Maid of Dishonor

by Heidi Rice

  ‘There you go, Reese,’ Gina chimed in, grateful for the change of subject. ‘It’s a genetic compulsion. I can’t help being late.’

  ‘Given what you were up to last night,’ Reese chirped in, dragging the subject back to where Gina didn’t want it, ‘inefficient time-keeping’s not your only genetic compulsion.’

  ‘Hey, Gina.’ Marnie caught her gaze in one of the salon’s mirrored walls as she modelled a stunning off-the-shoulder chiffon gown for Reese’s petite friend Amber—who looked like an industrious pixie buzzing around Marnie with a row of pins held between pursed lips. Amber threw a quick wave of greeting, which Gina returned, before getting back to the business of popping the pins into the gown’s hem. The deep aquamarine of the material intensified the blue of Marnie’s eyes—and gave Gina an uncomfortable memory flash of another penetrating gaze. She broke eye contact and shrugged off the guilt.

  None of her friends would ever know who she’d been with last night. Least of all Marnie. It had been a one-off. A steamy swansong to that night ten years ago brought on by chemistry and curiosity. Well, they’d both satisfied that curiosity now. Maybe not completely satisfied it, because the chemistry was still super hot, but satisfied it enough. So there would be no need for a replay and nothing to feel guilty about.

  Reese leaned in and whispered theatrically, ‘I’ll want the full story on your coffee morning later. But Marnie says you booked an awesome venue for you know what.’

  Gina gulped down the last of the mimosa and sent Reese a bland stare. ‘Be aware, I still haven’t forgiven you for setting me and Marnie up with your little disappearing act.’

  Reese’s grin only widened. ‘What are you talking about?’ she said, not even attempting to look innocent. ‘I was unavoidably detained.’

  ‘Where exactly? In Mason’s boudoir?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Reese wiggled her eyebrows, the grin taking on a cheeky quality.

  ‘What are you two whispering about?’ Cassie came over to join them, popping a piece of melon in her mouth.

  ‘Mason’s bondage techniques,’ Gina said dryly. ‘What else?’

  Cassie rolled her eyes, comically. ‘What? Again?’

  Reese laughed. ‘Excuse me, but who was it who was just regaling us with Tuck’s amazing powers of recuperation?’

  Cassie frowned, nonplussed. ‘I was simply trying to contribute to the apocryphal data being accrued. I never mentioned Tuck’s name.’

  Reese patted Cassie’s cheek with loving condescension. ‘Let’s just say we all made an informed decision about who your subject matter was based on the factual data you logged in the discussion. And the fact that my cousin is the only guy you’re sleeping with now and for ever. Unlike our friend Gina.’ She sent a sly glance Gina’s way. ‘Maybe you’d like to contribute to Cassie’s research on the performance capacity of the adult American male with a contribution of recorded data from last night’s mystery man? Assuming of course he was another Yank.’

  ‘Actually, he’s not a...’ Gina cut off the wry quip—before she blurted out far too much recordable data about her mystery man, who’d once explained to her on a moonlit night in Hillbrook that calling a Southerner a Yankee ranked right up in the league table of unforgivable national slurs with calling an Irishman English.

  ‘So not a Yank?’ Reese’s brows rose with interest. ‘How very cosmopolitan of you.’

  ‘Why don’t those who are getting regular sex stop boasting about it?’ Marnie cut in from across the room. ‘So Amber can get the rest of these glorious bridesmaids’ gowns fitted and we can get down to the important business of finishing the mimosas.’

  ‘I’ll second that.’ Gina rushed to re-direct the conversation, again, and avoid any more out-of-character blushes. ‘Amber, you’ve outdone yourself. That design is absolutely stunning. And the colour looks fabulous on you, Marnie.’

  ‘Thanks, that’s real sweet of you.’ Marnie nodded, acknowledging the compliment, the smile on her face less reserved than their last meeting. ‘It’s like wearing a work of art.’

