Great-Aunt Sophia's Lessons for Bombshells

by Lisa Cach

  Grace gripped his arm. “With Sophia in this condition? It would distress her. Don’t.”

  Andrew gritted his teeth, but nodded. He went to a cart parked nearby and found a towel. He pressed it to his nose, then squeaked in pain. “Goddammit! Christ, he deserved to have that fake cricket planted on his land.”

  Grace rocked back on her heels. “What?”

  Andrew’s eyes darted to her, wary.

  “The Steinbeck cricket was a plant, like Declan said all along?”

  Andrew held out his hand toward her. “In a good cause. You said yourself, it was a shame to see such beautiful land fall under a developer’s bulldozer.”

  “But you lied? To me, to Sophia, to everyone? You made up an animal that doesn’t even exist! Declan is going to court about it.”

  “It’s all in a good cause. I thought you would understand that. Doesn’t the environment matter to you?”

  “Not enough to lie about it. How is that honorable?”

  “The end justifies the means.”

  Grace shook her head, staring at Andrew in disbelief. “I didn’t think this was who you were.”

  Andrew rolled his eyes. “So you’re not going to forgive me one fake cricket, when I can forgive you for behaving like Declan’s whore all summer?”

  Grace’s eyes went wide, and she felt her cheeks flame. “No.”

  He snorted. “Figures.”

  Grace shook her head. “No to everything, Andrew. There’s no way in hell I’d marry you now.”

  The color drained from his face. “Grace, wait. Let’s talk about this.”

  “About what? Why would you even want to marry ‘Declan’s whore’?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He reached out toward her.

  She backed away. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

  Darlene and Alyson appeared, paper cups of coffee in their hands. Their conversation cut off as their surprised gazes went from Andrew’s bloody face to Grace.

  “Mom, we’re going back to the house,” Grace said, taking Alyson by the arm. “C’mon.”

  “What—”

  “I’ll explain in the car.” If she ever could explain. Today it felt as if the world had turned upside down, and there was no end in sight to the chaos and upheaval.

  Declan stomped down the hall to Sophia’s hospital room, rage still flooding his veins. If Grace hadn’t appeared, he’d have pounded the crap out of Andrew, and he was of half a mind even now to go back and finish the job.

  Goddamned fucking little nitwit prick.

  After the women had left the waiting area Declan had tried not to even look at the jerk who’d proposed to Grace, but then Andrew had started flapping his lips.

  “Quite a revelation about Sophia being Grace’s great-grandmother, eh?” he’d said.

  Declan had grunted.

  “It makes it even more likely now, doesn’t it?”

  Curiosity had made Declan turn unwilling eyes on his enemy. “Makes what more likely?”

  “What you’ve been counting on. You thought you could screw Grace into marrying you, and then when she inherited Sophia’s fortune in a few years you’d have it all to yourself. Looks like you miscalculated, though. Looks like Grace is going to choose substance over style, just like I knew she would. You’ll never see a dime of Sophia’s money. I win.”

  “That’s why you asked Grace to marry you?” Declan said in disbelief. He’d always suspected Andrew was hoping for an inheritance from Sophia, but it still shocked him.

  Andrew shrugged a shoulder. “It’s not a burden. She’s intelligent and pretty. It’s good genetic material for children. And it should be fairly entertaining making them, as long as she doesn’t gain too much baby weight between each one.” He grinned.

  It was the grin that sent Declan over the edge. The smarmy little prick. He had Grace in his net, but he had no idea of the treasure he held. No damned idea.

  He stopped outside Sophia’s door to get control of himself. He was dimly aware that the rage felt better than what was waiting for him beneath it: a bottomless, black sense of loss.

  He went in, and Ernesto came over to tell him in a low voice that the doctors didn’t yet know what had happened to Sophia. With a silent, sad nod Ernesto left him alone with her.

  Declan approached the bed, the last of his anger draining away. The sense of loss welled up to take its place, filling his soul with a desolation like none he’d ever known.

