A Day Late and a Bride Short

by Jacobs, Holly

  “The only people that could be hurt is us...and since we’re not in love, we’re safe. This is a marriage-of-convenience. As I said, we’ll draw up a prenup and make it all nice and legal. And when the marriage has served its purpose, we’ll both walk away friends, and better off. Your business will have improved, and I’ll be a partner in the firm, just like I deserve.”

  “But...” Sarah’s voice trailed off. She finished her glass of wine. “Donovan. It all sounds logical when you say it like that, but I’m sure there’s something we’re not thinking of. Some complication that will crop up and bite us in the butt.’’

  “Sarah, I’ll watch your backside, if you watch mine.” He meant it to sound flip, but it simply reminded him that watching Sarah’s backside would be no hardship.

  “Donovan,” she said, her voice laced with exasperation.

  “My name is not much of an argument,” he teased.

  “You’re the lawyer, arguing is your forte, not mine.”

  “So don’t argue. Say yes. Say you’ll marry me.”

  “And make you the happiest man in the world?” she asked, sarcasm tainting every word.

  “It would make me happy, Sarah. I think we could be good for each other. If I didn’t, I would never suggest this.”

  “If I were to say yes, how would we work it?”

  “We’d start with an iron-clad prenuptial agreement. What’s yours is yours, what’s mine is mine. A separate household account we both contribute to, and—”

  He cut himself off as Sarah yawned. “Listen, don’t say yes or no. Sleep on it.”

  She nodded. “I think sleeping on it is a good idea for both of us. Tomorrow you’ll come to your senses.”

  “I never lost my senses, but maybe you’ll find yours overnight. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  ‘‘Back to the store,” she corrected.

  ‘‘Home. It’s too late, you’re too tired, and you’ve had two glasses of wine here, plus who knows how many at the party.”

  He paused, studying her. Yes, there was something she wasn’t telling him. “Why don’t you want me to see your home?”

  “Donovan, please don’t start this again.” She sighed an exasperated sigh and stared out the window. She seemed fascinated by the view, even though it was dark.

  Donovan could understand that. Even at night, lights dotted the bay, and the stars loomed big and bright over the peninsula across the water.

  The view was why he’d bought the condo. But Sarah was trying to hide something by watching it. He reached across the table, took her chin lightly in his hand and turned her head until she faced him, “Sarah, why?”

  Her eyes met his. “If you take me to the store, I won’t be driving anywhere else. The store is my home.”

  “What?” he asked, not sure he understood.

  “I have a pullout sofa in the office,” she explained. “I told you money was tight. I was waiting, saving for a place of my own. And if the Rat had paid, I’d have one, but he didn’t, so I’m still waiting.”

  He might not have been through the entire store, but Donovan knew it was one of the smaller buildings on the square. Sarah was living in it?

  “You can’t live in your office,” he said simply.

  “No? You think a fake engagement gives you the right to tell me what to do?” she asked, bristling.

  “Yes, I do. You can’t live in your store.” He paused a moment, trying to decide how to handle this new twist

  Ever since Sarah had walked into his office there had been a series of unexpected twists and turns. He was getting better at keeping up.

  “You’ll sleep here,” he said before he’d hardly registered making a decision.

  “Oh, no.” She shook her head with such force that red curls sprang free from their confines, hanging there, begging to be tucked back in.

  As much as he’d like to tuck that hair in, Donovan was wise enough to realize Sarah wouldn’t appreciate it so he kept his hands firmly planted on the table.

  “I have a spare room,” he said.

  “Good for you.” She started to stand. “I’m leaving. It’s just a short walk home.”

  Donovan sprang from his chair and stood in front of her, blocking the way. “Sarah, this isn’t open to debate.”

  “Oh, no? Even if I were prepared to agree to your stupid plan and marry you, I wouldn’t let you boss me around. And if you get me that money from Ratgaz, then I’ll be in my own apartment soon enough.”

  He changed his approach, forcing himself to soften his tone. “Just for tonight, stay here.”