  Amber smiled brightly as she stood to stretch her back and admire her own handiwork. ‘Reese and I wanted a design that would flatter you all without being too overblown. I’ve done yours in emerald. You want to strip off and I’ll go get it?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Gina replied, sending up a silent prayer of thanks for Carter’s knicker gift as she stripped down to her underwear—and the conversation lapsed into a debate about styles and fabrics and colours, and the brilliance of Amber’s designs, and sashayed comfortably away from the subject of her mystery man.

  She didn’t miss the irony though as the morning wore on in companionable girl talk, the five women enjoying some serious bonding time together in preparation for Reese’s big day at the end of next month, and—while Cassie was firmly out-of-earshot in the dressing room forced to try on some push-up bras—in the whispered preparations for Cassie’s impromptu wedding to Tuck. Who would have predicted ten years ago the once hopelessly romantic Marnie would be the only one of the Awesome Foursome—apart from her—not to find the man of her dreams?

  Gina wondered if Marnie still harboured any of those fanciful hopes about finding Mr Right—that she had once sneered at.

  It was pretty ironic that the only wobble she’d ever had in that regard had been Marnie’s big brother. After ten years and the roller coaster she’d been forced to ride after that long ago summer, she doubted she would make that mistake again—but given her history with Carter, steering clear of him for the rest of the week until he was safely back in Savannah made sense. What made it imperative though was a morning spent observing Amber and Reese and Cassie. Because the evidence of how far gone the three of them were over the men in their lives was both irrefutable, and pretty damn scary.

  Take Amber and her insane decision to sublet her apartment above the shop and move into Parker’s place located near his job in the fifty-seventh precinct—thus giving herself an hour-long commute into work every day—just because her taciturn cop had said he’d rather be shot in the head than live above a bridal boutique. Or Reese and her equally insane decision to set up a non-profit organisation with Mason to utilise the skills of military veterans in disaster zones. Second Chance, First Response sounded like a worthwhile concept, but also like a lot of hard work, something she wasn’t convinced Reese had considered before she’d committed to the project. Because it was pretty obvious when Reese had explained how tough it was for veterans to adjust to civilian life, using Mason’s ongoing struggle since his honourable discharge as an example, that Reese had made the decision to commit to the non-profit with her heart first and her head a distant second.

  But by far the biggest shock of the morning had been the change in Cassie—grounded, academically brilliant, IQ-off-the-charts Cassie—the person Gina had always relied upon to give her a no-nonsense, pragmatic perspective on her own sometimes volatile emotions. Cassie had actually emitted something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle when talking about her upcoming wedding. Since when had her friend become a giggler? What else could have caused that but the Tuck Effect?

  So now she had conclusive proof. Great sex could lead to dementia. And while she found it unbearably sweet that Reese, and Amber, and Cassie had found men who they were prepared to change their lives for, risking getting a dose of that dementia wasn’t for Gina. She was a single girl, who loved living her life solo. Men were great in small doses, especially when you needed that special flesh-on-flesh endorphin fix, but they were not an option for the long haul. Not for her.

  She didn’t want to compromise her life, to adjust her dreams, to shrink her own ambitions to fit somebody else’s. And while Carter had certainly proved he could hit her happy buttons with a great deal more style and panache than any other guy she’d ever dated, he had also been the only man ever to come close to making her want more than great sex an
d stimulating small talk. And while that had happened a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away—she wasn’t interested in a return journey.

  ‘Hey, earth to Gina?’ Cassie waved a hand in front of her face.

  Gina’s head jerked, making her bobble the mimosa she’d forgotten she had in her hand. She saved it in the nick of time from splattering her dress.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, but Amber was asking if you had a preference for gold or silver trim on your gown.’

  ‘Oh, right, yes, I think silver,’ she said off the top of her head, trying to remember what colour her gown was, while four pairs of eyes looked at her quizzically.

  ‘Where were you?’ Cassie asked, a small frown on her brow. ‘You looked several light years away.’

  ‘Nowhere in particular.’

  ‘I think I can take a wild guess.’ Reese refilled her glass. ‘You weren’t somewhere in the vicinity of the Mystery Studmuffin, were you?’

