Married by Mistake

by Abby Gaines

  “Aargh!” Casey thumped the steering wheel in frustration, and the movement released the tears she’d held in check for so long. She was weeping floods by the time Adam opened the door and helped her from the car.

  He held her against him, arms wrapped around her, shushing her gently, one hand stroking her head.

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s probably the battery.”

  “I got a new battery back in May.”

  “It’ll be the starter motor then. We can have it fixed by tomorrow.”

  “But I have to be in Dallas tonight,” she wailed, knowing she never would have cried about such a thing if she hadn’t been at the end of her tether.

  “Take my car.”

  She hiccupped. “I can’t take the Aston Martin.”

  “Of course you can,” he said calmly. He pulled his keys from his pocket and pressed the remote control. The vehicle beeped obediently as the doors unlocked. “You have to get to Dallas and sell that book.”

  While Casey wiped her tears and blew her nose, Adam unloaded the bags from her trunk and put them in his. He handed her the keys. “Come back after the conference and we’ll do a swap,” he said. With sudden urgency he added, “Casey, I don’t want us to part like this.”

  She summoned a faint smile as she thanked him for the keys and climbed into the car. But about their relationship, there was nothing left to say.

  She drove off with a crunching of the unfamiliar stick shift that would have made a lesser man wince.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EVER SINCE CASEY HAD COME into his life, nothing had gone according to plan. Things hadn’t gone wrong, exactly, Adam acknowledged, but if right meant “as planned,” then they hadn’t gone right, either.

  It certainly wasn’t right that he should be sitting in Casey’s non-air-conditioned car in rush hour traffic on a stinking hot evening a week after she’d left. Why was he still driving this heap of scrap iron, of which the most valuable part was the new starter motor he’d bought earlier this week?

  He could have taken a cab to the office each day. Instead, however unwillingly, he squeezed into the Fiesta and suffered the ignominy of being seen in a car sporting a Honk If You Think I’m Sexy bumper sticker, which had proven impossible to remove—and boy, had he tried. And all this because the car smelled, somehow, of Casey.

  He scowled at the attractive woman in the BMW alongside, who had honked several times. That was another thing. There was no such thing as simple enjoyment of the opposite sex anymore. Adam used to admire the scenery as much as the next man, but these days, it seemed the sole purpose of the female species was to remind him of Casey.

  If she and her pop psychology were right—that he was sublimating his wild side by driving an Aston Martin—what did it mean that he’d given her his precious car to drive? And that he hadn’t worried about it while it was gone? Did that mean he was emasculated?

  Don’t go there.

  Adam was only too aware that he teetered on the brink of something he’d assiduously avoided his whole life. At least, he hoped he was still on the brink—that he hadn’t yet fallen in the kind of love that turned a guy’s world upside down and clouded his logic. The kind that made him believe in preposterous happy endings that in reality just didn’t happen. Or if they did they didn’t last and you ended up like Eloise, fixated on the past. Surely it wasn’t too late to get back to his orderly and—he was proud to admit it—predictable life?

  Only it wasn’t proving that easy. He’d been distracted in the office, impatient with his staff and less than polite to his stepmother. What really bugged him was that Eloise didn’t even take offense, just smirked every time he grunted or snapped.

  But what irked him most of all was Casey’s parting gift. She’d phoned Mrs. Lowe and begged the housekeeper to come back to work for Adam. And the grumpy old bat was driving him nuts. How could he ever have thought she was a treasure?

  Casey’s writing conference would be finished by now, and she should have returned his Aston Martin. But he didn’t want to call her cell phone, for fear that, hearing her voice, he might give in to the seductive urge to stop obsessing about the business, remarry Casey and just enjoy life. Because what kind of sense did that make?

  And Eloise had rolled her eyes when he’d asked her to help get his car back, even though he knew she was still in contact with Casey.

  He needed a distraction from his distraction. There was probably a psychological term for it; he must ask—

  Cancel that.

