If The Shoe Fits

by Fennell, Judi

  So he, Metzner, and Baldwin had hung out on the patio until everyone else had gone. Bella, too. She’d broken the set up down almost an hour ago. It was safe to head out.

  And how ridiculous was it that he was avoiding her? He was a grown man, for chrissake.

  Connie had walked the other guys out while he and Anthony closed down the outside. Anthony was off to the pool house to kill the lights while Reese headed into the kitchen to dispose of the trash.

  Bella stood at the sink washing dishes. Her back was to him, her black outfit a bold contrast to the blonde ponytail resting between her shoulder blades. It swished as she turned and he had a momentary image of those strands swishing over him.

  Good God, what was wrong with him? She was just another pretty woman.

  Yeah, and his Ferrari was just a car.

  “Need some help?” he found himself saying instead of doing the smart thing by leaving.

  Those gorgeous eyes of hers widened. “That’s not necessary. I’m almost done.”

  “Well, then, let me help you get out of here quicker.” He took a breath; he didn’t want to say it. Really he didn’t. Why punish himself more? But he said it anyway, if only to remind himself that someone else had already staked a claim on her. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get home.” There—he’d been magnanimous. Even if it killed him. Somewhere on the big tally sheet in the sky he should get very high marks for this offer.

  “Oh. Thanks. I am tired after being at the restaurant so early.” She handed him a dishtowel and they worked in a silence that, if it wasn’t comfortable, at least it wasn’t strained.

  “Bella.”

  “Reese.”

  They spoke at the same time, then laughed.

  “You first,” again in unison.

  He spoke first. His conscience had been gnawing at him. Plus, if she was going to quit on him, he wanted to do a pre-emptive strike. As he’d said to her in her kitchen, it was better to be on the offense. “I wanted to apologize again for that kiss. I had no right and it won’t happen again. I don’t want it to affect our working relationship. I was really impressed with what you put together for tonight so quickly. If this is how you do business, the auction is going to be a big hit.”

  The look on her face told him nothing. Was she mad? Offended? Disgusted? He had no clue—and that didn’t sit well with him either. “Your turn.” He finished the last dish, then rested his hip on the granite countertop.

  Instantly Bella shoved him off the counter, her hand searing into his skin like a branding iron, knocking the breath from his lungs as if a dozen linebackers had just tackled him.

  “Sorry.” She yanked her hand away as if she’d been burned—he sure as hell had—then pointed to the water pooling next to where his hip had just been. “Your pants... they were going to get wet.”

  He wouldn’t have cared. But if it meant he’d have her hands on him, even for the briefest of moments, he’d willingly sacrifice his pants.

  But there was still the matter of The Husband.

  “Thanks.” Reese took a step away, knowing he had to. It was the right thing to do.

  And so was leaving. “I guess I’ll see you Friday, then. By the river. For the site visit. It’s a good idea.” God help him, he was babbling.

  Reese Charmant did not babble. Ever.

  “So, um, have a good night.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingers fiddling with a coin, and wished he could just get out of here with his sanity, his dignity, and his honor intact.

  He thought he had until he realized that her scent had followed him all the way home.

  ***

  She’d touched his hip. What had she been thinking?

  Bella snorted as she sank onto a chair at the DeLeo’s kitchen island, her knees wobbly from the searing awareness of that contact. Thinking? She hadn’t been thinking. She’d been reacting. To him. To his apology. To that stupid water that was going to ruin pants she really shouldn’t care about ruining. Especially if he was apologizing for kissing her. He must have really regretted it.

  Which made her feel about as attractive as her namesake in the rags-to-riches rags days.

  Okay, enough of the negativity. It’d been a long day and she was wiped out. Add the added sexual awareness she’d been dodging all evening and she was ready to call it a night.

  She grabbed her purse and reached inside for her car keys. A gold coin rolled out. Hmmm. She thought Sophia had tossed them all in the fountain.

  Oh well. With as distracted as she’d been lately, anything was possible. She just hoped Reese had no idea that he was the cause of her distraction.

  ***

  Back on Front Street in his half-furnished apartment, Jonathan groaned and shook his head as he sat back in his chair, the television before him turned off, but still filled with images.

  Did anyone know what to do with lucky charms these days? Wishing for the opposite of what they wanted was not the purpose the coins had been manifested for.

  He dropped his head into his hands as the split images of Bella in the DeLeo’s kitchen and Reese zooming off in his car faded from the screen.

  This was going to be harder than he’d thought.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Lucinda Isabella!”

  Bella counted to ten. Twice. Madeleine calling her in that tone of voice was never a good thing; using her full name was even worse.

  Saying a swift prayer to keep her cool, Bella backed through the French doors to the patio, the breakfast tray balanced precariously in one hand, a pot of steaming coffee in the other.

  “Your breakfast just came out of the oven.” She set the tray on the glass-topped wicker table in front of her wicked stepmother. Some days she really wouldn’t mind the fairy tale coming true.

  “It’s not the breakfast.” Madeleine snapped the front page of the Society page in her face. “You failed to mention the party you catered last night was at the DeLeo home.”

