by Maggie Wells
Chapter 11
Rosie gritted her teeth, both annoyed and oddly reassured by James’s flippant entrance. He hovered there at her shoulder, but she didn’t play along with his gag. Instead, she enjoyed a long sip of her champagne and took her time turning to greet their new arrivals. “I should’ve known you’d know.”
“The Colosseum of Rome is also known as the Flavian Amphitheater,” James informed her. “Construction was started by Vespasian and completed by Titus. Both came well after Caesar’s time.”
James stared straight into Rosie’s eyes the entire time he gave his recitation.
A tinkling laugh cut through the tension. Rosie glanced over to see Megan clinging to James’s arm in much the same way her silver cocktail dress clung to her willowy frame. “He knows all sorts of super-useful historical crap. Can’t let him go on too long, though. No way to kill a party faster.” Megan extended her hand to Devin. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Megan Simmons, Mike’s sister.”
Rosie was tempted to add she was also James’s albatross, but she refrained.
“Devin Wallace. I’m here with Rosie.”
“And I’m here with James.” Megan slanted Rosie a glance.
Here with James. No mention of the two children they had together, Rosie thought wryly. No mention of all the havoc she wreaked in all of their lives. And, no need to go into why she was attached to James like a barnacle, but she was.
Rosie offered Megan a neutral nod. “Hello, Megan. You look lovely.”
Megan preened at the compliment, then inclined her head like a regal queen. “You look really nice, too. Pretty dress.” She paused, pursing her perfectly glossed lips appraisingly. “Subtle, elegant.” She cocked her head and a hard gleam brightened her silver eyes. “I would’ve thought you’d have chosen something more colorful. But, then again, you do like to dress conservatively, don’t you?”
Jab, jab, jab. Each of Megan’s fake compliments felt like a jab to the gut. What was worse, she was dead-on except for the colorful part. Instead of rising to the bait, Rosie moved closer to Devin. As if sensing her discomfiture, he offered his arm. She took hold of him, running her hand down the smooth wool of his tuxedo sleeve.
James sprang to life. “Oh, yeah, hello. You’re the attorney guy, right?” he offered his hand.
Devin glanced over at Rosie before nodding and returning the handshake. “Yes, I am an attorney.”
“I saw your pictures when Rosie was checking out your profile,” James explained. “Did you really do some base jumping, or were you and your buddies hanging out on the platform acting like you were going to jump?”
Devin blinked twice, obviously surprised to find himself on the defensive with someone he’d never met before. “No, we jumped.”
James’s ginger eyebrows rose in impressed surprise. “Wow, you are kind of a daredevil, aren’t you?” He chuckled and shook his head. “You might be in over your head with this guy.” He grinned and without giving anyone a chance to respond, he blathered ahead. “Rosie’s idea of living on the edge is springing for a cab when there could be a bus coming any minute.”
Devin glanced over at Rosie but she was too busy trying to fight off a blush to be able to formulate a quick-witted comeback. Thankfully, her date was up to the task.
“Well, we all know sometimes getting in a Chicago cab can be as dangerous and scary as base jumping,” Devin said with forced joviality. “I had a ride from the courthouse the other day. I swear they were the longest five minutes of my life, and I rode the Comet Bobsled in Park City.”
Mike chuckled uneasily, and Rosie felt for him. If ever there was a guy voted least likely to get in a pissing match, it was Mike Simmons. Another change of subject was in order, but at the moment, Rosie was having a hard time keeping her thoughts together. James kept peering at her as if his glasses gave him some kind of X-ray vision, and, frankly, she was half-hoping they did. She had a thong on. Her first, and probably last, thong. But she was wearing one. One as red as the peek-a-boo lining of her dress.
“Where are Colm and Monica?” Georgie interrupted, breaking the tension. “They better show up before Gerry gets down here, or my mother will gut Colm like a fish. The Great and Powerful Oz doesn’t like anyone arriving after the curtain has gone up.” She scanned the crowd worriedly.
