Stop the Wedding!

by Stephanie Bond

  Clay’s chin jerked up at his father’s preposterous words. “My life is perfectly fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “The fact that you’re trying to turn this situation back on me is proof that you’re making another mistake.”

  In fact, for all he knew, Annabelle and her mother could have concocted that entire little explanation in case their scheme was divulged. Desperation spiraled in his stomach. Deep down, he knew he wasn’t making sense, not even to himself. But if Annabelle wasn’t a conniving, hard-hearted, selfish gold-digger, then that meant she was an intelligent, warm-hearted, caring daughter. And he wasn’t ready to admit that he had so woefully miscalculated her motives. And her heart. And her kisses.

  His father’s expression was rueful. “I’m sorry you feel that way, son. Because Belle and I would like to have your blessing too.”

  He straightened, anxious to distance himself from this messy, complicated affair. Let his father fend for himself—he was through.

  “I’ll be returning to Paris as soon as possible,” he said in a clipped tone. Clay wheeled and strode toward his truck, determined to outpace the fierce doubt nipping at his heels.

  Chapter Sixteen

  CLAY’S THUNDEROUS MOOD followed him on the drive to his condo. Even the sight of the freshly painted white walls couldn’t cheer him up. The place seemed cold and sterile, the furniture stiff and unwelcoming. He walked around the five-room luxury accommodations, watering neglected plants and opening blinds to fill dark corners with light.

  Funny, but all these furnishings the decorator had carefully selected to make his place homey seemed to have achieved the opposite effect. The leather chairs, the granite-top tables, the pewter statues—he might as well be standing in a showroom. No family relics here, no antiques or sentimental what-nots. No photos, save the one of his mother in a silver picture frame on the hall table—one of his few contributions to the décor. This barren place wasn’t a home, it was the quarters of a permanent guest.

  Indulging a scowl, Clay sifted through his mail—none of it personal—and turned on his laptop in a futile attempt to immerse himself in work. Paging through an array of urgent e-mail messages from impatient clients, he mentally kicked himself. If only he’d stayed in Paris, he’d have closed the investor deal, maybe two. But more importantly, he would have never met Annabelle Coakley.

  Annabelle Coakley, with her lioness eyes and her freckled nose and dimpled cheeks. And scorching kisses that promised pleasures he would never know. The hauntingly beautiful face that could be soft with vulnerability, or flushed with anger. An attorney who worked long hours for little pay and scant respect. A loving daughter who missed her father and seemed bent on protecting her mother. He’d mistaken her for a ditzy pushover, and in the end, she’d doled out more grief to him than he’d ever dreamed of giving her. Or rather, he’d brought the grief on himself by crossing her at every opportunity.

  He’d toyed with the idea of calling Henry to check out the explanation Annabelle had given concerning her relationship to the older man in Detroit and the money that had exchanged hands. But now, removed from the moment, he knew in his gut she was telling the truth. Something in her eyes when she’d said, “I thought you would leave me alone if you believed I was engaged,” had cut him deep.

  Was he that much of an ogre? Clay sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes with forefinger and thumb. Considering the way he’d greeted her, tried to bribe her to leave, kissed her roughly, he couldn’t blame her. She’d come to Atlanta thinking the worst of the Castleberrys and his behavior since had only reinforced her opinion. Although his subsequent kisses had been administered with somewhat less menace, she nonetheless had maintained a determined distance from him. She might have endured his kisses—maybe even enjoyed them—but she didn’t trust him. Didn’t respect him.

  Didn’t even like him, much less love him.

  He grimaced at the manifestation of the word that had been hovering on his mind for hours. These absurd feelings… guilt? Sure. Remorse? Maybe. But love?

  Frankly, son, sometimes I think you meddle in my life as a diversion to your own unhappiness. What utter nonsense. He was perfectly happy. Perfectly. Clay pushed away from his desk and walked to the kitchen for a cold bottle of beer. Afterward, something drove him to the hallway where his mother’s image waited, smiling up at him like the movie star she was.

