A month later when the cramping and heavy bleeding started, I kind of fell apart. Not everyone was as distraught; Nick’s mother actually jumped up and down and clapped her hands when the doctor told them there was no longer a heartbeat. While his family celebrated outside in the hall, I sat alone in my hospital bed crying for my dead baby. After a quickie D&C, the doctor said I’d “dodged a bullet” and pretty much shoved me out the door. Three days later, Nick dumped me over the phone. He didn’t love me anymore and wasn’t sure he ever did. My friend Ashley called to say he’d started seeing someone else a week after that. After hanging up with her, I locked myself in the bathroom and downed a couple of bottles of pills.
I was startled out of my morose trip down memory lane by Sam’s new friend shouting ‘damn good dog!’ Trip and I exchanged wide-eyed, amused looks, and I was suddenly a lot less concerned about Sam running off with her to Atlantic City.
“Tri-Delts. Everyone else has,” Trip whispered. I was so busy trying to stifle a hysterical giggling fit that I was completely caught off guard when Trip’s mother cleared her throat. I spun around to see Sam and Nosejob vanishing onto the dance floor, and Mrs. Beaumont gazing expectantly at us. The statuesque woman swept me with an icy glance, and I instantly felt underdressed. I figured she was in her early fifties, but she wore her age like a champ. Her hair was a youthful shade of light brown, and her elegant poise commanded admiration. I had to beat back the urge to curtsy.
“Well, Trip? Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” As she spoke the last word through gritted teeth, she turned to me and surveyed me like a tract of land. Blinking rapidly, she looked as if she hoped I was an optical illusion and I just might vanish if she rubbed her eyes, but she couldn’t take the chance of smudging her mascara.
Trip smiled mirthlessly. “Mama, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to Annabelle Clarke. Annie, this is my mother, Imogene Moore Beaumont.”
Her three-name introduction seemed to call for some sort of reverence and I nearly said ‘ooooo’ like I was watching a fireworks display. Thankfully I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol, or I’m sure it would have slipped out. I simply smiled and turned to my date. I recognized Trip’s terse body language and expression in his mother’s presence. The tension was almost identical to the way Sam had reacted to Trip the first day I met him.
“Tell me… Annabelle, is it?” his mother began, her face frozen in a frightening pageant smile that didn’t make it past the lower half of her face.
“You can call me Annie,” I responded out of habit. Then I tried on a pageant smile like hers. My face hurt instantly.
“Very well. Annie. Where are you from?” Her drawl was like molasses.
“Minnesota. Well, the Midwest…everywhere, I guess. We moved around a lot.” I neglected to add that our nomadic existence was in response to my mom being banned from one casino after another. How do you get banned from a casino, you might ask? Trust me, it’s possible. But she just picked up and moved closer to another one. ‘Gotta go where the queen of jacks takes you’, she always used to say. Like everything that came out of that woman’s mouth, it was meaningless bullshit.
“How nice,” she replied, and her eyes shifted from me to Trip, then back again. I’d never heard so much sarcasm expertly poured into two little words. When I’d agreed to help Trip get Violet back, I didn’t figure on having to meet his mother or explain anything about my past. I had a feeling that this oversight was an enormous tactical error. I stared at Trip, trying to silently hint to him my need for an escape, but he was too busy glaring over my shoulder to pick up on the signal. I glanced behind me, expecting to see a troll eating a baby. Instead, I saw that a dashing older gentleman had emerged from the crowd below, holding two champagne glasses. He presented one to Mrs. Beaumont, and she took it with what appeared to be her first genuine smile since laying eyes on me.
“Sebastian, this is my oldest son, Trip and his date, Annie. Trip, I’m not sure if you remember your father’s friend, Mr. Wakefield—“
“Oh, we’ve met,” Sebastian interjected with a sly grin, holding out his hand for Trip to shake. He wore a pinky ring that was worth more than my car. Mr. Wakefield’s expression made me want to flinch, but I wasn’t sure where the instinct came from. It was as if he was daring Trip to shake his hand. Trip said nothing, and silently refused to acknowledge Sebastian’s outstretched palm. If looks could kill, I’m pretty sure Imogene Moore Beaumont might have dismembered Trip. But Trip was younger and more agile, so the death-stare he gave her in return could have taken her down before she had the chance to wield her machete. When Trip continued to glower at them both, his mother’s expression converted from anger to disbelief.
