by Renee Ryan
Reese’s eyes never left her face. “Did she write something that upset you?”
Her answer came immediately. “Yes.” She shook her head. “I mean, no. Not really.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, he took a step away from her. The distance between them was no more than a few feet. It felt like a gaping, impossibly large chasm that could never be breached.
Callie sighed. How appropriate they were having this conversation at the theater. “Fanny claims she broke your engagement because she was merely playing a role with you and couldn’t be sure who she really was beneath the facade.”
“That’s what she told me, as well, when we spoke last.”
Why didn’t he appear more upset? Why did he seem detached, indifferent even?
“Don’t you want to know what she else said?”
“No, Callie, I’m not curious in the least.” He held her gaze with unwavering resolve. “I’m quite comfortable with the way Fanny and I left things between us.”
“You seem sincere.”
He held her gaze for several more heartbeats, some silent message in his eyes. “I am, very.”
Okay. “About your bride hunt...”
He took a deep breath. “What about it?”
She looked over her shoulder, assured herself the adjoining theater boxes were completely empty before continuing. “I have come up with several names I wish to run by you.”
His expression cooled. “Perhaps we should sit down for this.”
“If you wish.”
They returned to the plush velvet seats they’d left only moments before. As Callie settled into her own chair and waited for Reese to follow suit, she looked out across the auditorium to the box she’d occupied with Mrs. Singletary a few weeks ago.
So much had changed since then.
What had started out as infatuation for a man she only knew as her sister’s ex-fiancé was building into something more, something stronger and lasting. Callie was beginning to understand Reese on a whole new level.
He was more than a brilliant attorney, more than a man of unquestionable integrity. He was kind and loyal, a man who worked too hard but found time to play baseball with orphans.
He deserved happiness. If not with Fanny, then with the woman of his own choosing.
Callie would no longer hinder the process. She would find him the perfect bride. Fanny had made her decision. She’d had her chance and had thrown it away. Callie was through protecting her interests where Reese was concerned.
“I think you should consider Violet Danbury.” The twenty-year-old met all of his requirements, on both his lists.
“No.”
“She is perfectly suitable,” Callie argued.
“She is named after a flower.” He spoke as though that was reason enough to cross her off his list.
Callie blinked at him, confused. “Does that mean you won’t consider Lily Manchester, either?”
“No flower names. They’re ridiculous.”
He was actually rejecting two perfectly suitably women because they were named after flowers? After also refusing to consider women who names began with P?
Why was he being so difficult?
Callie’s breath backed up in her throat.
Was it possible that Reese was intentionally sabotaging the process? He winked at her. Oh, my.
She stared into those smiling eyes, eyes full of silent affection directed at her. Hope spread to the darkest corners of her soul. Would he, possibly, maybe, consider Callie a suitable candidate?
Oh, please, Lord. Please.
As soon as she lifted up the silent prayer she caught sight of Simon’s photograph on the playbill. Reality slammed into her. Callie was many things. Suitable she was not.
Chapter Fifteen
Callie endured the following morning of dress fittings with a philosophical mind-set. Four times, she stretched out her arms and held perfectly still while Mrs. Singletary’s personal seamstress draped and pinned fabric over her.
But, really, what did it matter if Callie wore fashionable gowns or tattered rags? Who would ever care if her hairstyle was copied out of current magazines or pulled tightly against her head in a severe bun?
Her future was set. Her foolish mistake with Simon would forever cast a shadow over the rest of her life. She slumped forward.
“Stand up straight, miss.” The dressmaker, a small woman with a beak nose and rust-colored hair, scolded her in a thick Irish brogue. “Or we will be at this all day.”
It was a sufficiently terrifying threat. They’d been at this for what felt like hours already.
Callie dutifully stiffened her spine and stared straight ahead, feeling more like a doll than ever before. Dressed up, paraded out at parties, manipulated in every direction, then randomly discarded.
Mutiny swelled at the apropos metaphor for her life. She was worthy of more, so much more. She’d made a mistake. One. Mistake. She wasn’t alone in that, the Bible even taught that all fall short of the glory of God.
Her past did not have to define her future. She was a child of God, forgiven and loved.
She’d been betrayed by a fast-talking, charming actor trained in playing a role and deceiving others. She could either spend the rest of her life feeling shame over her lapse in good judgment, or accept the Lord’s mercy.
The past was the past. The future, hers for the taking.
Why couldn’t she reach for what she wanted? For whom she wanted?
An image of chocolate-brown eyes, broad shoulders and attractive, sculpted features came to mind. Her heart gave several hard, thick beats. Reese. Oh, Reese.
A wistful sigh escaped her lips.
“Did you say something, dear?”
“No, ma’am.” Callie caught Mrs. Singletary’s gaze in the mirror. “Just deep in thought.”
“Ah. I completely understand.” The widow picked up her cat and cuddled the animal close. “More times than not, I have found an evening at the theater often calls for reflection the following morning.”
