She gulped her tea, scalding her tongue. She and Clay had exchanged scarcely two words while he was being fitted for the tuxedo jacket. She’d found a corner from which to observe him and the eager Suzanne, and tried to ignore the flashes of unease every time the blonde’s hands lingered at his neck, his lapel, his waist. Annabelle did make one amazing discovery: When Clay smiled, the unfamiliar expression had a bizarre effect on her pulse. And he seemed to smile easily with his longtime acquaintance. Apparently, he reserved his disdain for herself and her mother.
And rather than diminishing, her embarrassment over the shoplifting event grew exponentially as she replayed each agonizing moment over and over—he’d seen her underwear, for heaven’s sake. Although she’d braced herself for Clay’s smug retelling of the incident when their parents rejoined them, he hadn’t mentioned it. He’d politely complimented Belle on the pink dresses she’d chosen, reminded his father they had an appointment in Midtown, then left without making eye contact.
Walking over to the window she’d opened, Annabelle shrugged lightly at her mother’s observation. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Clay isn’t as friendly as his father. I can’t make the man like me.”
“But you could be more gracious to both of the men who will soon be part of our family,” Belle chided.
She looked above the tree line to the coral-colored house, feeling strangely drawn to the young man living there temporarily. Had he given her a passing thought since yesterday? Deciding to change the troubling subject, Annabelle turned with a smile. “Mom, I never asked you how Melvin proposed.”
“It’s Martin, dear.” Belle sat on the edge of the bed and dimpled. “He took me to my favorite Italian restaurant—they serve the most incredible vanilla mints wrapped in silver foil with their coffee.” A faraway look came into her eyes and she sighed. “We had a wonderfully romantic meal, and when the waiter brought our mints, my engagement ring was around one of them.”
“That is romantic,” Annabelle mumbled begrudgingly, wondering from which movie he’d stolen that scene. “The stone in your ring is huge,” she said, taking a seat next to Belle and lifting her mother’s hand for a better look. Under the soft overhead light, the oval stone reflected a spectrum of colors. Injecting a teasing tone into her voice, she asked, “Are you sure it’s real?”
Belle’s laughter trilled through the room. “Of course it’s real, dear.”
“Did he buy it from a jeweler nearby?”
Her mother looked puzzled. “I didn’t ask. Why?”
“Well, I… ” She glanced around the room and her eyes fell upon her dresser, sparking an idea. “I thought we could take Daddy’s engagement ring to a jeweler and have it resized.”
Belle smiled in agreement. “That’s a lovely idea, and there’s a jeweler who repaired a gold chain of mine just a couple of miles from the caterer.”
“Good, because it looks like a prong has moved on the ring Martin gave you.”
She pointed and Belle squinted.
“Really? I can’t see up close without my glasses. Oh, my, I’d hate to lose the stone.”
“I’ll drop you off at the caterer’s and take the rings to the jeweler, then we can go back to the car lot and take a second look at that green sedan.”
Belle gave a dismissive wave. “Dear, I simply won’t permit you to buy me a new car.”
“Mother, the car is hardly new, and you can’t keep driving Dad’s old tank with the engine light coming on all the time. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew you’d make a fuss. Besides, you need your money for your new house…don’t you?”
Annabelle detected a note of curiosity in Belle’s voice, which she ignored. Her mother might worry more if she knew where the money had come from. She patted her mother’s knee with affection. “I insist on buying you a decent car, and I’ll still have enough left for my down payment.” Her heart swelled with pride—her father would definitely approve. Martin Castleberry be damned—she could take care of her mother.
“Speaking of your new house, you’ll be needing some furniture.”
Belle’s voice and expression were so innocent, Annabelle was instantly alert. “Well, the bedroom suite I bought for my apartment is still in great condition, but I thought I’d have my couch reupholstered.”
“I’m giving you mine.”
“Your couch?”
“My furniture.”
She stared for a few seconds, then laughed. “Mom, that’s ridiculous. You can’t give me your furniture—what on earth will you use?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized what her mother was leading up to.
