Married by Mistake

by Abby Gaines

  She heard a wild quality in her laugh—no wonder he looked nervous. She took a deep, calming breath. “I’ve had better days.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have told you to go ahead with the wedding.”

  “I probably would have done it anyway.” She ran a hand down her face, suddenly exhausted. “I’m the fool for agreeing to go on the program in the first place.”

  “I should have cancelled that stupid show the minute I heard of it.”

  A gruff voice said, “When you two have stopped arguing over who’s to blame for this mess, you might want to think about how you’re going to get out of it.”

  A middle-aged man, tall and trim, dressed conservatively in a dark suit and tie, had entered the room. Adam introduced him as Sam Magill, Channel Eight’s in-house legal counsel and Adam’s own attorney. The lawyer’s sharp eyes narrowed to a point where Casey thought they might disappear.

  “What you do in your private life is your business, Adam,” he said. “But I’m amazed you’d get married without a prenup.”

  “Hey!” So what if it hadn’t been a real wedding? Casey resented the implication she was after Adam’s fortune, which presumably, since Sally Summers had described him as Memphis’s most eligible bachelor, was considerable. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “Missy, everyone’s that kind of girl when there’s enough money involved,” the lawyer said. “I don’t like what happened to you back there, but if you plan on taking advantage of this situation to feather your own nest, I’m warning you—”

  “That’s enough, Sam,” Adam said sharply. “That wasn’t a real wedding, and as soon as Casey has a chance to work out where she’s going next, I’ll make an announcement to that effect.”

  The lawyer’s jaw dropped. Then he broke into the wheezy laugh of a chronic smoker, a laugh that sent a tremor of unease through Casey.

  “What’s so funny?” Adam demanded.

  It took a moment for Sam to regain his sober countenance. “Am I wrong, or was that David Dubois who performed that little ceremony out there?”

  Adam nodded.

  “The same David Dubois who served as a commissioner in Fayette County a couple of years back?”

  Adam nodded again. “I believe he did.”

  “Then, my friend, I have news for you. The state of Tennessee allows marriages to be performed by any current or former county executive, as well as ministers, judges and the like.” The lawyer cast his eyes to the ceiling as he spoke, as if reciting directly from Tennessee Code. “And unlike most other states, the executive doesn’t have to have served in the county where the marriage is performed.”

  He brought his gaze back to Adam, a smile hovering on his lips. “For the rest of his life, your pal Dubois can legally marry anyone anywhere in Tennessee, as long as they have a marriage license.” He paused, then delivered the coup de grâce. “You did get a license, didn’t you?”

  The wheezy laugh started again, and Casey knew the sound would haunt her for the rest of her days.

  * * *

  LEGALLY MARRIED. To a woman I don’t know.

  The irony wasn’t lost on Adam as he held Casey’s hand, waiting for the press conference to start. His reluctance to rush into marriage had opened the door to his relatives’ lawsuit against him. If it was possible to laugh from beyond the grave, right now Adam’s father would be in stitches.

  Sorry, Dad, but this one won’t last. The sooner Adam extricated them from this mess, and got his focus back on his real problems, the better. Sam Magill had already left to start working on an annulment.

  “Keep Casey with you until you hear back from me,” he had said on his way out the door. He was probably worried she would sneak off and open a joint checking account.

  Adam had agreed, mainly because he’d been forced to scrap his plan of smuggling her out of the building, which was surrounded on all sides by media. Fortunately, Dave had slipped out before the press arrived.

  Casey hadn’t argued with the lawyer. She looked as if she was in shock, Adam thought. Her face, flushed with embarrassment in the studio, had paled to the same shade as her dress.

  As many journalists as could fit were crammed into the Channel Eight lobby. Adam cursed the fact it was silly season—midsummer, when there wasn’t enough news to fill the papers—which meant their wedding had attracted far more attention than it should have. He’d agreed to the press conference on the condition the journalists would allow them to leave privately afterward.

