A Prior Engagement

by Karina Bliss

  Three people stood in the garden, a young couple in their early twenties, the wife juggling a fretful baby while her husband crouched to help a smartly dressed gray-haired woman ease her stiletto out of a crack in the concrete path.

  “Thank you,” she said, and then she caught sight of Lee. Her smile vanished. “You’re a day early!” she wailed.

  “Am I?” he said.

  Recovering her composure, she smiled and came forward with her hand outstretched. “You’re Lee Davis. I recognize you from TV, and you have no idea who I am.” She pumped his hand. “Chloe Ferguson—a friend of Jules—wonderful to meet you.”

  Glancing between him and the couple clearly waiting for an introduction, she shrugged and handed him her card. Chloe Ferguson, real estate agent. You dream it, I find it. “And these are the Martins.”

  He gave them a cursory nod. “I’m confused. The house isn’t for sale.”

  “It most certainly is!” Chloe flashed the Martins a reassuring smile. “This is the owner’s fiancé,” she explained. “You may have seen him on the news? The soldier held by the Taliban who came back from the dead.”

  “Oh, wow, I found your story so moving.” Switching the baby to her other hip, the young woman grabbed his hand. She had big blue eyes and a dark braid down her back. “Daz, take a photo with your cell. D’ya mind?” she asked Lee.

  “Well—”

  “Let me take it,” Chloe suggested. “Then you and your husband can both be in it.”

  Lee found himself between two strangers and a fretful baby. No wonder. The kid stank. Through his nose he said to Chloe, “So it went on the market today?”

  “Jules will fill you in.... Smile!”

  Five minutes later he watched them all leave. But not before Chloe yanked out her cell as soon as she waved off the Martins, glancing toward the house. Warning Jules. Mr. Martin had let slip that this was their second visit in two weeks, which meant the place had been on the market before Lee got here. Why hadn’t Jules told him?

  He puzzled on it while he threw some protein power, a banana and frozen berries into the blender. She said she’d invested his money. Hadn’t she? He tried to recall details of their first conversation but all he could bring to mind were feelings, not facts.

  Frowning, he watched the fruit whiz into a pink smoothie, then switched off the machine and found the contract she’d given him. It was the reference to interest that made him assume the money was invested in a term deposit. Come to think of it, he’d asked her if that was covered by the bank and she’d answered evasively.

  What the hell would she have spent one hundred and twenty thousand on in the past few...

  Of course. The partnership. But if she was trying to sell the house to pay him back, why wouldn’t she have told him, if not initially when she was trying to protect him, then the other night when they were supposedly laying all their cards on the table?

  Lee could think of only one reason—and it annoyed the hell out of him.

  * * *

  “HELLO?”

  Arriving home after Chloe’s text—one word in caps, BUSTED!—Jules felt as nervous as Inspector Clouseau waiting for Cato to leap from the shadows.

  “Lee, you here?” How she got his money was none of his business and yet somehow she felt as if she’d cheated on the terms of their armistice. Jules reminded herself that she hadn’t lied—she’d simply withheld personal information.

  Chloe had said he was perfectly amiable, so maybe she was making too much of this. In the kitchen she peered out the window, craning her neck to check out every corner of backyard. “Looking for me?” said Lee behind her.

  Jules yelped and spun around.

  Across the hall, he leaned against the door to her office, fanning himself with the contract. His green eyes were as sharp as broken glass. “You led me to believe you invested my legacy.”

  “I did invest it. In my career.” She added irritably, “Why are you here a day early, anyway?

  “We agreed to be honest with each other, Jules. Why didn’t you tell me you’re selling the house to pay me back?”

  “What difference does it make where the money comes from as long as you’re reimbursed?”

  He looked at her as if she was crazy. “Because you’ll end up homeless and I’m damned if I’ll have that on my conscience. Take it off the market,” he ordered.

  Her heart sank. “How I repay you is up to me.”

  His jaw set. “No way am I letting you fire-sale your home. I’ll be getting back pay—a lump sum—in a month or so. I’m in no hurry for the cash. I would have mentioned it the other night if I’d known how things stood.”

  She was an idiot. Of course he’d get back pay. But she’d been juggling too many balls.

  Lee folded his arms. “You didn’t admit you were struggling when we were doing true confessions because you knew I’d kick up a stink, didn’t you?”

  “Partly,” she admitted. “But mostly I want to cut ties with you and get on with my life.”

  He flinched. “You detest me that much now, huh?”

  “You wanted honesty,” she deflected. A clean break was vital, not because she hated him, but because she loved him. And back pay didn’t change that.

  “Well, we have to find another way, because I won’t accept any money resulting from selling the roof over your head. And that’s final.”

  She could tell by the set of his jaw he wouldn’t budge. “Fine,” she said lightly. “I’ll default to Plan B.” Look, Mum, I can make decisions entirely based on emotion.

  “What is it?” he demanded suspiciously.

