by Lynne, Donya
Mark joined her, and she wrapped her arm around his as the valet drove his car around to the back to where Karma was sure she’d find a parking lot fit for thirty cars, maybe more.
“We’re a bit later than I wanted to be,” Mark said, hurrying her up the stairs. “They’re sure to be making final preparations for the party, and guests will start arriving soon if they haven’t already.”
A butler opened the door and welcomed them inside.
Karma didn’t know where to look first. Up or down. An expanse of gleaming, polished marble stretched in all directions beneath her feet, lit by an enormous crystal chandelier that hung like falling shards of ice from the ceiling. The crown molding gracing the tops of the white walls was more like art than architecture, and twin, winding staircases curved up either side of the substantial foyer. In the center, directly below the rounded balcony that looked over the foyer, sat a table black as onyx, upon which stood a colossal flower arrangement inside a massive hand-painted vase. Bright-pink roses, yellow daffodils, tall sprigs of lavender, and white Star lilies gave the foyer its only splash of color. But what a splash it was. More like an explosion in the otherwise colorless but opulent entryway.
Then she glanced at the butler. He wore a black and white tuxedo—with tails. She suddenly felt severely underdressed. She was so not in Kansas, anymore. If the hired help could make her feel this inadequate, how would the other guests make her feel?
“Welcome home, sir,” the butler said.
“Thank you, Henry. You look splendid.”
“Thank you, sir. May I take your coats?”
“Yes, please.” Mark helped her out of hers. “Karma, meet Henry. Henry, this is Karma Mason.” He offered no explanation as to their relationship status. Then again, he was proper enough to know he should tell his parents they were engaged before he told Henry.
Henry’s expression perked as he regarded her, taking her coat from Mark. “My pleasure, miss.” He gave a little sideways bow of his head, obviously understanding exactly how special she was in Mark’s life for him to bring her home to meet the parents.
She nervously nibbled her bottom lip. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Henry took Mark’s coat, smiling. “Nice to see you’re finally settling down, sir.”
Mark chuckled. “Okay, Henry, stop calling me sir.” He turned toward her. “Henry only behaves this way when my parents have a party. Don’t let him fool you. He’s a scoundrel. And excellent at cards. He’s the one who taught me how to play blackjack and poker.”
“I’ve never seen you play poker,” she said.
“I never really liked the game.”
Henry glanced side-to-side as if making sure he wasn’t being watched, then he took a step forward, grinning mischievously as he spoke to Karma. “He only doesn’t like the game because he played against someone once who apparently had a better poker face than he does and ended up losing ten thousand dollars of his inheritance.”
She shot him a questioning glance. “Ten thousand dollars?”
That shadow Karma thought was gone made a reappearance and flashed across Mark’s face. “It was the last time I ever played.” He shifted his gaze to Henry. “And quit telling her stories like that, Henry, or you’ll scare her away.” He meant it as a joke, but Karma could hear the hint of fear in his voice.
Henry winked and took a step back, becoming the picture of propriety again. “Of course, sir.”
“Good man.” Mark took her hand and led her in the direction of conversation and laughter as Henry opened the coat closet to put away their coats.
She stole a peek into the extra-large, lighted, walk-in closet as they passed. Fur. A lot of fur jackets hung inside. And purses that looked like they could put Coach to shame. She was fairly certain she saw a gold Chanel emblem on one made of baby’s-butt-soft leather the color of honey. At least it looked baby’s-butt-soft. And there went her black, quilted North Face coat to mingle with the designer labels. Her poor coat was going to get an inferiority complex in there.
And didn’t she knew how it felt? She was way out of her league here. If this party were a representation of the food chain, her league was somewhere down around small farm animals. A lamb or potbelly pig. The people she was about to meet were lions. If she wasn’t careful, they’d eat her alive.
“You’re so tense,” Mark whispered, squeezing her hand. “Relax.”
“I’m trying.” She took a few deep breaths. “It’s just . . . this place is really big. Bigger than I imagined. It’s kind of intimidating.”
“Try not to think about that.”
“Okay, okay.” She needed to get her mind off the grandeur oozing the smell of money all around her. “Remind me again what your parents’ names are. Adler and Giada, right?
“That’s right. Adler is a family name, and Giada is Italian.”
“Giada. Like the chef, right?”
He frowned as if confused.
“You know,” she said, “the petite, wafer-thin Italian chef with the big teeth who’s always smiling? The one on the Food Network who always calls it mozzarella?” She did her best at pronouncing the word with an authentic Italian accent.
“You mean, mozzarella?” He corrected her, making what was such a familiar word sound intensely foreign . . . and a bit sexy. Like a new word altogether.
“Yeah, that.” She smirked at his teasing grin. “But that Giada. You know who I’m talking about, right?”
“Sì. Credo di sapere di chi stai parlando, adesso.”
She both loved and hated when he threw his Italian at her. Loved it because it sounded provocative. Hated it because she couldn’t understand a lick of what he said.
“What did you just say?”
He ushered her through a hall with toffee-colored walls toward a set of open double doors. “I said that I think I know who you’re talking about now.”
“Show off.”