  “No, I—”

  “Please?” he asked, surprising himself, and obviously Sarah as well. She simply stared at him.

  What was going on in her mind as she studied him so intently? What did she see?

  Donovan knew what he saw. An independent, determined, beautiful woman.

  “In a guest room, right?” she finally asked softly.

  “Yes.”

  “Just for tonight?”

  “For tonight,” he agreed, omitting the just.

  He didn’t like the idea of Sarah sleeping in her office, and if they were going to be married, even if it was only for convenience, it made sense for her to move in with him. He had plenty of room, and her staying here would only add to the realism of their being a couple.

  “All right,” she finally said.

  Chapter Five

  SARAH FROZE MID-STRETCH.

  Something was wrong.

  Slowly she pried her eyes open and took in her surroundings. She wasn’t in her own bed. She wasn’t in her office. She was—

  The realization slowly sank in. She was in Donovan’s guestroom, wearing his old T-shirt. It was soft and a little thin from too many washings. It smelled like him. Warm and spicy. He smelled so much different from the persona he put forward.

  The Iceman...that’s what they called him. And yet, he didn’t seem icy at all. Last night, when she’d confessed she lived in her office...well, despite the fact he was overbearing and heavy-handed when he’d insisted she stay with him, he seemed concerned.

  The concern part was touching. And when he’d stopped demanding and simply said the word please she hadn’t been able to say no. Maybe she’d had too much wine after all?

  Well, pleased or not, she didn’t plan to stay here again. She was too exhausted last night to put up a fight was all. And she had a lot to fight about.

  Imagine, he wanted to make this fake engagement into a fake marriage.

  Sarah might be desperate, but she didn’t think she’d sunk that low yet.

  She toyed with the ring—his grandmother’s ring— that he’d put on her finger. She’d have to give it back today and tell him in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t entering into a marriage-of-convenience. She had more pride than that.

  Of course, he could really use her help in securing that partnership. Donovan didn’t strike her as the type to ask for help...ever. And yet, he’d asked. He needed her.

  Plus, he’d framed the proposal in such a way that she’d benefit from it, but when it came down to brass tacks, he needed her more and he’d asked for her help.

  Sarah groaned. How could she say no? He deserved to be a partner, and it was unfair to make that reward conditional on something like marriage. After all, you couldn’t make yourself fall in love.

  But how could she say yes?

  How could she marry a man who didn’t love her, and who she didn’t love?

  Unable to answer the question, Sarah got out of bed, headed into the guest room’s bathroom.

  She almost groaned with the pleasure of it all. It was so nice to get a shower without having to go to the Y. She took a long, luxurious, private shower. The only thing that would have made it better was if she’d had clean clothes, she thought as she slid back into last night’s cocktail dress.

  She spent a few minutes finger combing her damp curls, and applying what little makeup she’d brought in her small clutch purse. Feeling at
least slightly presentable, she went out to the living room in search of her soon-to-be ex-fiancé.

  Donovan was sprawled on the couch. She studied him a moment. He seemed more approachable this morning. Maybe it was his outfit. A polo shirt, well-worn jeans, and plain white socks. His feet were propped on the coffee table as he scribbled on the pad on his lap.

  His hair wasn’t quite as perfect either. That one erstwhile tiny strand of hair drifted down on his forehead. He had on glasses.

  She didn’t know he wore glasses. They looked sexy on him. That wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t look sexier with glasses on, but he did.

  Realizing she could easily stand in the doorway and continue just drinking in the sight of him, Sarah forced herself to move.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  He looked up and slipped his glasses off. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. I trust you slept all right?”

  Sarah nodded. “Any chance you can give me a ride home?”

  She wanted to go home, go back to her normal, non-Donovan life. She wanted to forget about fake engagements, and marriages-of-convenience. And most especially, she wanted to forget that Donovan looked sexy in—and out of—glasses.

  “I thought we’d go out for breakfast.” He set the pad and his glasses on the table, and stood, moving toward her.