  “There were two of us in contention for the shareholding. The senior partner’s happy for me to sell to the other guy—Nick—and he’s expressed interest in buying.”

  Lee searched her eyes. “Will you lose any money?”

  “Nope,” she answered, determinedly cheerful. “He’ll pay the same amount I bought it for.”

  * * *

  TEN MINUTES LATE for her appointment, Jules tapped impatiently on the steering wheel as she turned left into Glenvar Close and decelerated, scanning for number twenty-four amidst the busy Friday lunchtime traffic.

  Number twenty-eight flashed by. “Dammit!”

  Checking her rearview mirror she pulled a U-turn and scanned the lot for a parking spot. None were sized for a pink tank, so she circled back to the street, finally parallel parking two blocks away.

  Locking the car door, she checked her watch and set off at a fast clip. She really didn’t have time for this bridesmaid business.

  The tailor’s shop where she was meeting Lee proved to be more of a walk-in wardrobe tucked between a secondhand bookstore and a motorcycle showroom. The louvered glass door rattled as Jules opened it. “Sorry, I’m a little late,” she said to the middle-aged redhead, wearing a tape measure around her neck, who was chatting to Lee.

  “You’re Jules, I recognize you from TV.” Smiling, the woman held out a hand. “I’m Maggie. And the delay isn’t a problem. I measured your fiancé first.” Though the groomsmen’s suits were being rented, Ross wanted white dress shirts tailor-made.

  Jules, still slightly awkward with her public role, turned to Lee. “Hi.”

  “Darling,” he replied.

  Funny how it didn’t sound like an insult anymore.

  “So!” She glanced at the fall of champagne satin on the counter beside him. “I’m guessing that’s the bridesmaid dress?”

&nb
sp; Lee touched the fabric. “The courier dropped it off this morning.”

  Maggie stared at his scarred fingers against the glossy satin and Jules moved to pick up the outfit before Lee noticed. “Let’s get on with it, then. Where’s your changing room?”

  “You’re in it.” Maggie locked the door and twitched the louvers shut. “These premises are temporary while my old store is being refitted.”

  Jules looked at Lee.

  “I’ll wait outside,” he said.

  “Don’t be silly, take a seat.” Maggie cleared some fashion magazines off a filigree chair, and noticed that Jules hadn’t moved. “There are hooks for your clothes behind you,” she encouraged. “Here, I’ll hold the gown.”

  Lee sat down.

  Turning her back, Jules started unbuttoning her ruffled blouse, conscious that she was stripping in a room barely wide enough to swing a sewing machine.

  “So,” Maggie pulled down the side zip on the bridesmaid dress, “have you two set a wedding date yet?”

  Jules let Lee answer.

  “Not yet.”

  She hung her blouse on the hook and Maggie caught sight of the diamond.

  “Your engagement ring’s gorgeous. Can I take a closer look?”

  Jules half turned in her lacy black bra and held out her hand.

  “It’s stunning!”

  In her peripheral vision, Jules saw Lee studiously reading a bridal magazine.

  Maggie finished admiring the ring. Relieved, Jules faced the wall again and started removing her pencil skirt, only recalling as it fell that she was wearing a G-string.

  She tried not to bend too much to pick up the skirt. This was awful. Was it her imagination or could she hear Lee turning the pages faster?

  “I love handling Wang,” Maggie said cheerfully.

  “Excuse me?” Lee said, clearly startled.

  “Vera Wang...the designer of this dress, and the bride’s I hear. If I could only match her skill.”

  “Quite,” Lee said, and the wicked undercurrent in his reply sparked a chuckle in Jules’s chest. She tried to hold it in, she really did. For heaven’s sake, she was miserable, broke and lovelorn, and yet...and yet...

  She began to giggle, silently at first, then snorting through her fingers and, finally, a helpless belly laugh. Shoulders shaking, she stood in her G-string and bra, clutching at her ribs, and howled.

  Lee threw back his head and laughed with her. The sound soared to the ceiling, ricocheted off the narrow walls.

  Maggie, smiling nervously, glanced toward the locked door.

  Lee recovered first. “Sorry,” he gasped. “It’s just your reference to Wang.”

  “Oh,” Maggie said politely. “Oh!” She started to laugh, too. “Good heavens, I never thought of that before.”

  Still grinning, Jules wiped her eyes dry and picked up the dress. “You need a guy in the room to make the joke work.” As her amusement subsided, she grew self-conscious again under Lee’s watchful eyes and she wiggled quickly into the thigh-length sheath.

  Fully lined, the side-draped gown had an asymmetrical neckline and stylized bow detail on one side. An edging of filmy fabric at the hem kept it decent.

  Maggie zipped her up. “There’s not too much alteration needed at all, a couple of tucks at the waist. It’s quite snug around the hips but you’ve got the bottom for it.” She cast a mischievous look at Lee. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “She looks beautiful,” he said huskily.

  Jules swallowed. She should never have laughed with him. It had given him the wrong idea.