He chuckled as he guided her into a grand ballroom as opulent as the one at the Palmer House Hilton, only on a much smaller scale. Still, that wasn’t to say the place wasn’t huge. It was. Bigger than eight of her apartments combined. Maybe more. It was hard to compare the square footage.
About a dozen people dressed in everything from suits and flirty cocktail dresses to tuxedos and evening gowns sat in a sitting area along the far wall, drinks in hand, caught up in discussion.
She exchanged glances with Mark, wordlessly conveying her anxiety over dressing so casually. But he merely grinned, winked, and pulled her into the room as if everything were normal.
“Marcus!”
All heads turned their way as a slender, elegant woman who had to be Mark’s mom rose from her seat at the head of the group, threw out her arms, and glided toward them, holding herself like a queen coming to welcome home her son, the prince. A man bearing a striking resemblance to Mark followed.
“Happy birthday, Mamma.” Mark hugged her. Then he shook his dad’s hand.
“It’s so good to see you.” Giada’s Italian accent graced every syllable. She stood back and looked Mark up and down. “You look good. Lean. Like a tiger.” She winked at him then turned her gaze on Karma, her smile beaming. “And you must be Karma.” Without warning, Giada enveloped her in a strong, consuming embrace. “The one to steal my son’s heart.” She spoke softly but proudly, as if she had never thought this day would come. Then she released her and pulled back, her dark eyes—eyes so much like Mark’s in the same shade of dark green—dancing over Karma’s face. “And so lovely.” She turned toward Mark. “You’ve done well, Marcus.”
He took Karma’s hand and gave her a look that came across as part relief, part pride. “She honors me, Mamma.”
“That she does.” Giada pinched Mark’s cheek.
“Pleasure to meet you, Karma. I’m Adler, Mark’s father.” Adler shifted his glass of wine to his left hand and extended his right. He had a firm handshake, just like Mark’s.
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
Adl
er and Giada held themselves almost regally, but not haughtily. Shoulders relaxed, backs straight, heads held high, with warm, generous smiles on their faces. They definitely possessed the posture of champion ballroom dancers.
Mark glanced toward the group in the sitting area. “I was hoping Karma and I could have a few minutes of privacy with both of you before the party.”
Giada beamed. “Of course.” She gestured toward the door. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk.” She stopped a waiter on their way out. “Could you bring four glasses of champagne to the sitting room, please?”
“Certainly.”
And then Karma was following Mark’s parents into a smaller, elegantly appointed room with burgundy walls, furnished with a green and gold settee, a solid dark-green upholstered sofa, which looked more grey than green once she got closer, and two burnished-gold club chairs. A small fire crackled in the brick fireplace, which was framed by a mahogany mantle adorned with a collection of ceramic cats, some small, others almost life-sized.
Karma peered closer, admiring one that was solid matte-black, smooth and sitting tall and proud the way she’d seen cats in Egyptian paintings.
“My mom collects cats,” Mark said from beside her, his hand resting on the small of her back. “When I was in your apartment the first time and saw your collection of ceramic elephants, it reminded me of them.” He turned an affectionate smile toward her, their eyes meeting.
“And of your mom,” she added.
“Yes.”
The memory was a delicate connection to their past. To how they met, as well as the first time she invited him into her home. Now his interest in her collectibles made more sense. Why hadn’t he just said then that his mom collected ceramic cats, which was why her elephants had caught his eye?
Karma glanced back to the matte-black cat as the answer came to her in a flash of clarity. That night, Mark had had no intention of letting their relationship come this far. At the time, he’d still believed he could simply walk away and not fall in love with her. So of course he wouldn’t have revealed anything personal about him or his family. That hadn’t been part of his plan.
Ever the planner, he’d never seen her coming, had he?
Contained. That was how Mark had lived until they met. Self-contained within an impenetrable skin. And yet . . . she had penetrated him all the way to the center of his heart.
Love and hope and something that felt like a bubble full of giggles expanded inside her chest, and she slid her arm around his waist, pressing closer. His arm eased securely around her waist in response. They were cause and effect. Echoes of one another. When she moved, he moved. Theirs was such a personal, almost supernatural weaving of motion.
Almost like a dance.
It was just one more piece of evidence proving she had succeeded where all others had failed. Isn’t that what he’d told her? That she had enabled him to love again? Not because she’d held a gun to his head and told him to love her or die. No. She’d gotten through and awakened his heart by letting him go. By freeing him to fly back out into the world without her. Only then had he seen how important she was to him.
He’d told her all this over the last four months, but it hadn’t fully sunk in until this very moment. He’d said all the words, but now she felt their impact.
He loved her. Really, truly, deeply loved her. And it was because she’d let him walk away that he’d realized that.
Mark had come back. For her. And even though he wasn’t the perfect man she’d built him up as in her mind, he was so much more. Still larger than life. Charitable. Thoughtful. Almost to a fault.
Humble.
Strange how she now saw Mark as humble when two summers ago, she never would have used that word to describe him. Back then, he’d been almost cocky. But that was before she knew he had millions. A person wasn’t able to hide wealth like that if they didn’t possess humility.
