"The launch is going to succeed," Chess insisted. "Or maybe you know something that I don't—with that spy you claim you don't have?"
Korman put his clothes ticket on the counter. He waited until the proprietor had picked it up and returned to the back. When he turned to Chess again, his voice was hard. "If you believe nothing else I've told you, believe this. There is no spy."
It was a lie, but there was something in Korman's demeanor that impressed Chess all the same. It wasn't exactly integrity, but it was close to that quality. Suddenly Chess realized what he was seeing.
Korman was protecting someone.
"I'll find him," was Chess's reaction to this discovery. "And when I do, he'll be sorry he ever met you."
Korman's face went blank for a moment, and then he reacted in a completely unexpected manner. He started to laugh. "Oh, you do that, Chess. You find him. That ought to be very interesting." Sobering again, Korman turned back to lean on the dry cleaner's counter. "You'd best get going. And, oh, yes. My best wishes on your marriage."
"Thank you," Chess coldly replied.
"You're going to need them," Korman added as Chess started for the door.
Chess stopped abruptly. With his stomach going cold, he turned around. That was the thing about Korman. He often knew exactly what would get you. "What did you say?"
Korman regarded him evenly. "Getting married for revenge is not a good idea."
Chess frowned. What would he know about it? Korman's wife had died several years ago after producing him four daughters. From what Chess understood, theirs had been a comfortable, even idyllic, marriage.
"Fortunately," Chess told him, "revenge isn't the reason for my marriage." Saying which, he left his most dangerous rival and worst enemy at the cleaners. It was an act he intended to take care of figuratively, as well as literally. Just as soon as he married Cookie.
~~~
It was the third time Luther had to pick up Cookie's earring from the floor of his bathroom. "Why don't you let me put it in for you?" he suggested.
"Okay." But Cookie bent forward from her seat on a stool in Luther's commodious bathroom just as Luther was about to find her ear. She snatched up a paper towel from the cluttered sink. "It's hot in here, isn't it?" she queried as she began to fan her face with the towel.
"A little case of bridal jitters, I think," Luther muttered as he finally hunted down the pierced hole in her ear and impaled it with the amethyst earring.
"Nonsense." From her perch on the stool, Cookie surveyed her image in the mirror. She'd already put on the special wedding dress Luther had commissioned from a friend of his and had completed her own makeup job. "Don't you think you'd better start on my hair?"
But instead of starting her hair, Luther leaned against the open doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. "You don't have to go through with this, you know."
Cookie took a handful of hair and lifted it experimentally. "What?"
"You don't have to marry him."
"That's insane. Of course I have to marry him. All sorts of people are depending on me now." Letting her hair drop, Cookie regarded Luther in the mirror. "Do you know that Coldwell Advertising has fronted a million dollars on the prospect of this marriage going forward? A million dollars, Luther!"
"I don't give a damn about Coldwell Advertising. All I'm worried about is you."
"I'm going to be fine. Please, just do my hair. We don't even have an hour before the ceremony, and it takes at least fifteen minutes to drive to the church from here."
Luther didn't make a move. "You still haven't told him, have you?"
Cookie's lashes dropped against her cheeks. She'd sort of tried, almost started to, before she and Chess had left the house on the way over here, but...
"Cookie—"
She pressed her hands against her ears. "Oh, Luther. Please don't give me a lecture. I should have told him something about my, uh, physical problem. I know that you're right. But I didn't, okay? I'm a coward and a liar, and that's that. Now will you please do my hair?"
Apparently relenting, Luther uncrossed his arms and moved to a position behind her. He lifted the mass of her hair, weighing it. "He didn't want to leave you here last night."
Cookie snorted. "He took one look at you and almost threw me back in the car."
A small smile curved Luther's mouth. "Uh-huh, and I saw you thoroughly curtail that line of thinking."
Cookie straightened on her stool. "I should hope so. No way was I going to spend the night before the wedding under the groom's roof. There are certain conventions to which I do hold fast."