  He took Sophia’s frail hand in his own. It felt as fragile as a butterfly’s wing.

  “Declan,” Sophia said, opening her eyes.

  He sat, and leaned close. “I’m here.”

  “Surely you don’t look so woebegone over me?”

  “That shouldn’t surprise you.”

  “It’s flattering, but I’m too wise to believe it. It’s Grace, isn’t it?”

  Declan ducked his face, and to his shock, felt tears in his eyes. One fell free, soaking into the sheet and making a small, dark spot.

  “Poor Declan,” Sophia sighed. She slipped her hand free of his and touched his bent head. “I warned you that you might have to come by love the hard way, that you’d have to lose it before you could ever understand its worth.”

  “I’ve made a muck of things,” he breathed through his tight chest. “I didn’t even know I was destroying my chances at something that would mean so much to me.”

  Sophia chuckled. “So what are you going to do to clean up your mess?”

  Declan raised his head. “It’s too late. Andrew asked her to marry him, and then she told me she didn’t want anything to do with me.”

  “And what did you say to her then?”

  “What could I say? I tried to be a gentleman and accept it.”

  Sophia’s hand slipped from his hair down to his ear. She twisted it sharply, with surprising strength.

  “Ow!”

  “Idiot.”

  “What would you have me do? She made it clear that she doesn’t want me.”

  Sophia’s hand reached toward his ear again, and he shied away. Deprived of her target, she said, “Do you really think that a girl like Grace would spend all summer having sex with you if she didn’t care for you at least a little?”

  Declan gaped at Sophia, embarrassment flushing through him. “You knew?”

  Sophia rolled her eyes. “Did anyone not know?”

  “Did she say anything to you about how she feels about me?”

  “I don’t betray confidences.”

  “Sophia! Please!”

  “You’re a coward, Declan. It’s Grace you should be talking to, not me.”

  “She already made herself clear.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “She said I wasn’t enough. She said she needed more.”

  “And you said what?”

  “That I understood.”

  Sophia narrowed her eyes. “That’s it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “God help me. Did you ever tell the girl that you love her?”

  “No, of course not. I … I didn’t know I loved her. But she’s never hinted that the feelings might be returned.”

  “Forgive me for being a senile old woman hopelessly behind the times, but are the ways of women so different now that it is now their job to declare their affections first?”

  “You mean …”

  “If Grace is half as smart as I give her credit for, why the hell would she make herself vulnerable by letting you see what was in her heart? What reason did you ever give her to trust you?”

  “None,” he said. “Not a damn one.”

  “Even Andrew had the guts to propose to her—which means you owe me a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue, by the way.”

  He nodded in disbelief. She was on her deathbed, collecting a debt?

  “Are you going to let Andrew have her?” Sophia went on. “Are you going to let her spend her life with him? Are you going to let him take her to his bed every night, and plant his child
ren in her belly?”

  “No. No, by God, I’m not!”

  “That’s my boy.” Sophia sighed, and seemed to deflate, as if she had used the last of her will and energy to get her message across. She closed her eyes, and vaguely waved him away. “I’m so very tired. Let me rest now.”

  “Of course.” Worried, and flushed with guilt over taxing her strength with talk of his screwed-up love life, he squeezed her hand and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well. You’ll be home soon.”

  “God willing … ,” she murmured, and drifted off to sleep.

  Sophia heard Declan leave, and Ernesto returned to her side. She popped open an eye to check that they were indeed alone.

  “The coast is clear, my wicked dear,” Ernesto said.

  “Thank God.” Sophia sat up. “Sweetheart, could you get me a washcloth? My vanity is offended by this makeup that turns me into a corpse. I’d rather not have you see me this way until I’m dead.”

  “You are a bad, bad woman, mi amor. So many lies you have told this summer, so many schemes you have put into play. I did not think your plan with the MG crash would work, but I was a fool to underestimate you.” Ernesto went to fetch the washcloth.

