Married by Mistake

by Abby Gaines

  When Casey put a hand to her mouth, stricken, he felt no satisfaction.

  * * *

  ADAM WOKE FROM AN UNEASY sleep on the couch in the middle of the night on Sunday. Make that Monday. The digital display on the clock across the room glowed 1:30 a.m.

  He heard it again, the noise that must have woken him. A cry from upstairs.

  Casey.

  He pushed the sheet aside, rolled off the couch and grabbed his pants from the back of the chair. He hauled them on, then headed upstairs.

  “Casey?” he called softly, noting she’d left the door ajar.

  He snapped on the landing light and pushed the door open.

  She lay sprawled in the center of the king-size bed, the duvet twisted across her lower body. Her top half was bare save for a strappy, satin confection in turquoise, which he guessed she’d chosen for her wedding night.

  She didn’t stir; whatever dream had disturbed her must have ended. Adam’s mouth went dry and he felt like a voyeur. But, hell, how could any red-blooded man not notice Casey was gorgeous, even fully dressed? And Adam was as red-blooded as the next man. He also happened to be married to her.

  Don’t go there.

  His marriage to Casey was strictly business. As they said on the infomercials: No Obligation, For a Limited Time Only. Of course, on those infomercials, they also said Satisfaction Guaranteed....

  Damn. Adam pulled the door shut with a click that hopefully hadn’t woken her, and went back to his couch.

  And didn’t sleep.

  * * *

  MONDAY, Adam’s favorite day of the week, found him overtired, overstressed and even more relieved than normal that the weekend had ended.

  If he’d planned to fake a marriage to someone, he would have chosen someone tougher than Casey. Someone who could plow past other people’s feelings in pursuit of her goal.

  Not a woman who bought into the sob story of a hotel maid she’d never met before and then didn’t hesitate to drag him into it, as well.

  He wouldn’t let her distract him from what he wanted to achieve in their month together, he told himself as he folded his clothes and packed his bag in preparation for their return to real life. He approached Casey, who had been packed and ready to go for ten minutes—he liked a woman who didn’t keep him waiting—and said, “We need to set some ground rules.”

  “Hmm?” She looked up from her cross-stitching.

  She’d taken a cross-stitch on her honeymoon. Adam wasn’t sure if he admired her practicality or pitied her. Had she been sleeping with Joe so long that she wasn’t anticipating any excitement?

  He scowled at the thought of the intimacy she might have shared with her fiancé. “Ground rules,” he said. “If we’re living together for a month, we need some rules.”

  “You mean who gets to go first in the bathroom?” She smiled sunnily. “You go first. I don’t have to get to work in the—”

  “I have more than one bathroom,” he interrupted, still trying to erase the idea of Casey in bed with that jerk. “I want to make sure we’re in agreement about what’s involved in this pretense. And what’s not involved.”

  As if they didn’t both know what was not involved. Casey kept her face blank, trying to appear undisturbed by what had hung heavy in the air between them all weekend. For goodness sake, they were virtually imprisoned in a honeymoon suite, with congratulatory cards and letters from complete strangers being delivered every half hour. Cards and letters addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael.

  “For example,” Adam said, “we’re both free to spend our time as we wish. We don’t owe each other any company.”

  “Sure,” she agreed. “The last thing we’ll want is to spend time together after we’ve been cooped up here so long.” If that was true, how come she’d felt more alive this weekend than she had in years?

  “But to convince our families our marriage is genuine, at times we’ll have to exchange caresses and endearments.” He sounded as if he was proposing some extreme form of torture.

  “We seem to do okay on the caresses,” she said, trying to be more positive than he was.

  His brows drew together. “I like you, Casey, and I think we’ll get along fine. But as soon as the annulment comes through, it’s over. I wouldn’t want you to think there’s any chance of a permanent relationship between us.”

  Good grief, the guy had an ego. Just because she’d responded to his kisses like a heat-seeking missile locking on its target... Kisses that had sizzled in a way she’d never experienced with Joe...

