Married by Mistake

by Abby Gaines

  Adam’s eyebrows shot up when he saw her. “I thought we said...”

  Casey was tempted to shout out that she had evidence Adam’s dad wasn’t crazy. But it occurred to her that some of the people milling around the hallway were likely journalists who’d enjoy provoking a discussion about the sanity of one of Memphis’s benefactors. So she pulled Adam and a bemused Sam into a huddle.

  She told them how Eloise had called the psychiatrist who’d tested James after his stroke, and how the man was certain James was fully competent.

  “We knew that,” Sam said. “What matters is James’s state of mind when he wrote his will.”

  Casey delivered her pièce de résistance. “Eloise told me that after the stroke, she asked James to change his will. He had his lawyer bring it in so he could review it. In the end, he decided he was happy with it as it was. Thanks to the psychiatric tests he’d just had, we know the will reflects the thinking of a sane man.”

  “We do,” Sam agreed, surprised but pleased. “But surely if we knew this...”

  “Eloise forgot about James reviewing the will until she mentioned it to me on Monday,” Casey said, “and even then she didn’t make the link between that and the psych tests.”

  Adam grabbed Casey by the upper arms. “You,” he said, “are incredible.” Then he kissed her, right there. Not quite the bone-shaking kiss they’d shared this morning, but with enough heat to cause Henry to clear his throat across the hall.

  By the time they surfaced for air, Sam was in close discussions with the other side’s legal team and Eloise was strolling through the courthouse doors with a spring in her step more suited to a garden party.

  Five minutes later, a triumphant Sam announced that Anna May had conceded Casey’s evidence outweighed anything she could present to the judge today. The hearing would be cancelled. Even Anna May’s threat that they hadn’t heard the last of this couldn’t dampen their triumph.

  “That’s marvelous, Sam,” Eloise said, laying a palm on his arm. When she realized what she’d done, her eyes widened. But before she could whip her hand away, Sam covered it with his own.

  “How about we adjourn to the café next door for a celebratory coffee?” he said. “Maybe even one with caffeine, Eloise, if your blood pressure is up to it.”

  She stiffened, and Casey braced herself for the usual retort that would singe Sam’s ego. But for once, he appeared to have realized exactly how he sounded, for he darted a look of apology at Eloise. “On second thought, I bow to your superior knowledge in these matters. You choose.”

  It was obvious Eloise liked that. A smile played at the corners of her mouth.

  “Coffee, my foot,” she said. “It’s gone ten o’clock. This calls for champagne.”

  To his credit, Sam refrained from expressing any concern about the state of Eloise’s liver, or about the wisdom of buying champagne when an American sparkling wine would be better value for money. Instead he bowed, a gesture made awkward by the fact that he wouldn’t relinquish his grip on Eloise’s hand, and escorted her out the door.

  Adam tucked Casey’s hand through his own arm as they left the building. “Thanks,” he said. “What you did today went way beyond our agreement. I owe you.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WHEN THE PHONE RANG at some unearthly hour on Saturday morning, Casey pulled her pillow over her head to block out the noise.

  But Adam’s shout pierced her feather-and-cotton shelter. He thumped on the door of her bedroom, and before she could tell him to wait, in he stormed.

  He was brandishing the morning newspaper. “Eloise called to say we should take a look at this.”

  Casey sat up in bed and tried to ignore the fact that his white terry-cloth robe hung open to reveal his bare chest—a frankly yummy chest, its muscled firmness accentuated by just the right amount of dark, curling hair—and black boxers sitting snugly on his hips.

  She wasn’t doing a very good job of ignoring it—he had to clear his throat to get her attention. The appreciation wasn’t all one-sided, Casey realized as she followed the direction of his gaze and looked down at her nightdress. The thin straps had slipped off her shoulders, and the way she was leaning forward didn’t leave anything to the imagination.

  Casey grimaced and tugged her nightie back into place before she took the paper and read the headline: TV Couple’s Wedding a Sham.