Mike groaned. “Oh my God, she’s turning into her mother while complaining about her mother.”
“Shut it,” she ordered. “Or no fun with fondant for you.”
“Fun with fondant?” Devin asked, as innocent as a babe in the woods.
“Don’t ask,” Mike, Rosie, and James answered in unison.
As if conjured, Monica Rayburn came streaking through the room wearing a black strapless cocktail dress so tight, Rosie feared she might split the damn thing straight up the seams. She was about to call out a caution, but when she spotted in the ecstatic grin on the other woman’s face, she figured out what must have happened. The two women locked eyes, then cool, business-like Monica let out a squeal worthy of a teenage girl on prom night.
Taken aback, Rosie stepped closer to Georgie for protection. Rosie and Georgie exchanged studiedly puzzled looks, then cracked up when they realized at the exact same time the other must have known what was afoot. Or, more accurately, at hand.
Georgie clamped a hand to her throat. “Oh my God, he proposed.”
“What? He did what? What’s going on?” Mike asked a second too late.
Monica descended on them in a flurry of flowing dark hair and a cloud perfume. Her long, slender arms encircled both Rosie and Georgie. She pulled them hard against her bony body. Rosie gave in to the stranglehold, smiling as Colm stepped up behind Monica.
“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God,” Monica squealed like an adolescent. She added one more, “Oh my God,” for good measure.
“Oh, we’re having a prayer circle.” Georgie chuckled. “We thought maybe you had some news for us, but I guess she wanted to get a chat in with the Almighty.”
“We’re engaged!” Monica let loose with another earsplitting squeal, then jerked back to thrust her left hand out for them to see.
Rosie saw Mike and Colm exchange a glance.
Colm shook his head. “I had no idea the human voice went so high.”
Grasping Monica’s long, slender hand, Georgie admired the beautifully set sparkler on her ring finger. “Oh, the ring is lovely. Suits you perfectly.”
Monica practically vibrated with glee. “It should. I pointed and said, ‘I want that one.’”
Beaming, Rosie caught Colm’s eye. “Well done.”
“You trained me to follow direction.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t wait another day. I was gonna go crazy if I didn’t get it over with.”
Monica blessed him with an incandescent smile. “My romantic man,” she purred.
Colm unleashed a belly laugh. “Says the woman who picked out her own ring, then answered my proposal with, ‘About time.’”
“You’re right.” Sliding her arm through his, she hugged him to her before pushing him away with a playful shove. “We’re quite the pair. I need a drink.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Rosie saw James envelop Colm in one of those half-handshake, half-hug man grasps they engaged in occasionally. When James stepped back, he introduced Devin to Colm, which irked her. There was something wrong about watching the man she loved introduce the man she was trying to love to someone else.
Rosie’s heart twisted in her chest, and a hot rush of tears scalded her eyes. Turning back to Monica, she conjured all the expected platitudes, hoping they’d attribute any hint of moisture in her eyes to tears of happiness. But Rosie could only give Monica her halfhearted attention when James was nearby. Damn him.
Then, Rosie realized the woman in the slinky silver dress was missing from their circle. Seconds later, she saw Megan at the bar, flipping her ha
ir back and chatting up a man old enough to be her father.
James had seen the same thing she had. His mouth twisted into a sneer. “There was a risk in bringing her, but I didn’t think she’d make her move here.” Giving Colm another slap on the back, he nodded to the remainder of the group. “I think I better go reclaim my date.”
“Why bother?” Rosie muttered under her breath.
“What did you say?” Devin asked as he slipped in beside her once again.
“Nothing.” She stammered. “Uh, Mike is Megan’s brother. James’s date, Megan. They have kids. Not Mike and Megan,” she babbled. “I mean, Mike has kids, too, but James and Megan have two kids. Together. Twins.”
“Oh.” Devin flashed an uncertain smile. “Nice.”
