister.”

  “I wasn’t acting.”

  He nodded. “Never thought anyone would see us. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

  Her lips twitched. “Not half as much as I scared Mike Konister.” She touched her pistol, which she’d laid down on the tabletop. “Ted and I got the idea that we wanted to learn to shoot. Uncle Duncan has a friend who belongs to a private club and he offered to teach us. Ted has no hand-eye coordination and he got bored quickly, but I turned out to be an excellent shot. We went every Saturday for most of one summer, and Wilt—that’s the gun guy—told Duncan how good I was. He got me the Walther for Christmas one year. Figured I’d like it since it was the James Bond gun.”

  “Do you still shoot?”

  “Sure, once a month or so.” She grinned at him. “It’s an excellent stress reliever.”

  “Wow. You could be my weapons expert.”

  She shook her head. “I can put you in touch with Wilt, though.”

  “Fantastic. How about you agree to be my script consultant then?”

  “Script consultant?”

  “Yes.” His gaze was intent, and far too sexy for a woman who was engaged to another man. “You can teach me about women.”

  Chapter Six

  HER MOM WOKE HER THE NEXT MORNING with the happy news that Millicent wanted to take them shopping. “She’s buying you a dress for the engagement party, which is so nice of her.”

  Ashley yawned and sipped the coffee her mother had brought to her. “Why can’t I buy my own dress and send her the bill?”

  Melody sat down on the bed. “She wants to do this for you. Please let her.”

  “Fine.” She sipped more coffee. Almost getting into a gun battle last night had made it hard to sleep.

  “You’re taking your nose stud out for the party, right?” her mother asked, glancing at her sideways.

  What the hell? “No. I’m not taking my nose stud out for my own engagement party.”

  Her mother darted a slightly nervous glance her way, and she knew that look so well.

  “What did Uncle Duncan say this time?” He was only her brother, but Melody treated him like her dad. He was rich, good for him, and he’d given them a home, also good for him, but he tried to control their lives. Somehow, even though he never came right out and said it, she never forgot that she owed her home to his charity. He liked to say in public that she was the daughter he’d never had, but in private Ashley felt like she was the result of a bad relationship he’d never approved of. Not that she blamed him for that; her birth father was an ass. But she didn’t figure a little kid could be blamed for having bad taste in parents.

  She felt that in marrying Eric she was, for the first time, getting his approval.

  She doubted she’d be getting a fancy engagement party at the big house, complete with caterers and a champagne fountain, if she was marrying into a family whose name didn’t appear in Forbes along with his.

  “Only that he would really like it if you didn’t wear it to the party. That’s all.”

  She grit her teeth. Most of the time, when her mom gave her that look, she gave in because her mom was the one who’d take the heat from Uncle D. But this was her party.

  “I like my nose stud. It’s part of me. And Eric likes it. He’s the one marrying me, not Uncle Duncan.” Ew, that was a mental image she did not need in her head.

  “It’s only for one night,” her mother wheedled.

  “It will leave a big, stupid hole in my nose. That will look worse than the stud.”

  “We can fill it with concealer.”

  “No.”

  “Please, honey, you’ll be moving out soon, and I’ll be stuck here with Duncan. You know what a bully he is.”

  And how many times had she caved because of course she did know. Her uncle was a bully. He was convinced he knew better than everyone else and made sure he surrounded himself with people who let him go on believing it. He also believed money was power, and since he had so much of it and they had none, he was a tough guy to stand up to. Her mother had given up long ago and, for the most part, so had Ashley.

  But this was her engagement party, not a social function for her uncle where she had to wear a pretty dress and say nice things. “I already compromised on the dress. I am not taking out my stud.”

  The dress may have been a “gift” from her aunt Millicent, but no gift from the big house came without so many strings attached that it was more like a net.

  In the end, her mom agreed to lobby for the nose stud, and she agreed to let Aunt Millicent help her choose her dress. The three of them headed into town in Millicent’s white Lincoln, and without any consultation of Ashley’s wishes, stopped at a boutique whose front window triggered her gag reflex.

  The dresses—and lady suits—were all elegant and restrained. Ashley didn’t do ladylike and restrained. She liked indie, alternative, clothes designed by a person, preferably a young one, in a garage or on the beach with a sketchpad. Maybe the designer even sewed the things him- or herself. LA was littered with young, leading-edge designers and every one of them could use the money and the exposure. But to buy into what was essentially a conglomerate of fashion where she was certain each dress was designed by committee, that ate into her soul.