  “Ouch.” She’d pierced her thumb with her needle. She sucked at the tiny hole, saw his eyes following her movement. She put down her needlework. “Adam,” she said, “you’re a good kisser, I’ll grant you. But from what I’ve seen, you’re single-minded about your work, you’re resistant to change and you’re emotionally unavailable. So don’t you go getting any ideas, either.” That was telling him.

  “If emotionally unavailable means I don’t want to adore anyone,” he said, “you’re damn right.”

  She wished she’d never mentioned “adoring” to him. It made her sound like a loser. She picked up her cross-stitching, squinted at the green thread she needed to knot. “I don’t know why we’re even talking about this,” she said. “Sure, we’ll be living in the same house for a month, but it’s no big deal. You won’t even know I’m there.”

  Adam watched her as she made some complicated maneuver with her needle. Watched his wife. Through the glass tabletop he observed that her red skirt had ridden up to bare more thigh than he had any right to see. Her navy T-shirt hugged her curves, and she’d pulled her rich, honey-colored hair back into a loose ponytail that made her look like an eighteen-year-old.

  A hot eighteen-year-old.

  He sighed. He’d know she was there, all right.

  * * *

  THEY TOOK A TAXI from the Peabody to Adam’s home in Germantown, an upmarket district about ten miles from downtown Memphis. Casey peered out her window as the cab drove through wrought-iron gates toward a three-story brick house. Make that a mansion. Yet the impressive pillared, Georgian-style structure had a welcoming look to it, enhanced by rolling green lawns and patches of colorful shrubbery.

  She noted the high stone wall that edged one side of the property, and the thick hedge of poplars on the other. “I’ll bet you never even see your neighbors,” she said.

  No one would be knocking on her door several times a day to borrow something or to ask if she could “mind the kids for an hour.”

  Adam looked alarmed. “No, I don’t. And if I come home and find you’ve arranged a getting-to-know-you party or any such thing, this marriage will be over.”

  The taxi driver’s eyes met Casey’s in the rearview mirror.

  “No neighbors,” she promised, putting a hand on her heart for effect. For the taxi driver’s benefit, and to Adam’s further alarm, she added, “Sweetheart.”

  Adam helped her out of the car while the driver retrieved their bags from the trunk. “I’ll show you around before I head to the office.”

  She preceded him through the front door into a two-story lobby, breathing in the smell of beeswax from the gleaming oak parquet floor. Adam deposited their bags at the foot of the staircase and directed her into the living room.

  Casey guessed the lobby and the living room between them were almost the size of her father’s whole house in Parkvale. Having just escaped her long-time role of cook and cleaner, she shuddered.

  Adam noticed. “Something wrong?”

  She made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the Persian rugs, classic furniture and eclectic artwork. “This place is beautiful, but it must be a nightmare to clean. You might want to think about that next time you’re looking for a wife. Any woman who took this on would have to be crazy. Or masochistic. Or...”

  Too late she recognized the warning in his eyes and the signal in the barely discernible tilt of his head.

  Casey turned and realized she’d come face-to-
face with his housekeeper. A gray-haired, gray-faced woman in an apron regarded her with pursed lips and open disapproval.

  “—or very well paid. Or a saint,” Casey concluded, with an apologetic smile she hoped would redeem her. There was no answering smile. How dumb of her, not to have guessed Adam would have a housekeeper. She stuck out a hand to the woman, who took it reluctantly.

  “I’m sorry,” Casey said. “I didn’t mean to insult you. The house looks wonderful. You obviously take pride in your work. I’m Casey Greene—Casey Carmichael.”

  “Selma Lowe,” the woman said. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Carmichael.”

  A barefaced lie, if ever Casey had heard one. “Please, Selma, call me Casey.”

  Going by her sucking-a-lemon lips, Selma didn’t take kindly to the suggestion.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Lowe, that will be all,” Adam said. “Don’t go upsetting her,” he warned Casey when the woman had gone. “She’s worked here for years and I don’t want to lose her. She’s the most organized woman in Memphis.”