“Reginald?” She seemed as genuinely shocked by his blatant hostility as I was. Though I’d always known Trip was a nickname, hearing him called Reginald so soon on the heels of “the Samson incident” caused me to let out a nervous cackle. I slapped both my hands over my mouth. It was my turn to get a homicidal glare from Her Royal Highness.
Mr. Wakefield gave Lady Beaumont a pacifying rub on the shoulder. The gesture was innocent, but not the way he executed it. I felt dirty just standing next to them, and I could feel Trip bristle beside me.
“It’s alright, Geenie.” He soothed her, and then turned a playful expression at Trip. “No matter how old they are, it’s startling for children to see their parents dating again.”
Trip’s face turned such an awful shade of purple that I thought he might be allergic to my perfume. He opened and closed his mouth twice before practically dragging me down the ramp away from them. He pulled me into his arms at the edge of the dance floor as the band began to play. I know nothing about formal dancing, but thankfully it was a ballad and all I had to do was sway back and forth in a customary manner.
He had one of my hands in his and the other on my waist, like in an old Bogart movie. I could see that he was still frothing with unexplained anger, and I noticed Violet dancing nearby, so I wrapped my arms around his neck and stroked his hair in a soothing way. I felt his shoulders relax a fraction of an inch, and I placed one of my hands on his freshly shaved cheek. He lowered his apprehensive eyes to mine.
“Care to tell me what the hell that was all about?” I was dying of curiosity. But selfish motives aside, he was my friend and it seemed like he needed to vent. Trip pursed his lips with a knitted brow and then blew out a sharp breath.
“That man was not my father’s friend. He’s a fucking vulture. He’s been out to destroy my family for years,” he seethed, seeming so passionate in his hatred that I wanted to grab a torch and start a lynch mob with him.
“Start talking, Trip.”
His eyes shifted from side to side, and when he seemed satisfied that no one was eavesdropping, he continued. “It’s a long-ass story, Angel. You sure you wanna hear it?”
I was about to demand answers when Violet waltzed by in the arms of a guy who looked like a male model. She smiled up at her date, but when she caught sight of us, she stumbled. Abercrombie and Fitch caught her easily, masking her clumsiness in a dramatic dip. She blushed and gave us a sideways glance. Her date turned, and seemed to recognize Trip. His cover model face twisted in aversion. A dreadful gleam in his dark eyes, he smoothly guided her in our direction. Violet seemed to drag her heels, and I thought she was about to protest, but she snapped her mouth shut when she noticed me watching their approach.
“Well! Look what the cat dragged in!” The man boomed, and I scanned the area to see if we had an audience. Thankfully, it seemed the acoustics of the atrium and the big band’s volume provided plenty of cover. No one even looked in our direction.
“Dash!” Violet snapped, and I watched a silent conversation take place between them in the span of three seconds. From the panicked look on her face, I got the impression that Violet usually won their arguments, but that Dash was feeling a bit uppity this evening. Trip casually pulled me closer, catching my eye. His unspoken message may as well have been
in skywriting.
Showtime.
“Dashul. Violet.” Trip managed to sound carefree, and in light of what had just happened with his mother’s date, I was impressed.
Dashul? Were all southern mothers drunk when they named their kids, or just the wealthy ones?
“How’d your mother lure you here tonight? Was it with the promise of an open bar?” Dashul’s impossibly square jaw clenched as he drawled his ugly insult at Trip. Violet yanked out of his arms and covered her mouth with her hand. Trip seemed to take it all in stride, most likely due to spending the last few weeks in Sam’s presence. I, however, was fuming.
“Classy future husband you have there, Violet.” The words slipped from my lips like a bar of soap in a prison shower room.
“And who might this be? Tell me, dahlin’, what hole in the wall did he drag you out of?” he sneered, looking me up and down as if I were a cocktail waitress at a strip club. I nearly punched him in the nose, but just that second I saw him sway slightly on his feet. I found his intoxication ironically comical, so I laughed in his face. His eyes flew wide in unabashed surprise.
