Secondhand Bride (The Almost Wives Club Book 2)

by Nancy Warren

  But, when they were led into the living room where Eric and his parents were waiting for them, she’d have thought, from the welcome, that she was already part of the family.

  Grace Van Hoffendam said, “Oh, my dear, let me have a hug.” And pulled Ashley into her scented embrace. Eric’s father, a bearded, scary looking man who resembled Sigmund Freud, only taller, shook her hand and muttered, “Pleasure.”

  They treated her mother like an old friend and soon the five of them were sitting over glasses of expensive champagne. “To Eric and Ashley,” Charles Van Hoffendam said solemnly, and they all sipped.

  She’d ended up seated beside her mother, with Eric and his folks across from her. But when she caught Eric’s eye he winked at her.

  “We’re very excited about the news,” Grace said. She’d clearly had a recent Botox session, for there was no discernible change in expression on her face.

  “And I couldn’t be more thrilled,” her mom replied. “Eric and Ash go way back.”

  “Good.” Grace leaned over and picked up an elegant notebook off a priceless antique table beside the priceless antique couch. She uncapped a pen that would no doubt one day be a priceless antique itself. “I’ve taken the liberty of engaging a simply wonderful wedding planner. She did the Halliburtons’ daughter’s wedding last year, you know. She’s wonderful. Here’s her card.”

  She passed the elegant little card, which looked like a mini wedding invitation, to Melody.

  “Wow. Thanks.”

  “And here, I wonder if you could proof this ad. I’ve booked space in all the papers to announce the engagement.” This time, Grace passed over a prepared advertisement. Ashley peeped over her mother’s shoulder and read that the Carnarvon family and the Van Hoffendam family were delighted to announce the engagement of Ashley Elizabeth Carnarvon to Eric Charles Van Hoffendam. And then there was a paragraph about each of their illustrious families. Very little about Eric or Ashley, and nothing at all to indicate that Melody was a single mom.

  “Naturally, as soon as we can get these two to sit for their formal engagement portrait, we’ll put that in the papers too.”

  Formal engagement portrait? She glanced at Eric and he shrugged and made a face, but so subtly no one but she could see it.

  “Wow. That’s incredible. I was planning on doing a lot of the organizing myself,” her mother said, sounding slightly intimidated.

  “I only offer her services. We’ll cover her expenses of course.” She glanced at her husband.

  He picked up the hint, cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Melody, we perfectly understand that your circumstances are more modest than our own, so we’d be very honored if you’d allow us to pay for the wedding.”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t do that. Thank you, but Ashley’s my daughter. I’ve dreamed of her wedding for most of her life. I’ve got this handled.”

  “At least let us contribute. Since we’ll be inviting a number of friends and business acquaintances, it’s only fair.”

  “Oh, well… We can talk about details later.”

  She shot another glance at Eric. They’d never talked about the actual ceremony. Well, they hadn’t talked about the wedding at all and now the entire thing was being organized without anyone even asking them what they wanted.

  He was either attempting to count the bubbles in his champagne flute, or he was avoiding eye contact.

  “My brother and sister-in-law want to throw an engagement party for Ashley and Eric,” Melody said, obviously happy to have something to contribute.

  “Wonderful. We’ll look forward to it.”

  Then another maid announced dinner and they were ushered into the formal dining room. The food was delicious, and Grace and Charles were excellent hosts, but she never stopped feeling that she had to be on her best behavior.

  Grace and Melody did most of the talking, in full wedding planning mode. “I don’t think a long engagement is necessary when these two have known each other so long, do you?” Millicent asked, looking at Melody.

  “How soon were you thinking?”

  “It’s April now, let’s say an early June wedding.”

  Ashley swallowed too fast and nearly choked on an asparagus tip. All of her friends who got married took at least six months, usually a year. What was the rush?

  Melody also looked confused. “But if we want to book a good venue, it takes at least six months.”