  “I may be a bad woman, but I’m a brilliant actress,” she called after him. “With any luck, I can stop pretending that my hip hurts so badly, too. Those steroid injections were a high price to pay for the facade.” When Ernesto returned she patted the bed beside her and raised her brows seductively. “I did pay for the room through tomorrow, you know. Care for a bit of necrophilia before I wash off the paint?”

  “Dios mio—a very bad woman,” Ernesto said, but the light in his eyes said anything but.

  CHAPTER

  26

  “Was this altered to fit me?” Grace asked in puzzlement the next day as Darlene zipped her into Sophia’s green velvet gown. It closed perfectly over the vintage merry widow undergarment, the cut of the dress conforming to every curve Grace had reinstalled on her body with her consumption of bacon.

  “It’s the original, unaltered gown,” Darlene said. “Sophia was heavier when she was younger; it’s only age that has made her so thin.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Grace muttered. “She was telling the truth all along.”

  “Hm?”

  Grace shook her head, not wanting to explain how Sophia had insisted it wasn’t the weight that made the difference in sexiness, it was the attitude.

  She went to look at herself in the mirror. Her hair was parted on the side and curled in the waves that were Sophia’s signature style. Thick black swoops of eyeliner turned her eyes sultry, while her newly arched brows had been darkened with pencil. Bright red lipstick contrasted with the green of her eyes.

  She looked almost exactly like the Sophia in the portrait. There were subtle differences, but to all except close associates, she was Sophia’s youth brought back to life.

  How ironic that she should finally reach the pinnacle of all that Sophia had wanted her to achieve while Sophia lay in a hospital bed at death’s door.

  Grace bit the inside of her lip, using the pain to force back the threat of tears. Sophia would want her to put on a happy face. For these few hours, she would be the bombshell Sophia had claimed she could be. She could fall apart afterward, when the gala was over and she was alone with the empty spaces in her heart that had until so recently been filled by Declan, Andrew, and Sophia herself. They were disappearing from her life even as she slipped her feet into Sophia’s black satin, rhinestone-studded shoes.

  “Five after seven,” Darlene reminded her. “Come down and I’ll take you to your place in the tableau.”

  Grace nodded and searched Darlene’s face for some show of emotion. “Any word about Sophia?”

  A muscle twitched in Darlene’s cheek and then, awkwardly, she patted Grace’s bare shoulder. “Try not to worry. She’s a tough old bird.”

  There was a knock on the door. Grace’s heart turned over, absurdly hoping it might be Declan. Darlene opened the door to an unexpected face: Professor Joansdatter.

  “Mind if I come in?” The professor asked. She was wearing a red fringed flapper dress and a feathered headband that looked like it came from the same costume shop Grace knew her mother had used for a gown for tonight.

  “Not at all,” Grace said.

  Darlene slipped out, leaving the two of them alone.

  Professor Joansdatter looked Grace over, then whistled low and long. “Holy cow. I would never have thought it.”

  Grace shifted, feeling a flicker of uncertainty.

  “You look exactly like that portrait of your great-aunt. Er, great-grandmother. You’re the spitting image of her.”

  “I know. I’m doing this for her.”

  “And for yourself, too, I hope.”

  Grace sat down, perching lightly on the edge of a chair seat. The dress and undergarments didn’t allow a slouch.

  Joansdatter took a seat on the edge of Grace’s bed. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. There’s been a lot going on around here, and an awful lot of it seems to center on you. How are you faring?”

  Grace felt a quiver of threatening tears, and bit down again on her lip. “I’ll make it through, one way or another.”

  Joansdatter nodded, her eyes locked with Grace’s. “Your research notes make a lot more sense to me after meeting the players involved. This has been a transformative experience for you, hasn’t it?”

  Grace laughed and gestured toward her body. “You could say that.”

  “I meant more than skin deep.”

  Grace’s smile faded. “I feel as if the person I used to be has been broken apart. I’m not sure I can put all the pieces back together again.”

  “Good.”

  Grace blinked. “Good?”