  “Oh no!” A wedding photo—of her and Adam kissing—had pride of place on the front page. Around it were smaller photos of the two of them, taken, if she wasn’t wrong, right here in this house. “How did they—?” The photo at the bottom answered the question. It was their erstwhile housekeeper, Sue Mason. Only the picture was captioned, “Sue O’Connor, undercover journalist.”

  “How bad is it?” Casey couldn’t bear to read the words that laid open their private lives—their private lies—to the world.

  “About what you’d expect.” Adam scanned the article for what he presumably considered a choice extract, and read aloud. “‘Adam and Casey Carmichael, a doting couple in the public eye, sleep in separate bedrooms and seldom exchange more than the merest courtesies.’”

  “That’s not true,” Casey protested. “I mean, the bedroom part is, but how dare she say you’re courteous?”

  “Do you think this is funny?” he said.

  She shook her head. “If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.” Her voice cracked on the last word. She squeezed her eyes shut, picturing her family reading this stuff and knowing the truth.

  “It’s not all bad,” Adam soothed her. “Listen to this. ‘Casey Carmichael is a kind and considerate employer, who always has a smile on her face. But one senses that beneath the vibrant facade—’” He stopped.

  “What does it say?”

  “Uh, nothing, it’s just—”

  Casey snatched the newspaper from him and quickly found where he’d left off. “‘One senses that beneath the vibrant facade is a woman hurt by her husband’s indifference.’” She stared at Adam. “I don’t know if that’s worse for me or for you.”

  “For you,” he said immediately. “It makes you sound pathetic.”

  “It makes you sound nasty,” she pointed out. “I’d rather be pathetic than nasty.”

  “But any self-respecting man would rather be nasty than pathetic.”

  “That explains a lot,” she muttered. She pushed her quilt aside and climbed out of bed. On the way to fetch her robe, she detoured to the window to open the shutters.

  “Casey, don’t.” Adam rushed to stop her, but it was too late.

  She froze. Adam must have left the gates open last night because the front garden was a seething mass of journalists. When the crowd saw her and Adam at the window, the photographers raised their cameras and began snapping away.

  * * *

  BY BREAKFAST TIME Sunday, Adam was starting to feel as if they were on a rerun of their honeymoon. Only this time around, even though they had a whole house to share, being shut in with Casey was even greater torment.

  He sighed. Was it too much to hope that something more newsworthy had happened in Memphis overnight to drag the media away from his front yard?

  He turned from the toaster to ask, “How are the headlines today?”

  Casey read from the front page of the Sunday paper. “‘Love or Lies? Carmichaels in hiding.’” She showed him the picture—of her in her nightgown, openmouthed at the bedroom window, with Adam behind her, his expression dark. “This paper claims the other guys got it wrong, judging by the fact that we appeared at the same window together, halfclothed.”

  “They just wish they’d thought of coming in undercover themselves.” Adam took the opportunity to inhale Casey’s fresh, morning fragrance as he stepped closer to scan the article. He grimaced at the rampant speculations it contained. “I wish these people had something better to do. We need a real disaster the press can focus on, something else to fill the front pages.”

  “Earthquake? Political assassination?” Casey suggested he
lpfully.

  “I didn’t say I wanted anyone to die. Some fraudster conning old ladies out of their fortunes would do. He could start with Eloise.”

  “Adam! You don’t want that to happen. You know you’d feel obliged to come to her rescue.”

  “Very funny.” Not only would he feel obliged to help Eloise, these days he’d actually want to. Adam turned back to the toaster. “How do you like your toast?”

  “Toasted,” Casey said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means however it comes. How many ways are there to have toast?”

  “There’s well done, medium and light,” he said. “But pardon me for asking.”

  He gathered from her humph that she’d never heard such a dumb question. That’s what a guy got when he tried to be considerate. Life was so much easier before he’d started...liking Casey.

  “We need a strategy,” he said.

  “Are you still talking about toast?” she asked ominously.

