by Cheryl Holt
Amy couldn't get used to all the things Dustin took for granted. Like hopping on an airplane and flying off to an exotic island just because you felt like it. Like buying frivolous gifts for your wife just because they would make her happy.
Before she'd met him, she'd been poor all her life. While she recognized that she was a modern-day Cinderella, she often wondered how that fairytale princess had managed to adjust to so many rapid changes. They didn't tell you that part of the story.
Amy spent all her time figuring out what sort of person she should be now. It was so stinking easy to be rich, and she couldn't lose sight of how she'd struggled in the past.
"What caused her to lower herself and call you?" Amy asked.
"She can't find my sister."
"Brittney is missing?"
"Not missing exactly. My mother can't find her."
"She's twenty-six. Your mother doesn't have to be informed of where she is every second."
"I know, but I guess she left Colorado for New York, but she never got there."
"That's weird."
"Remember that bodyguard who accompanied her to the wedding?"
"Matt Monroe? Trust me: He's difficult to forget."
She wiggled her brows, earning a scowl from her jealous, possessive spouse.
"Down girl," he scolded.
"I'm down, I'm down."
"Mother said that Andrew hired security for her. I'm a little concerned."
"Why?"
"I read an article in the paper. He might be in some trouble. There's a huge financial scandal brewing, and rumor has it that he's front and center."
"Do you suppose Brittney's heard about it?"
"I wouldn't have any idea. I hardly know her."
He had the oddest relationship with his siblings, and it fascinated and annoyed Amy in equal measure.
She was an only child, with no clue who her father had been and a mother who barely claimed her. She'd give anything in the world to have a sister or a brother.
Dustin had one of each, but they acted like strangers.
"How bad is Andrew's situation?" she asked. "Could he be arrested?"
"Maybe."
"You need to locate her then. She should be told what's happening."
"If he's involved in some type of fraud, she should think twice about marrying him. Otherwise, she could be wading into a big mess."
"She certainly would be. I'm nervous now. Should we be worried about where she is?"
Dustin brooded for a moment, then said, "I'll call Lucas. He's there in Boulder. He can deal with it."
"Why didn't your mother contact him in the first place?"
Dustin flashed what she referred to as his Duh! look. "She would never call Lucas."
"Oh. I forgot how they're fighting."
Dustin's family was more dysfunctional than her own—if that was possible. It was satisfying to learn that a rich person could be just as screwed up as a poor person.
Amy had never met his mother. Jacquelyn refused to be introduced to Amy, and Dustin agreed it was for the best. He was convinced Jacquelyn would be rude and condescending, that she'd hurt Amy's feelings, so Amy hadn't pushed the issue. Why pursue an acquaintance with someone who was so patently unlikeable?
When she listened to Dustin and Lucas talk about their mother, she made it a point to keep her mouth shut. She couldn't fix the damage Jacquelyn had inflicted on her children, and she wouldn't pretend to try.
Dustin insisted Jacquelyn would die alone and unmourned, and Amy thought that was probably true. She wondered if Jacquelyn would ever regret her behavior.
Most likely not. Contrition would force her to admit she was in the wrong, and she was too vain to ever denounce herself for any misdeeds.
Amy stared out at the turquoise water, at the white sand beach. She grinned at her husband.
"We don't have to rush to Colorado to search for Brittney, do we?"
"No. If my sister is lost, she'll have to wait to be found."
"Good. I'm not ready to leave."
"Besides, Lucas is the oldest—as he constantly likes to remind me. He can take care of it. It's his turn."
* * *
"Eggs and toast?"
"Just for you, bud."
"Thank you, thank you!"
Jeremy raced to the kitchen table and started eating as if he was starved.
As Brittney watched him shovel in his food, she was overcome by the sweetest wave of affection. He was such a great kid.
"You act as if you've never been fed before," she said.
"Hey, with Ken and Matt cooking for me, meal's are a dicey proposition."
She chuckled. "I completely understand."
When Matt had brought her home to meet Ken, she'd assumed she would visit for an hour or two, but it had been five days, and she was in no hurry to leave.
Ken was in no hurry to have her go either. They'd fallen into a comfortable routine that she was enjoying very much. It seemed as if she'd lived with him forever, as if she belonged right where she was and nowhere else.
Just then, he staggered in. He always looked gaunt in the morning. He had trouble breathing at night, so he didn't sleep well, and his fatigue was most apparent when he first got out of bed.
"Is that eggs I smell?" he hopefully inquired.
"I scrambled some for Jeremy," she told him, "but I'll make you an omelet if you want."
"An omelet!" He beamed as if she'd offered him gold from heaven.
"Sit down." She pointed to his chair, and he hastily obeyed.
She'd studied cooking in Paris and Rome, and she was good at it, but she never cooked. It wasn't worth the bother. Usually, she stayed at one of the family's properties, and each house had a permanent staff, so she never had to lift a finger.
It was refreshing to perform the simple chore, and Jeremy and Ken were so appreciative of her efforts. For once in her life, she felt essential and necessary.
Jeremy wolfed down his last bite, then jumped up and grabbed his backpack.
"Thanks," he said again.
"You're welcome."