  “I’ve never upset anyone in my life.” But it wasn’t worth arguing the merits of nice over organized, Casey decided as she followed Adam upstairs.

  He showed her to a guest bedroom with a colonial-style king-size bed covered by a hand-stitched gray-and-white quilt. The window shutters had been flung open to let in the morning sunlight. Casey longed to slip out of her shoes and curl her toes into the plush navy-blue carpet.

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable,” Adam said.

  “It’s lovely,” she assured him. “Where’s your room?”

  He pointed to a door across the landing.

  “Won’t Selma—Mrs. Lowe—think it odd we’re not sharing a room? Will she tell your stepmother?”

  “Mrs. Lowe and Eloise despise each other. And Mrs. Lowe is the soul of discretion.”

  “If only you could have married her,” Casey said brightly. More seriously, she added, “If she needs any help, or if you do, I’d be happy to—”

  “That’s exactly what I don’t need,” he said. “I don’t need anything from you at all, beyond helping convince Eloise. My home life is very well organized. I don’t want anything to change.”

  Once he was satisfied Casey knew her way around, he muttered something about going to work, and headed downstairs. Five minutes later, from her window, she saw a red Aston Martin DB9 sports car pass through the gates.

  She only knew what sort of car it was because Joe had always held it up as his dream set of wheels. Imagine conservative order-freak Adam Carmichael owning one. If that wasn’t sublimation of his teenage desire to race NASCAR, she would eat her Psychology 101 textbook.

  Back downstairs, she found a less formal living room, where the morning newspaper lay neatly folded on a side table. She picked it up.

  The headline jumped out at her: TV Couple’s Peabody Love Nest. She groaned and began to read the article, which was just as sensational as the headline. According to the reporter, “Memphis’s hottest couple, Adam and Casey Carmichael, spent the weekend closeted in their Romeo and Juliet Suite at the Peabody Hotel. They ordered in all their meals, including reputed aphrodisiacs champagne and oysters, say hotel staff, and unplugged the telephones. One employee described the Carmichaels as ‘obviously very much in love.’”

  Casey threw down the newspaper in disgust. “How much do they pay people to tell these lies?”

  “Did you say something, Mrs. Carmichael?”

  The silent approach of grim-faced Mrs. Lowe startled her, and Casey shrieked. The housekeeper bent to pick up the newspaper, and folded it back into shape with precise, sharp movements that Casey knew were designed to make her feel guilty.

  But she didn’t. In fact, she felt sorry for Mrs. Lowe. The poor woman must be worried that the new lady of the house would want to bring in her own staff. Casey wished she could tell the older woman to chill out, she’d be gone in a month. But Adam hadn’t said anything about dropping their pretense in front of the housekeeper.

  “I’m planning country fried steak with gravy for dinner, Mrs. Carmichael.”

  “Really?” Casey managed to bite back her distaste. She didn’t want to start off by disagreeing with Adam’s perfect housekeeper, but surely it would be even more offensive when she didn’t touch the fatty meal set before her tonight. “I don’t know, Selma—Mrs. Lowe. It’s such a hot day, do you think we could have something lighter? Maybe a chicken salad?”

  “As you wish, Mrs. Carmichael.” The woman glided from the room.

  Whew, culinary crisis averted.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “WHERE’S MY COUNTRY FRIED STEAK? THE GRAVY?” Adam asked as Mrs. Lowe set a plateful of leafy green stuff before him. Mrs. Lowe didn’t reply but as she left the room, her gaze flicked toward Casey. He might have guessed.

  Pretending he and Casey had a real marriage, which in the confines of their suite at the Peabody had seemed a brilliantly simple solution, now seemed fraught with unexpected complexity. All day at the office, when he should have been immersed in his work, he’d found his thoughts drifting to his honey-haired wife.

  “Mrs. Lowe offered to prepare steak, but I asked for a chicken salad instead,” Casey said. “I don’t like a heavy meal on such a hot evening.”

  “But I had a light lunch today, knowing it was my favorite for dinner.” What hope did he have of keeping her out of his thoughts, if he came home every night to find his life disrupted? “I told you I didn’t want changes around here.”

