by Elaine Fox
“I don’t know…” Megan persisted. “Are you sure I don’t look like a homewrecker in this dress?”
Penelope looked relieved. “Don’t be ridiculous. You look incredible. And Sutter is not even living with that Briana person so there is no home to wreck. Most of these people are old fuddy-duddies anyway. I just thought it would be fun to get dressed up. Besides, I can introduce you to some people you should know.”
Megan took a deep breath. “Of course. You’re right, I’m sorry. But don’t forget I’ve got that doctor’s appointment first thing in the morning so I can’t stay out late.”
“I know. I want to leave early too. I have tennis tomorrow morning. But your appointment is just a checkup, right? Oh and you’re going to see Dr. Lee!” she said, obviously just remembering that she had recommended this doctor to Megan. “I nearly forgot! She won’t mind if you sleep while she checks you out.”
“I just hope I don’t sleep through the alarm,” Megan said. “Yesterday I woke up twenty minutes after the clock radio had come on. That never happens to me.”
Penelope took her arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll just go in, mingle a little bit and find a seat. You’ll like the music, Megan. There’s nothing like a violin to nourish the soul.”
“I know. You’re right. I don’t know what’s gotten in to me.” She picked up her pace again and they headed for the crowd at the church. It was a sultry evening, and the church was too old to be air conditioned, so many were standing on the front steps, chatting and laughing, holding clear plastic glasses of wine cupped in cocktail napkins.
“Cynthia!” Penelope waved to someone as they neared. “How are you? I heard about little Justin’s piano recital.”
Megan marveled at Penelope’s social skill, the details she knew about people’s lives were amazing. She was always so enthusiastic, and yet sincere about everything she said.
“You heard?” Cynthia, a polished blonde with an abundance of gold jewelry, exulted. “That he won first place?”
“I certainly did,” Penelope said indulgently. “Mrs. Monroe was in Wednesday and told me all about it.” She turned to Megan. “Mrs. Monroe is Justin’s piano teacher. And doesn’t she just love having bragging rights to that!”
Penelope and Cynthia laughed together and Megan thought about slipping inside to find a seat.
“Oh, Cynthia Belton, this is my friend Megan Rose,” Penelope said, taking Megan lightly by the arm and drawing her back into their circle of conversation as if reading her thoughts.
“How do you do?” Cynthia said, extending her hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Megan said, taking the chilly fingers in her hot ones. She wondered if all the best people exuded a similarly refrigerated air and if her hot paw was what would give her away.
“That’s a gorgeous dress you have on, Megan,” Cynthia said. “Wherever did you get it? And why haven’t we met before?”
“Oh, I took her to Silvio’s,” Penelope said.
“I just moved to town,” Megan said, trying to shake off her uncharacteristic cynicism. “I’m the new vet at Rose’s Animal Hospital.”
Even as she was looking at her, Megan could swear Cynthia’s gaze went glacial. “At Rose’s? You aren’t—are you related?” The question was almost incredulous, and Megan felt the first inkling of dread trip up her spine. Maybe this was why she’d been so reluctant to come tonight.
“Yes, he’s my father.” Her chin rose a fraction.
“Really?” Cynthia looked at her a moment more—sizing her up, it felt like—then let her eyes slip just past Megan’s right shoulder. “Oh, look. There’s Charles. Do excuse me, Penelope. I’ve got to talk to Charles.”
And just like that, she was gone.
Megan’s blood stalled. This was bad. Never had she been so snubbed before in her life. Never had she felt so looked down upon. Surely she hadn’t imagined it.
Penelope looked around happily. “Should we get some wine?”
“Penelope,” Megan said in a low voice, “didn’t you notice that?”
Penelope leaned in. “Notice what?”
“That woman.” Megan glanced behind her to see Cynthia standing with a tall, white-haired man in a tux. Both of them were looking at her. “Cynthia. She found out who I was—or rather, who my father is—and bolted.”