  “Well, here we are,” Millicent said, when they walked into the place. A woman approached who was obviously the manager. She looked like a former actress who had never made it, and now had to act like she was happy to help dress women like Millicent. She rushed up to them as though they might turn tail and run if she didn’t hang onto them hard. She was aided by a second woman, who looked like a million other middle-aged women in LA: tall and blond with blue eyes and even white teeth, all trying to age like Christie Brinkley.

  They fussed over Millicent, who was obviously a regular, then turned to Ashley. “And you must be the bride?” the manager gushed.

  “I guess so.”

  “Well, look around and let me know what catches your eye.” Then she turned to the other women. “Isn’t it exciting? I
imagine you’re looking for something to wear for the engagement party, too?”

  Millicent looked embarrassed for a nanosecond; obviously it hadn’t occurred to her that she might have to spring for a dress for Ashley’s mom, too. She said, “This is Ashley’s big day. But we’ll browse, naturally.”

  Ashley headed to a rack of spring dresses so boring she thought she might doze off looking at them. Millicent came closer, “Now don’t even look at the prices. As I said, this is my treat.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered back. In truth, she could barely see the prices without a magnifying glass. This was the kind of place where if you had to ask the price you couldn’t afford it. She didn’t even want to afford it.

  She was staring at a black dress that had a silver zipper running up the front and some kind of metallic band on the bottom. She though maybe she could do something with that if she wore boots and went heavy on the eye makeup when Millicent gently but firmly turned her away. “No black on your engagement party, sweetheart.” And she was led back to the ‘appropriate’ area. In the end, she gave up. What was the point in struggling against the inevitable?”

  The dress that Millicent chose—with the help of the manager and the manager’s assistant—and the dress she hated the least, was a silk underdress in pink topped with a chiffon overdress that looked as though dozens of flower blossoms had fluttered down and stuck to it. The skirt was full and flowing.

  Wearing it, she felt as though she were putting on a costume to play a part. Naturally, the torture didn’t end until she also owned a pair of heels to match. As she stood looking at herself in the triple mirror, she thought, God, the only thing missing is a string of pearls.

  As though she’d darted the thought out of her brain and straight into Millicent’s like a deviant paper airplane, Millicent piped up, “Oh, I have the perfect string of pearls. I’ll lend them to you.”

  As she opened her mouth to reject the offer, her mom piped up, “Not the pearls Duncan bought you in Paris?”

  Millicent patted her on the shoulder. “Ashley’s my niece.”

  Her mom, obviously realizing Ashley had no idea what was so special about these pearls, said, “Those pearls belonged to Wallis Simpson, you know, the American who married Edward VIII. Well, except he never got to be king. He chose her instead.”

  Great. She’d be wearing the pearls of a woman who took the throne away from a king. Also, if her history was correct, the woman had been a Nazi sympathizer. Exactly the sort of person whose pearls a girl wanted to wear to her engagement party.

  She knew from the unspoken communication coming from her mother as loud as shouting that she was to take the damned pearls and be grateful. And, frankly, how much worse could this outfit be? Though if anyone mentioned white gloves she’d lose it.

  Luckily, no one did. She said, thank you, to her aunt and they left with a box and a huge bag. The bag was pale green with a curly logo in gold.

  As they stepped out, she felt like there should be a driver waiting for them who’d pile the boxes and bags into the car and drive them to lunch. But lunch was obviously not part of the plan. Millicent drove them home and dropped them at the cottage, and she said her polite thanks once more.

  When they got into the cottage, she said, “Mom, how could you let her stick me with this dress?”

  “It’s a beautiful dress,” her mom protested.

  She gave her the evil eye.

  Her mom sighed, and walked to the kitchen where she poured them both a glass of water. “They do a lot for us, and they’re excited to be putting on this party for you. Does it really matter? Most of the people there will be Duncan and Millicent’s friends and the Van Hoffendams’ friends. When you go out to party with your own friends you can wear whatever you like.”

  “I guess,” but it still felt wrong to dress like another person to make her aunt and uncle happy. Shouldn’t they be happy with who she was?

  Like that had ever happened.

  “I think me marrying Eric is the first thing I’ve ever done that makes Uncle Duncan happy.”

  Her mom made a face. “He’s happy one of us is getting married.”

  “You ask me, this is about Ted and Kate breaking up.” She’d thought a lot about why her aunt and uncle were so excited about this wedding. The only explanation that made sense to her was that this was a way to save face in front of their stuffy friends after their own son had broken off his engagement a couple of weeks before the big day.

  “Maybe a little bit.” Her mom turned to her. “But isn’t it nice to actually be treated like somebody for a change?”

