by Lori Wilde
“I’m ready to go through your grandfather’s personal effects. Could you drop by tomorrow afternoon, say three-thirtyish, and help me start packing things up?”
Nick hesitated.
It wasn’t that he had anything else to do tomorrow. Nor was it that he minded in the least helping his grandmother. He’d move heaven and earth for her. What he hated was the thought of saying good-bye to his grandfather once and for all.
Nick had been just seven years old when his father, his two younger brothers, Richie and Johnny, and his sister, Gina, had moved in with Nana and Grampa in their three-story Victorian on Galveston Island. Over the course of the last year, everything in Nick’s life had changed. His bride had left him on their honeymoon. His knee had gotten mangled, forcing him off the job he loved for weeks, and his grandfather had passed away. He simply wasn’t prepared to handle any more changes.
“Are you sure now is the right time?” he said. “It’s only been two months.”
“It’s time,” she said. “It’s got to be done.”
“There’s no reason we can’t wait a while longer.”
“Yes, there is, Nicky. I’m selling the house,” she said, her firm tone telling him she’d brook no argument.
Nick couldn’t have been more stunned if she’d reached through the phone and punched him squarely in the gut. “Nana, no, absolutely not. You can’t sell the house.”
“I can’t talk about this now. There’s someone at the front door. We’ll finish this discussion when you come over tomorrow afternoon.” And with that, she hung up on him.
The dial tone mocked his ear.
Nana had hung up on him!
Feeling as if he’d just gone fifteen pulverizing rounds with a heavyweight boxing champ, Nick slipped his cell phone back into his gym bag.
All right then, if that’s the way it was going to be, he’d look at the upside. At least he had something to do besides fantasize about the woman in the raincoat and fret over his knee—confront his grandmother and convince her she couldn’t sell the only real home he’d ever known.
On Sunday evening, Delaney got her rain check.
Evan took her to La Maison Vert, the only five-star French restaurant in Houston. He wore a tux. She had on a little black cocktail dress. The decor was elegant, the service impeccable. And the pan-seared, pecan-encrusted mahimahi bathed in a rich buttery caper sauce was definitely worth the three additional hours on the treadmill the extra calories were going to cost her.
It should have been a magical evening.
Instead, Evan talked nonstop about his work, spoiling the romantic mood. Any other time, Delaney wouldn’t have minded. Evan was passionate about his job and she was a good listener, but tonight she found herself wishing that he were half as passionate about her as he was about medicine.
She’d still planned on seducing him, but extreme embarrassment—following what had happened outside Evan’s office—caused her to give up on the hostage-taking fantasy and go for something a little lower key. She had reserved a room at the Hyatt and worn a dress that showed lots of cleavage with sexy underwear underneath, and she’d ordered oysters on the half shell for an appetizer.
But Evan hadn’t wanted any.
Glumly, she’d sucked down the delicacies alone while her husband-to-be extolled the virtues of a new hip replacement procedure. Delaney zoned out on the details. She didn’t know how to tell him he was boring her to tears.
This is how the meals are going to go for the rest of your life. Skylar’s voice rang in her head.
Now that was a depressing thought.
It’s okay, she reassured herself. She had her work too, and she loved it. Evan probably got just as bored listening to her talk about All the World’s a Stage as much as his shoptalk bored her. Except she never really talked about her job with him.
She’d gotten into the business of staging houses quite by accident. She had received her master’s degree in liberal arts and was trying to decide what to do with it when Tish, who’d been struggling to make a big mortgage payment after her divorce, asked Delaney to help her fix up her house so she could sell it.
She had given her friend’s place a complete makeover, and it sold the following week at ten thousand more than the asking price—and that was after the house had been on the market for over a year. Delaney had found her niche, and on the plus side, it was also a career her mother endorsed.
Excited by the headiness of that first success, she’d borrowed money from her father and started All the World’s a Stage last summer. But while the business was breaking even, it was only because of her mother’s friends. To date, besides Tish, only one other of her clients had not come from the pool of people who regularly kissed up to Honey Montgomery Cartwright.