  “Oh, were you thinking of booking somewhere public?” Grace asked, as though Melody were suggesting they get married in a public toilet. “I was thinking a garden wedding at home. Of course, if the Carnarvons don’t want to host the wedding, we’d be happy to have it here.”

  She and her mom exchanged glances, but she had no idea what to say, and Eric didn’t seem like he was even listening.

  After dinner, Eric said, “Would you like to take a walk outside with me?”

  “Yes, sure.” She glanced at her mom and got a nod of approval.

  She and Eric walked out through huge French doors to the ornamental gardens closest to the house. The Van Hoffendams hired a gardener strictly to keep their topiary trees perfect. They were shaped like animals prowling beneath giant ornate pillars. One memorable night in high school when his folks were away, Eric had got hold of a sculpting saw and remodeled the pillars so they looked like huge erections. Their friends had loved it and his shares on Facebook had been in the thousands. His parents were not as amused.

  And here was the man who carved trees into rude shapes staring down at her in all seriousness. “I wanted to give you this.” He pulled out a ring box from his suit jacket pocket. Her heart began to thud. This was all too real.

  “It was my mother’s,” he said, his voice deep and reverent as though she’d died giving birth to him instead of being perfectly healthy and currently sipping brandy in the living room fifty feet away.

  He flipped open the blue box and there was a ring she remembered well. “My father gave her this when they got engaged.”

  “I know. I remember it. She wore it all the time before she got upgraded to a bigger model on her thirty-fifth wedding anniversary.”

  He dropped the serious and went for teasing, “Stick with me for thirty-five years and you’ll get upgraded too.”

  He took her left hand and slipped on the ring. It was a perfectly nice diamond solitaire, exactly suitable for a newly engaged couple, and frugal since Eric didn’t have to outlay any money. Just completely not what she would have chosen.

  Still, she wasn’t going to complain about the diamond ring a man had put on her finger—not with all their parents standing by—so she thanked him, let him drag her behind the decorative hedge and maul her for a couple of minutes. He took her hand to lead her back inside but she held him back. “Why is your mother in such a rush to get us married?”

  He held her left hand out so the light caught it, making the unfamiliar ring sparkle. “I think she’s just excited. We can wait longer if you want. Up to you. But after ten years, it’s not like we don’t know each other.”

  “I guess.” Something felt slightly off, though. “Everyone’s going to think I’m pregnant.”

  He grinned down at her. “If I drop enough hints, I bet I can get you a baby shower.”

  “Don’t. Even. Think about it,” she warned him, then laughed when he pulled her in for a noisy kiss.

  ***

  After everyone had oohed and aahed over the ring, including the hired help, brought in like extras to pad out a scene, she and her mom left.

  As they drove home, her mom glanced over at her. “Phew, that was intense. I think the entire wedding got planned in one evening. But that was so sweet the way he surprised you with the ring.”

  She fingered the diamond on her left hand. “I know. I wish I’d been warned, though, so I could have squeezed in a manicure today. And what’s with the big rush?”

  “When you and Eric were outside, Grace confided in me that she thinks you’ll be a steadying influence on Eric.
They’ve told him now that he’s got responsibilities, he’s got to get serious about a job.”

  She stared at her mother. “She must be thinking of someone else. No one has ever called me a steadying influence.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  When they got home, Ashley discovered her day of surprises wasn’t over yet.

  She opened the door, which they never bothered to lock, seeing as they were on a secure compound, and said, ”Oh.”

  A wedding gown on a dressmaker’s form stood ghostlike in front of them. The breeze from the door opening caused the skirt to ruffle slightly as though the dress were alive.

  “What is it?” her mom asked when she stopped dead. When Ashley didn’t say anything, she pushed past her and echoed her daughter. “Oh.”

  Melody recovered first and walked in. “There’s a note attached.” She picked up the note and read aloud: “Consider this our engagement gift, Ashley. A wedding gown designed by Evangeline. She’s looking forward to your first fitting. Much love, Millicent and Duncan.”

