The Divorce Party

by Jennifer Hayward

  A vague suspicion slithered in his gut. Something stirred just under the surface but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Alexander?”

  Color blasted into her cheeks and for the second time in the past hour he heard a curse fall from her lips. A minute’s regret slashed through him. There were blue shadows under her eyes. Her skin was drawn too tight over her features.

  He prided himself on not missing the tiniest detail. Yet he had completely overlooked that she was tired. After all, she had singlehandedly planned the wedding, without a trace of anxiety and with minimum input from him.

  Not only was she successful and sophisticated, she had an unblemished reputation, the respectability he needed in a wife and—the best part—she was the perfect role model for his sister. The increasing restlessness and unhappiness he had spied in Emily, the rumors floating around about his mother, meant he’d needed a wife and soon. Kim was the perfect solution.

  Her hands went to her forehead, her long fingers rubbing at her temples. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little tired.”

  “You organized everything brilliantly, Kim. Everything went smoothly, without a ripple.” He ran his finger over the inside of her wrist. “Perfect. Just like you.”

  Her chocolate-brown eyes widened and her luscious red mouth pinched into a thin line. “Yeah, it looks beautiful.” She glanced around them once again, disbelief flickering in her face. “Thanks, I mean.”

  As the photographer arranged the wedding party around the entrance the missing piece clicked in his head. He looked around, searching for the pale pink outfits that indicated the bridesmaids. Of course. Olivia was missing. He should have known the reason Kim was upset. Everything else she had planned had gone so perfectly.

  “Where’s Olivia?”

  “She...had to leave.” Kim shrugged, her stiff shoulders betraying her. “Something urgent came up.”

  Irritation flickered through him. Olivia was nothing if not predictable when it came to being selfish and irresponsible. Yet Kim seemed surprised at every turn by her reckless twin. “I should have known it would be something to do with her. What has she done now?”

  Her chin tilted up, her mouth narrowing into a stubborn line. Liquid fire flashed in her chocolate gaze, her withdrawal immediate. “Olivia didn’t do anything.”

  The one point of contention between Kim and him. Her attachment to her selfish, troublemaking twin was beyond his understanding. He smoothed out the ire rising through him. “She always hurts you, Kim. Isn’t it time to cut her out of your life like your father did?”

  Olivia stared at him, aghast, her palms fisting at her sides. She couldn’t believe the arrogance of the man. He was encouraging her sister to cut her off—the one person who cared about her. Her throat burned with anger. Anger that she couldn’t let out. What had Kim seen in this man? She glared at him. “She’s my sister. I won’t cut off my family as ruthlessly as you have just because they’re not perfect.”

  His shoulders tightened under the handmade Italian tuxedo. His jaw tensed into a tight line. The forcefield of his anger encompassed her, drowning out the sounds around them.

  Olivia braced herself, ready for his outrage to burst and choke her. After all, she had faced it countless times with her father. She had always frozen when the hurricane of her father’s anger had burst. It was Kim who’d been the wall of steel that had saved her. Shame coursed through her. And here she was, mouthing off again and ruining Kim’s chance with Alexander.

  But the outburst she had expected didn’t come. Instead, he smiled, his anger obviously under control. The lethal smile wrapped itself around her senses, almost successful in making her forget what had made her so mad to begin with.

  “I provoked you,” he said with a crease in his brow, as if he was contemplating her.

  His asinine control grated on her nerves. She would have liked to see him blow his top. Then she would have had a measure of him. Instead, he had turned the tables on her, making her feel she should apologize instead. She did it, anyway. For Kim, she reminded herself for the nth time. “I’m sorry,” she said, uncaring that she didn’t sound sorry in the least.

  The click of a camera brought her head up just as Alexander’s arms enfolded her. She took a quick peek at the silver Rolex on his strong wrist. The metal shone on his brown skin, a contrast to the crystal blue of his eyes. He was an interesting study in genetics, with his Nordic father and Italian mother. If only it was her interest in genetics that had her heart drumming like a heavy metal rock band.

  Only two hours had passed since Kim had left and this day already felt too long. She held herself rigid in his arms, her neck and shoulders aching at the pressure to stay still and not lean back into his corded strength.

  His hands settled on the curve of her hips. Her cheek rubbed against his rougher one. Her breasts felt heavy, tight, and a throbbing in her lower belly shot its way between her legs. Arousal. Damn, the man was to be her sister’s husband. Eventually. She closed her eyes and thought of Kim—the happiness in her face at their engagement, the sparkle in her tone whenever she had spoken of Alexander. It helped dampen the rush of sensation settling over her. Even if only a little.

  She tilted her head to the side, ready to beg him to let her go. Instead, their eyes locked and she found herself caught.

  “Relax, Kim. Remember this is supposed to be the biggest day of your life.”