  Because she knew the woman would have finagled a way to attend. Connie DeLeo was who her stepmother aspired to be.

  “Constance DeLeo is the on the Arts Center Board.” Madeleine rattled the paper again. “How did it go? Did you make any beneficial comments about me, any kind words or recommendations for me to be on the Board?” Her stepmother arched a perfectly-plucked, wickedly-black eyebrow.

  “Actually, Madeleine.” Bella set the coffee pot on the table, just out of arm’s reach away, her own little rebellion. “I was there to work for the woman, not do your PR. My main goal was to see that her party ran smoothly.” Before Madeleine could interrupt—because she would; she always did—Bella took the newspaper, folded it in half (just below a line mentioning the catering, she was happy to see), and set it beside the coffee pot—also beyond arm’s reach. “Working so diligently speaks well of Casteleoni’s, and since you are a Casteleoni, I’d think you be glad that I care about our name.”

  “Yes, well it is fortunate that the staff seems to be up to the task.” Madeleine helped herself to a portion of the breakfast casserole, then reached for the coffee, only to glare at Bella as she had to stand to reach the pot. “I’d be unhappy if there were poor reviews from one of your events. If that happens, I’ll have to get involved with the day to day running of the company.”

  Over her dead body. Madeleine’s, not Bella’s.

  “As I said, everything went well. And will continue to do so despite your threat. I will handle it as I see fit—just as I did with Mr. Tildwell and his son after my father’s funeral.” She couldn’t resist the barb. That situation had been a defining moment in their relationship.

  “That is one of the reasons I am not on the Board today.” Madeleine sat back down and poured the coffee.

  Bella had the urge to dump the entire pot on Madeleine’s head. “For God’s sake, Madeleine. The man caught his son cornering me in the back hall of the funeral home and had the gall to say I was trying to trap him into marrying me since my parents had both died, and you really expecte
d me to apologize?”

  “You could have used it to our advantage.”

  “You mean your advantage, but I’m not going to compromise my principles for your ambitions.”

  “Oh, I think there’s something you’ll compromise for, my dear.” Madeleine’s mouth stretched into that thin, teeth-bared grin she was so bloody good at. “Or should I say someone?”

  Sophia.

  It was always Sophia. When Madeleine had wanted to be head of the PTA, Bella had had to show up at a meeting and tell all the members—in tears, no less—how wonderful Madeleine had been to her and her sister, and how special it would be to share Madeleine’s generosity with the school community by electing her president. That Madeleine had never run after her term was over was quickly forgotten by the woman herself—the position hadn’t been prestigious enough for her.

  Since then, Bella had tried to keep away from those predicaments. But the stakes were higher now. And Madeleine, damn her, knew it.

  “I thought you aren’t on the Board because there’s someone else in the running?”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Staci.”

  Madeleine’s eyes narrowed. “Anastasia needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

  Good luck with that was what Bella wanted to say, but wisely, kept her own mouth shut.

  “I trust you to keep this information to yourself. I don’t need rumor and innuendo running rampant while the Board is making its decision. Of course, they can’t possibly pick anyone other than me. Casteleoni’s has been around for years. We’re a fixture in this town.”

  “No worries, Madeleine. My lips are sealed,” Bella replied as she headed back into the kitchen. She talked about her stepmother only when necessary and hated being lumped in with that collective we. She hated that Madeleine was a Casteleoni, and she especially hated that the woman was using her family’s reputation to make her own name. But if it kept Sophia where she should be, Bella would make the sacrifice.

  If only she didn’t have to sacrifice everything…

  Reese had looked so good last night, relaxed and joking with his buddies. She’d had to escape to the kitchen to stop from staring at him. But that hadn’t stopped the replay of their kiss from cycling on an endless loop during the monotony of dishwashing.

  Then he’d come into the kitchen and, well, it’d made for both a sleepless night and some pretty nice dreams when she’d finally drifted off.

  She could only hope Casteleoni’s would become so inundated with business that she’d amass the money for the custody battle quickly because once it was over, she might try making her own wish come true.

  ***

  “What’s up with washer-woman?” Staci asked her mother as Bella walked past her without so much as a hello. And after all she’d done to set her up on a date with Reese. Honestly, the girl just didn’t have a clue how to do anything when it came to guys.

  “Oh.” Mother waved her spoon dismissively. “We were simply having a meeting of the minds.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Hers was meeting the directives of mine.”

  Staci “hmmmed” and slid into the cushioned wicker chair across to the table. Mother could be very persuasive. All three Fontaine women could. All they had to do was dangle the threat of sending Sophia away and Bella would do whatever they asked. Just like a puppet.

  Sometimes—rarely, but sometimes—Staci felt bad about that. Sophia wasn’t really a problem. She was actually a neat, well-behaved child. But it was the only way they could keep control of Bella and, well, if Bella didn’t do things around the house, she and Drew would have to because there was no way Mother would ever dirty her hands. And that was so not happening.

  Shrugging, Staci picked up the newspaper. “Hmph,” she grumbled as she read the Society page. “Not a word about me in this article, but there’s good ol’ Bella’s name.”

  “What?” Her mother set down her spoon. “Why should there be a mention of you?”