  But she wasn’t finished dishing about Ted. “I always thought he was a mini-me version of his Dad, but secretly he was in love with a woman who’d been a stripper, or hooker or something.”

  Her mom nodded. “Very Pretty Woman.”

  “Whatever. Is he coming to the engagement party?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure if he and Duncan are even on speaking terms yet.”

  “Kind of awkward when they work together in the family company.”

  “I know. But can I be a real bitch for a minute and say how nice it is not to have Perfect Ted held up as the model child?”

  “Makes your hell babe a little more acceptable, huh?”

  “You’re not my hell babe. You’re untraditional. Like me.”

  And look how that had turned out.

  “I hope he comes, and I hope he brings the stripper-hooker.”

  “He’d never do that.”

  “Maybe he’ll see me in Wallis Simpson’s pearls and tear them from my throat, demanding them for his bride.”

  “An appropriate woman to wear them.”

  “Unlike me.” She couldn’t work up the energy for the full evil eye, so she made do with a frown.

  Her mom slugged down water like it was a tequila shot. Maybe she wished it was. “Look, Ash, you must know the bride’s parents are supposed to pay for the wedding. I don’t have the money to pay for it. Not to the standard the Van Hoffendams want. They said they’d pay, but I don’t want their charity. Millicent hinted pretty strongly that she and Duncan would help with the costs.” She shrugged. “You’re their niece… I’d rather take their money.”

  “But I don’t care about a big wedding. I don’t even want one. Neither does Eric.”

  Her mother gave her a look that suggested she was still a child. “When the Carnarvons and the Van Hoffendams merge, trust me, there’s going to be a big wedding.”

  “Even if the bride and groom don’t want one? What is this, the middle ages?”

  “Pretty much. Come on, be practical for once. I never was. Learn from my mistakes. If you let them throw you a nice wedding it will make them happy, and it will make the Van Hoffendams happy. You’ll have a great party and your lives together will get off to the right start.”

  “Plus, they can tell the caterers to thaw all the food they had prepared for Ted’s wedding.”

  Her mother gulped more water in that disturbing tequila-shot manner of hers. “There will be lots of really expensive gifts, things you couldn’t afford just starting out. You’ve seen Cinderella. This could be your ticket out of the servants’ quarters.”

  She smiled. “Eric’s not much of a prince charming, though.” She couldn’t imagine him running around chasing after her because she lost a shoe.

  “But you love him, right?” Strangely, no one had asked her that.

  “I guess so. We’ve been together long enough. It’s not like there are a lot of surprises. I was pretty shocked when he proposed, though, to be honest. But it makes sense. Our friends are getting married and he’s thinking about getting a real job.”

  “Define thinking about.”

  With his terrible high school marks, not even his legacy status or his family money and connections could get Eric a spot at the family’s traditional Ivy League school. He’d ended up at USC and barely scraped through. She’d helped him with his English papers and read his tex
tbooks so she could help him study. He’d always said he got his degree so his parents would shut up about it. Of course, now that he was finished college, they were pressuring him about a job. She wondered if getting married was a way of diverting attention from his job search.

  “He’s going to take the stock broker’s course.”

  “Really? Is he interested in stocks?”

  In fact, he’d told her it was easy money and he planned to spend most of his time wining and dining clients while the really smart people figured out what stocks and things he should recommend. “Yeah, he’s interested in business.”

  “That’s good. Some men take a little longer to get serious about life.”

  “I guess.” She was still fretting about the wedding. “I never thought about the actual wedding when he asked me. I thought we could go to city hall or something to get married, then get a few friends together and a keg of beer and party.”

  “After you’re married you can have keg parties if you still want them. Trust me on this, you’ll only waste your energy and get a headache if you try and stop the Carnarvons and the Van Hoffendams. They’re like the Hatfields and the McCoys, only on the same side.”

  “Scary.”

  “Come on. Let’s put on clothes we actually like and go grab a burger somewhere, just the two of us.”

  She knew when her mom tried to have a Gilmore Girls moment that she was trying to apologize. “Sure. That would be fun.”

  Even though she had a Spanish test to study for . But she was a quick study, always had been.

  Chapter Seven

  ON THE NIGHT OF HER ENGAGEMENT PARTY, the grounds and the gardens of the Carnarvon estate looked as pretty as Ashley had ever seen them. Candlelit lanterns hung from trees and twinkle lights sparkled. There were two outdoor bars set up as well as two inside the house, and uniformed waiters in tuxedos and white gloves paraded along the twining paths offering trays of champagne, and more trays of exquisite appetizers. She had been to parties that her aunt and uncle organized before, she’d even served at a few, but this party was actually for her. For her!