  “I’ll do the talking,” he told Casey. His plan was to say as little as possible, to be noncommittal about their future until they knew where they stood legally. They would lie low for the weekend, and with any luck the fuss would have died down by Monday. Hopefully, by the end of next week the announcement of their annulment would be absorbed by viewers over morning coffee, and his and Casey’s brief alliance would soon be forgotten.

  “Kiss the Bride is the hottest show in the land,” the PR woman crowed to the media. “We’re expecting huge demand from networks around the country....”

  When she’d finished her spiel, she read out a hastily prepared statement from New Visage, which claimed to be delighted with the show and confident its relationship with Channel Eight would be both long and mutually beneficial.

  That succeeded where nothing else could in putting a smile on Adam’s face as he and Casey faced the barrage of camera flashes and the questions hurled at them.

  “Mr. Carmichael, is this a ratings stunt?”

  “Casey, why did you say yes?”

  “Adam, how long do you give this marriage?”

  “Are you in love?”

  “Casey, what will your family think?”

  At this last question, he felt the tremor of her fingers in his grasp. She looked imploringly at him. He held up a hand for silence.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “as you’ve probably realized, tonight didn’t go according to plan for either of us.” Chuckles from the crowd told him they were on his side. All he had to do was give them enough to satisfy their immediate need for a story, without exposing Casey to further humiliation and without actually lying. “We’re asking you to respect our privacy beyond what we tell you now. I can reveal that Casey and I knew each other before this evening’s show—” only an hour before, admittedly “—and that for as long as I’ve known her I’ve considered her a very special lady.”

  Any grown woman who could cling to her dream of being adored had to be special.

  He looked down at Casey, noting that a few tendrils of honey-colored hair had escaped her veil. Gratitude warmed her eyes, and her lips curved in a tremulous smile. He turned back to the waiting media. “Can you blame me for seizing the chance to marry her?”

  Applause broke out among the journalists. Pleased at the success of his speech, Adam grinned at Casey. She smiled back, obviously relieved.

  “Hey, Mr. C.” It was one of the older hacks. “How about you kiss the bride?”

  Photographers readied their cameras in a flurry of motion.

  Adam raised his eyebrows in silent question to Casey. She gave a barely perceptible shrug, then a nod.

  Once again, their lips met.

  Like last time, he intended a brief kiss, one that would allow the cameras to get their shot.

  Like last time, he found himself drawn to her.

  Despite the crowd around them, he couldn’t resist the temptation to test the softness of her lower lip with his tongue. Her indrawn breath told him she was just as intrigued by the exploration.

  The catcalls of the journalists pulled them both back to reality.

  “Okay, folks, that’s all.” Mainly with the power of his glare, but using his elbows where necessary, Adam parted the throng and ushered Casey out the front of the building and into a waiting limo. She scrambled across to the far side, gathering her skirts about her to make room for him.

  “Where to now?” Casey asked. The last half hour had passed in a blur
, and she couldn’t imagine what might come next. All she knew was it couldn’t be worse than what had happened in the studio.

  Adam’s half smile held equal measures of cynicism and resignation. “Our honeymoon.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT WAS TEN O’CLOCK at night—her wedding night— by the time they got to the Romeo and Juliet Suite at Memphis’s famous Peabody Hotel.

  Casey—or Mrs. Carmichael, as the hotel receptionist had called her—roamed around the room, while Adam tipped the porter. The original honeymoon Channel Eight offered hadn’t included the suite, which Casey suspected went for several hundred dollars a night. But a standard hotel room wasn’t going to work for a newly married couple who had no intention of sharing a bedroom, let alone a bed.

  Judging by the crowd of reporters who’d followed them from the TV station, and were now being held at bay by the Peabody’s doorman—so much for their promise to respect the newlyweds’ privacy—Casey and Adam wouldn’t be leaving the hotel in a hurry, so the bigger the suite the better. Casey climbed the curving staircase to the bedroom. The king-size bed was a sea of snowy-white covers and elaborately arranged pillows. Surely a real honeymoon couple would want something cozier?