“You watch your mouth,” Trip snapped at him. He sounded convincingly offended, and for a minute, I forgot he was acting. I saw the fire behind Violet’s eyes as she looked at him, and the sight of it had me celebrating victory on the inside.
“Relax, Trip. Judging by that mouth, I’m guessing lots of guys talk to her like that. Don’t they, Shug?” His clipped speech had an especially biting edge, and he eyed me in a way that made me offended for Violet. I’m terrible about making snap judgments, and I was baffled that Violet would divorce Trip for his drinking and then proceed to hook up with this hot mess. I figured his behavior was pretty out of character, based on Violet’s responses to him and the deer in headlights look she wore.
Trip faced him head on. “I think you owe Annie an apology.”
“I’m so sorry…he’s been doing shots with the boys,” Violet directed at me as she stepped forward, acting as a barrier between us and her man. Dashul appeared perturbed at her graceful attempt to make excuses for him.
“Where’s your sense of humor, Beaumont? Why don’t you go get yourself a drink?” her charming beau chimed in, grabbing Violet’s shoulder and pulling her back. The force of it was hard enough to make her wince. Trip advanced on him grabbing him by both lapels. They were toe to toe. Though Dashul towered over Trip, my gut told me that good old Dash was headed for the E.R.
That’s when Sam appeared. He thrust himself between the two angry men so quickly that I wanted an instant replay.
“Trip, go get Annabelle some punch,” Sam ordered calmly and then faced Violet. His grim eyes fixed her with a resolved stare. “Violet…reconsider your future.”
“Hey!” Dashul scowled, shoving Violet out of the way and getting in Sam’s face. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Dude. You don’t want to come up against me. Walk away.” Sam’s deep voice was as cool as an ocean breeze. He inched forward, his unblinking eyes level with Dash’s. Guests on our side of the dance floor had stopped to watch the sparking altercation.
“Let’s go, Dash.” Violet’s voice was practically a whisper. Her large green eyes were on Trip’s. The hopeless romantic in me swooned as I witnessed the poorly disguised passion in both of their eyes. Trip gave her a gentle smile and mouthed ‘it’s okay.’ I could see that she was practically trembling as she pulled Dashul away to the far end of the dance floor.
Audibly exhaling, Sam turned to face us.
“Are you alright,” he asked me, all puffed up and macho, as if he might chase Dashul down if I said I had a hangnail. I huffed in amusement.
“Sure. It’s not the first time someone’s treated me like a lowlife slut.” I instantly wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers up over my head. It was an unintentional burn, and now I had no way to take it back. Sam winced as if I’d slapped him, and I watched his ego deflate like a balloon stabbed with an icepick. He turned away, and I allowed Trip to pull me back into his arms. My eyes never left Sam, and when he turned back to us, his flushed face telegraphed resolve.
“Can I cut in?” Stunned speechless by his boldness, I blinked at him in total disbelief. Trip shrugged, releasing me from his grasp. Sam and I just watched each other for a moment, and he suddenly looked as apprehensive as I felt. I saw Nosejob moving in our direction, but Trip deftly intercepted her, and before I had a chance to utter a syllable, he’d whisked her away toward a table filled with punch and hors d'oeuvres.
Sam approached me slowly, and then in one swift motion, he confidently pulled me into his arms. A small gasp escaped me as the full length of our bodies touched for the first time. Intense heat swept through me, and I fought to keep my breathing steady.
His eyes refused to release mine as he began to lead, somehow making me look like I actually knew how to dance. I helplessly searched those tempestuous eyes, completely ignoring my surroundings. He lowered his face toward mine, and I braced myself for the electrifying impact of his lips. I was severely disappointed when his mouth brushed my earlobe instead. I could feel his warm breath tickle my ear as he whispered.
“I meant it when I said I was sorry.” I closed my eyes, relishing the sensation of his closeness. Ashamed that he still thought I was angry about the stupid argument in my car, I shook my head and smiled. I found it hard to speak; I was so incredibly turned on by his mouth hovering near my skin.