  By the time he got home, Adam was hot, uncomfortable and sick of being honked at. Did the women of Memphis have nothing better to do? In a fit of pique, he hurled Casey’s car keys into the garden, where they sank out of sight into a yew hedge. Ha! Temptation removed. Now he’d have no choice but to take a cab to work.

  Pleased that he’d taken the first step toward banishing Casey from his head, Adam checked the answering machine. Instead of deleting all the messages from women who’d called to tell him how sorry they were to read of his annulment in the newspaper this week, he called a couple back and arranged to meet for a drink over the next few evenings. No more sitting around the empty house.

  And he’d better sort out his costume for Eloise’s birthday party, which was a masked ball in the traditional style of her youth. The party wasn’t for a couple of months, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

  Adam whistled cheerfully as he signed on to the Internet and began surfing the Web sites of costume shops. It was a good five minutes before he realized he was whistling “You Are My Sunshine.”

  Two months later

  “YOU MUST HAVE SOMETHING more affirming,” Casey pleaded down the line to the help desk at the phone company. “You Are My Sunshine” simply wasn’t powerful enough to counteract the funk she’d slid into since the annulment.

  “How about ‘Blue Eyes’ by Elton John?” the girl on the other end suggested.

  “No!” Casey took a deep breath. “Do you have that old Split Enz tune ‘I Hope I Never Have to See You Again’?”

  “It doesn’t sound very affirming,” she said doubtfully, “but I’ll check.”

  They didn’t have it, and Casey ended up settling for “Love Is a Battlefield.” She gave her credit card number and got the code to download the new ring tone. She’d barely finished the process when her phone rang.

  “Eloise.” She greeted the older woman with genuine pleasure. “How are you?”

  Eloise had called to remind her Casey had agreed to dine with her tonight. “I can’t wait to see you, dear,” she said. “It seems so long since we had a good chat.”

  Guilt pricked at Casey. She’d been so busy working on her new book that she frequently lost track of time, shut away in the studio apartment she’d leased near the center of Memphis. In the evenings and on weekends, she was tutoring several kids in English. She hadn’t had much time for Eloise.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” she said. She ended the call, pleased she’d stuck to her resolution of not asking Eloise about Adam.

  Not that she needed to ask. She’d never heard of Adam Carmichael before she married him, but now she couldn’t escape him. In the first few weeks after their annulment, which had been front-page news for only one day, his name had appeared regularly in the business section, or in support of some charity. She shuddered as she recalled the photo she’d seen of him with a gorgeous, dark-haired woman on his arm.

  Casey didn’t want to know how Adam was getting along without her. It was easier to quit reading the newspaper. Besides, she was too busy to keep up with the Memphis gossip. She had sold her first book—an editor from the conference had picked it up—and Casey was making progress on her second.

  She went back to Parkvale most Sundays to visit Karen and the baby. She didn’t usually see her dad, because he’d started dating a woman in the next town and had taken up driving again.

  On the subject of driving... Casey peered over her computer screen to a window of
her apartment, and checked that Adam’s car was still parked in the street below. She was terrified it would be stolen, yet couldn’t bring herself to return it to him. She’d hoped it would bring him back to her, however briefly. But it seemed Adam was willing to relinquish his beloved car rather than speak to Casey again.

  She sighed. What was the point of postponing the inevitable? She would leave the Aston Martin at Eloise’s tonight and take the bus home. Adam could get the Fiesta back to her however he chose. She would take the car for one last spin, to lunch with Brodie-Ann, who’d taken a day off work and should arrive in Memphis any minute.

  When Brodie-Ann arrived, they drove to the park.

  “You sure get a lot of attention in this car,” her friend commented, as yet another man honked his horn at Casey, then gave her a thumbs-up when she looked in her rearview mirror.

  “I don’t miss my Honk If You Think I’m Sexy bumper sticker,” Casey agreed as she gunned the engine and took off from the lights, leaving the car’s latest admirer to eat her dust. She’d attracted more male attention in the past two months than she had in the previous twenty-five years. She would miss roaring around town in this beast.