  ‘The mystery what?’ Marnie asked.

  Damn. She should have been paying attention to the conversation instead of wasting time thinking about the mystery studmuffin she was never going to see again.

  Heat seared Gina’s neck as Reese toasted her with her flute.

  ‘Bingo.’ Reese winked at Marnie. ‘The Mystery Studmuffin is the hot guy Gina was with last night—and this morning while she was supposed to be with us. All we know about him so far is that he isn’t an American, he’s a hot enough date to give Gina a genetic compulsion to terrible time-keeping...’

  ‘Her date can’t have caused it if it’s a genetic compulsion, no matter how hot he is,’ Cassie corrected her.

  ‘Point taken...’ Reese continued, undaunted. ‘But he is hot enough to make the Unflappable Miss Carrington blush. So on a hotness scale of one to ten, I’m guessing the Mystery Studmuffin goes all the way to eleven.’

  Marnie and Amber both laughed, while the blush climbed into Gina’s cheeks.

  ‘So who is he?’ Reese teased. ‘Enquiring minds want to know every intimate detail.’

  ‘Well, enquiring minds can mind their own business,’ Gina replied, pretty sure the blush was about to reach her hairline. ‘Unlike you lot, I’m not into shag and share.’

  ‘Since when?’ Reese looked genuinely surprised.

  ‘Since I became a grown-up.’ She slapped her glass down on the table, the hot ball of resentment in her stomach only intensifying the guilty heat now scalding her scalp. ‘And stopped banging every guy that took my fancy. Not that anyone here would believe that of Gina the Unflappable Whore.’

  Reese’s teasing smile disappeared as her jaw went slack, while the other women’s eyes popped to the size of dinner plates.

  ‘Gina, I’m sorry, I was only messing with you,’ Reese murmured, looking thoroughly crestfallen.

  Gina hoisted her purse off the floor and stood. ‘I should go,’ she said stiffly, wanting to apologise for the petulant outburst, but not sure how to do it without making things worse. ‘I’m tired and it’s making me more of a bitch than usual.’

  Reese jumped up to press a hand to her arm. ‘Please, Gina, don’t go. I feel awful. No one thinks you’re a whore.’

  Gina caught Marnie’s eye, and the other woman blinked, her face ashen, clearly shaken by the mention of the word that had once torn them all apart.

  You would though, if you knew who I was really with last night.

  She patted Reese’s fingers, then gently disengaged them from her arm. ‘Really it’s okay. I was being ridiculously oversensitive. And I really do need to crash. I’ll speak to you in the week about...’ she lowered her voice to a whisper so only Reese could hear ‘...you know whose surprise party.’

  ‘All right, if you’re sure.’

  ‘Sure, I’m sure.’ She bade goodbye to the others and left, escaping before their gestures of support and concern could make her do something dopey, like bursting into tears.

  It wasn’t until she was in the cab home, bouncing across the cobblestoned street past Brooklyn Park, and she’d got the foolish urge to cry under lockdown, that she began to wonder where exactly the hot ball of resentment had come from that had caused her to end an immensely enjoyable morning of BFF bonding on such a sour note. And once she’d digested the only possible answer to that question, she then had to ask herself why she should resent what Reese and Cassie and Amber had—when she’d decided years ago that she would never want the same thing for herself.

  * * *

  Once back at the minute loft apartment she was struggling to pay the rent on in Brooklyn’s funky Red Hook district, Gina stripped off her clothes, took another hot shower and crashed straight into the fanciful iron-framed double bed she’d crammed into the loft’s bedroom. Given that she was now at the grand old age of twenty-nine and somewhat out of practice, clearly her all-nighter with Carter had taken a physical toll that had had emotional repercussions. But once she’d caught up on her sleep, she’d be herself again—and everything would snap back into sharp, vivid focus.

  Several hours later, after a fitful nap that had been filled with far too many erotic dreams featuring the Mystery Studmuffin who should not be named, the door buzzer sounded. She crawled out of bed, her pulse pounding into her throat and a few other more intimate parts of her anatomy—until she spied Cassie’s face through the peephole. The dip in her stomach had nothing whatsoever to do with disappointment, she decided as she yanked open the heavy security door.