Luther spared a pointed glance toward Cookie's unusual wedding gown. "Is that right? Then have you thought about the conventional wedding night? You realize he's expecting to go to bed with you."
The lurch in Cookie's stomach made her suddenly inspect her nails. "That doesn't mean he's going to."
Luther picked up a hairbrush from the sink. "I'm beginning to believe he has more influence on that issue than you think.
Cookie's eyes flicked up at him. Could Luther possibly guess these new and strange longings Chess managed to stir up in her? Not that some vague longings would be enough to allow her to go through with actual sex.
"No one can influence me on this issue." That was the theory she was going with, anyway.
"In that case, why don't you explain the situation to him?" Luther sounded so logical.
Her gaze lowered and she reached for a nail file. "Why don't I tell you? Same reason, only magnified." Utter shame. Why had she never been able to get over this problem? Why did she still behave like a stupid child?
Luther sighed and drew the brush through her hair.
Biting her lip, Cookie sawed at her nails. "It'll turn out the same as it did with Ted," she muttered.
"Ted." Luther wasn't about to miss this recklessly dropped clue. "And Ted is...?"
"The man who thought he was getting something special when he convinced me to go home with him from a party my sophomore year in college."
Luther quietly kept brushing.
Cookie sawed at her nails with fervor. On some level, she actually did want to explain it all to Luther. She wished she could ask him some extremely intimate and embarrassing questions, like if all men made love the same way. But a freezing sensation seized her by the throat, one that felt similar to what she'd experienced upon the two miserable occasions she'd engaged in sex.
She hated even thinking about the night Ted had climbed on top of her. As soon as he'd done so, she'd flashed back to the incident with the bullies when she'd been a little girl walking home from school. Having his weight on top of her, holding her down, had made her feel paralyzed. She still remembered the sensation of suffocating while he'd rutted on her.
But Luther seemed to understand at least part of the problem without Cookie having to explain further. "You think you disappointed Ted?"
Cookie snorted. She'd vomited—in his bed.
Gently, Luther drew the brush through her hair. "Okay, so you had one bad experience."
"Make that two." Concentrating hard on the corner of one nail, Cookie bent her head. "A few years later, I thought like you're thinking. Maybe it was just a bad day, wrong man, whatever. And I knew this guy, another actor. I wasn't really into him that way, but he was into me, and I thought, okay, what the hell. Why not give it another whirl?" She shook her head.
"Just as bad?"
"Worse."
Luther gathered her hair in his hands. "I'm not sure it would be the same with Chess."
Cookie wasn't sure, either, and that was another part of why she didn't want to open her big mouth. Why ruin what might turn out right? What if telling Chess her stupid problem turned him off of her completely? She would lose the chance to change her mind and go through with a wedding night.
On the other hand, if she tried pretending she was normal and it didn't work out, Chess would discover she wasn't at all what she projected: she was an ice cube instead of a sex kitten. She'd have to co
nfess all her shame.
Cookie pressed her lips together. "I'll simply have to make sure nothing happens."
"I guess this means you aren't going for that baby," Luther observed dryly.
Cookie's eyes flew to his in the mirror. "God, no. You were right about that. It is too diabolical."
Luther twisted the mass of her hair. "I said it would be a fine idea, under certain conditions."
Cookie remembered those conditions. Falling in love with a man who woke her alleged sexual appetite. Her color deepened. "Yes, well. The whole idea is out. I don't know what I could have been thinking. Particularly with regard to Chess."
Luther halted in the process of turning her hair under. "Particularly Chess," he repeated.
Cookie relaxed. "I think I got into the habit of thinking of him as a machine." She didn't mind discussing Chess's problems at all. "Truthfully, he's done his best to act like a machine over the twenty years I've known him. As if he didn't care. Kept on the periphery. Missed as many family events as he could. When a person does that, they just...don't seem to count."
Luther slowly reached across to snag a handful of bobby pins. "And now he does."
"What?"