But Delaney was eager to change all that. She was determined to succeed on her own, without her mother’s help.
She ordered another glass of wine to loosen her up enough to proceed with her plans for seduction. Evan was leaving for Guatemala tomorrow morning. If she couldn’t coax him into bed tonight, she wouldn’t have another chance before their wedding.
She assessed him through the glow of a pricey zinfandel. He was classically handsome—flawless to a fault, perfectly symmetrical features, manicured fingernails, complexion like a baby’s, every hair combed smoothly into place.
And Delaney couldn’t help comparing him to the rugged guy she’d tarped outside Evan’s office.
Now there was a man. Ha-cha-cha.
Immediately her mind conjured up a picture of him. Beard stubbling his firm jaw, calluses on his hands, tanned skin, unruly hair curling around his collar. He put her in mind of Gerard Butler, the rugged British actor who’d played the phantom of the opera in the recent film version of the famous musical. It was one of her favorite movies. He possessed the same hauntingly mesmerizing quality of extreme masculinity that Mr. Butler did.
Her heart thumped faster just thinking about him.
He was everything she had never wanted. Bold, brash, cocky. And yet, again and again, over the course of the last couple of days, her mind had been drawn to thoughts of him.
He’s a fantasy; forget him. Your future is sitting right in front of you.
But those biceps. Those piercing dark brown eyes. She sighed.
She squinted at Evan in the candlelight and tried to get worked up, but an undertow of anxiety tugged at her thoughts. He was a very good-looking man. Why couldn’t she get stoked over him the way she did over this stranger? What was wrong with her?
“And by then,” Evan was saying, “we’ll be ready to have kids, and then you can give up your business and stay home.”
“What?” Delaney blinked, realizing she’d spaced out. “What did you say?”
Evan repeated what he’d said.
“I’m not giving up my business. I love my business. What made you think I would give up my business?”
“We don’t need the money, and our children will require your undivided attention.”
“What about your undivided attention? Don’t kids need a dad as much as a mom? Why don’t you give up your job?”
He laughed, the braying sound affecting her like fingernails on a chalkboard. When had the sound of his laugh first started to irritate her? She’d never really noticed before what an unattractive sound it was.
“Okay, point taken,” he said. “You can keep the business as a sideline and we’ll hire a part-time nanny.”
“Oh, thanks so much for your permission.”
“You’re mad?” Evan looked bewildered. “Why are you mad?”
“Nothing. I’m not mad.” She held up her palms. He didn’t even realize he’d been patronizing her. “Never mind.”
“No, no, let’s talk this through.”
His calm rationality was getting on her nerves. Which was weird. His steady sensibility was one of the things Delaney liked most about him.
Thankfully, her cell phone picked that moment to ring.
Evan gave her a gently chidi
ng look. “You left your cell phone on? This is our last dinner together for six weeks.”
“You leave your cell phone on whenever we go out,” Delaney said, feeling a little defensive as she searched in her clutch purse for the slim flip phone.
“I’m a doctor; there could be emergencies,” he said. “You stage houses for a living.” There it was again, that slightly condescending tone in his voice.
She found the phone and checked the caller ID. It was from Trudie Klausman, the one client who had not come to her from her mother’s sphere of social influence. “Excuse me, Evan, I need to take this.”
Delaney put her napkin on the table, pushed back her chair, and hurried to an out-of-the-way alcove to take the call.
“Trudie,” she greeted her caller. “How are you?”
“Fine, just fine.”
“How’s the new condo?”
“Wonderful, I love it. There’s so much to do here, so many activities, and lots of handsome widowers to chase after in my golf cart.”
“That’s great to hear.”
“Listen,” Trudie said, “I’ve got a friend who’s looking to sell her house.”
“Really.” A smile flitted across her lips. At last, a referral that had nothing to do with her mother.