  “Wow,” her mom said with more enthusiasm than a cheerleader on speed. “They gave you a wedding dress!”

  Ashley fingered the gorgeous silk. “Not a gift, a hand-me-down.”

  Chapter Three

  “YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO MAKE THINGS HARD,” Lester Sprague yelled.

  Bennett Saegar sat down. When his agent started yelling at him, he knew he wouldn’t get a word in edgewise until the torrent subsided. Besides, a media van was blocking the entrance to his own house. It didn’t look like he’d be going anywhere for a while.

  “I don’t want to make things harder,” he protested, but Lester wasn’t listening.

  “I told you not to cast that nutcase, didn’t I? But do you listen to a guy who’s been in the movie business since before you were a glint in your father’s eye?”

  “I didn’t cast her. I write the scripts. I’m not a casting director.”

  “You wrote the damn script with her in mind and told the producer you did it!”

  Okay, he couldn’t argue with that. Vanessa Moore had a waiflike, lost quality, an ethereal beauty that had inspired the character of Vivien in his screenplay for The Last Girlfriend. Ben hadn’t realized that what he’d seen projected on screen was the real deal. Vanessa wasn’t acting. She really was waiflike, lost, and (okay, Les had a point) a nutcase. “She played the part brilliantly,” he put in, just to remind Lester that, artistically, his instincts were good. But Lester barreled right over that argument.

  “Of course she was. She’s nuts. And now she’s killed herself over you and the press is going crazy. What the hell?”

  “She’s not dead, Lester.” Thank God.

  But Lester wasn’t interested in seeing the positive side of this mess. “Be better if she was dead. If she gives one more interview telling the world how she loved you and you scorned her, your career won’t be worth shit.”

  In fact, more offers were coming in than ever before, and who knew that better than his agent? Seemed being a screenwriter who made actresses suicidal was good for the career, even if it was hell on his personal life.

  “Can’t even get near your own house. Place is swarming with media and lookyloos. More crazies looking to stalk you, I bet.”

  The fact that Vanessa had chosen to kill herself in his bed had made him and his home the focus the type of media hype he loathed. He was almost certain she’d imagined that her act of despair would result in him realizing he couldn’t live without her or some such crap. Unfortunately for her, she hadn’t checked to make sure he was home before breaking into his house, putting herself, naked, in his bed, and downing an entire bottle of sleeping pills. By the time he’d come home an hour later, it was almost too late. In all the madness of getting her to the hospital he hadn’t noticed the pathetic suicide note until the next day.

  Didn’t matter. He could read it in a dozen places online. Her first act upon returning from near death had been to circulate copies of her suicide note to the media. Maybe her spelling and grammar weren’t much, but Vanessa was an imaginative creative writer.

  She was now “recovering” in a private facility, which, unfortunately for him and any intellectually sound person, allowed patients internet access as well as visitors. Even if those visitors were reporters or bloggers.

  Vanessa was milking her near death for all it was worth, painting him as a villain. While she didn’t ever come right out and say he’d seduced and abandoned her, she insinuated as much. And she was so pathetic and waiflike and all the rest of it that he couldn’t speak publicly without coming across as the very bully she’d painted him as.

  “I don’t want you talking to anybody, you understand? Not the media, not the bloggers, not friends in the industry. Nobody.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m hiding out for a while.” And that pissed him off as much as anything. He’d been accused of something he’d never do, and now the paparazzi were making his own home enemy territory.

  “Good. Where?”

  “I’m staying in a family friend’s pool house.”

  “It better not be a woman friend. I’m telling you now, you might get away with this if that miserable shiksa survives, but only if you live like a monk for the next year.”

  “A year? That’s a long time to do penance for writing a part that was perfect for an unbalanced actress.”

  Lester snorted. “Let this be a lesson to you. You find me a balanced actress and I’ll show you a divorce lawyer who isn’t a schmuck. They don’t exist.”