  Not that she needed the car as an ego boost. She’d had plenty of offers of dates, from men who hadn’t even seen the Aston Martin. No, these days her confidence ran deeper than affirmations, deeper than how many men asked her out, deeper than the dubious satisfaction that came with believing others couldn’t cope without her.

  Thanks to Adam.

  In the time she’d spent with him—and, ironically, through the inept marriage proposal that had ended their relationship—he’d taught her she could survive, and thrive, without being someone else’s crutch. That life’s rewards were about taking as well as about giving. That settling for what she could get wouldn’t make her happy, but following her passion would. Things she’d suspected before, but never had the courage to test.

  When they arrived at the park, Casey and Brodie-Ann sprawled on the grass with their picnic lunch. It was a bittersweet reminder of that picnic Casey and Adam had enjoyed. And it was only a hop, skip and a jump from there to thinking about the one night they’d spent together. Casey had half hoped that, against all odds, she might have conceived Adam’s child that night.

  She hadn’t.

  So here she was, oozing misery, while Brodie-Ann couldn’t stop chirping about how wonderful Steve was, how incredible married life was. Her friend tapped her soda bottle against Casey’s in a toast. “Here’s to three months of wedded bliss.”

  “Happy anniversary,” Casey said gloomily.

  “You were right. Steve and I are made for each other.” Brodie-Ann grinned. “Things have been great since I figured out how that give-and-take stuff works.”

  She scrutinized Casey. “Speaking of give and take, have you seen Adam lately? As in, he gave you his Aston Martin and you took it?”

  Casey shook her head. “I keep thinking he’ll come and demand it back.”

  She didn’t state the obvious. That Adam was so anxious to avoid her, not even his precious car would bring him to her.

  Brodie-Ann patted her shoulder. “You’re doing great, Casey. Hang in there.”

  Casey nodded. Things were good. She told herself that every day. She had a book contract; she was getting by. And she no longer depended on people being unable to cope without her.

  The only goal she’d failed to achieve was the no-strings love. Because Adam had come with as many strings as every other person Casey loved.

  * * *

  AT SIX O’CLOCK, Casey drove to Eloise’s house. She climbed out of the Aston Martin and locked it for the last time, then mounted the steps to the porch.

  Eloise opened the front door.

  “Come in, dear.” She tugged Casey inside, then quickly shut the door behind her.

  “Is something wrong?” Casey looked around. “Eloise, what’s going on?”

  The foyer was festooned with streamers and flowers. A uniformed waiter hurried past her carrying a silver tray stacked with wineglasses. Down the wide corridor to the back of the house, Casey could see doors flung wide to the garden and—was that a marquee?

  “Eloise, tell me.”

  The older woman’s eyes danced above her guilty smile. “Just a little party, dearest. For my birthday.”

  “A little party?”

  “Fewer than three hundred guests, I promise you. Much smaller than last year.” She took her hand. “I’m sorry, Casey. I so wanted you to be here, and thought you wouldn’t come if I told you.”

  “I suppose Adam’s coming?” Casey grumbled.

  “Of course. He hasn’t been happy lately, and I thought a party might cheer him up.” Eloise’s eyes didn’t meet Casey’s as she added, “I don’t recall if I told him you’d be here.”

  Casey shook her head, indicating any attempt to match her and Adam up again would be futile, but didn’t comment. Eloise knew as well as she did that a party was the last thing Adam would want if he was under stress. Casey told herself that why he wasn’t looking happy wasn’t her business. He probably missed his car.

  She glanced down at her slightly rumpled cotton shift. It had seemed all right for a casual dinner with Eloise. “I’m not dressed for a party.”

  Eloise accepted that as agreement that Casey would stay. She smiled as she squeezed Casey’s fingers. “I know, dear, and I hope you won’t mind that I took the liberty of buying you something. A birthday present from me to you.”

  Casey couldn’t help laughing. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” She allowed Eloise to lead her upstairs to a guest bedroom.