"That was so great," and he actually hugged her.
She mussed his hair, and he blushed and slipped away. He scooted out the door to school, and the silliest emotion swept through her.
He'd forced her to recognize that she might like to be a mother someday. She hadn't believed she'd ever be a parent—her own experience had been too awful—and she'd been afraid that Jacquelyn's bad maternal tendencies might be catching.
She and Andrew had shared the same opinion on the topic: They weren't interested in having kids. But now, she was questioning everything.
As Andrew managed to slither into her thoughts, she shoved him away.
She was trapped in the weirdest bubble, living with some guys she scarcely knew, and she was happier than she could ever remember being.
She knew she should call her mother, but Jacquelyn would demand to know where she was, and Brittney couldn't bear to tell her. She'd yank Brittney to her senses, would insist that she come home where she belonged.
She had to call Andrew too. She hadn't flown to New York as she'd told him she would, so he had to be wondering where she was. Yet she couldn't bring herself to turn on her phone and talk to him either.
Once she made contact with the outside world, her intriguing idyll would end. She'd have to go back to her real life, to her real family. She'd have to break off her engagement, which would be painful and unpleasant.
It was easier to float in the fantasy where she had no ties or responsibilities and didn't have to defend her actions.
She busied herself at the stove, whipping up Ken's omelet, and she arranged it in front of him with a flourish. Then she sat across from him, watching as he took a bite.
"Delicious," he murmured.
"You like it?"
"Oh, yes."
He grinned in a way that reminded her of Matt.
Though he swore he and Matt weren't related by blood, they had the same naugh
ty mischief in their eyes, the same swagger and attitude. Ken was very handsome, but he'd never married. A casual girlfriend had been Emily's mother, and Brittney didn't understand why some shrewd female hadn't snagged him for her own.
He finished and pushed his plate away.
"There's nothing better," he stated, "than stumbling on a woman who can cook."
"So I'm salvageable?"
"You bet. You turned out all right, kiddo."
She was inordinately delighted by the compliment. "Do you think so?"
"I know so. I was worried about you. What with your parents and all their hang-ups and problems, you had a tough load to carry."
"I survived."
"If I could have yanked you out of there, I would have."
"My hero!" She gushed, making him laugh, but it brought on a coughing fit.
She'd learned to wait while he suffered through an attack, not to fuss or attempt to help. Any display of concern rankled him.
As he calmed, he said, "You're not going to marry that banker are you?"
"No. After I ran off with Matt this last time, it's awfully clear that I'm looking for something other than what I had."
"Would that be Matt?"
She wagged a finger at him. "Don't play matchmaker."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he said, but it was obvious he was lying.
"I mean it," she scolded. "Leave Matt alone."
"If I left Matt alone, he'd fall off the face of the earth."
"I don't know, Ken. He seems fairly functional to me."
"He's showing you his good side."
"It's a pretty good side."
"He's got you fooled," Ken grumbled, but it was all macho nonsense.
His affection and respect for Matt were blatantly evident. If Ken had been Matt's father, he couldn't have been more proud.
She'd never met anyone like Ken, and Matt was lucky that Ken had refused to abandon him and his brother. Not that you could tell it by anything Matt had to say.
From the minute he'd introduced her to Ken, he'd been an absolute grouch. He was gone most of the time, being sure to flee before she woke. Then he'd sneak in late after she was asleep—her bed being a narrow cot in a glorified closet they referred to as a guest bedroom.
Ken claimed Matt was working another job for Talbot Security, but she couldn't decide if she believed him or not. It appeared as if—now that Matt had delivered her to Ken—he'd washed his hands of her, and she was extremely annoyed by his sudden disregard.
She'd been ready to have an affair with him, eager to terminate her engagement merely so he could scratch an itch that was driving her crazy. It was insane behavior, and totally out of character for her, but she was desperate to proceed anyway.
Except that he was no longer interested.
The rat!
As if she'd been thinking about him too furiously, he took that moment to stagger in. She hadn't realized he was still home, and he'd just crawled out of bed. His hair was mussed, his scrumptious blue eyes droopy with sleep.
Dressed in baggy sweatpants and a tight t-shirt that hugged his sculpted chest, he looked yummy and sexy and delectable.
"Would you like some breakfast?" she asked. "I'm making omelets."
"I don't need you cooking for me," he complained.
"Hey, I offered. It's not like you ordered me to do it."
"I'm perfectly capable of cooking for myself."
"That's not what Jeremy says."
"Leave Jeremy out of it."
Ken interjected, "Good morning to you too."
"What's good about it?" Matt groused.
He ignored her and went to the refrigerator. After studying the meager contents, he grabbed a carton of orange juice and downed the last of it. He put the empty carton back on the shelf.
"There's no question that you're a bachelor," Brittney said.
"No, there's not."
"Go ahead and act like a Neanderthal. See if I care."
Matt scowled, appearing aggravated and confused, as if he couldn't remember how she'd come to be in his kitchen.
"How long are you planning to stay with us?" he inquired.
"Maybe forever—just to spite you. Why?"
Still scowling, his irate gaze moved over to Ken.