“My friend lives on Galveston Island in an old Victorian. It’s a beautiful place, but needs work. Her husband died a couple of months ago and she’s really lonely.”
“That’s sad,” Delaney said. “I’m so sorry to hear it.”
“It’s been rough on her. They were married fifty-two years, and Leo was the love of her life.”
Delaney made a noise of sympathy. “Tragic.”
“Well,” Trudie said, “they did get fifty-two wonderful years together. Most of us aren’t so lucky. Anyway, a condo came open here at Orchid Villa right across the courtyard from my place. But she can’t afford the condo until she sells her house. The condo won’t last long. You know how quickly the properties are going around here, so she needs to sell the house as soon as possible. Can you drop by tomorrow afternoon and give her your expert opinion?”
“Trudie,” Delaney said, “I’d be happy to do what I can for your friend.”
“Can you come around three? Got a pen so I can give you the address?”
“Three would be perfect. Hang on, I’ve got my BlackBerry right here.” She dug the device from her purse and powered it on. “Go ahead.”
“Her name is Lucia Vinetti.” As Trudie gave her the address, Delaney felt her excitement growing. She hadn’t had a project in a couple of weeks, and she was eager to work and get her mind off the wedding plans.
In the course of a two-minute conversation, Delaney had completely forgotten about seducing Evan. If she couldn’t find the magic that was missing from her life through love, then she would do it through her work. Now, all she could think about was making sure Lucia Vinetti’s house sold quickly and for the most amount of money possible.
And opening up a whole new aspect of her career.
Lucia Vinetti and her friend Trudie Klausman strolled through her garden in the gathering twilight, admiring the flowering bougainvilleas, inhaling the scent of red honeysuckle growing up the fence.
“I hope I’m doing the right thing. Messing with fate can be a risky proposition,” Lucia Vinetti said as she pulled a small bottle of lavender lotion from the pocket of her apron and rubbed a dab of it into her hands.
She’d led such a wonderful life, she’d never really minded growing old. But these wrinkly brown spots on her hands, Mother Teresa, how she hated them. When Leo was alive, he would laugh about her vanity, kiss her hands, and tell her she was in luck, because brown was his favorite color. Remembering her husband, Lucia smiled while at the same time her heart welled with sadness. She was going to miss this place so much, the garden in particular where she and Leo had worked side by side, coaxing things to grow.
“I’m telling ya, Luce, Delaney is the one for your Nicky,” her best friend Trudie said.
“But playing matchmaker? I’m not sure it’s prudent to interfere in other people’s love lives.”
Even at seventy-five Trudie still dressed like the Las Vegas showgirl she used to be. Garish colors, styles made for women a third of her age, outrageous props. Tonight she had a lime green feather boa tossed around her neck. But Lucia never judged Trudie for her eccentric clothes. She might be outrageous, but she was the truest friend Lucia had ever had.
“The minute I met this girl, I knew she was the one for your grandson.” Trudie sounded so certain. “But just to be sure, I did her astrological chart. The stars never lie. She and Nick are destined to be together.”
“But you said she’s engaged to marry another man.” Lucia kept rubbing her hands long after the lotion had been absorbed. Nervous habit, but then playing around with fate was something to be nervous about. “That isn’t a good sign. Nick’s already been cut to the quick by one fickle female; the last thing I want is to see my grandson get hurt again.”
“You were engaged to someone else when you met Leo,” Trudie reminded her.
Lucia thought of Frank Tigerelli, the wealthy man her family had wanted her to marry. He’d ended up going to prison in some real estate scam. Thank God for her Leo. He’d saved her from making the gravest mistake of her life.
“If something goes wrong and Nicky gets hurt, I’ll never forgive myself,” Lucia said.
“We’re just putting them together and letting nature take its course,” Trudie assured her. “If they meet and the whammy doesn’t strike, no harm, no foul.”
Lucia nodded and took a deep breath. Her grandson needed something to jar him out of his doldrums.