  “Oh.” She was left almost speechless by the dress she found there—a strapless, midnight-blue silk creation that she knew just by looking would fit perfectly. And it did, hugging her curves as if made for her.

  “My hairdresser is waiting to do your hair,” Eloise said. “And I bought you this.” From a box on the bed she lifted out a mask, elaborately decorated with gold feathers and blue ribbons.

  “It’s a masked ball, darling,” she said, seeing Casey’s confusion.

  A sinking sensation hit Casey. Surely Eloise wouldn’t... “Tell me this isn’t a bridefest,” she demanded.

  Eloise snickered. “That’s a one-sided way of looking at it. There are several very eligible men coming tonight. Think of it as a groomfest.”

  * * *

  “YOU WIN, CASEY.”

  Alone in the silence of his office, Adam found the words easier to say than he’d expected. Instead of feeling as if he’d lost control, anticipation thrummed through his veins. Anything might be possible when he had Casey by his side....

  Except she wasn’t by his side. Because he had let her go.

  Smart, Adam. Very smart.

  He tucked the phone between shoulder and chin so he could lift a sleeve and look at his watch. Seven o’clock. His stepmother’s party would be starting right about now. He didn’t want to go—he didn’t want to go anywhere ever again—without Casey.

  “Did you say something?” Sam had been hemming and hawing on the other end of the line as he shuffled through his papers, searching for the relevant section to read to him.

  Adam shook his head, though of course Sam couldn’t see that. “Just thinking aloud,” he said. He could picture the lawyer pursing his lips.

  “Strikes me you’ve done too much thinking lately,” Sam muttered. “This was one crazy idea. I’m amazed the judge even agreed to it. Wouldn’t you be better just to move on?”

  Adam grinned, ridiculously light-headed. “That’s your professional opinion, is it?”

  “For what it’s worth.” Sam clearly doubted his advice would be followed. “Still, what’s done is done. Just don’t expect to be able to undo it so easily.”

  “I won’t be undoing it,” Adam said confidently. He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk in a way he never did. “Are you going to Eloise’s party?”

  There was a pause a
t the other end. “She didn’t invite me. Which in itself is significant, don’t you think?”

  “Uh, maybe,” Adam said.

  “I’m going anyway.”

  “You’re gate crashing?” Sam never did things like that. No one did things like that to Eloise.

  “I believe that is the vernacular term for it,” Sam said stuffily.

  “Wow.” Adam was impressed. “I guess I’ll see you there.”

  He ended the call and changed into the tuxedo he planned to wear. But instead of heading to Eloise’s house, he drove the company car he was using, while he figured out what to do about the Aston Martin, toward the leafy suburb where Casey had her studio apartment.

  Repeatedly pressing her doorbell brought no response. Adam cursed. He’d been so buoyed up by the thought of seeing her, by what he had to tell her, he could hardly believe she wasn’t at home. No sign of her car—his car—either.

  He would wait.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SAM CLAMBERED OUT OF the taxi at Eloise’s house, then took a moment to adjust his costume. Damned uncomfortable getup. The breeches were tight enough to pose a permanent risk to a man’s ability to demonstrate his passion, the coat sleeves ended in a froth of lace around his wrists, and as for the color... Sam had never worn peacock-blue in his life and, after tonight, he never would again. He’d drawn the line at the wig. He was Prince Charming, not Prince Ridiculous.

  He looked at his watch through the slits in his mask. Eight-thirty. The party would be in full swing. He would make a dramatic entrance, say his piece, claim his prize. Then endure a few more hours in this costume.

  He picked up the cushion he’d placed on the step while he straightened his outfit. It took two hands to carry the blasted thing; the glass slipper was attached by discreet threads, but wobbled unromantically if he didn’t grip it right.

  Sam blew out a calming breath. Wearing this silly costume was a small price to pay if he got what he wanted. He reminded himself how Eloise had responded to his kiss at that barbecue lunch—she’d been even more shocked than he was at her passion. He didn’t doubt that was why she hadn’t invited him tonight. She was running scared, though she might not know it.