"You insisted on meeting her," Matt said, "and now you have. Why is this charade continuing?"
"I'm in no hurry to have her leave. It's my damn house. She can stay as long as she wants."
Matt snorted with disgust and muttered a comment under his breath that she couldn't decipher.
"What did you say?" Brittney demanded.
"None of your business."
"Aren't you a ray of sunshine?"
"I try."
He started out and, merely to irritate him as much as possible, she stepped in his way. At their sudden proximity, sparks seemed to shoot around the room.
"What is your problem?" she taunted.
"You."
"You brought me here."
"Wish I hadn't."
"Why is that exactly?"
"Because you blustered in as if you…belong here. We don't need you."
"Speak for yourself," Ken griped. "If the choice is your sorry face or hers across my breakfast table, I pick hers every time."
"Can I use your car?" Brittney asked Matt, aware that he'd refuse, but eager to push him into a reaction.
"No."
"I have to buy some groceries for the party tonight. I'm baking a cake."
"No!" he repeated more sternly.
It was Emily's birthday. Had she lived, she'd be turning thirty. Ken was anxious to celebrate, and Brittney had offered to take care of everything.
She wanted to help him: fill his cupboards with food, repair the drapes in the living room, have the place painted, purchase some new furniture.
She was grateful for the respite Ken had provided, for his easy acceptance of her, for how he'd made her feel welcome. She was more comfortable with him than she'd ever been with her own family. Yet she hadn't raised the tricky subject of giving him gifts he obviously needed.
She had so much, and they had so little. It would be a simple matter to improve their situation. But she was worried about their idiotic male pride, about insulting them if she suggested financial assistance in the wrong way.
"I need some clothes too," she said. "I can't keep washing my stuff in the sink."
"You should have thought of that," Matt absurdly replied, "before you came over here without a suitcase."
"You brought me straight from the restaurant, so I would like to point out that that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say. And trust me, in the time I've known you, you've said plenty of stupid things."
"Now, now kids," Ken sarcastically cut in, "let's not fight."
"Too late," Brittney snapped. "I'm asking you again, Monroe: What's your problem with me? Ever since I arrived, you've been growling like a wounded bear."
She leaned in so that her front was pressed to his. He stared at her, studying her mouth, her eyes, and she could tell that he wanted to respond, but she couldn't decide if he was about to kiss her or throttle her.
"I don't like rich people," he scathingly said. "I told you that the first day I met you."
"You never said why."
"Because it was a rich, spoiled princess like you who killed Emily and Michael. She got away with it too."
"Matt…" Ken admonished. "That's not fair."
"How did she get away with it?" Brittney inquired.
"Her daddy hired a high-powered lawyer. How do you think?"
"Is that true?" Brittney asked Ken.
"Yup. Killed them both and didn't spend a minute in jail. It's a bit of a sore spot with us."
Brittney whipped her gaze to Matt. She still couldn't understand this hostility that had developed. He seemed about to explode over issues that had nothing to do with her. If she could light the fuse, he might detonate, and they could move beyond this tantrum he'd been having.
/> "I'm rich," she jeered. "I've always been rich. I'm richer than you can ever imagine. I'm richer than you can ever picture in your wildest dreams." She poked a finger at his chest. "Deal with it."
"Believe me, I'm dealing with it."
"Yeah, right," she scoffed. "You're such a baby." She glanced over at Ken. "I'll call a cab. I'm going to stock up on groceries and clothes and some other stuff. Then I'll be back to bake that cake."
"You don't have to waste any of your money on us," Matt fumed. "Is that why you think I brought you here?"
"I have no idea why you brought me here"—Matt shot a fierce glower at Ken that Ken pretended not to see—"but I'm buying you guys some food."
Matt's wallet was on the counter. He grabbed a hundred dollar bill out of it and shoved it down the front of her shirt.
"We can pay our own way," he insisted.
"I never said you can't."
"We don't need your charity."
"Shut up," Ken warned Matt. "She has plenty of money. She said so herself. If she wants to buy us some groceries, I won't complain. Don't fuss so much or she might change her mind."
Matt glared at Ken, his look so bleak that Brittney didn't know what was happening.
"You've had five days to handle this," Matt cryptically told Ken. "I'll give you until tonight. If you haven't finished it by then, I'll finish it for you."
"Finish what?" Brittney asked, perplexed by his rancor. "Are you about to murder me in my sleep? Hold me for ransom? What?"
He didn't answer, but whirled away and headed for the stairs. He stomped up to his bedroom.
Completely exasperated, she peered over at Ken who was his usual affable, composed self.
"What is he harping about?" she said.
"Don't pay any attention to him."
"It's hard not to when he's shouting constantly."
"He has some bug up his ass about you and your money. He's been a mess ever since he got back from that hospital in Germany. Ignore him."
"Why is he so angry with me?"
"You want the truth?"
"That would be very helpful."
"He hasn't been laid in awhile." Ken grinned slyly. "It makes him surly."
She blushed such a bright red that she wondered if she might burst into flames.
"I told you," she scolded. "No matchmaking."
"Can't hurt to talk to him." He nodded toward the front room. "It might calm the waters a bit—if you know what I mean."
