by Jackie Braun
“I don’t.”
He shook his head. You’re going to wind up sad and alone.”
Even as she raised her chin, Emily swallowed, hating that he’d found yet another chink in her armor. “Don’t waste your time pitying me, Reed. I’m really quite happy.”
Happy and alone, a little voice whispered. Happy with a thriving career, she silently shot back. God, she was not only arguing with her ex, but she was arguing with her subconscious.
“Right.” He shook his head. “You keep telling yourself that, Em.”
She dropped her arms to her sides in exasperation and started for the door. “I’d say that your job here is done. You’ve delivered Elle’s message.”
“And?”
“Tell her I don’t think I can make it, but if I manage to wrap things up early tomorrow, I’ll stop in.”
“That’s big of you.” His tone suggested he felt otherwise.
“Goodbye, Reed.” Emily opened the apartment door and allowed a little of her own pettiness to seep through. “I’d say it was good seeing you, but it wasn’t.”
One step from leaving, he stopped. For an uncomfortable moment he stared at her. “It’s hard to believe that we were ever a couple, let alone for so long. I don’t know who you are anymore, Emily.”
She could have said the same. Instead, she told him, “I haven’t changed. I always had these dreams, these goals. They’re why I went to culinary school in the first place.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think they’d pan out for you, at least not to the extent that they have.”
“You thought I’d fail?” He wasn’t the only one left wondering how they’d ever become a couple.
“Not fail exactly. I just figured that you would make a nice little hobby of it, you know?”
No. She didn’t know. “A nice little hobby?” His lack of faith shouldn’t have come as a surprise, let alone as a blow. Oddly, it hurt almost as much as his romantic defection had. “Well, Elle’s goals shouldn’t be a problem for you.”
Reed’s brow furrowed. “She doesn’t have any goals.”
“Exactly.”
Emily closed the door behind him. She slammed it, actually. And even though she tried to banish their conversation from her mind, his prediction that she would wind up sad and alone pecked at her peace for the rest of the day.
Madani’s eyes were closed as he reclined on the chaise on his terrace. The afternoon sun felt good on his face, as did the breeze that accompanied it. Music floated from the stereo, a languid melody with lyrics to match. He should have been relaxed. Indeed, he gave the appearance of being so. But he was far from it.
He’d returned from Emily’s apartment several hours ago far too keyed up to work. He’d paced, put himself through a punishing workout with the free weights he kept in one of the spare rooms. Neither had helped.
Even sitting on the terrace doing nothing was proving difficult. He wanted to break something.
He had a feeling he would have felt this way even if he hadn’t also had the misfortune of meeting her ex-boyfriend just before taking his leave.
Madani wasn’t prone to snap judgments, but he’d made an exception in Reed Benedict’s case. He didn’t like him. The man had hurt Emily. That much was clear. He was marrying her sister. But it was the rude way in which the man had spoken to her that bothered Madani the most. His verbal jabs were proof that he disrespected her.
“I should have punched him,” he muttered aloud.
“I hope you are not talking about me, sadiqi. Though only for your sake.”
Madani opened his eyes as a chuckling Azeem stepped out onto the terrace.
“Not this time.” Swinging his legs to the flagstone floor he rose. “Care to join me for a drink?”
“What kind of drink?”
“The only kind that counts when a man is in a foul mood.”
Azeem’s bushy eyebrows shot up at that. “An alcoholic beverage this early in the day? Something serious must be troubling you. Or could it be someone?”
The question hit a little too close for comfort. “Do you want a drink or not?” Madani snapped impatiently.
“Of course. I would never pass up an opportunity to sample your cognac. I cannot afford such superior quality on the salary you pay me.”
“Maybe I should sack you and be done with it.”
His friend merely smiled. “If you’d like we can discuss the terms of my termination over the cognac.”
When Madani returned with their drinks, Azeem had pulled a padded wrought-iron chair over from the table. “So, whom do you wish to strike?”