A crease developed between Penelope’s brows. “No she didn’t. She wanted to talk to Charles.” She looked around, saw Cynthia and looked back at Megan. “And she’s talking to Charles. Charles Van Dorn. Oh, he’s such a nice man. I should introduce you to him, too. He has Irish wolfhounds. You should see them, they’re the most amazing animals I’ve ever seen. I swear, you look in their eyes and you see old souls. Like they’ve lived many lifetimes before.”
Megan sighed, misgivings gnawing at her stomach. Or was it hunger?
“Let’s find a seat, okay? The concert starts in a few minutes anyway, doesn’t it?” Megan said.
Penelope looked at her diamond-edged watch. “You’re right. I can introduce you around afterwards.”
They found a seat in a pew about halfway back from where the musicians were set up. Megan, determined to shake off her strange frame of mind, let herself be charmed by the nineteenth-century pews with doors on them, the balcony encircling the nave and the elaborate, stained glass windows that lined the walls.
The music was lovely too, and by the intermission Megan was lulled back into the calm that had been missing earlier. Penelope had been right. There really was nothing like violin music to nourish the soul. She almost felt as if she’d been massaged.
At the intermission, Penelope and Megan went back out onto the front stairs and let the warm night air blow gently over them. Megan lifted her hair off the back of her neck and looked up into a clear night sky. Only a few stars were visible, as they were standing near the open lighted doorway, but she thought she could pick out the Big Dipper.
Penelope was talking to a lovely young woman named Blythe, who was married to a Captain Miller who stood nearby in his dress blues. A handsome couple, Megan thought, feeling warmly toward Blythe because she did not recoil when they were introduced.
“Oh my God,” Blythe said, grabbing Penelope by the arm and leaning toward both her and Megan. “Did you see that?”
Penelope and Megan gazed in the direction Blythe was looking.
“Sutter Foley,” Blythe said, at the same moment Megan caught sight of him.
Maybe it was the tuxedo, maybe it was the stunning, bejeweled woman on his arm, or maybe it was because she hadn’t eaten dinner, but Megan’s stomach hit the floor and she thought for a moment she might actually be sick.
She hadn’t seen him since the night they’d had sex on his kitchen table. She could still feel the sugar on her skin, sticking like sand and scrunching under her body as she’d writhed under his skillful ministrations.
“God, have you ever seen a handsomer billionaire?” Blythe said with a laugh.
“Aren’t they all handsome?” Penelope quipped.
Blythe laughed. “None more than this guy, I’d be willing to bet. Who’s that he’s with?”
Penelope sent an apprehensive glance Megan’s way. “Briana Ellis. She’s from Massachusetts, but she just moved to town a couple weeks ago.”
Megan felt the blood drain to her feet. She’d moved to town and Megan hadn’t heard from Sutter since. That told that story clear enough, she thought. Between Briana and that wretched tabloid, Sutter was probably determined never to see her again.
As the three of them stared at him, his eyes raked the crowd, coming to rest on Penelope.
She gave a little wave and he nodded back.
Then his gaze shifted to Megan and she felt all the blood leave her head.
The expression in those green eyes could have frozen every drink in the hand of every person between them, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt…
He’d seen the article.
Thirteen
“Excuse me,” Megan said, too abrup
tly, and turned to push through the crowd, away from Penelope and Blythe.
Away from Sutter’s icy gaze.
The restroom, where was the restroom? She should have asked Penelope, but when she turned around to go back, she saw that Sutter was making his way through the crowd toward them. She wheeled and headed back inside. Somebody else could tell her where it was.
She pushed through the people at the door, hearing some hisses of disapproval as she did so less than gently, and asked an elderly woman just inside the door where the ladies’ room was. She directed Megan down the stairs.
Precarious on her unfamiliar heels, Megan bee-lined for the steps. She made it down only to find the door was locked, and an old-sounding voice warbled, “Just a minute,” when she tried the knob. She leaned against the wall next to the room, one hand on her forehead.