  “Yeah. Got it.”

  “Where is this pool house?”

  “Malibu.”

  “Good. You’re still close to LA if I need you.” He heard a wheezing cough and knew Lester had been smoking again even though his doctor, his wife, his ex wife, all three of his kids and his assistant had all been bugging him to quit. “What are you doing at this beach house?”

  “Working on a new script.” That would make Lester happy. “And there are no women in it. Only men, and most of them get killed.”

  “Good. You finally working on that noir thriller?”

  “Seemed like a good time.”

  A wheezy chuckle answered him. “Okay. Keep your balls in your pants and we might get through this.”

  Now that the rant was over, Ben settled back. “Thanks, Lester.”

  “I got your back.”

  ***

  He had to sneak out of his own house, the house he’d had designed and built after his first success. Now he was creeping out like a burglar with a bag with a few clothes, and another containing what was basically his office in a bag. He had a great office in his house. Now he was going to be working in somebody else’s pool house. Not that he wasn’t grateful. If he checked into a hotel he could too easily be found, but hidden away in Duncan Carnarvon’s pool house he was as good as invisible. And so he would stay until some other media whore grabbed the spotlight away from Vanessa.

  Ben had been hiding from the paparazzi, and people who seemed to have nothing better to do than hang around watching his house, for days.

  He left in the wee hours of the morning, when everyone had gone home to rest up for another day of Ben-baiting. He took his beloved convertible with him and sped down the relatively quiet streets of LA and out to Malibu. By the time the sun rose, Ben was unpacked and walking along the beach in peace. He could think on the Carnarvon’s estate, he could walk without feeling eyes on him and whispers behind his back. And, he hoped to hell, he could write.

  The story had been burning within him for a while. It was more violent than his usual fare. The main female character was a fickle, faithless wife who died a violent death, and right now that absolutely suited his mood.

  He had some ideas for act one, some snippets of dialogue, and, as he walked, he felt the calm breath of the ocean echoed in his own breath. He walked for a long while, letting ideas play in his head. He’d had enough of real life drama. He wanted to get back to the movies where st
ories made sense.

  He headed back to the pool house, ready to put on a pot of coffee and get his working day started. The best thing about his hideout was that no one knew where he was except Lester, and his parents who had arranged the temporary home for him. He was far from the craziness, far from all writing distractions, and best of all he was far from women.

  He strode up the path ready to get to work.

  And he stopped dead.

  There was a mermaid in his pool.

  He blinked and the mythical creature resolved itself into a woman in a green bikini. The light had caught her so she sparkled, but she was a woman, strong legs powering her forward. An athletic one too, based on the clean, efficient strokes that carried her quickly through the water. She reached the end and flipped with as much grace as any mermaid he could imagine. Now she was heading his way, the pool rippling blue and green around her. She got to the end, and—did she see his shadow? Sense his presence? She put her hands on the edge of the pool and raised her head to look up at him.

  Droplets of water rolled down her face and the years rolled away with them. He hadn’t seen Ashley Carnarvon in a decade but he still remembered being the object of an intense crush. Ashley had followed him around like the lonely, lovesick teenager she was for all of one summer. No one had developed an obsession to rival it until… Vanessa.

  His first thought was, hell, no. Not this. Not now. Of all the pools in Malibu, she had to swim into his.

  For a second neither spoke. He was aware that she’d filled out since her teenage years. A diamond nose ring sparkled. She projected a certain go-to-hell attitude that she’d been trying on when she was fifteen. Her vulnerability had been achingly obvious back then. Now she either hid it better or had toughened up. He hoped it was the latter. And God, he hoped she was over her crush. Otherwise he’d be searching out somebody else’s vacant pool house within the hour.

  “Ashley?” he asked, adding a note of uncertainty even though he knew exactly who she was.

  “Ben?” She returned the question, even though he knew she was just as certain about his identity.