“I’m selling the house, dear.”
Her heart jumped to her throat. “What?”
“Martin and I don’t need two homes, so it only makes sense to sell this one.”
After a shaky inhale, Annabelle touched her mother’s arm. “Mom, you can’t sell this house. Besides, Martin doesn’t own the house he lives in—Clay does. You don’t want to be at that man’s mercy, do you?”
“Martin is buying it back from him.”
She pursed her mouth, realization dawning. “With the proceeds from this house?”
“It’s only fair that I contribute some,” Belle insisted, “since Martin wants my name to also be on the title.”
“How generous of him to offer,” she said dryly. “Mom, he’s taking advantage of you!”
“Nonsense.”
Panic rolled in Annabelle’s stomach and she stood. “I think you and I should go back to Detroit—immediately.”
“What?” Belle laughed, standing. “I’m getting married Saturday!”
“Mom, we need to talk.”
Belle wagged her index finger. “I know this has been a shock, dear, and I’m sorry, but you’re not changing my mind. Now let’s get dressed—the real estate agent will be here in a few minutes.” Her mother sashayed out of the room, her high-heeled house shoes clacking against the wooden floor.
Annabelle’s mind spun as she watched her mother walk away. She wanted to cry out, but her voice had fled and her limbs were numb. She’d never felt more helpless in her life, because she was certain that Martin Castleberry was marrying her mother for what bit of money her parents had managed to save over their lifetime. What was she going to do? From the hall she heard the spray of her mother’s shower, and the dull click of the glass door closing. She gulped her tea, wincing when the liquid washed over her burned tongue. Was there such a thing as tough love for parents?
The doorbell rang and her pulse shot up. Not only had the agent arrived early, but since her mother was indisposed, she was going to have to play hostess. But as she pulled on a robe, an idea occurred to her and she brightened. Her mother was indisposed. She trotted to the door, painting on a smile for the suited woman who stood on the doorstep. “Hello. You must be from the Realty company.”
“Yes, I’m Brenda Morra. Are you Mrs. Coakley?”
“I’m her daughter. Mother is busy at the moment.”
The woman stretched her neck to peek around Annabelle. “This is such a lovely home.”
“Thanks. Could you come back next week?”
Her smile dropped. “I was under the impression Mrs. Coakley was leaving town on her honeymoon soon and wouldn’t be back for a few weeks.”
“Not if I can help it,” Annabelle muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“It looks as if her plans might change,” she said, with the most convincing smile she could muster. Behind her, the sound of her mother’s shower kicked off. “One of us will be in touch soon,” Annabelle added, stepping back. “Thank you for stopping by.”
“But—”
“We’ll call you,” she assured the woman, waving as she closed the door. Then she leaned against the door and blew her too-long bangs in the air.
“Annabelle, dear, was that someone at the door?” her mother yelled from the bathroom.
“The real estate agent,” she replied, choosing her w
ords carefully as she moved down the hall. “She, um, rescheduled.”
Belle stuck her head out of the bathroom, her pale hair dripping, her face a mask of concern. “For when?”
“I didn’t know your schedule, so I told her we’d be in touch.”
“You should have asked me while she was here, dear.”
Annabelle crossed her fingers behind her back. “She was in a hurry.”
Belle disappeared back into the bathroom. “Remind me to call her when we return from running our errands.”
She looked heavenward and mouthed, That was close.
“Oh,” her mother’s voice echoed in the bathroom, “I forgot to mention that Martin and Clay are taking us to dinner this evening.”
“Dinner?” Her heart tripped faster. “Why?”
Belle’s laughter vibrated. “Because we have to eat, dear, and we could do worse than eating in the company of two attractive men.”
She groaned and sagged against the wall in the hallway, exhausted before their day had even begun. Right now, her seventy-hours-a-week job seemed like nirvana.