  “I’m talking about proving our marriage is genuine.”

  “You can’t prove something that’s not true,” she objected.

  “If you think I’m going to let all of Memphis believe I’m not capable of making my wife happy—”

  “Didn’t you say it’s cool to be nasty?”

  “I said it’s better than being pathetic. But if they’re going to imply it’s my fault you and I aren’t sleeping together...”

  She laughed out loud. “This all comes down to your masculine pride. Memphis’s most eligible bachelor, unable to please his wife.”

  Show Adam the man who wouldn’t take that as a challenge, and he’d show you someone truly pathetic. And they’d already established that wasn’t him.

  He advanced on her.

  “Adam, put that knife down,” Casey warned him, a wicked look in her eyes. He realized he was still carrying the butter-smeared implement, and tossed it onto the counter. She stepped backward, but soon came up against the fridge.

  Adam put a hand on either side of her, effectively pinning her in position.

  “I’ll scream,” she said. “The journalists outside will hear.”

  “I locked the gates last night,” he reminded her. “There’s no one here but you and your nasty husband.”

  He cut off her next words by pressing his mouth to hers. There was a moment of muffled protest, then the familiar heat rose between them and Casey was returning his kisses as fast as he could supply them. The tautness of her breasts through the thin cotton of her sundress, pressing against his chest, reminded Adam of that first day they’d met, when she’d run right into him.

  She pulled away, but not before he’d completed a thorough exploration of her mouth. “Okay,” she gasped. “I’ll put out a statement to the media saying you’re quite capable of satisfying me.”

  “But you don’t know that,” he said. “In fact, this whole thing with the housekeeper is your fault. If we’d been sleeping together—as I suggested,” he pointed out virtuously, “she wouldn’t have had any ammunition for her article.”

  “I’m not going to sleep with you just in case every housekeeper we hire turns out to be a spy.”

  “So much for your dedication to our cause,” he said. “Let’s get back to my strategy, since I at least am willing to prevent our good work so far from being ruined. I think Eloise is okay about these stories. I told her we were in separate bedrooms while the journalist was here because you moved out of our room in a fit of paranoid jealousy over one of my past relationships.”

  Casey squealed in outrage. “You and your ego. Why couldn’t you be the one who was jealous about me?”

  “Eloise knows I’m not the jealous type,” he said smugly. “Let’s not split hairs. We need to ramp up our marriage for everyone else to see.”

  “Ramp it up,” she echoed.

  “There’s a charity gala on Thursday night,” he said. “I’m one of the patrons, so I’ll be conspicuous. If you go with me, we’ll both be conspicuous.” She looked puzzled. “We’ll be conspicuously happy.”

  “Okay...” she said doubtfully.

  “And we’ll invite your family to stay next weekend.”

  Casey groaned, knowing he was right. “I guess we should. Dad sounded suspicious about that article when he called yesterday, and I think he and Karen are making progress on getting their lives together. I wouldn’t want to derail that.”

  She was struck with a brain wave. “How about we invite your family—all the stockholders in Carmichael Broadcasting—for lunch next Sunday?”

  Adam looked less than enthusiastic about having to see his relatives on a weekend, but Casey persisted. “It can’t hurt to mend some fences, Adam. Whatever the outcome of this court battle, you’ll still have to work with Henry and Anna May. And if I introduce your family to mine, my folks will be even more convinced.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” he conceded. “Maybe a barbecue. We can keep it casual.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “There’s one more thing,” Adam said. “We’ll be sharing a room when your family is here. Don’t you think it’s time you and I made love?”

  It was the first time he’d referred to it as “love,” instead of sex or sleeping together. Casey sagged into her seat, put a hand to her stomach as if she could push down the heat that had pooled there. “Absolutely not,” she managed to reply.

  “It’s going to happen, Casey,” he said. “Start counting down.”

  * * *

  ADAM HAD FLAT-OUT IGNORED Casey when she insisted she would buy her own clothes for the charity gala, and had sent Eloise to shepherd her around the best Memphis boutiques in search of the perfect dress. And what a dress it was.