"Count," Luther said. "Now he counts."
Cookie's gaze focused on a point in the mirror beyond Luther's shoulder. "Everybody counts."
"Some more than others," Luther murmured.
"Can I tell you something funny?" Cookie was still gazing into the distance. "When I get up early enough in the morning, I can see him from my bedroom window. He's out in his garden in back. Luther, he talks to his flowers." Her eyes shot to his in the mirror.
With her hair in his hands, Luther stared back at her.
"He talks to his flowers," Cookie repeated softly.
Luther finally looked away. He turned her hair under and into a perfect French twist. "You're in love with him."
"Nonsense," Cookie remarked, but without much conviction.
"In love with him and won't go to bed with him," Luther sighed.
Cookie was saved having to reply to this by the sound of the doorbell. She gasped and reached for Luther's wrist to check the time. "That's Alex already, and you haven't finished my hair!"
"Take it easy, lady." Luther extracted his wrist. "Alex will simply have to wait until you're ready."
He left to answer the door and returned with Cookie's half-brother.
Alex paused at the door to the bathroom, clearly trying to look like wearing a tux came naturally. With his hands in the trouser pockets, he leaned in the doorway as Luther came into the room to finish Cookie's hair.
"You don't have to go through with this, you know," Alex said.
Cookie groaned. "Not you, too."
"There's sure to be a catch in it somewhere." Alex looked to Luther for confirmation. "Chess never does anything without a reason."
Luther calmly sprayed the back of Cookie's head, holding what he'd done so far in place. "Oh, yes. I'm sure he has his reasons," he drawled.
Alex shrugged. "This whole thing is screwy. And with Chess behind it, it makes me doubly nervous. Frankly, I don't know if I should be giving away the bride."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Cookie exclaimed. "Chess isn't as bad as all that!"
"No?" Alex ticked off on his fingers. "Tell me he isn't cold, remote, self-serving, sneaky—"
"Enough!" Cookie tightened her fists around the wood arms of the stool. She couldn't move her head because Luther was still working on her hair. "Fine, maybe he seems that way. Sometimes. But Chess has some very good qualities, too."
Both men stopped and looked at her expectantly.
"He's kind," Cookie offered.
Alex guffawed.
"And reliable," Cookie went on, gathering force. "That counts for a lot, little bro."
"Well, he's certainly predictable," Alex said. "You always know he's going to end up getting his own way."
Cookie stilled. Alex was wrong. Chess wasn't going to get his way, at least not in the sexual department. Though she was growing increasingly worried about how he might react, what truths he might demand. Her stomach clenched.
The doorbell rang again.
Alex checked his watch. "That must be Mom."
Cookie mentally groaned. Kate. Yet another cheerleader to this wedding. At this rate, she'd be lucky to get to the church at all, let alone on time.
Kate arrived at the bathroom door. Despite her attitude about the loan, she was dressed every inch the mother of the groom in a knee-length, ivory chiffon dress.
Luther, meanwhile, had set the last of Cookie's hair in place. He began spraying the artfully pinned concoction while Kate and Cookie's eyes met in the mirror.
"Don't say it," Cookie said. "Let me guess: I don't have to go through with this wedding, after all."
Kate's expression changed to one of horrified affront. "Don't be absurd. Of course you have to go through with the wedding. Chess," Kate added sternly, "is waiting at the church."
"Oh." Cookie hiccupped in surprise.
"Your hair," Luther announced, "is done. Where's that little hat of yours?"
"Hanging from the shower head." Cookie got off the stool and turned to face Kate. Her eyes searched the older woman's face.
"Here's the hat," Luther said. From inside the bathtub, he handed the cap to Kate. "See if you can fit this on her. I've got to go find a tie, I suppose." He stepped over the edge of the tub and out of the room, dragging Alex with him.
The two women were left alone.
Kate's mouth was a severe, straight line as she looked down at the hat in her hands. Then she lifted the hat and fit it carefully on top of Cookie's hairdo.