  * * *

  Olivia gripped the marble countertop in the exquisite bath in Kim’s suite, everything within her rebelling at the idea of walking back into the banquet hall. It was a temporary respite before the reception began and she never wanted it to end.

  To hell with the reception and the guests.

  The expansive bathroom, with its perfectly placed sconces and chandeliers, the cool Turkish limestone tiles, was more than welcoming. She played with the idea of hiding out right there.

  But hiding here would mean drawing Alexander’s attention to her.

  Her gut flipped at the thought.

  She sprinkled cold water on her wrists and face, careful not to spoil her makeup. She wanted to scrub the whole lot off. But Kim always looked perfect and she wasn’t going to quicken Alexander’s race to the truth that the wrong twin—the imperfect one—had stood next to him and uttered vows. At least Kim had promised to be back by nightfall.

  She stared into the gold-edged mirror, still unable to believe how different, how polished she looked. Her wild mass of golden-brown curls had been ironed into submission and set into a stylish chignon at the back of her neck. Her neck shone with an elegant diamond choker set in white gold—which she knew was a wedding gift from Alexander Perfect King—instead of her mother’s heart-shaped locket on a black string, and her feet ached from the four-inch-heeled Christian Louboutin sandals that had already caused untold damage to her back. She scrunched her nose at Kim’s makeup bag, where the tube of pink gloss was winking at her. Olivia Stanton in shiny pink lip-gloss was never going to happen. She could only go so far, even for her twin.

  She reapplied her dark red lipstick. Battle-ready.

  She took a deep breath, stepped out of the luxurious suite and walked toward the huge banquet hall. Almost at the entrance, she let her gaze fell on a small veranda to her right, and before she knew it she was looking at miles of gorgeous sand, her feet itching to feel the grainy texture.

  With a sigh, she took an about-turn, determined to go for a swim by the end of the day. What was the fun in getting fake married on a Caribbean island if you didn’t even dip your toes in the ocean?

  She came to a standstill at the entrance to the hall, stunned by the sight. A lump lodged in her throat at the elegant beauty of the hall. Kim had prepared all this for her beautiful wedding and wasn’t even here to enjoy it. A hundred little questions pecked inside her head. By the end of this charade she was going to ensure one thing. Sh
e’d find out what was really going on with Kim.

  Round tables covered with the sheerest white lace filled the decadent marble-floored hall, with a single pink orchid in a crystal vase gracing the center of each table. Lanterns designed to look like tiny fireflies hung from the roof, throwing light onto the vases, and the crystal shimmered in thousands of directions.

  It all looked gloriously romantic even to someone like her, who didn’t go for the elaborate traditional wedding, the designer gown and the whole status thing that went with the society that Kim and Alexander inhabited.

  She couldn’t stop her thoughts from flitting inward. Her chest felt tight, as if a fist had tightened over her heart. One more thing Kim had that she herself never would. A man who loved her. A man who...

  Enough.

  She wasn’t going to spend another minute thinking about things that could never be. She ran a hand over her stomach and smoothed the silk, feeling as though the hole she kept carefully covered was exposed. She headed straight to the open bar, uncaring of the curious glances thrown her way. Thankfully, the bar itself was empty. She ordered a scotch, her back to everyone. When the drink came she drank it in one swig, needing the fiery liquid to wash away the maudlin nonsense in her head.

  Her skin prickled with awareness, every inch of her hypersensitive to the arrival of the man behind her.

  “Here’s where you’re hiding.”

  Without turning around she silently slid the tumbler back toward the bartender. Kim couldn’t stomach alcohol—much less scotch—a fact she was sure Alexander knew. Schooling her face into a pleasant expression, she turned around. The sight of him dealt her a fiercer kick than the scotch. “More like recuperating,” she replied, placing her hand in his outstretched one.

  He tugged her close, his gaze devouring her. A frown creased his forehead. “Did you just have a drink?”

  Managing to hold on to another curse by biting the inside of her cheek, Olivia shook her head.

  His disbelief hung like a curtain between them. Instantly she tried to remedy her mistake. “I actually took some aspirin for my headache. It just seems to be getting worse.” At least that wasn’t a lie. Her head was beginning to throb as though she had spent all night at a Metallica concert. In the front row.

  His brow cleared and his gaze shone with sympathy. “At least no one will find it strange if we escape the reception quickly. After all, it’s our wedding night.”

  Her gaze flew to his as he ran a long, dark finger over the sensitized flesh at her neck, tracing the lacy neckline of her dress. Her soft gasp got lost between them as he bent toward her ear.

  “I can’t wait to rip that dress off you.”

  A shiver traveled up her spine, sparking desire in every inch of her. Locking arms with him, she tucked her head down, fighting for air. His muscled body only heightened her awareness of him. Every second that passed was twisting the hard knot in her stomach tighter. Where the hell was Kim? She didn’t want to be here for another minute, not with the way her body was reacting to his mere presence.