She had to be coming down with something. She felt positively clammy.
A moment later more footsteps sounded on the steps and Megan watched in mounting apprehension as limber tuxedoed legs came into view, leading to a pair of lean hips, a broad chest, then the handsome—if chilly—face of Sutter Foley.
What were the odds, she wondered, that he would be searching for the restrooms at the same time she was?
Between slim and none, she discovered.
He hadn’t been looking for the restrooms, she could tell the moment he laid eyes on her.
“Megan,” he said. His low voice and polished accent made her name sound like someone else’s. The look in his eyes made her wish she was someone else. “I need to talk to you.”
At the sound of more footsteps coming down the stairs, he glanced around, then took her by the elbow and steered her down a short hall to a darkened Sunday school room.
She went willingly, if only to get out of the glare of the hallway light. She could tell her face was blushing furiously. She knew what was coming and it was the last thing she wanted. He was going to acknowledge the awkwardness of Briana, he would address the undefined nature of their own sexual relationship, and he was going to inform her that her romantic aspirations as outlined by Tanner Pierce in the National Tattler were beyond ridiculous.
He was going to assume there were emotions on her side, and no matter how true that turned out to be she didn’t want to have to endure his pity. Or more likely his guilt about misleading her, which would feel like pity.
And she didn’t want to have to hear about how this Briana person was the chosen one. The one who merited public outings. On the heels of all her discomfort at not belonging in this elite crowd, and in the wake of Cynthia Belton’s obvious censure, she did not need Sutter Foley’s excuses for fucking the nobody while marrying the rich girl.
“Megan,” he said again, “what in the world were you thinking, talking to the National Tattler?”
“Oh, I was hoping you wouldn’t see that. Sutter, I’m sorry. That guy—” she began, but he wasn’t finished.
“Hoping I wouldn’t see it? Megan, when people I know speak to the press about me, I usually hear about it. And to speak to that blasted tabloid, of all places! They’ve been after me for weeks, ever since they got hold of those pictures of my house. Looking for dirt or scandal or deception, anything they can pin on me.” He looked at her as if fathoming an entirely new person. “And you’ve fed right into it.”
She took a step toward him and stopped. “Sutter, I’m sorry, but you have to understand—”
“No, Megan,” he interrupted, his eyes intense, “you must understand that these people are devious. You cannot play along. Ever since you’ve talked to them suddenly everyone I know seems to be reading the sodding rag. Do you know what it’s like to have people calling you up, clamoring to know what the hell’s going on in your private life?”
“Actually, yes,” she said, some heat in her voice.
He gave an ironic smile. “Yes, I suppose you do, now. In a small way. Imagine if that happened to you every day, Megan. Every bleeding day. Imagine if every little thing you did, every mistake, every wrong turn, was publicly analyzed by a group of malcontents eager to do you harm.”
Megan choked back a sudden lump in her throat. “Are you calling me a wrong turn, Sutter?”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what you are, Megan. Just as you’re probably wondering what the devil I am to you. This may seem like a lark to you now, seeing your name in print in a celebrity magazine, but for me it’s a daily curse. This week alone I’ve been approached by every bloody gossip magazine there is. The damn phone is ringing off the hook as if I’d announced to the world I was opening up my life for public viewing. And all because you chose to tell them what happened between us. Why, Megan? Why did you do it? What did you think would happen?”
Megan’s heart dropped in her chest. “What do you mean, what did I think would happen? I didn’t plan that. I was as shocked as you were by that article.”
“Are you saying you didn’t speak to this Pierce person?”
Megan felt the telltale blush hit her cheeks. “I did, but—”
“No, don’t explain,” he exhaled heavily and looked at the floor, “I know how they operate. They ambushed you, you didn’t know what you were saying, the next thing you knew he’d extracted information you didn’t intend—”
“He twisted what I said, Sutter. I didn’t—”
“I know, you didn’t make anything up. And our…encounters have been real. But don’t you see how important it is to keep them out of the press?”