  What did he know about love except the distant memories of his mother? He picked up her photo and studied her eyes, willing her to impart a bit of wisdom into his head and heart.

  “You would like her, Mother. She’s smart, pretty, and completely unimpressed with me, just like you were with Dad.”

  She smiled, and he could imagine her nodding her approval.

  “How do I know if I love her?” he murmured.

  She smiled, and suddenly he remembered his mother’s words as she tucked him in bed one night. She’d been wrapped in a silvery robe, her hair cascading around her gentle face.

  “I love you, Clay.”

  Her words had filled him with joy, and he’d wanted to prolong her visit to the edge of his bed. “Why do you love me, Mommy?”

  “Because,” she’d said, leaning forward to rub her nose against his, “your heart calls out to mine.”

  Clay closed his eyes and bit down on his lip. Did Annabelle’s heart call out to his? He let out a bitter laugh. After the way he’d treated her, the only thing her heart was likely to call out to him was obscenities. He had nothing with which to compare these prickly, plaguing feelings, but he knew therein lay a generous amount of guilt and a staggering dose of desire.

  He lifted the beer bottle to his mouth. But love?

  No. Not him. Besides, he’d just jeopardized a sizable deal to come back and convince his father that marriage was a farce. How big of an idiot would he have to be to fall in love while trying to stop his father’s wedding?

  Pretty damn big. And he hadn’t built his career and reputation by conducting himself like an idiot. He swallowed a mouthful of the bittersweet liquid. No, he most certainly wasn’t in love.

  “I’m not in love,” he said aloud in affirmation.

  His mother smiled.

  “I’m not,” he said with more vehemence. “Just to prove it, I’m calling the airline right now. By the time the so-called wedding takes place, I’ll be in Paris, far away from Annabelle Coakley.”

  He couldn’t be sure, but for a second he thought his mother smiled a little less.

  *****

  “So the wedding is back on?” Michaela asked.

  “Yes, tomorrow.”

  “You sound resigned.”

  “I am,” Annabelle said with a sigh. “And Mom will be fine—I believe I underestimated her judgment.” It was her own judgment, it seemed, that was lacking.

  “I can’t believe the son turned out to be such a jackass.”

  “Yeah.” Her heart still squeezed when she remembered the look on his face, accusing her of trying to swindle him and his father, insinuating that she’d cozied up to him so he’d lower his guard. He had no idea what those kisses and intimate moments and bits of personal revelation had cost her. Didn’t she counsel women every day not to let their emotions overrule their common sense? A fine role model she’d turned out to be.

  “Annabelle?”

  She yanked her attention back to phone call. “Hm?”

  “I said don’t let him get to you. I mean, it’s not like you care what he thinks of you, right?”

  Annabelle bit into her lower lip. Mike had hit the nail on the head—she wasn’t bothered so much by the fact that Clay had looked into her background as she was by the fact that he had so easily drawn the worst conclusion from the circumstantial evidence. Sure, she’d believed the worst of him when they’d first met, but over the past several days, her opinion of him had shifted as she’d gotten to know him. In fact, she’d fancied herself to be falling for him, had imagined an uncommon connection with him. What a joke, since his opinion of her apparentl
y hadn’t changed at all. The fact that he would have made love to her that afternoon on his property despite his low opinion of her made her stomach roll. And the fact that she might have allowed him to made her feel decidedly ill.

  “Right, Annabelle?”

  “Right.”

  “Are you okay? You sound strange.”

  “I’m fine. I’ll call you when I get back in town.”

  “Okay,” Mike said, sounding hesitant. “I feel bad that I was teasing you about falling for this guy. Guess I was dead wrong about him.”

  “Bad judgment seems to abound.”

  Mike paused. “Is there something you want to tell me, boss?”

  So perceptive, this one. “No, nothing at all. I’ll see you soon.”