  Sarah took a small step backward, keeping a nice, comfortable distance between them. “I’d rather not. I mean, I don’t think I’m really dressed for a Sunday morning breakfast.”

  “We could stop at your place so you can change first.”

  “Thanks, but I think it’s time I—”

  “Please,” he said, using that word again as if he knew it was her weakness. “I’d really like to pick up last night’s conversation.”

  “Donovan. About that—”

  He held up a hand, as if he could physically hold off her protests. “No. Don’t say anything until you hear me out.”

  “I don’t think it will do any good.” There was no way she could marry a man she didn’t love.

  “Come on,” he grabbed the tablet as he walked toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  Sensing she wasn’t going to win this one, Sarah just nodded. She’d go out to breakfast with him, listen to his spiel, and then politely refuse. She’d return his ring and get back to normal.

  The drive to her store was a silent one. He parked right out front, and Sarah opened the door and called over her shoulder, “I’ll be right out,” as she hurried into the safety of her store.

  Donovan was as thick as a brick and didn’t take the hint, but followed her into the store.

  “You can have a seat out here and wait,” she said, indicating the nice chairs she’d used to decorate the outer office.

  He obviously didn’t appreciate her efforts. Rather than trying one, he said, “Show me where you sleep,” in that bossy way of his.

  “Like I told you, in my office.”

  He strode ahead of her and walked through the open door into her inner office.

  “On that?” he asked, nodding at the sofa.

  “It’s a sleeper-sofa. It’s not that bad.” She didn’t mention the huge bump in the middle. No matter what way she slept, some part of her body ended up on it and aching the next day.

  He opened the door to the bathroom. “There’s no shower.”

  “I work out at the Y every morning, so I just shower there. It’s very economical, and it certainly motivates me to work out every day.”

  He shook his head. “You can’t keep living like this.”

  “I won’t much longer. That is, if you’re a good enough lawyer to get the money from the Rat,” she said.

  It was a challenge...she’d thrown down the gauntlet.

  Donovan wasted no time picking it up. “I’m good, more than good enough. I’ve looked through your material, and you have a case. I’ll win. But still, it could take time.”

  “Then, I’ll just tough it out.” She shrugged, trying to act as if it didn’t matter, even as she internally groaned. She’d never admit it to Donovan, but this situation wasn’t exactly as comfortable as she tried to pretend.

  Last night, in Donovan’s guest bed, she’d enjoyed the first good sleep she’d had since she’d opened By Design.

  He was still shaking his head. “Get changed. I have a couple ideas.”

  “Donovan,” she protested.

  “Now.” He left her office and shut the door.

  Of all the dictatorial, overbearing, sure-he-knew-what-was-right… It would serve him right if she simply let him chill out there all day.

  Knowing he was just on the other side of the door gave Sarah shivers as she climbed out of her dress and grabbed a pair of jeans and a bright orange shirt from her wardrobe. She was just buttoning the jeans when the door flew open.

  “Hey!” Sarah cried.

  “It’s just me, sweetums,” a gray-haired lady with a ready smile and a hint of the South in her voice said.

  Pearly Gates worked a few storefronts down at Snips And Snaps Beauty Salon. She’d adopted Sarah as her personal pet project. She’d sent a few of her friends over for small decorating jobs, and generally turned up whenever Sarah needed an ear or a shoulder.

  Today Sarah didn’t really want either. She just wanted to break up with Donovan and get back to her life.

  Obviously Pearly didn’t realize that because she took a seat on the sofa without waiting for an invitation. “I stopped at the salon to pick up some perm rods. I’m giving my friend Justine a perm today, although, between you and me, she would look better without one. But that’s neither here nor there. As I left the salon, I saw Donovan sitting bold as brass in a chair in front of the window. And of course, I said to myself, Now what would Donovan be doin’ at Sarah Jane's first thing on a Sunday morning? And me, being me, I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to ask you, so I just came right in to find out.”