“Sutter, would you please listen to what I’m saying?” Rage thundered through her veins. “I didn’t take them to the press, as you seem to think. I was tricked into a conversation and my words were twisted. I told him we were friends, and that’s all. But frankly I’m starting to see that even that isn’t true. I haven’t a friend alive who would suspect me of doing what you have accused me of tonight.”
Sutter looked disconcerted at her vehemence. He glanced toward the door and lowered his voice. “Megan, I haven’t accused you of anything. You simply don’t understand how careful I must be. Many people I have dealt with have used the press in order to manipulate me—”
“Manipulate you?” She felt as if she’d been struck. “Are you saying you think I want to—to blackmail you or something?”
“No, of course not. No.”
“Okay,” she said icily, “what, then? Something worse? You think I wanted to become famous for screwing the rich guy? To ride your coattails onto the illustrious pages of the National Tattler?”
“No—Megan, you’re missing my point.”
“Then enlighten me, please. I’m trying desperately to figure out what your point is.”
“Just that you must be careful about talking to reporters about…about something as personal as what went on between us.”
“Listen, Sutter,” she said angrily, her voice dropping as she stalked toward him. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. People like me are not accustomed to being approached by reporters for any reason, let alone our sex lives. Especially not sleazy tabloid ambulance-chasers like that National Tattler guy. I was shocked and confused when I got that call. And I’ll admit that I botched the conversation pretty badly. Then he misconstrued the few things I did say and added a few things of his own.” She stopped in front of him, her eyes pinned on his. “Honestly, I thought I hadn’t given him anything he could use. It wasn’t until the article came out that I realized how dangerous those guys really are. But you knew, Sutter. You’ve just spent the last fifteen minutes telling me how experienced you are with them. So why didn’t you warn me?” She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head. “And why, I have to ask, are you surprised that they caught you cheating on your girlfriend?”
He took a deep breath. “I was not cheating on my girlfriend. Briana and I have no…exclusive arrangement.”
Megan didn’t bother to quell the scoff that rose within her.
He colored and his eyes hardened. “Regardless, in the past th
ere has never been anything for them to catch. I’ve never done anything like that, like this, before.”
She shook her head, dropping her arms. “Doesn’t count. Not in this courtroom,” she said, turning away. She couldn’t stand that close to him and maintain her objectivity.
“I’m not defending myself,” he said. “Neither one of us is on trial, here, Megan.”
She turned back and put her hands on her hips. “No? Then why did you come marching down here if not to collar me like I was a criminal with a lot of explaining to do?”
His face was dark, unreadable. “I wanted to know what you were thinking.”
“What I was thinking? What I was thinking? Oh, that’s just great, coming from The Vault.”
At that he looked startled. “What did you call me?”
“The Vault. You know, the thing that’s impossible to break into? But hey, I’ll tell you what I’m thinking, like it’s ever a mystery. I’m thinking I was crazy to get involved with you in any way. And I’m thinking that it was my own fault. I asked for trouble and got more than I ever anticipated.” She took a quick breath. “I have no illusions about us, Sutter. I know people like you end up with people like Briana Ellis. Who, by the way, as long as we’re throwing stones, you never seemed terribly concerned about when we were together. So let’s just…call it even.”
Sutter stood silent a long moment, looking at her sadly. Finally he said, “You’re right.”
She’d been about to give up and turn away, but that stopped her. “I beg your pardon?”
He paused. Then, “I said, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking. And I forgot what it’s like to be caught off guard by a reporter for the first time. I…I do owe you an apology.”
He looked contrite, damn him. Contrite and guilty, all those awful second-rate emotions she didn’t want from him.
“And I should have told you about Briana sooner, even though that relationship is not as they’ve characterized it. Hearing about her from a reporter must have been…unpleasant.” He shook his head, gesturing back upstairs, presumably to the place where she’d seen him with Briana. His eyes glittered in the light from the hall. “This was not right. We should have talked about it. I should have explained before you had to run into us.”