“Annabelle.” Her mother’s head appeared again. “It would mean so much to me if you would try to be friends with Clay.” She ducked back into the bathroom, and her voice floated out, muffled. “But believe me, after spending time with the man, I understand your reluctance. He has such a difficult personality.”
Annabelle worked her mouth from side to side and studied her rumpled reflection in the mirror over the hall table. “Well, after all, he did leave a business deal in Paris to come back and attend the wedding.”
“I suppose. But arrogant, mercy, mercy.”
Her hair definitely needed a trim. “I know, but at least he has accomplishments to back up his attitude.”
“And he seems kind of brooding to me.”
Annabelle shrugged. “It worked in Wuthering Heights.”
“And now that I think about it, he’s not nearly as handsome as Martin was at that age.”
Annabelle pursed her lips and leaned close to the mirror. How long since she’d last plucked her eyebrows? “He’s really not bad looking when he smiles.”
“Ha! And when is that?”
She stuck her tongue in her cheek, remembering their heated exchanges with a little smirk. “He has a subtle sense of humor. You have to get to know him, I guess.” Then she straightened. “Not that I do. Know him, that is.”
“Well, thanks for the insight, dear. Tonight we’ll both try to be more open-minded, hm?”
The blow dryer whirred to life, and Annabelle headed toward her room, dragging her feet. After stubbing her toe, she hopped into her bedroom and landed on her bed, more irritated than ever. Her skin felt bothersome, as if she might be coming down with something—which would explain the general feeling of detachment from her body. She just wanted to close her eyes and have everything the way it was before her mother called last Friday to break the news of the wedding.
And if she didn’t have enough to worry about, now she was going to have to spend this evening staring across the table at Clay. Annabelle rolled to her back and groaned.
What on earth was she going to wear?
Chapter Eight
“WE CAN HAVE THE RING SIZED while you wait, ma’am,” the man said with a courteous nod.
Knowing her mother would probably be meeting with the caterer for at least another hour, Annabelle nodded. “Fine.”
The man signaled a young woman and handed the ring off to her with instructions, then turned back to Annabelle with a huge smile. “Now then, perhaps I can show you some of our new pieces while you’re waiting?”
Nervous about simply whipping out her mother’s ring and asking if the stone was real, Annabelle nodded and allowed the man to show her an array of tennis bracelets. She even humored him by trying on a few, although the only piece she found remotely interesting was a simple silver bangle with a raised griffin design. After a few minutes, she scanned the shop for eavesdroppers, relieved to find only one other customer, a man trying on watches on the opposite side of the showroom.
Annabelle thanked the man for showing her the bracelets, then cleared her throat. “Sir, I, um, was wondering if you might tell me how much a piece of jewelry is worth.”
He nodded. “Certainly we offer appraisals, although it would take at least forty-eight hours to process a piece for purposes of insuring.”
A flush warmed her neck as she fidgeted. Finally, she withdrew the ring box from her purse. “The truth is, I only need for you to tell me if the stone in this ring is as valuable as, um…”
“As you’ve been led to believe?” he inquired with a twinkle in his eye.
She coughed lightly into her hand, then nodded.
He pulled a jeweler’s monocle from his pocket. “Then let’s have a quick look.”
Annabelle chewed on her bottom lip as the man scrutinized the ring and hummed noncommittally. After a full minute, he lowered the eyeglass, his expression unreadable. “A gift?”
She nodded again.
The man gave her a tight smile and returned the ring. “Miss, not only is the stone genuine, but based upon my hurried observation, it’s of uncommonly good quality.”
She couldn’t keep her mouth from turning down at the corners, and the man seemed surprised. “Not the news you were hoping for, ma’am?”
“No,” she murmured, then added hastily, “I mean yes.” She managed a happy expression. “Of course.” Darn it—the sole reason she’d been looking forward to dinner tonight with the Castleberrys was to triumphantly expose the ring as a fake and begin to unravel the fabric of lies that the senior Castleberry had managed to wrap around her mother’s eyes.