Giada appeared at her side and lifted down one of the figurines. Her long, elegant fingers caressed the shiny surface as if she were holding a baby. “You collect, too?”
Karma nodded. “Yes. Elephants.”
“Why elephants?”
“I got one as a gift when I was younger, and then I got another, and before long, I had a whole set. How did you start collecting cats?”
Giada’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve always loved cats, but Adler’s allergic. So, since I can’t have real cats, anymore, I surround myself with these.” She drew her hand through the air in front of the mantle.
“She has an entire curio of them in the family room and two more in the upstairs hall,” Adler added. “And plenty more displayed around the house.
Giada set down the cat then reached for Karma’s left hand, her thumb stroking down her ring finger as she lifted it.
Karma bit her lip and exchanged a worried glance with Mark. His face was relaxed, but his expression filled with awareness and expectation. His gaze dropped to her hand in his mom’s.
“I assume this is what you wanted to discuss with us, yes, Marcus?” Giada tilted her head maternally, in a way that said, “I’m your mother. How did you think I wouldn’t notice such an engagement ring on Karma’s finger?”
She had probably spotted the ring the moment she laid eyes on her from across the room a few minutes ago.
“Yes.” Mark’s subdued voice did nothing to hide the way he lifted his chin and chest, the rooster strutting, wearing a purely masculine grin, possessive and proud. “Karma and I are engaged.”
Giada closed her eyes and drew in a long, deep breath as a smile spread over her face.
“Congratulations, son,” Adler said, shaking Mark’s hand.
Unshed tears glistened Giada’s eyes when she opened them again, and she slowly shook her head as she took both Karma’s hands. “I never thought . . .” She sighed as if forcing herself not to cry. “Welcome to the family, Karma. What a lovely birthday present this is.”
Giada swept her into her arms and hugged her close, whispering, “Thank you for making my son happy. I never thought he would find such happiness again. Thank you. Just . . . thank you.” She almost sounded like she was praying.
When Giada finally released her, she quickly brushed her fingertips under her eyes and blinked rapidly, glancing away from Mark as if she didn’t want him to see her crying.
The waiter returned with flutes of champagne, which Adler passed around.
“A toast,” he said, raising his glass. “To my son and his future bride.”
Everyone clinked glasses and drank. It was a far different reception to the news than they’d received from her parents the night before. Or rather, from her dad. Her mom had been happy enough.
“So,” Giada said, “when is the big day? When’s the wedding?” She looked expectantly from her to Mark.
Whoosh!
There went all the air in the room. Sucked out as if by a factory-sized vacuum. And most of the warm and fuzzy gushiness she’d felt toward Mark barely five minutes ago rushed out with it. She’d only just forgiven him for springing the news that he wanted to wait until summer to set a date, and now, right on the heels of their ugly fight’s demise, came an unwelcome reminder of it.
When neither she nor Mark answered, Giada’s smile wavered. “You have set a date, haven’t you? You can’t get engaged and not set a date.”
Apparently, in Mark’s world, you could. Too bad they didn’t live in Giada’s.
“We’re waiting until after things slow down at work,” Karma said, darting an accusing glance toward Mark. “And I just started a new job and have classes, sooo . . .” She sounded like she was making excuses for why her homework wasn’t done. You see, there was a pile of dishes in the sink, and I needed to take the car in for an oil change, and then my dog ate all the pencils in the apartment and I was too busy trying to come up with believable excuses about why my homework wasn’t done to actually do it, so that’s why it’s not finished. My bad.
Damn Mark for sucking her into his delay game. Now
she was spouting his excuses, even though she didn’t buy them for a second. He’d put her in an awkward position. One that felt more like a trap.
“And we just bought a house,” Mark added, “so we’re trying to get settled there, too.”
Nice diversion, Mark.
“A house!” Giada pressed her hands together in supplication. “How lovely. You must invite us down once you get settled.”
Mark took out his phone and pulled up a series of pictures he’d taken during their first walk-thru, seeming all too content to let the subject of their pending nuptials fall into the background.
She was getting the feeling Mark would never be ready to set a date, even though she didn’t have much to base that on. Her gut just told her this was an issue. That his reticence wasn’t just a passing irritation but a huge problem. The question was why?
Somehow, she knew Carol was part of the answer. Mark had confessed everything else that had been holding him back. But he still never talked about Carol. She needed to find a way to get that woman out of their lives if she and Mark were going to have their happily ever after.
“Well,” Giada said, studying Karma with a compassionate eye, “you don’t want to wait too long to set a date, Marcus, especially if you’re trying for June.”
Karma looked at Mark as he stuffed his phone back in his pocket, but he avoided meeting her gaze.
She wanted to say, “See, I told you so.” Lisa had said the same thing about trying for June, and now his mom said the same thing.
Of course, they didn’t have to have a June wedding, but, in all honesty, Karma wouldn’t mind one. June was her favorite month. Not too hot, not too cold. On the precipice of summer. Colorful with everything newly come back to life after winter. It was the perfect month to get married . . . for new beginnings.
Oh well, there was always next June.
As long as Mark didn’t put a kibosh in that, too.
Chapter 17
A true friend never gets in your way unless you happen to be going down.
-Arnold H. Glasow