  There was a bathroom off the bedroom, in addition to the one she’d seen adjoining the living room. More white—marble and porcelain—offset by highly polished stainless steel fittings.

  “Casey?” Adam called from downstairs.

  Dreading having to sit down and hash out the legal implications of what they’d done, she joined him in the living room. How was she going to explain this to her family? How would she respond when they demanded her immediate return to Parkvale?

  Right now, she doubted she could resist. The newfound backbone that had empowered her to seize control of her future had crumbled when Joe jilted her. She would get it back; of course she would. But not tonight.

  “It’s late,” Adam said. “You must be exhausted. How about we get some sleep and talk in the morning, when we’ve heard back from Sam about the annulment?”

  “Sounds perfect.” At least she’d married a man who didn’t expect her to solve all their problems.

  “You take the bedroom, this couch will do me.”

  Considerate, too. Casey wasn’t about to argue. She tried but failed to stifle a yawn. “Thanks, Adam.” She ran a hand around the back of her neck to ease muscles exhausted from the strain of holding her head high through today’s fiasco. “Good night.”

  A knock at the door interrupted his reply. Adam opened it and a bellboy presented him with an envelope. Casey caught a glimpse of the words Private and Confidential.

  “From Sam,” Adam said.

  Thank goodness. Hopefully the lawyer had figured a way out of this predicament.

  Adam tore it open. It took him only a second to read the contents. He uttered a half laugh, half groan.

  “What is it? Bad news?”

  He didn’t answer, only gave her a brooding look.

  She stretched out a hand. “May I see it?”

  He held the note just out of her reach. “I’m not sure you want to.”

  In answer, she snatched it from him. And read Sam Magill’s instruction, etched on the fine paper in bold blue strokes.

  DO NOT CONSUMMATE THE MARRIAGE.

  “Oh.” Casey dropped it on the coffee table, her cheeks burning. “As if we were going to. That’s...that’s...”

  “Ridiculous?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Sam is very thorough. I imagine he wanted to cover all contingencies.” Adam grinned, and that furrow of tension disappeared. “Perhaps he was worried by your enthusiasm when you kissed me at the TV studio.”

  Casey sputtered. “I kissed you? You’re the one who heated things up.” The memory of his mouth on hers flooded back, leaving her light-headed. She clutched at the only possible explanation. “It was a rebound thing for me.”

  That wiped the smile off Adam’s face. He looked pointedly toward the couch. “I think it’s time we got some sleep. Separately.”

  In the bedroom, Casey discovered the reason why someone else had buttoned her dress for her at the TV studio. There must have been at least thirty tiny pearl buttons down her back, most of them beyond her reach.

  She grappled with the dress for another minute, but it was hopeless. Peeking down into the living room, she was relieved to find Adam hadn’t yet gone to bed, he stood by the window, staring out over Union Avenue, deep in thought.

  Casey headed down the stairs. “Adam? I can’t undo my buttons. Could you help?”

  She half turned her back so he could see the problem, and he came to her aid.

  Casey had never realized the area between her shoulder blades, where the buttons started, was so sensitive. The brush of Adam’s fingers against her bare skin stimulated a whole bunch of nerve endings. She shivered.

  “Cold?” he asked, his tone impersonal.

  Casey nodded, holding herself rigid to prevent any more of those traitorous shivers. But it didn’t lessen the sensation. She felt the release of each little button, aware that more and more of her flesh was showing. Warmth rose within her—was it possible her back was blushing?

  This had to be because of that note from the lawyer. They’d been told not to consummate the marriage, and five minutes later she’d had to ask Adam to undress her.

  “You can probably manage the rest yourself,” he said, his voice clipped.

  She stepped away. “Thanks. I hope you won’t be too uncomfortable on that thing.” She gestured to the couch.

  He looked at her for a long moment, then his gaze dropped to her shoulders. He said tightly, “Time you were in bed.”