  He must have sensed her discomfort because he stood and said, “I need some fresh air, I’ll wait outside. Nice discussing Wang with you, Maggie.”

  “Don’t!” Chuckling, the dressmaker unlocked the door.

  Jules concentrated on her reflection in the mirror. Her desire wasn’t going to go away simply because she wanted it to.

  “What a lovely man,” Maggie said as she began pinning adjustments. “So have you purchased your wedding dress yet?”

  Jules shook her head.

  “I’ll give you my card so you can check out my website. My prices are very competitive with off-the-rack dresses. And I can recommend a good wedding florist, too.” The dressmaker chatted on as she tucked and pinned.

  Jules watched her own reflection get sadder and sadder.

  When she came out, ten minutes later, Lee said, “It’s okay. I’m not here to make things worse than they already are by hitting on you.”

  “Good,” Jules said sharply. She’d donned some emotional armor when she’d changed back into her own clothes.

  “You’re going back to the office, right?”

  “Yes.” She’d increased her hours again—the less time they spent together the better. Something in her balked at saying yes to Nick before the deadline. Who was she kidding? She was pinning her last hope on Saturday’s lottery results.

  “Then you need lunch first.”

  “I’ll pick up a sandwich—”

  “Come on,” he said. “I’m hungry, too.”

  He ushered her into a coffee shop a few doors down. “Cappuccino with trim milk, right? What would you like to eat?”

  She scanned the display. “A chicken and mango panini...thanks.”

  Taking a seat, her gaze followed him as he went to the counter. He seemed to have put on weight over the past week. He was looking healthier and—not your concern anymore. Jules counted the sugar cubes in the bowl.

  “Here we go.” Placing a tray on the table, Lee sat down opposite, passing Jules her order and taking his own. Two sausage rolls—ground beef rolled in savory pastry.

  Her throat caught at the sight of them. “I forgot to buy you sausage rolls when you came home,” she exclaimed. They were one of his favorite foods and his sister had always shipped them on his birthday, vacuum-packed, to wherever he’d been stationed.

  “They were Connie’s tradition, not ours,” he said.

  The steamy fragrance of meat, onions and herbs was making Jules’s mouth water. Hungrily, she lifted her chicken panini.

  “Speaking of my sister—” Lee picked up his own food “—she’s still a little pissed with you. I thought I should warn you before Mikey’s birthday party tomorrow.”

  “I suspected as much when you assured me she’d come around.” Jules tried not to let the confirmation affect her appetite. “You were much more positive about Rob’s and Phil’s responses.”

  “I hoped a week’s cooling-down period might do the trick,” he admitted. “But cryogenic freezing might have worked better.”

  “I could stay home.”

  “You could, except we need to clear the air before the big family reunion next weekend. The local press will be taking photos.”

  “Okay.” Jules ate her panini.

  “No arguments?”

  “The milk’s been spilled, there’s no point on crying over it. Let’s get on with the cleanup.”

  He nodded. They ate for a few minutes in silence that was surprisingly companionable. “I checked in with HQ while I was in Auckland and started the resignation process,” Lee commented.

  Jules couldn’t hide her delight. “You’ve decided then.”

  “My military career’s over.” He added more ketchup to his plate.

  “Do you know what you want to do instead?”

  “Not a clue.” He dipped his sausage roll into the ketchup and took a reflective bite. “B
ut after spending this morning on the phone chasing wedding RSVPs to help Ross out, I can tell you it won’t be a wedding planner’s assistant.”

  Jules finished her panini and wiped her fingers with a napkin. “Tell me the truth,” she said. “Is the wedding some part of a dastardly plot to keep us together?”

  “Not on my part...I can’t speak for Ross. And without wanting to rub salt into the wound, you’re the one who wove herself into the fabric of my life. We have a lot of people we care about in common now.”

  “I know,” she said glumly. “It’s why I said yes to this bridesmaid thing.”

  It was easier talking in a neutral environment. At home she felt more guarded. “Where will you live?” she asked. The question that had been pricking her. “When this is all over.” When we’re done. “With Connie or Rob?”

  “God, no!”

  “Any of the guys would happily have you stay.”

  “And I’d love to play house with loved-up couples.”

  She grimaced. “Fair comment.”

  Lee eyed her over the rim of his cup. “What does it matter to you where I go?”

  “We’re trying to be friends,” she reminded him.

  He smiled. “I do have some ideas,” he admitted. “I might buy another Harley and take a road trip around New Zealand for a few months. Or maybe I’ll rent a place on a rugged coastline—somewhere remote and beautiful—and commune with nature.”

  Jules frowned. “But is isolation good for you? I mean, so soon after your release?”

  Lee put down his cup. “We’re strictly friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you have no say.” He stood. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  WITHIN FIVE MINUTES of arriving at Mikey’s birthday party, Jules knew a thousand years of cryogenic freezing wouldn’t thaw Connie’s animosity toward her. Despite the polite welcome, Little Mrs. Sunshine smoldered with resentment.