Picturing Benedict’s overconfident sneer, Madani’s blood boiled anew. “This…this fool of a man who… Forget it. He is not worth another moment of my time.”
He would leave it at that, Madani decided. He handed Azeem one of the snifters and settled back on his chaise.
Azeem sipped his cognac. Nodding sagely, he said, “A woman is involved.”
“Why must there be a woman involved?” Madani asked in exasperation.
“Because all too often men are fools where women are concerned.” Despite Azeem’s smile, his expression lacked its usual joviality.
“The voice of experience, my friend?”
Azeem merely shrugged. “Aren’t we all fools at one time or another when it comes to women? Well, except for you, of course. Even as you prepare to marry one of Kashaqra’s loveliest specimens, you will never be a fool for a woman. You do not believe in love.”
Madani’s eyes narrowed. “I have the feeling you have just insulted me.”
“Never. I am but your humble servant.” Azeem’s lips twitched below his dark mustache.
“Now I know I have been insulted.”
“So who is this woman?”
Madani swirled the cognac in his snifter. The color of the liquid reminded him of Emily’s hair. “No one you know. I have just met her myself.”
“Yet she weighs on your mind and inspires you to violence.” Azeem’s lips turned down in consideration. “That’s quite an accomplishment.”
Madani didn’t care for his friend’s summation since it was too close to the truth. He planned to change the subject, but the words that slipped out were, “She is so much more than what some people see.”
“Including the fool?”
“Especially the fool.” He snorted, drained his glass. “He had her and he didn’t appreciate her.”
Azeem hoisted his snifter, emptied it. “I know exactly what you mean.”
The following morning, Emily knew to expect at least one phone call from her mother, if not half a dozen. Elle’s shower was at two o’clock, which meant Miranda would be in overdrive.
Sure enough, the telephone in Emily’s apartment rang just after she returned from a brutal workout at the gym. After a peek at the Caller ID, Emily was tempted not to answer, but Miranda would try her cell and then alternate between the two for the next couple of hours until Emily finally picked up. Better to get this over with now so that she could attempt to enjoy the rest of her day.
Grabbing the cordless receiver, she flopped down on the couch. “Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, I’m so relieved to hear your voice. Are you all right, honey?”
Hmm. This was a new tactic. “Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked.
“Well, Reed and Elle are here, and Reed mentioned that a strange man was at your apartment yesterday.”
Ah. Mystery solved. “The only strange man at my apartment yesterday was Reed. The other one was a client of mine.”
“A client. Oh.” Miranda sounded disappointed.
“Are you sorry it wasn’t a serial murderer?”
“Don’t be silly,” her mother chided. “It’s just, I guess I was hoping…well, you know.”
“Hoping what?” Emily asked, perfectly aware she would regret doing so.
“That maybe you’d found someone.”
She expelled an exasperated sigh. “Mom, you need to make up your mind. A moment ago you
claimed to be worried that the man Reed met yesterday might have harmed me and now you’re disappointed that I’m not involved with the guy.”
“Oh, please,” Miranda huffed. “Forgive me for being a little excited that you might have found someone. Reed mentioned that the man was there early in the morning.”
“It was nearly eleven o’clock, Mother.” Emily snorted. “That’s only early for Reed. I’d been up working for hours. And this was business. As I said, Dan is a client.”
“Dan, hmm?”
“Yes. Dan. Generally speaking, I’m on a first-name basis with all of my clients.”
“Client or not, Reed said the man was possessive of you. He said he was a little surprised that you allowed it.”
Emily thought back on the exchange. Possessive? No, she wouldn’t have allowed that. Protective was more like it. And that she didn’t mind. Indeed, she smiled now, recalling the way Dan had told Reed to watch his words and later had offered to toss him out. Despite all of his refinement and sophistication, she had little doubt he would have done so—and quite handily—had she agreed. It almost made her wish she’d let him.