“Actually, all three of them are single dads,” she informed him.
“I think you mentioned that the night we met.”
“Oh.” Rosie took a sip of her now-warm champagne and zoomed in on the stage, desperate to keep her lips zipped until she could control the volume of verbal vomit better.
The band struck up a slow number, warming up for the main event later. A few antsy couples slipped onto the dance floor. Devin offered his hand.
“Would you like to dance?”
Flustered by all the tension around them, Rosie resisted for a moment. “I don’t think the dancing has actually started. I think they’re warming up.”
Devin shrugged. “Maybe we could warm up, too.” Lowering his hand, he stepped in closer. “You look like you might need a breather from the office crowd.”
Rosie glanced back at her friends and suppressed a heavy sigh. Colm had reclaimed his fiancée, and Mike had drawn Georgie near to him. As usual, James had gone off chasing after Megan, and she was left standing there. But she wasn’t alone, and she had no reason not to accept Devin’s invitation.
“Yes, let’s dance.”
They set their glasses aside and walked hand in hand onto the parquet dance floor. A part of Rosie was glad the song was half over by the time they took their spot. She wanted the respite, but she didn’t want to be too far away from the action, in case something happened she needed to know about.
As if reading her mind, the band wound the song around to an abbreviated ending. She and Devin had barely stopped swaying when they launched into a jazzed-up rendition of Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now.” All eyes swung to the main entrance to the ballroom as the carved mahogany doors flew open.
Gerry Carson stepped into the now-packed ballroom, his wife’s hand clasped in his and raised high over their heads.
Georgie watched as the couple of the hour made their entrance. Gerry’s wife beamed from ear-to-ear, obviously proud of her husband. Also excited to be part of this new adventure, the elder Carsons trailed behind, waving and accepting congratulations as if they were the ones who’d won the election. Rosie supposed, in a way, they could claim a good part in their son’s triumph, but from what she’d seen, Gerry Carson was anything but a chip off the old block.
Devin’s arm circled Rosie’s waist and she leaned into him. Still standing on the dance floor, they watched the parade of politicos make their way around the perimeter of the room, steadily working their way to the stage. He spoke low and close to her ear. “Wow, I don’t want to sound like a nerd or anything, but this is pretty exciting.”
Craning her neck to look up at him, Rosie nodded. “Yeah, it is. I guess admitting I’m excited makes me a nerd, too.”
He gave her a gentle squeeze. “Maybe we’re two of a kind.”
The optimistic note in his voice made her heart beat faster. But the only response she could manage was a soft, “Maybe.”
Her attention drifted to the area where her friends stood. Colm and Monica beamed at one another wrapped up in a bubble of anticipated happily ever after. Georgie seemed to be torn between casting glances of adoration and approval at her elder brother and the man at her side. And, at the bar, James stood tall and handsome in his dark suit. He had one hand wrapped around the edge the bar and the other draped casually over Megan’s shoulder as he spoke into her ear.
Wrenching her gaze away, Rosie pivoted to face Devin, amped up the wattage on her smile, and repeated the word much more forcefully. “Maybe.”
* * * *
“You know, it’s bad form to come to a social event with one guy, then spend the evening trying to pick up the first old geezer you see.” James craned his neck in a vain attempt to get the overworked bartender’s attention.
Megan didn’t bother with the artifice. The look she sent him was so filled with scorn, he was surprised his shirt wasn’t singed at the edges. “You’re an idiot.”
Her only rejoinder bounced right off him.
“Yeah, I am,” James admitted easily, signaling the waiter, then pointing to the highball glass in front of Megan. “I assume you’re drinking scotch?”
She nodded. “I was only talking to the gentleman while I got my drink.”
James stuffed a couple dollars into the tip jar. “Good thing they aren’t running a cash bar. You didn’t have to work too hard for the cocktail.”
Megan rounded on him. “Do you have something to say to me?”