  Annabelle disconnected the call, then on impulse, pulled up the photo she’d taken of Clay the day of the hike, leaning against a rock and looking uncharacteristically surprised. The fact that the man wasn’t used to being caught off-guard had made the picture even more special, because for the briefest second, Clay Castleberry had appeared…exposed. Vulnerable. Approachable. On hindsight, however, the expression had been a trick of the light.

  Brimming with sadness and anger and longing, her finger hovered over the delete button. But at the last second, she couldn’t bring herself to do it—a fact that bothered her even more.

  The room was bathed in late evening moonlight. An open window siphoned in the muted sounds of the sultry night—cicadas, night birds, and the occasional hum of a car. The rumble of a plane’s engine sounded in the distance, and she wondered if Clay was already in the air. It would seem so, given his hasty exit. And it was for the best. Annabelle sighed, stretched out on her old bed and hugged a pillow to her chest.

  She had every reason to be happy. After all, Belle was marrying a man who cared about her. When she returned to Detroit, she wouldn’t have to worry about her mother being lonely or unsafe. She was convinced her mother’s heart was in the right place, and although Belle’s second marriage would bear little resemblance to her first, she deserved the right to have grown and changed as a woman.

  After all, she thought miserably—every woman changed. She squeezed her eyes shut. Hadn’t she? Hadn’t she arrived in Atlanta spoiling for a fight? Unable to believe her mother could fall in love in such a short time? Now the joke was on her—she’d lost her heart in a matter of days, with a man who stopped just short of despising her. Oh, he’d stolen kisses in the heat of a charged moment, but only to prove he was capable of lording over her. A tear slipped out and curled around her cheek. How he must be gloating. Sitting in first class winging his way back to Paris, smirking over how he’d so easily manipulated her into accepting—even anticipating—his touch.

  At least her mother had fallen in love with a man who mirrored her feelings. She, on the other hand, had fallen for a cold, cynical, scheming, condescending man who would never appreciate or accept her love. Clay Castleberry had made the situation crystal clear: Her love was wasted on him. Unfounded and unwanted.

  So why couldn’t she simply dismiss him from her normally logical mind?

  A knock on her door made her sit up and rub her thumbs over her damp eyes. “Yes?”

  Her mother’s gentle face appeared in the doorway. “Annabelle, dear, are you feeling well?”

  She conjured up a bright smile. “Just a mild headache from all the excitement, I suppose.”

  Belle walked over to sit on the edge of the bed next to her. “Excitement indeed. I can’t remember when so much transpired in so little time.”

  “Are you all packed?”

  “Yes, mostly shorts and cool dresses. Hawaii will be even warmer than here.” Her mother’s smile was balm to her scuffed heart. “Thank you, my dear.”

  Puzzled, Annabelle asked, “For what?”

  “For giving us your blessing today. More than anything in the world, I want you to be happy for me.”

  “I am, Mother. I believe you and Martin will have a good life together.”

  Belle tilted her head. “Even without a prenuptial agreement?”

  Annabelle smiled. “Even without a prenuptial agreement.”

  Her mother picked up Annabelle’s left hand and studied the engagement ring she’d worn for thirty years. “I’m glad you’ve softened toward Martin, but I wish you would soften toward the idea of marriage for yourself someday.”

  She bit down on her tongue to stem the tears of self-pity. I-yie-yie, if her mother only knew. Pining for a man whose interest in her extended only to illicit groping. “Mother, I’m not as hardened to the idea as you might think,” she said carefully. “I just haven’t found someone as compatible as you and Martin seem to be.”

  Her mother cleared her throat. “As far-fetched as it may sound, Martin and I were rather hoping there would be a romantic spark between you and Clay.”

  Her throat convulsed.

  “But after his appalling behavior today, I can see we were mistaken about the match.” She patted Annabelle’s hand. “Martin is extremely upset with him.”

  Annabelle shook her head. “I don’t blame Martin for his son’s actions. In fact,” she said thickly, “I was just as guilty as Clay for wanting to find some reason to stop the wedding.”