“Ah, and here’s your other ring, ma’am, freshly sized and cleaned.” He handed Annabelle the engagement ring her father had given her mother. A lump formed in her throat as she pushed the ring over her knuckle. Anna, promise me you’ll look after your mother if something happens to me.
“I’m trying, Dad,” she whispered, then thanked the man and paid for the re-sizing. With heavy feet, she walked in the direction of the exit, distracted by the unfamiliar weight of the ring on her left hand, saddened now that she’d had it cut down to fit her finger when it truly belonged on her mother’s. Now what? Her mother was marrying Melvin Castleberry in five days, and it seemed as if there was little she could do about it. Oh, well, if the caterer ran true to form, maybe he’d already aggravated Belle enough to reconsider the entire production. Regardless, she needed to get back to her mother as soon as possible to ensure she didn’t go overboard.
Weddings—bah!
The driving summer shower that had blown in only added insult to injury. Without an umbrella, she held her purse over her head and jogged to her mother’s blue Buick. After dropping the keys twice, she fumbled her way into the car. Her hair dripping wet, she sat behind the gigantic steering wheel and shivered for a few seconds, then turned over the engine. The best thing about Belle’s car was that it was so huge, other drivers got out of the way—a phenomenon in Atlanta.
But she’d traveled no farther than the other side of the shopping center when the engine light flashed on, and the car died. She turned the key and the engine whined, but wouldn’t turn over, not even on the second or the third try. Annabelle thumped the steering wheel, then gave in to the ridiculous tears she’d been fighting for what seemed like days. Belle’s dogged determination to marry had her on edge, and the sleepless nights she’d spent dissecting her puzzling encounters with Clay hadn’t helped matters. And now this.
She lay her head down on the steering wheel and bawled.
*****
Clay was on his way back from checking the painting progress on his condo when his phone rang. He picked it up and saw Henry’s name on the caller ID screen. Tensing for more bad news, he pushed a button. “Yeah, Henry, what’s up?”
“It’s the girl,” the private investigator said. “She’s having car trouble and it’s raining like hell. Call me
old-fashioned, but I feel like I should help her or something.”
Remembering the look of her big hazel eyes when she thought she might be arrested in the department store, Clay could sympathize with Henry’s instincts, but he didn’t want the man to blow his cover. “Where is she?”
“Sherell Shopping Center on Buice Road.”
Clay looked around to get his bearings. “I’m not far from there—in fact, I’m driving into rain now. I’ll say I just happened by.”
“She’s in a blue Buick in front of the jeweler’s.”
“Jeweler’s?”
“Yeah, she had an engagement ring sized for herself—”
Clay scowled. Was Annabelle engaged to that Mike fellow he overheard her mother talking about? “Are you certain?”
“Yeah, I heard everything. And she had the ring your dad gave to her mother—she wanted the jeweler to tell her how much it was worth.”
Clay’s heart fell to his stomach—he’d seen the bill for the ring, and the bauble was worth a hefty sum. “Really.”
“I didn’t catch what she said, but she looked disappointed with whatever the fellow told her.”
Clay’s heart fell to his knees. A hefty sum, but not as much as she’d anticipated, obviously. “Thanks, Henry. By the way, Dad and I are having dinner with them this evening, so skip the surveillance and try to get me some details of the daughter’s personal life in Michigan—relationships with men, that kind of thing.” He needed the information to help protect his father.
Not to satisfy his own curiosity.
“Sure thing, Clay.”
He disconnected the call, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Annabelle couldn’t have taken the ring without her mother’s knowledge, so Belle was in on it, too. Were they planning to hock the ring? Or were they simply using it as a barometer to estimate his father’s wealth? He remembered her frightened expression in the department store and scoffed. A mother and daughter team, playing up to father and son. No wonder he was starting to feel soft toward Annabelle—she’d probably planned it that way, the schemer. The more he thought about the way she’d wormed her way into his subconscious, the more irritated he became, taking solace only in the fact that if he had yielded to her wiles, it was because she was such a pro.
Stop the Wedding! Page 8