  Staci didn’t bother hiding her smile. It wasn’t often she could one-up her mother with gossip. “Because I was there, too.”

  “Bella actually let you work with her?”

  “No, Mother!” Staci slammed down the article. “You know, I do have some worth as a person. I went with one of the football players. The one who caught the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl if you must know. As his date.”

  “Which player? That Reese Charming person?”

  “Not him.” It figured he’d be the one whose name Mother knew instead of Luke’s. Even unintentionally, Mother had that knack of always making Staci feel second best. “And it’s Charmant, Mother, not Charming. You’d better learn it because he’s a big-wig in this town with a successful business and,” la-la-la was what she wanted to add, but opted for, “he’s hired our little Bella to cater the annual charity auction for the hospital next month.”

  “Bella?” Mother’s coffee cup rattled on the saucer, spilling it onto the hand-embroidered placemat she’d had made for her wedding to Sal. The fact that she made no move to blot up the mess spoke to her level of upset at this news.

  Staci had never seen her mother so flustered and had to admit there was a certain satisfaction in having been the one to do that to her.

  “Yep. Bella’s going to be working with him.” Staci sat back. If she were a cat, she’d be puffing feathers from her mouth.

  “You mean Bella is in contact with that man?”

  “Yes. She spoke to him last night at the DeLeo’s and he’s been to the restaurant at least twice.”

  “She could ruin me.” Mother absently mopped up the coffee. “Why, he’s—” Mother shook her head, as close to sputtering as Staci had ever seen her. “She could ruin everything.”

  “Relax, Mother,” Staci took the napkin and cleaned up the rest of the coffee as much as possible. That placemat was a goner. “It’s just some big dinner. She does those all the time. Plus, I’ll see to it that she doesn’t mess it up.”

  “You?” Mother’s eyebrow arched in the derision Staci had come to expect over the years.

  Someday, Staci was going to master that movement because it conveyed so much more than just the acidity in her mother’s tone—acidity that, once again, was directed at her. God, she was so sick of never measuring up to Mother’s expectations.

  “Yes, me, Mother. I’m working with Bella on the auction so I’ll be around to make sure nothing happens.”

  “Honestly, Anastasia. It’s a nice thought, but drama follows you around like a puppy. If only you’d learn to keep your mouth shut. Why would you tell Lucinda about the other candidate for the Board position? If she says anything about that, it’ll all be over. Why, I’d be better off if—”

  All of a sudden Mother’s eyes narrowed and Staci swore she felt daggers being thrown at her from those little slits.

  “Wait.” Madeleine snapped her fingers. “I have a better idea. You—” She pointed at Staci—”are to drop this catcher guy—”

  “He’s a tight end, Mother.”

  “I really don’t care to hear of his physical attributes, Anastasia.” Madeleine took her time slicking her pinky finger over that damned eyebrow. As if Staci could miss it or what it meant. “You need to drop him and start dating that Charming guy.”

  “Charmant, Mother. Reese Charmant. The quarterback.”

  “Yes, whatever.” She waved her hand. “You’ll need to keep tabs on him, spend time with him, enthrall him as you’ve done with so many other men.”

  This was new. Mother was usually berating her for her choice in guys. “I don’t know that that’s possible. He seems to have a thing for her.”

  “I don’t care if he wants to marry her, Anastasia. Well, actually I would care about that; it’d be disastrous. I want you in his face,” said her mother and Staci wasn’t enjoying being on the receiving end of Mother’s directives.

  “But, I’m dating Luke, Mother. He’s perfect for me.”

  Madeleine slammed her fork onto the table top. “And
that’s precisely the problem with you and your sister. You have no idea who or what is perfect for you. You’re always willing to settle for good enough. I did, and look what happened. We end up here, stuck on the fringes of society. I thought Sal was good enough, rich enough, pliable enough, to mold for our entree into society. But then he had to grieve himself to death over that woman.”

  Madeleine never could say Ana’s name. She could barely stomach the thought of her, which was why she’d removed every trace of their stepfather’s first wife from this house after she’d married him.

  Every trace except for Ana’s look-alike daughters.

  “You are not going to settle for some hind end, Anastasia.”

  Staci couldn’t help snorting at that. Luke would go ballistic if he ever heard his position called a “hind end.”

  “You are going to make sure Reese Charmant knows who you are. And wants you, not Bella.” Mother took another sip of her coffee. “We’ll go shopping today.”

  “Shopping?”

  “You don’t think you’ll hold his attention looking like that, do you?” The look Mother gave her would have done a construction worker proud. “Tacky, but the genes are there. No, you’re only good for a weekend fling looking like that. And much as I hate to admit it, Lucinda does have a certain style. Obviously, you’ll have to be more like her to catch his attention.” She gathered the paper and, wonder of wonders, picked up her own plate. “I’ll take care of it. We’ll start with a cut and color, and then move on to your wardrobe.”

  “But, Mother—”

  “There will be no more on the subject, Anastasia. Your stepsister cannot have anything to do with that man.”

  Staci followed her. She had no idea why Mother was so set on this, but the woman’s will was formidable. She just wondered who was going to tell that to Reese.