  Belle clucked. “At least you were willing to own up to your mistakes. Clay seems bent on believing the worst, and I don’t like anyone misjudging my baby.”

  A warm feeling of security wrapped around her shoulders, making her appreciate just how ludicrous her idea of swooping in to save her mother had been—Belle was the rock, the foundation upon which their family had rested. The irony of her father’s plea for her to take care of her mother showed just how well Belle had fostered the illusion that she was dependent upon them. Even Annabelle had believed it. But now, looking into her mother’s wise blue eyes, she realized she should be so lucky to one day possess her mother’s strength and capacity to love.

  “I adore you, Mom,” she whispered.

  Her mother leaned forward and touched her forehead to Annabelle’s. “And I adore you.” Belle pulled back and smoothed Annabelle’s hair away from her face. “It means so much to me that you’re staying to witness the ceremony tomorrow.”

  Remorse stirred in her chest. “I’m glad you still want me there after all the trouble I caused.”

  “Shush, of course I want you there. And so does Martin. I think it takes the sting out of Clay going back to Paris.”

  Annabelle averted her gaze and bit her tongue against the lump of emotion that blocked her throat.

  “Don’t worry, dear, you’ll never have to see the man again.”

  Her mother had verbalized the fear that had hovered in the back of her brain since she’d last seen Clay at the foot of the steps. She pressed her lips together, and her jaws ached from clenching her teeth, but she was helpless to stop the tears that spilled over her cheeks.

  Her mother’s eyes flew wide, then narrowed. “Annabelle, there’s more going on here than injured feelings, isn’t there?”

  She nodded wretchedly.

  Belle leaned over and removed a tissue from a box on the nightstand, then held it out. “Tell me.”

  Annabelle wiped her eyes, then blew her nose and exhaled a cleansing breath. “Nothing to tell really. I misinterpreted Clay’s interest.”

  “Interest?” Her mother pursed her mouth. “I see. You’re in love with him?”

  She lifted her shoulders. “I think I fell in love with the idea of him. Infatuated, maybe, with a man who’s different than anyone I’ve ever known.”

  Belle cleared her throat delicately. “Did he…did you…?”

  Annabelle’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, no. Which makes this situation even more bewildering because we’ve barely spent any time together. But I thought I was getting to know him. I thought….” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I was obviously out of my league, not to mention out of my mind.”

  Her mother angled her head. “I know you’re hurting now, but opening your he
art to someone else is nothing to be ashamed of. The fact that Clay is blind to your feelings is his loss.”

  “You sound suspiciously like a biased mother.”

  Belle smiled. “I don’t think you should take Clay’s behavior personally, dear. Martin said he’s always had a thorny personality were women are concerned. But if it’s any consolation, Martin also said that the way Clay looked at you gave him hope that he’d someday settle down.”

  One side of her mouth pulled back. “Apparently he was just trying to scope out my weaknesses.”

  Her mother reached forward to stroke Annabelle’s cheek. “I’m glad to see your sense of humor returning.”

  In truth, she was feeling minutely better. Just confessing her lapse of judgment concerning Clay eased the tightness in her chest. She laid her head back against the headboard and stifled a yawn.

  “It’s lights out for you,” Belle said, suddenly all mother as she stood and fussed with the covers on the bed. “I can’t have my maid of honor falling asleep in the middle of the ceremony tomorrow.”

  She smiled up at her mother, savoring the intimacy of the moment. “Mom, why do you think I fell for Clay of all men, and why now of all times?”

  Belle’s eyes danced as she tucked the covers under Annabelle’s chin. “That’s the most mysterious thing about love—it takes hold of you whether you’re ready or not.”

  She swallowed. “But it hurts.”

  “It’s supposed to. Otherwise, you wouldn’t notice.” Belle leaned forward and kissed her. “But the sun will rise tomorrow.”

  “I hope it’s a beautiful day for your wedding.”

  Belle smiled. “It will be, regardless of the weather.” Then she whispered goodnight and crept to the door.