  “I’m sorry, I won’t interfere again.”

  His point made, Adam tackled the salad. It was delicious, as all Mrs. Lowe’s meals were, and he started to feel better. He could always fill up on bread.

  Prepared to be conciliatory, he said, “Are you missing out on your psychology classes, staying here?”

  She shook her head. “Summer vacation. I start again in September.”

  “So what did you do today?”

  Casey took a sip of her wine. “I read about you and me in the newspaper, saw the highlights of our wedding on the Channel Eight news and checked out which TV stations are showing Kiss the Bride this week—which are quite a few.”

  Adam made a mental note to tell the Channel Eight newsroom not to run any more stories about him and Casey. Then he remembered his strict policy of nonintervention in the news department. He sighed. “Did Eloise call?”

  “The phone rang several times, but I wasn’t sure if I should answer it. I think Mrs. Lowe took some messages.”

  “It’s okay to answer it,” he told her. “Did you do any work on your book?”

  “I don’t have it here with me,” she said. “I have a couple of articles due to the newspaper I freelance for, too. I’ll have to go back to Parkvale to fetch my files. Besides, I’ll need more clothes. I thought I might take a bus home tomorrow, then I’ll drive my car back here.”

  “A bus?” Adam thought about that as he chewed. “Why don’t you do a one-way car rental? It’ll be faster.”

  She hesitated, her fork halfway to her mouth. “I can’t afford that. The bus will be fine.”

  “I’ll pay for the rental.”

  Casey shook her head. “No thanks. Like you said, you don’t want someone needy.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know, but I don’t want to feel as if I’m taking advantage of you.” She grinned. “What would Sam Magill say?”

  “Forget Sam.” Adam watched her evident enjoyment of her meal. “If my wife is seen taking a bus long distance, people will talk.” He drummed his fingers on the table. This marriage was turning into a whole new set of obligations he didn’t need. “I’ll drive you to Parkvale myself. We’ll leave early in the morning.”

  She opened her mouth, and he said, “Don’t even think about offering to pay for the gas.”

  She closed it again.

  He might as well get all his obligations out of the way. “There’s one more thing.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cr
imson velvet jeweler’s box.

  Casey bit her lip. Surely he hadn’t gone out and bought her a ring?

  He opened it and she saw a gold wedding band, engraved with a delicate, swirling pattern.

  “This was my mother’s,” he said. “You’d better wear it while you’re here.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “We’re trying to make this marriage look real,” he interrupted. “You have to wear it.”

  Casey extended her left hand. She could have sworn that, despite his impatience, Adam hesitated before he slid the gold band onto her finger.

  His touch was warm as he held her hand for another moment, looking down at the ring. She couldn’t help feeling that in wearing it she was joined to Adam by some invisible bond that hadn’t been there a few minutes earlier.

  “I guess your Mom’s not around anymore,” Casey said.

  His expression became shuttered. “She died when I was ten years old. Just died in her sleep, no one knew why.”

  “How awful for you and your father.”

  Adam took his time finishing the last of his salad and she thought he wasn’t going to answer. But he pushed his plate aside, looked her in the eye and said, “My father didn’t give a damn. My mother loved him, but there was never a day in their life together when he acted as if he might love her back.”

  The raw pain in Adam’s voice shocked Casey. “Did he love you?”

  His black look said he resented the question, but maybe because he’d just put a ring on her finger, he answered it. “Dad loved the business.”

  She examined Adam’s mother’s ring, saddened that the woman who’d worn it before her had been unloved, at least by her husband. “You loved your Mom,” she said to Adam.

  “It wasn’t enough,” he said flatly. “She needed my dad, but it seemed he just didn’t have it in him to love people. Like an illness that wasn’t his fault.”

  Suddenly, Casey had an inkling about something. “What about Eloise?”

  Adam scowled. “When he met Eloise he became a different person. He was crazy about her.” His mouth tightened.

  “You were jealous of Eloise?”