  “It looks to me like you’ve found some new pieces of yourself. Maybe, before you came down here, you were in danger of becoming too crystallized in one way of being. Sometimes we need shattering. It’s the only way to build anew, on a firmer, wider foundation.”

  “It doesn’t feel like a good thing.”

  “I imagine not. But from where I sit, Grace, I see a woman who is going to have a much more interesting life than I would have predicted three months ago.” Joansdatter smiled and left.

  At 7:05, Grace took a deep breath to settle her nerves and went to meet her duties. From her balcony she had seen the guests arriving for the past half hour, their voices rising from the gardens below, mixed with the strains of a string quartet deeper in the gardens. The sky was still light, but beneath the trees it was just dim enough to make the fairy lights glow, as if the forest were indeed enchanted by will-o’-the-wisps, luring guests down intriguing paths.

  As she opened her bedroom door she was hit by the louder thrum of voices as people passed through the foyer below. She went to the other end of the hall, where a smaller carpeted staircase led to the back of the house. Darlene was waiting for her by a side door that led out into the garden, near the terrace.

  “You have the welcome speech?” Darlene asked.

  Grace nodded and flashed the note card hidden in the palm of her hand.

  “This way. Mind your step.”

  Darlene led her out to a narrow wooden walkway hidden by a curtain from the view of the crowd. A short flight of temporary wood stairs led up to a small stage around which had been built a huge gold frame. The stage held a recamier with a faux leopard skin draped over it, and red velvet drapes in the background.

  Only for you, Sophia, Grace said silently. With Darlene’s help she arranged herself on the sofa in the exact attitude of the portrait. She could see the dark shape of the real portrait in front of her, silhouetted on the stage curtain by the spotlights aimed upon it.

  “Okay?” Darlene asked.

  Grace nodded.

  Darlene squeezed her shoulder. “Sophia will be so pleased.”

  “I wish she could see it.”

  Darlene flashed a rare smile, and disappeared down the small stair
case.

  Grace closed her eyes, breathing deeply. For Sophia. I can do this for Sophia.

  The string music from in the gardens stopped, and the big band thrummed to life. Trumpets blew and then a drumroll started. The hubbub quieted, and as the lights on the curtain threw the portrait into even higher relief, Grace knew that her moment was here.

  The portrait lifted straight up and away, raised by cables. The curtains followed, and Grace held perfectly still, playing her role as a portrait as the spotlights and hundreds of eyes turned upon her.

  One one-thousand, two one-thousand, she counted silently as the drumroll grew louder and louder. At ten, the roll stopped with a crash of cymbals and Grace stood and spread out her arms. The crowd cheered and applauded.

  Shaking in her heels, Grace waited a moment while a microphone was lowered toward her, and then spoke the welcome she had practiced for hours.

  “The Altruism Society welcomes you to a Long Ago Night in an Enchanted Forest. We hope the magic of this night will inspire you to create a little magic of your own at Children’s Hospital. Until the witching hour comes to spirit you away to a more mundane world, we invite you to partake of hidden feasts and pleasures in our gardens of wonder and delight. We, and Children’s Hospital, thank you for your generosity and kindness, which is always where the true magic lies.”

  She bowed her head and the crowd applauded again, and the band struck up Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Some Enchanted Evening.” Grace stepped to the edge of the stage, where she’d been told her dance instructor would be waiting to help her down the stairs and onto the dance floor.

  A masked man in white tie and tails was waiting for her, but the moment her eyes met his through the mask, she knew it was Declan.

  “‘Some enchanted evening,’” the bandleader sang, “‘you may see a stranger, you may see a stranger, across a crowded room …’”

  She put her hand in Declan’s white-glove-clad one, his strength sustaining her as she stepped down to the dance floor. With masterful confidence, he put his hand on her waist and swept her into the dance.

  “‘And somehow you know,’” Declan sang in his baritone along with the bandleader, “‘you know even then …’”

  “What are you doing here?” Grace asked, her heart in her throat.