  * * *

  DESPITE HER EXHAUSTION, Casey slept badly. All that subterfuge, her humiliation aired on national TV, the extreme step of marrying a stranger, and she was no better off than when she had left Parkvale on Friday morning. Her family would be frantic to know what was going on. But perhaps the worst thing was that she hadn’t even thought about Joe since he’d run out on her, aside from a brief urge as she left the stage to murder him by the most violent means possible.

  That compulsion had passed, leaving a curious void.

  It took no great psychological insight to realize how little Joe really meant to her. How could she have planned to marry him? She’d convinced herself she could give him the no-strings love she wanted for herself, when really she was using him to get away from her family.

  In hindsight, she deserved to be dumped. Perhaps not quite so publicly...but she’d brought that on herself.

  Casey allowed the recriminations to chase around in her head as she lay in bed until eight o’clock, when she was sure Adam would have had time to get dressed. She showered, then looked in her suitcase at the clothes she’d packed for her honeymoon. She’d bought a couple of new items, skimpier than she would normally wear, with the idea, she supposed now, of turning Joe on.

  She rejected a strappy top in favor of a white, sleeveless T-shirt, which she teamed with a denim skirt. She checked her reflection in the full-length mirror. No way could Adam think she’d dressed to turn him on.

  He was standing at the dining table when she got downstairs. Someone must have brought his luggage during the night. He wore jeans and a black polo shirt, open at the neck. Casey’s gaze was drawn to his bare forearms, tanned and strong, as he lifted the covers off several dishes on a room-service trolley. He pulled a chair out for her, and Casey wiped her palms against the sturdy fabric of her skirt as she sat down.

  “I ordered breakfast,” he said. “It’s not safe to go down to the restaurant. The manager tells me a couple of journalists checked into the hotel.”

  Casey helped herself to fruit and yogurt, shaking her head at Adam’s offer of a hot meal. He piled his own plate with scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, raised his glass of orange juice to her in salute, and started on his breakfast.

  Casey took a sip of her own juice as she glanced at the newspaper that lay
folded by her plate—and promptly choked.

  “Oh, no.” After all those photos she and Adam had posed for at the press conference, they’d published one taken in the TV studio, obviously at the moment Joe had jilted her. Her face, panic in her eyes, mouth open, gaped back at her from the front page beneath the headline Carmichael Rescues Jilted Bride. She grabbed a napkin, wiped away the rivulet of juice she could feel on her chin, without taking her eyes off the newspaper.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks.” Adam was presumably referring to the article and not to her photo, because that couldn’t be any worse. “They speculate that Channel Eight cooked up this scheme to boost the ratings of Kiss the Bride. They tried to get a comment out of your fiancé, but he wasn’t talking.”

  Casey unfolded the paper, then clamped a hand to her forehead at the sight of her father, peering around the front door of the house. “They spoke to my dad.”

  “That’s not so good,” Adam admitted. “They also talked to my stepmother. Seems she told them we’ve been secretly engaged for months.”

  “Why would she say that?”

  Adam shrugged. “My guess is she didn’t want to be caught not knowing about something as important as my wedding.” Casey gathered from the careful neutrality of his expression that he didn’t much like his stepmother. “Still, she’s probably helped confuse the press, which can’t hurt.”

  “Any word from the lawyer?” Casey asked.

  “I’ve had a few calls.” He gestured to the cell phone on the table between them. “But not from Sam.”

  His phone trilled again.

  “Hello, Eloise,” he said with resigned patience. “Did you like the show?”

  Who was Eloise? His stepmother? His girlfriend?

  Whoever she was, Adam was obviously enjoying her reaction to their wedding. Not his girlfriend, then. He grinned and held the phone away from his ear—Casey heard a spate of words pouring out. “Sorry, Eloise, I have another call coming through. I’ll get back to you.”

  That set the pattern for the next few minutes, with Adam receiving one call after another, mostly, she gathered, from family, all anxious to know how his marriage might affect their interests. His reticence must have infuriated them.