  The halter neckline of the lime-green satin gown flattered her bosom, the ankle-length slim skirt hugged her hips, and high-heeled black sandals gave her a seductive sway when she walked.

  Not that Casey would be seducing anyone tonight, she told her reflection. But she wanted to look as if she was at least capable of seducing her husband. Adam’s wasn’t the only ego to have taken a hit with Saturday’s newspaper article.

  “You look great,” Adam said when she met him downstairs. “How about you wear that on Saturday night?”

  “Why on Saturday?”

  “When we make love,” he said, “I want to take that dress off you.”

  Her face flamed. “I told you, we are not going to make love.”

  He tsked. “Are you sure you’re a pushover?” he said. “Because I’m not seeing it.”

  Casey beamed. He couldn’t have paid her a nicer compliment.

  Determined to defeat the gossipmongers, she held her head high and her husband’s arm tight as she and Adam entered the restaurant for the gala.

  There were probably a hundred and fifty people there, and Adam had to talk with many of them. Casey looked around for Eloise and found her in the middle of a group of elegantly dressed women.

  “Casey, my dear.” Eloise kissed her cheek, then introduced her to the others. It seemed Casey had interrupted a discussion about a controversial painting by Memphis artist Kevin Mallory, which had won a national award.

  “It’s gobbledygook,” one woman said. “A mishmash of colors, lines that go nowhere...what’s it supposed to be?”

  “It is mystifying,” Eloise agreed. “But I find it not so much gobbledygook as—”

  “Intriguing,” said Sam Magill from behind her, once again startling Eloise. The women willingly widened their circle to include this unattached male. “I can’t say I get what Mallory’s trying to do, but you look at those colors—the depth—and it takes your breath away.”

  Sam had the women’s rapt attention. He did look rather dashing, Eloise conceded, in a tuxedo that emphasized that he’d kept his shape. Really, some of those ladies were too silly, fluttering their eyelashes, flashing coy smiles that would have been more appropriate at a high school prom.

  Eloise inched closer to him, in case the women were making hi
m uncomfortable. But Sam didn’t seem to mind the attention. He gave his views politely, allowed others to express theirs uninterrupted. That look of intelligent interest in his gray eyes was rather appealing....

  Sam turned and caught her staring at him. His eyebrows rose a fraction. Eloise stepped away, and the movement drew his gaze to her new, high-heeled black sandals, which she knew flattered her ankles.

  Sam’s eyes lingered there a moment, then he said, “As always, you have excellent taste in shoes, Eloise.”

  She put her hands to her cheeks to cool the heat she could feel there, then turned to Casey. “My dear, you must let me introduce you to one of my dearest friends. Just over there...”

  Casey managed to suppress a smile, but couldn’t help shooting a look of encouragement at Sam as she was led away.

  They hadn’t gone far when Eloise stopped and gazed around the room.

  “One of your dearest friends?” Casey prompted her.

  Eloise blushed. “Perhaps I was mistaken. I don’t see her now.”

  “We could go back to the others,” Casey

  teased her.

  “There’s Adam’s friend Dave Dubois, let’s go and chat with him.”

  It was the first time Casey had seen Dave since he’d officiated at her wedding. She knew Adam had confided in him about the true state of their marriage, but he greeted her like an old friend, with an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek. Eloise got the same treatment. The older woman laughed, patted his hand, then had to excuse herself when someone summoned her.

  “You look radiant,” Dave told Casey, all extravagant charm.

  “That sounded almost as convincing as your marriage celebrant impersonation.”

  He wagged a finger at her. “That was no impersonation, Mrs. Carmichael, and you have the husband to prove it.”

  “Thanks,” she said dryly.

  Dave inclined his head toward Adam, talking with the mayor of Memphis on the other side of the room. “He’s more relaxed than I’ve seen him in a long time. I’d say marriage agrees with him.”