Refusing to give anything away, Callie schooled her features into a bland expression. “Very insightful.”
“Yes, yes. Now, let me see where we are.” Stroking Lady Macbeth’s head, the widow circled around Callie. “Excellent work, Mrs. O’Leary. That particular shade of blue suits my companion quite well.”
“I thought it might.” The dressmaker tucked a piece of fabric at Callie’s waist, pinned it into place and then stepped back to study her handiwork. “Perfect.”
The widow agreed. “When can we expect the finished garments?”
“This one will be ready by the end of the week, the others within two more.”
Nodding in satisfaction, the widow captured Callie’s gaze in the mirror once again. “You have been very patient today. When we are through here, I will treat you to lunch at the Hotel Dupree.”
Callie would rather stay at home and rest. Her muscles ached from holding them in stiff, awkward poses. But she’d never been a patron at the restaurant where she’d once worked. It would be nice to see the other side. “I’d very much enjoy accompanying you, Mrs. Singletary.”
“Excellent.”
An hour later, dressed in another of Mrs. Singletary’s castoffs, this one a gold sateen with blue-and-green trim, Callie followed her employer to a table in the Hotel Dupree dining room. Settling in her seat, she took in the elegant decor, ran her fingers over the fine china and silver place settings.
She’d barely set her napkin in her lap when Jonathon Hawkins joined them at the table. He greeted Mrs. Singletary first, then turned his smile onto Callie. “Miss Mitchell, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“And you, as well.” To her surprise, Callie meant every word. She’d half expected to feel animosity t
oward the man. But the anger simply wasn’t there anymore. Mr. Hawkins had merely offered Fanny a job in another city, and only after she’d broken off her engagement.
“I have taken it upon myself to order for the three of us,” he said, dividing his attention between Callie and Mrs. Singletary. “My chef makes a memorable sea bass, as I’m sure Miss Mitchell can attest.”
“Indeed, he does.”
“Well, then, I bow to your expert opinions,” Mrs. Singletary said. “We shall indulge in the sea bass today.”
After a few more pleasantries, the widow and Mr. Hawkins proceeded to discuss the new decor of the restaurant, which segued into other changes he had in mind for the hotel.
Apparently, Callie had been invited to a business luncheon, where she understood only a third of the terms. When the conversation turned to types of lumber best suited for crown molding, she decided to take a short break.
“If you will both excuse me.” She set her napkin on the table. “I’d like to freshen up before our meal is served.”
“That’ll be fine, dear.” Mrs. Singletary waved her off with a distracted sweep of her hand.
In no particular hurry, Callie made her way through the restaurant and into the lobby. The hotel was teeming with activity. Groups of people lounged on the luxurious leather furniture. Some of the guests were reading books, others newspapers, while still others partook in animated conversations.
Everyone looked happy, satisfied and completely at their leisure. The Hotel Dupree had become a destination in and of itself. She was proud to have once played a small part in its success.
Recognizing the employee behind the registration desk, Callie decided to say a quick hello. She hadn’t seen Rose since taking the position as Mrs. Singletary’s companion. It would be lovely to catch up with the other woman.
Callie’s steps faltered when she realized she wasn’t the only person heading in the same direction. A few steps ahead of her was someone else, a man. Her throat turned dry as dust. She recognized that bold swagger, that arrogant tilt of the head.
The sight of him, the dark figure from her past, sent her into an air-gasping fluster. She swallowed hard against the biting pressure rising in her stomach, cinching around her heart.
Simon was here.
In the Hotel Dupree.
What were the odds? What were the odds?
Callie swayed, her balance momentarily thrown off. She stumbled backward, then quickly righted herself. She had to get away before he noticed her, before he could hurt her again.
The force of her panic frightened her.
Spinning on her heel, she retraced her steps. Shame and fear made her movements clumsy, awkward. I have to get away.
“Callie? Callie! Come back.”
She ignored the call, keeping her head down as she hurried back the way she came, praying no one noticed the urgency in her steps.
“Callie.” A hand clasped her arm and whirled her around.
Infuriated, she yanked free of the offensive grip. Her stomach roiled. Her eyes stung. She tried to move, but she was hit with a spasm of immobility, her feet frozen in place. All she could do was stare at the man who’d once been the sole player in her dreams, now the lead actor in her nightmares.
His face was more handsome than she remembered, his demeanor more polished and slick. Oh, but his eyes were the same steel-blue. How had she not seen how cold and detached they were?
How had she missed the depravity in his gaze?
“We meet again, my beautiful, beautiful girl. Or as I like to think of you—” his lips curved into a sly, knowing grin “—the one who got away.”
The intimacy of his words made her feel tainted. Was it any wonder she’d spent the past four years avoiding masculine attention? Her eyes stung with the threat of tears. She swallowed them back. “Excuse me, Simon. My employer will be wondering where I am.”
“Wait.” His hand returned to her arm.
She shrugged away from him.