  Not when it was another woman’s man. Dear God, he belonged to her twin—the one person who had stood by her no matter what.

  Somehow Olivia held on to a semblance of composure as she smiled and talked to the guests, nodding enthusiastically as Kim and Alexander’s friends raved on and on and about how perfect they were for each other, pretending to know them. If they thought it was strange that the always intelligent and articulate Kim was mostly silent, they could put it down to the excitement of being a new bride.

  She had to bite the inside of her mouth to stop thrusting her tongue out as her father praised Kim’s success to anyone who would hear... If only he knew...

  She had no idea how she lived through the torturous dance with Alexander. Each sinuous, slow movement threw her against his muscled strength, with the pulsating energy between them winding her up, the scent of him seeping into her every pore. Her muscles groaned at her stiff posture by the time the dance came to an end. Only the enticing prospect of sinking into the claw-foot bathtub with numerous silver faucets she had spied back in Kim’s suite kept her standing.

  Just as she released a breath of relief and untangled herself from Alexander the front man of the lively native band announced the bride’s dance with her father.

  No, no, no.

  Olivia froze midway on the polished lacquer floor, feeling the color leach out of her face. Fear gripped her insides in an unforgiving knot, and the corseted bodice of her gown was crushing her lungs as her father walked toward her, a genial smile on his handsome face, the very image of a loving father, his stride purposeful as ever.

  She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t dance with him—not without the whole pretense blowing up in her face. She shivered, sliding into the skin of that clumsy fifteen-year-old forced to dance with her father on her birthday. Stand up tall and look me in the eye. She could still hear the caustic hiss of his disapproval when she had accidentally trod on his toe, could still feel the painful, cutting press of his fingers on the skin of her shoulders, eroding another piece of her.

  The more he criticized, the more she had faltered. He would have gone on forever except Kim had intervened, claiming her turn, and proceeded to pacify him with her perfection. Always. Kim had done it to divert their father’s attention from her. Liv knew that. But in the end her twin’s perfection had only showcased Olivia’s failure even more.

  The memory coursed through her like acid, eating away at the armor she had grown, exposing wounds that she had thought covered, if not healed. She gasped for breath when a guest stopped her father. She hadn’t talked to him in six years and she couldn’t now. He would know in a nanosecond that she wasn’t Kim. And he wouldn’t even go along with it until she could explain. No, he would bring holy hell down upon her right there, until the whole world gleefully concluded that Olivia Stanton had once again screwed up—and this time her own sister’s life.

  Pain sliced through her, robbing her of breath. The very intensity of it was still so raw. She wanted to be able to look him in the eye, not to flinch when she saw the corroding disappointment in his gaze. But she couldn’t, because nothing had changed. She just wasn’t good enough—not now, not ever. Not even to be a stand-in for her perfect sister.

  She rubbed her forehead with trembling hands and turned toward the exit, her legs rubbery. “My head feels awful. Please apologize to my father,” she threw at Alexander.

  She could feel his razor-sharp gaze drill into her back until she stepped out of the banquet hall. But she couldn’t look back. Right now, all she needed was to escape.

  * * *

  Picking up a champagne flute from a passing waiter, Alexander stilled and stared at Kim’s retreating form. She looked pale and intensely troubled, her hurried gait anything but graceful. And even as he watched she tottered on those heels. The doubts that had been niggling at him all evening crystallized into irrefutable truth, shock stunting his movements.

  The woman running away as though the devil was on her heels was Olivia Stanton, the embodiment of everything he despised in a woman—selfish, impulsive and scandalous—who could wreck everything: his reputation, his sister’s care. With one reckless word or action.

  Kim would have never run at the sight of her father. No, it was Olivia who couldn’t run fast enough. After all, the rift between Jeremiah Stanton and his younger daughter was continuing fodder for the tabloids, among other things.

  Fury washed up through him in tidal waves, an incessant drumbeat drowning out the innocent chatter around him. Why had they switched? When had they switched?

  The answer came to him with crushing clarity. He had slipped the wedding ring onto Olivia’s finger, his gaze snagging on her lips, fascinated by the blood-red lipstick, wondering how he had missed this side of a woman he had known for six months.

  Every
thing he had worked for his entire life now rested in the hands of a good-for-nothing party girl who didn’t know the meaning of responsibility.

  The crack of the champagne flute in his hand pulled him out of the red mist. Ignoring Jeremiah’s concern, he took a turn toward the exit.

  He made his way to the suite that Kim had occupied since her arrival at his mansion a week ago, his steps unhurried in contrast to the blistering anger coursing through him.

  Olivia was going to rue the day her self-centered, worthless existence had entered his life.

  ISBN: 9781460319857

  THE DIVORCE PARTY

  Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer Drogell

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