Forcing herself back to the present, Emily said, “Is this the only reason you’re calling, Mom?”
“No,” Miranda replied.
“I didn’t think so,” Emily mumbled. Heaven knew she couldn’t get that lucky.
“Reed told me why he stopped to see you yesterday. He also told me the cool reception his request received.” Miranda’s voice lowered. “I’m really disappointed in you, Emily Josephine.”
Emily massaged her forehead. She was pushing thirty and her mother was still trotting out her middle name in the hope of forcing her to toe the line. “For what, Mom? Not dropping everything to be at Elle’s side today?”
She said it sarcastically, but her mother took her words at face value. “Yes.”
“I’ve got work to do.” Which wasn’t a complete fabrication. She could always find something business-related to occupy her time.
But her mother called her on it. “That’s a convenient excuse and we both know it. Just stop in for five minutes today, not just for Elle’s sake but to put the rumors to rest.”
That got her attention. “Rumors?”
“You know your aunt Dora. Your cousin Sara says she’s claiming you’re too broken up over losing Reed to put in an appearance.”
“Hardly.”
“I know,” Miranda agreed with an airy sigh. “I told Sara to tell her as much, but Aunt Dora’s already been on the phone to Aunt Betty and Aunt Sally. She told them that you’re all but incapacitated with heartache and that’s why it’s unlikely you will be at the shower today.”
Emily’s molars ground together. She knew she was being manipulated. She knew it! Yet on the off chance her mother was telling the truth and the aunts were burning up the grapevine with tales of her woe, pride demanded that she put in an appearance.
Brokenhearted, indeed.
It struck Emily then that she wasn’t. At least not as much as she should have been given the fact that she’d thought she and Reed would wed eventually. God, they’d dated for so long. She was ticked off, sure. As she saw it, she had every right to be. But the fact was, given the same set of opportunities, Emily would make the same choices all over again.
“What time will you finish playing Bridal Bingo and all of the other silly games?” she asked.
Miranda’s tone was triumphant, confirming Emily’s worst fears. “Oh, we’ll be done with those no later than three.”
“I can only stay an hour.”
“Terrific.” She pictured her mother rubbing her hands together in glee. Miranda—and Elle—had gotten their way. Again. “See you this afternoon, dear. Oh, and since your sister’s bridesmaid dresses will be peach, we thought it would be nice for members of the wedding party to wear something in that color.”
CHAPTER FIVE
EMILY CHOSE RED.
The dress’ low cut was inappropriate for a Sunday afternoon not to mention a bridal shower. She didn’t care. She paired it with lethal pumps and a kiss-off attitude. If she was riddled with remorse over her breakup with Reed and his subsequent engagement to her baby sister, it looked damned good on her, she decided, adding a bit more kohl liner to her eyes.
She finished off the dramatic look with lipstick in the same flaming shade as her dress. Yes, she was being defiant, but she wouldn’t give in entirely to her mother’s manipulations.
Miranda’s mouth pinched tight when Emily walked through the door of her family’s two-story Brooklyn home. The guests, which included all of the aunts and female cousins, as well as a gaggle of Elle’s girlfriends, were gathered in the living room. Her mother jumped up from her place next to Elle and crossed to Emily.
“That’s not peach,” she hissed as she pretended to kiss her daughter’s cheek.
“Nope. It’s not even close.”
Elle came up next, looking like a confection in her white eyelet sundress with its wide peach sash. Blond hair tumbled around a face whose pouty, glossed lips would have been right at home on the cover of a men’s magazine.
Emily had once overheard their father say where Elle would stop traffic, Emily would be the one to give out the tickets. Darin Merit hadn’t meant it as a compliment. She’d decided to take it as one anyway.
“Oh, Em!” Elle exclaimed, enveloping Emily in a hug that was tight enough to transfer the overpowering scent of her perfume to Emily’s skin. “You’ve made my day! Your being here is truly the best gift of all.”