Before I could reply, he pressed his forehead to mine. Breathless, I forced my eyes open and looked up into his. His features had such perfect symmetry I could have stared at him all night long. It felt like telepathy, the way he seemed to see into me. Something dark in him called out to something deep inside me, recognizing one of its own. He was so maddening…so infuriating-and so damn overwhelming! Yet somehow he was just so comfortable at the same time. All of these sensations were alien to me, and I wanted to bolt, but I knew nowhere would feel as right as in his arms. I closed my eyes, unable to stand the intensity of our connection for one second longer.
“I know.” It was lame, but it was all I could manage. We continued to dance in silence, trading frequent glances. The pensive expression he wore compelled me to break the tension. “I wish I knew what you were thinking.”
“I wish you were here with me.” His deep voice reverberated all around me, and my limbs felt like mush as I melted further into him.
I inhaled, greedy for oxygen. It’s hard to explain, but I felt like I could breathe again, as if I’d been holding my breath for a month. I’d felt his attraction to me since the day we met, but it still made me weak in the knees when he said it out loud. Hearing him say those words thrilled and terrified me in equal measure. I wanted so badly to lead him off to a dark corner and show him I felt the same. When I spoke, my voice almost cracked: “I know that, too.”
His lips lifted in a half smile. I had a wild urge to kiss him, needing to taste that taunting mouth of his. I felt my chest rising and falling a little too rapidly. He had to be aware of my strong attraction to him. His smoldering sky blue eyes held me prisoner, and I was about to tell him that Trip and I were just friends when the music stopped and everyone began to clap enthusiastically.
The singer nodded and bowed, all showmanship and flair. Then his voice boomed into the microphone. “And now, ladies and gentlemen: It’s my pleasure to introduce Armstrong Atlantic’s very own a cappella champions, Noteable!”
My eyes flew wide, and I stepped back from Sam, still holding his hand. “Shit! That’s Jayse!” I turned on my heel and dragged him with me toward the stage.
The lights dimmed and the crowd murmured in hushed tones as Annabelle pulled me along through the crowd. I was tempted to throw her over my shoulder and head for the nearest exit, but Trip would put a price on my head, and Mama would call it gauche in the best of circumstances. In seconds we were at the stage. A crowd filled in around us, and I offered my front row spot to a very short girl, who eagerly took
it. As people jostled for a better view, I found myself pushed up against Annabelle’s back. My mouth watered when I noticed her second tattoo—the black rose – peeking out of the top of her dress. She glanced over her perfect shoulder at me, her delicate features clearly conflicted. I had to beat down the urge to wrap my arms around her and plant my lips on her gorgeous naked collarbone.
I wondered where Trip was and worried that he was pissed if he’d been watching us dance. I hadn’t been able to keep a platonic distance from Annabelle; hell, I’d nearly kissed her right there on the dance floor! I’d known my confession wouldn’t surprise her, but it felt good to finally come clean about my intentions. If she still chose to be with Trip, I wouldn’t look back one day and wonder if it was because I was too much of a coward to even enter the race.
A group of men took the stage and when the spotlights popped on, I spotted both Jayse and Dale near the center. They began to sing in six part harmony, slow and solemn, but the song quickly shifted into an upbeat, cheerful number. Jayse pranced forward to solo, mic in hand, and proceeded to throw himself into the number with all his flaming might. He worked the stage like it was Silly Putty, and the crowd around me seemed simultaneously riveted and unsure how to handle the situation. His impressive vocal skills were undeniable, but lyrically, the song sounded as though it were written for a woman, and some of the notes he hit could have shattered crystal. I couldn’t help but smile at his campy showmanship. I wished I could see Annabelle’s reaction to her friend, but her back was still to me.
As the song continued, I heard a loud whoop of support from ten feet away, and when I turned in that direction, I realized it had come from Violet. She grinned from ear to ear and saluted Jayse with a raised martini glass. As if she’d given them permission to admit they enjoyed him, several of the younger partiers joined in with whistles and enthusiasm. As I turned back to the stage, I saw that Annabelle had also turned to see who the upstart was. She put a hand to her lips, her eyes wide in disbelief. I shook my head at her and shrugged. She burst out laughing. I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder and then pulled it away, fighting my baser instincts yet again.
Crazy Love Page 12