“Will you tell me the story again about how you knew Leo was the one?” Trudie asked, absentmindedly twirling her boa. “I love that story. Look at me. I had to go through three husbands before I got it right, and then Artie up and dies on me. Men.”
Lucia smiled. “Our first meeting was such a cliché, I don’t get why it fascinates you so.”
“You know why. Tell the story.”
The truth was Lucia loved telling the story as much as Trudie loved hearing it. “I had just turned eighteen. A friend and I had been invited to a party thrown by a man in our office where we both worked as secretaries. The party turned out to be very dull. I looked at a clock on the wall and it was only nine-ten. I wanted so badly to leave, but my girlfriend who’d given me a ride didn’t want to go. She’d found a fellow to flirt with.”
“Not much of a party girl, were you?”
“No.” Lucia smiled. “I seriously doubt that you and I would have been friends if we’d met back then.”
“Probably not,” Trudie agreed. “So then what happened next?”
“I was about to call my father to come get me, when Leo walked into the room. And then it hits me. A bolt from the blue. The whammy.”
“What did the whammy feel like?”
“My heart started pounding and I wanted desperately to run away, but at the same time I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Nor he me. He comes toward me and the crowd parts like the Red Sea. I’m barely breathing.”
Trudie sighed happily.
“Leo introduces himself and we start talking and talking and talking. The room gets less crowded and quieter. We find a seat and keep talking. My friend shows up and wants to leave. Leo tells me he’ll give me a ride home so I tell my friend to go on without me. Finally we’re the only ones left at the party. Even the host went to bed. I looked at the clock and it says nine-fifteen. I’m starting to think I’m caught in some weird waking dream and then I realize the clock has stopped. It stopped the minute I saw Leo.” Lucia’s voice broke and tears sprang to her eyes.
“Aw, Luce, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have prodded you to tell that story,” Trudie fretted. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“It’s all right.” Lucia swiped at her eyes. “Even though it hurts, I like remembering Leo.”
“See, don’t you want
that kind of love for Nick?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then let go of your fears and put your trust in the magic that stopped that clock the minute you and Leo met. If Delaney Cartwright is Nick’s soul mate, they’ll know it.”
“And if she isn’t?”
Trudie shrugged. “She’s still a whiz at staging houses.”
Chapter 4
James Robert, what is this?”
Jim Bob Cartwright glanced up from the Houston Chronicle Sunday crossword puzzle he was working to help him fall asleep and saw his wife, Honey, standing in the doorway, holding something out in front of her as if it were going to give her a disease. Jim Bob pushed his reading glasses up on his forehead to see what she was talking about.
“Looks like a wedding veil.”
“Exactly.” Honey’s lips were pressed together in a tight, disapproving line. If she hadn’t just had a round of Botox, Jim Bob had no doubt she would have been frowning.
He slid his glasses back down on his nose. “What’s a ten-letter word for flawless?”
“Perfection,” she said. “I found it under Delaney’s bed.”
“What? Perfection?”
“No, the wedding veil. Perfection is a ten-letter word for flawless.”
“So is Honey Leigh.” He smiled at her.
“I doubt that’s what the makers of your crossword puzzle had in mind,” she said dryly. “Delaney bought this at a consignment shop. If she thinks I’m going to let her wear this shabby thing at her wedding, she’s going to have to think again.”
“I think it looks nice,” he said.
“You would,” Honey grumbled and set the veil down on the edge of the bed. “It’s from a consignment shop.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s tacky. It’s been on other women’s heads.” Honey shuddered.
“What were you doing snooping in her room?”
“I wasn’t snooping,” she said defensively.
“No?”
“If you must know, I went to turn down her covers so she could slip right into bed when she gets home from her date with Evan. I expect they’ll be out late since this is the last night they’ll have together for six weeks. I saw the corner of the veil sticking out from underneath her bed and pulled it out for a look. What perplexes me is why she would want to wear a used veil. I’ve raised her better than that.”