“I’m only saying you didn’t have to flirt with the old guy for too long to get your drink covered.” He stared at her, unflinching. “You remember? Like the good old days.”
“I remember you buying me a lot of those drinks.”
“Yeah, but I am an easy mark.”
“True,” she concurred, taking a tiny sip of her scotch.
“You remember the drinks, but you forget, I was once exactly like you. Always looking for the next great thing.”
Megan squared her shoulders and met him glare for glare. “You’re still like me.”
James watched her jaw tighten as she clamped her mouth shut. She had to be kicking herself for letting the last part slip. Megan didn’t want them to be any more alike than he did. She glanced at him, then pointedly scanned the crowd. Her shoulders hitched closer to her ears. She tapped one fingernail against the rim of her glass. Her discomfiture was palpable. Time for him to pour it on thick.
Taking a slug of his scotch, he relished the burn of the alcohol coursing down to his stomach. He reached out, and, as tenderly as he could manage, he rubbed her upper arm.
“Come on, Meggy. We both know what we’re doing.”
“What?” Panic inched into her voice. “What are we doing?”
“You and me. There’s a reason we keep coming back to each other.”
“We don’t keep coming back to each other,” she argued. “I keep coming back because…” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence in a way that would cast her in a flattering light.
“You keep coming back to us. We’re your safe place.”
“Safe place? What, like a storm shelter?” she sneered.
“In a way. Whenever things go wrong or start to get touchy out there, you come back.” He stepped closer to her, bursting the bubble of back off she tried to use as a buffer. “There’s a reason, Megan. We’re your family.”
She placed her hand on his chest and pushed him away a few inches. Because he wasn’t the type to take pleasure in intimidating women, he let her.
“Mike’s my family,” she reminded him.
Unable to rein in his impatience with her stubborn shortsightedness, James placed his glass on the bar with more force than he intended. But, damn it, she was a mother. The mother of his children. Was she ever going to own up to her responsibilities to them? “No. Jamie, Jeff, and I are your family,” he corrected in a rush. “Those are your children. My children are your children, too, and it’s time for us to stop screwing around and be a real family. We need to make a real home for them. It’s our responsibility as the adults.” He stared straight into her eyes. “And no matter how badly you want to play the foot
loose, vagabond artist, you aren’t a kid anymore, Megan. You’re an adult. You need to start acting like one.”
“And what exactly do you have in mind?” she asked snidely. “You want me to join the Mommy-and-Me crowd? Is there some kind of PTA bake sale coming up?”
She didn’t know her own children were too old for Mommy and Me, but too young to be under the influence of any Parent-Teacher Association. James absorbed the knowledge like a blow. But her cluelessness also helped steel his resolve. He needed to see this ruse through.
“I think Colm and Monica are doing the right thing.”
Her brows dipped and the corners of her mouth curved down as she tried to piece together the correlation. “Colm and Monica?”
“Marry me.” He had to say his line quickly, half-afraid he’d never get the words out, and absolutely petrified she’d fool them all and take him up on his offer.
“Marry you?” she repeated, clearly flummoxed.
“Yes.”
“No.”
James released the stale air from his lungs. Relief pulsed through him. But this wasn’t over yet. He had to put the cap on this thing once and for all. “It’s the right thing to do. I think it’s time.”
“Time?”
Feeling more confident with every bewildered question she repeated, he pressed. “Yes. Past time, actually.”
“This is ridiculous. I’m not going to talk about this anymore.” Megan slammed her glass onto the bar. “I’m leaving.”
She was halfway across the ballroom before he caught up with her. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“As far away from you as possible.”
“Megan, we came here together. How are you going to get home?” he persisted.
“The same way people have always gotten home after a disastrous night. I’ll take a taxi.”
He eyed her skeptically. “Thought you said you didn’t have any money.”
Outside in the vestibule, she whirled on him. “I’m not a complete idiot, James. I have money. There’s always a way to get money.”