He tucked his hands into his pockets. For a moment, the brilliant actor slipped away and all that remained was a spoiled man who always got his way, by any means possible.
“I have never forgotten you, Callie.” He said her name in a low voice as he moved in close, far too close. “I have always regretted losing you.”
She couldn’t fathom why he would say such a thing. What could he possibly hope to gain? Surely he couldn’t think she would fall for his lies a second time? “I don’t believe you, Simon, not after the way you callously deceived me.”
His shoulder lifted in a leisurely shrug. “We had a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?” She nearly spat the word. “Is that how you remember it?”
Another lift of his shoulder. “Had you not bolted out of the hotel so quickly I would have explained my position in greater detail.”
“You explained yourself quite well.” To her utter humiliation, a tear leaked out of the corner of her eye.
His hand came to her face, wiped at her cheek.
She slapped him away.
He gave a dramatic sigh, but didn’t reach for her again.
“You have become even more beautiful in the years since we last met.” Like a hungry cat seeking easy prey, his eyes roamed over her face. “I made a grave mistake letting you go.”
“I left you, the very moment I discovered your wicked agenda.”
And that, Callie realized, was what she’d nearly forgotten through the years since leaving school.
She hadn’t given in to Simon that night. She hadn’t fallen completely for his lies. She’d walked away on her own steam, with her virtue still intact.
“My sweet, sweet Callie.” Simon’s smile didn’t quite meet his eyes this time. “Still so pure, so untouched, so wholly innocent. Other than your beautiful, exquisite face, those were the traits that most intrigued me about you.”
He moved in closer, reached for her.
She took a large step back.
Undeterred, Simon closed the distance between them once more. Again, Callie stepped back.
So involved in their conflict, she didn’t notice that a third party had joined their scuffle until an angry masculine voice dropped into the fray.
“Touch her again, Westgrove, and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever do.”
* * *
Callie jerked around so hastily she lost her footing. Reese caught her, steadying her at the waist. Once her balance was restored, he let her go, though it took Herculean control not to whisk her up in his arms and carry her out of the hotel lobby.
“Reese.” Her thunderstruck gaze met his. “What...what are you doing here?”
“I have a meeting with Jonathon Hawkins.”
“Oh.” She looked away, but not before he saw the humiliation in her eyes.
He’d never seen Callie wear such an expression before, a combination of shame, regret and fury. Emotions he knew were directed at the man standing behind her.
Reese’s gaze focused and hardened on Simon Westgrove.
Had he any doubts as to whether Callie knew the famous actor personally, they’d been dispelled the moment he’d walked into the Hotel Dupree. Even from across the lobby, Callie’s obvious panic told its own story, a story Reese knew he wasn’t going to like.
Now was not the time for questions, save one. “Are you all right?”
She nodded miserably.
His chest filled with a need to protect, to wipe away that look of anguish on her face. He drew her close, securing her beside him. Trembling, she leaned into him.
Westgrove arched a brow. “It appears I have been replaced in your affections, Callie, my love.”
She stiffened, either at the words or the endearment, Reese couldn’t be sure. One thing he did know,
Callie wanted nothing to do with the actor, who was grinning with far too much intimacy in his gaze.
“It’s time you left, Westgrove. Callie doesn’t want you here.”
“I say we let the lady speak for herself.”
The silence that met those words seemed to last a lifetime.
Then, Callie snapped her shoulders back and straightened her spin. “Mr. Bennett is correct. I don’t want you here, Simon. I never want to see you again.”
“You heard the lady.” Reese took a hard breath. “Off you go.”
“How sublime.” Westgrove barked out a laugh. “I’ve landed in a badly scripted play with a couple of two-bit actors on stage with me.”
The other man could malign him all he wanted, but Reese wouldn’t stand for him disrespecting Callie. He started forward.
“No, Reese.” Callie rested her hand on his arm to stop his pursuit. “He’s not worth it.” Before he could respond she turned her head and glared at the other man. “Go away, Simon.”
“Is that your final word on the matter?” His gaze shifted from her to Reese then back to Callie. “I cannot persuade you to run aw—”
“Go.”
The man paused. A shadow flickered in his eyes, then was gone. “Right. Your loss, sweeting.”
After throwing an audacious leer in Callie’s direction, Westgrove sauntered away. He moved through the lobby with a casual, relaxed stride as if he hadn’t a care in life.
Reese drew in several steadying breaths, debating whether to stay with Callie or follow after the actor and have a private...word with the man.
Callie’s struggle to catch her breath made the decision for him. Reese gently lifted her chin until she looked him directly in the eyes. As she blinked up in silence, he ran his gaze over her face, taking careful inventory.
“What did Westgrove do to you?” Reese was surprised by the rage in his voice.
Callie lowered her head. “I don’t think I can tell you.”
He could see she would rather keep her secret safely hidden. How well he knew the need to conceal parts of the past, to suffer through the tormenting pain alone.