This was said loudly enough for those at the far end of the room to hear without straining. The murmuring began almost immediately. Emily couldn’t make out what the guests were saying, but their gazes were full of pity and speculation, making the words unnecessary.
“I brought you something anyway.” She pulled out of the death grip long enough to fetch the gift she’d set on the console table in the foyer.
“Here.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it,” Elle said, clasping the wrapped box to her bosom.
Emily doubted it. She hadn’t had time to shop off Elle’s gift registry and the sisters had never shared the same taste, Reed being the exception. “I’ve included the receipt just in case.”
“Why don’t you help yourself to some refreshment, Emily, and then join us,” her mother suggested.
Emily glanced at the clock. It was five minutes past three. The games were done. She only had to endure this charade for another fifty-five minutes. Less than the amount of time it took for her to whip up a soufflé. Some punch would help, she decided. Especially if her aunt Sally had already managed to spike it with rum.
In the kitchen, she ladled up a glass of punch as red as her dress. A sip had her closing her eyes. “Bless you, Aunt Sally,” she murmured and returned to the living room.
Unfortunately a glance around confirmed her worst fears. The only seat available was next to Aunt Dora.
“You look ready for a night on the town,” Aunt Dora remarked.
“I’m going out later.” The lie slipped easily from Emily’s lips. “I won’t have enough time to get back to my apartment afterward, so…” She sipped more punch.
“Oh?” Her aunt’s face lit up. “Do you have a new man in your life?”
Her thoughts turned to Dan. “It’s not serious or anything. We’ve just met.”
“Is he handsome?” Her aunt’s elbow dug into her ribs.
“God, yes. Drop-dead gorgeous is more like it.” That wasn’t a lie.
Dora reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m so happy that you’re moving on.”
A mouthful of punch went down smoothly. “Oh, yeah. The ship has sailed,” Emily confirmed.
She hoped that would be the end of it, but of course it wasn’t. Dora found a new reason to pity her.
“It must be hard, though, to watch your baby sister get married first. Goodness, she’s nearly six years younger than you are! But at least you’re seeing someone now.�
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Emily made a noncommittal sound. Not that it mattered. Dora went on.
“And you still have time. You don’t turn thirty for—what?—another year yet.” Eight and a half months. Emily hadn’t been counting. Until now.
Dora went on. “My Christine says a lot of women feel the need to have a career before settling down, just so they know what they’re not missing once they do.”
Ah, yes, Christine. The voice of experience. She was the same age as Elle and had tied the knot in a hastily ordered civil ceremony a month out of high school. Aunt Dora still claimed little Jimmy had been born premature, though no one in the family believed that at eight pounds, seven ounces he’d arrived two months early.
“It’s a rat race out there,” Emily agreed, managing to sound sincere. Another gulp of punch helped.
“All those long hours you put in and for what? So you can go home all alone?” Aunt Dora shook her head in dismay and reached over for Emily’s free hand. “Thank God you’ve met someone. Maybe now Elle won’t get too much of a head start on you.”
“That would be tragic.” Her glass was empty, which was just as well. She was already feeling a bit tipsy.
A moment later, though, when her mother announced they would be playing a game to determine which guest knew Elle and Reed the best, Emily decided on a refill.
Madani had no reason to call Emily. The menu for the following Saturday was set, the down payment had been made. But as he prowled restlessly around his rooms at The Mark on Sunday afternoon, he tried to come up with one. As happened whenever he set his mind to something, he succeeded. Flipping open his cell phone, he punched in the business number from Emily’s card. When her recorded voice greeted him, he cursed and hung up without leaving a message. Not one to give up, though, he eyed the card again. Her cell number was on it, too.
When she answered he could barely make out her voice over the din of conversation in the background. He assumed she was working, probably whipping up her magic in some wealthy socialite’s kitchen.