  ‘Gina, you look wasted,’ Cassie announced as she stepped into the flat with a garment bag hooked over her shoulder. ‘Maybe you’re coming down with flu.’

  If only.

  ‘No, I have the constitution of an ox. I’m just exhausted.’

  Cassie sent her a bland look, but fortunately didn’t probe. ‘Amber asked me to drop this off for you.’ She handed her the garment bag, which had the white logo of Amber’s Bridal emblazoned across it. ‘She told me to tell you she’s done the necessary adjustments, but she needs you to try it on and send it back, just to make sure the fit’s good before she starts adding the other bits.’

  ‘Thanks for bringing it over.’ Gina laid the bag over the back of her sofa. ‘I’m sorry you had to come all this way. I should have stuck around, shouldn’t I?’

  Cassie simply said, ‘Are you asking me a question? Because I know absolutely nothing about the etiquette of bridal fittings.’

  Gina smiled at the clueless comment. ‘How about a coffee for your trouble?’

  ‘Only if you’re sure you don’t want to get back to your nap?’

  ‘Positive,’ Gina replied, keen to avoid returning to her nap, which was causing more problems than it solved.

  To her great relief Cassie agreed to stay and Gina set about making the coffee.

  ‘Is everything okay? You seem a little shaky.’ The cautious comment had Gina’s hand halting as it ladled coffee into the French press. Cassie wasn’t the most intuitive person in the world, so it had to be really obvious.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said, determined to make it so as she started ladling again. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘You totally overreacted to Reese’s teasing,’ Cassie replied with her customary bluntness. ‘Which made me wonder if something bad happened last night.’

  Gina smoothed her palms down her robe, touched by Cassie’s concern. She filled the French press with boiling water and faced her friend. ‘And there I was thinking I had my poker face on.’

  ‘I would strongly suggest you don’t enter any poker tournaments, then—you wouldn’t make much money.’

  Gina sent Cassie a weak smile. ‘Don’t worry, Cass, nothing bad happened. It was all good.’ Way too good, really.

  ‘Was it Marnie’s brother?’ Cassie asked, her expression direct and totally non-judgmental. ‘The guy you were with last night?
’

  The blush fired up Gina’s neck as she opened her mouth to deny it—but her mind went completely blank, and the manufactured outrage, the clever evasions, the bald-faced lie she wanted to tell got trapped in her throat somewhere in the region of her Adam’s apple. Until all she could manage to choke out on a panicked whisper was: ‘How did you know?’

  ‘It was obvious once I’d analysed the available data.’ Cassie stirred sugar into her coffee, apparently unfazed by the admission of guilt.

  ‘Which was?’

  Cassie shrugged and sipped. ‘Marnie took a call from him just before you arrived, and arranged to meet him at The Standard Hotel for lunch on Tuesday, so I knew he was in town.’ Cassie placed her mug on the counter with calm deliberation. ‘And the only other time I’ve seen you blush like that is the morning after you slept with him the first time. Well, until right this minute, that is.’

  ‘Terrific.’ Gina’s teeth ground together as the heat scalded her ears. ‘Did you share your brilliant powers of deduction with anyone else?’

  ‘No.’ A tiny frown bisected Cassie’s brow as Gina’s breath gushed out and the knots in her shoulders loosened a little. ‘But why would that be bad?’ Cassie asked, giving a slow owlish blink—which Gina knew meant she was trying to process something particularly complex.

  ‘Because I don’t want Reese and Marnie to know.’ She ruthlessly resisted the urge to say ‘Duh’. It wasn’t Cassie’s fault she’d figured out the truth, or that she was so clueless about the dynamics of female friendships.

  ‘Why don’t you want them to know?’

  Oh, for Pete’s sake.

  ‘Because I screwed up this friendship once before by screwing Marnie’s brother—and I don’t want to do it again.’

  ‘But you did screw him again, so whether they know or not is sort of academic, isn’t it?’