"You do care for him, don't you?" Cookie softly observed.
"He's my son." Kate said this as though it explained everything. She experimented with a slight tilt to the hat, then centered it again. "Have you a hatpin?"
"I think there's one on the sink counter. You know, Kate, there are probably worse things that can happen to Chess than getting stood up at the altar." Cookie bit her lip, her heart pounding as she wondered if Kate would understand what Cookie meant.
Kate's emerald green eyes met Cookie's. She said nothing, though, before turning to the sink to find the hatpin. She poked the pin through the hat, anchoring it to Cookie's dark hair. Slowly, carefully, she pulled the short net of the veil over Cookie's face. Then, against all expectation, her straight mouth twitched into a small, wry smile.
"I may not approve of what you intend to do with your shares in Scents Allure," she told Cookie. "But I'm rather in favor of the marriage."
It was a good thing Kate had hold of Cookie's shoulders just then. Otherwise she might have reeled. "You are?" Cookie choked.
"Yes." Kate bent forward and pressed her cheek against Cookie's. "You make him smile," she whispered.
CHAPTER NINE
The church was large and drafty, a big towering pile of gray rock cut with narrow veins of stained glass. Cookie had done her homework well. This was an unassailable location to solemnize a marriage.
Chess stood on one side of the altar, the subject of about a hundred seated guests' curiosity, and wondered grimly if his bride was going to show. He folded his hands behind his back and nodded at the waiting minister, affecting unconcern.
Chess had had his doubts about allowing his family, none of whom particularly approved of the marriage, to pick Cookie up and bring her to the church. But Cookie had absolutely refused to let him pick her up himself. She insisted: the groom was not to see the bride before the ceremony.
His teeth set as he remembered with whom she'd chosen to spend the night. It would be the last time, Chess vowed, that she'd ever stay the night with another man.
Assuming she showed up to exchange her vows.
A small noise at the back of the church made him turn.
The big doors to the vestibule opened, and his mother walked through. Chess felt a wave of relief. Kate was carrying a small bouquet of flowers. She must hav
e brought Cookie, then.
Somewhere high in the rafters, an organ began to play. Kate came to take her place opposite her son. Then, through the thick double doors at the back came Alex, escorting Chess's bride.
A wide smile immediately spread over Chess's face.
He should have known Cookie would scorn a traditional wedding gown. What she was wearing was much closer to a suit, a stylish, modish suit—if you were living in 1940. It had a diamond-shaped neck with a fitted bodice ending in a ruffle over the top of her hips. From there the skirt fit like a glove, ending in another ruffle around the knees. White, wrist-length kid gloves clutched a wild bouquet of white and purple flowers. A small white hat perched atop her coffee-colored hair with a net veil screening her face.
The dress was white, a dazzling white, but with large splashes of purple flowers. She wouldn't have worn pure white because, as Cookie had felt obliged to inform him last night, she was not a virgin. Chess had had to bite his cheek to keep from bursting into laughter as she had made this somber confession, standing in the front hall with her bag packed for the night away.
"Thank you for telling me," Chess had replied, in as serious a tone as he could muster. "Er, for the record, I'm not a virgin, either."
Cookie had tilted her head. "Yes, that's rather what I figured." For a moment it had looked as though she'd wanted to say more. Perhaps something about double standards and that he shouldn't hold her past against her any more than he would want her to judge him by his. But instead she'd firmly pressed her lips together and turned to go out the front door.
Now, as he watched her come down the center aisle toward him, he didn't care about her past or his. All that suddenly mattered, to the exclusion of all else, was this moment.
The moment she was going to become his.
Chess was dimly aware of Alex's baleful glare as Chess came down to take Cookie's arm. Chess cheerfully ignored it. His fingers took hold of Cookie's elbow, her eyes flicked up at him from behind the porous veil, and he was instantly, irrevocably caught.
Until that moment Chess had not considered that he was going to become Cookie's every bit as much as she would become his.
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