  Sarah sat next to Pearly and said, “He’s—”

  The older woman interrupted her. “And do be careful what you tell me because, much as I’d like the dirt, you and I both know I’m a horrible gossip, and will have to spread your news up and down the four corners of Perry Square.”

  Sarah tried to think quick, deciding what version of the truth to tell Pearly. “Well, you see, we’re engaged, sort of.”

  “Sort of? I had an aunt once who was sort of engaged. After that, she was sort of pregnant, and the weddin’ never did take place. But the birthin’ did. That would be my cousin Lerlene. There’ve been times I wish I could make her sort of a cousin, because of her personality...which is in and of itself less than legitimate. I’ve had more interesting conversations with a turnip. So, I’ll be needin’ you to explain this sort of engagement.”

  “Well, we are engaged, but things are—” Sarah tried to think of whatever story they’d be putting out “—they’re not going well, and I was thinking about breaking things off. That’s why Donovan’s here this morning. We’re going out to breakfast to discuss our options.”

  “Now, I could ask you how it is you and Donovan have been carrying on here on the Square without me, Josie, Libby or even that needle-pushing woman Mabel finding out, but I won’t. What I will tell you is that love shouldn’t be forsaken just ’cause it ain’t going well. That’s what a commitment is about. Sticking out the not-going-well times and waiting until the going-better ones.”

  “But sometimes you just have to cut your losses,” Sarah said.

  This was certainly one of those times. She’d signed on to be a fiancée for one night, and it was the next day, and she was still a fiancée. Absentmindedly, she twisted the ring on her finger.

  “Cut your losses? Now, that sounds like a lawyer talkin’ there. Lawyers. They’re a rather clueless species. Add to that Donovan’s a man, well, it’s even worse. Clueless as a pig in a pen. That’s why God created women...to clue them in. And I don’t think you’re some wishy-washy woman who gives up at the first sign of hardship. Why did I ever tell you about m
y cousin Lerlene?”

  Sarah sensed a long story coming—long stories were Pearly’s forte. Maybe she should try to stop her right here since Donovan was still sitting in the other room. But, since she didn’t especially want to face Donovan, she said, “You just mentioned that Lerlene’s not a great conversationalist.”

  “Well, I was right about that. Like I said, turnips were more interesting. But somehow, years ago, she managed to capture a beau. His name was Trubald.”

  “Trubald?” Sarah repeated.

  Pearly bristled. “It’s a good name. His granddad Trubald was a soldier and that’s who he was named after. Anyway, he lost his leg.”

  “Trubald’s grandfather lost his leg in a war?” Sarah asked.

  “No, Trubald.”

  “Oh, how tragic. That must have been hard for him to deal with. How did it happen?”

  Pearly skooched half a cushion closer, and her voice lowered, as if she were telling some State secret. “Well, the way it was told to me was, he was out drinking one night, and just lost it. No one ever quite figured out how you just lose a leg, but somehow Trubald did it, and no one ever saw hide nor hair of it again.”

  “He’s lucky he didn’t bleed to death,” Sarah said, trying to imagine being so drunk you could lose a leg and not know how.

  “Now, why on earth would losing a prosthetic limb make you bleed to death?” Pearly lightly tapped Sarah’s forehead. “Keep up, girl. He’d had that peg leg since he was seventeen and lost his real leg in a fluke racin’ accident.”

  Sarah wasn’t going to ask what a fluke racing accident was. She just wanted to get out of here, so she wasn’t going to ask.

  She wasn’t.

  But Pearly just sat there, obviously waiting for her to ask, and despite her best intentions she couldn’t disappoint Pearly. So she asked, “Fluke racing accident?”

  Pearly beamed. “Yep. Trubald, he was racin’ his brother Truck—who, before you ask, was really named Truman, but seeing as he looked more like a truck than a Truman, well, Truck was the name he went by. And he was racin’ Trubald that day when Trubald lost his leg. Only it wasn’t a fair race. Truck was in an auto and Trubald wasn’t. Trubald, he slipped and Truck ran over his leg. So Trubald got that fake one, and years later got drunk one night and lost it.”