by Lily Cahill
After a quick nap, she started to work on the overskirt. She constructed it almost like she was constructing an apron—a wide skirt that fanned out all the way to the floor, sewn onto a waistband that tied into a soft bow. Only this apron was meant to be worn backwards. It would open just at her hips, revealing the sheath dress underneath, and form a full skirt behind her.
She had to take a break when Butch and Hank came in at eleven the next morning, after a long night of drinking and carousing. She made them lunch, then happily watched them disappear into their bedrooms to sleep off their bender. Instead of seeing to the dishes, she darted back up to the attic to put the finishing touches on her dress.
She made herself stop at six-thirty so she could take a quick shower and do her hair. There wasn’t much she could do with her hair in so little time, so she swept it into a low, full bun at the nape of her neck. Then she used the beet trick to redden her lips and put on her dress.
She felt like Cinderella—only she had become her own fairy godmother. The look wasn’t perfect. She had to borrow basic black ballet flats from Bethany’s closet—thank goodness they were now the same size—and she had no gloves or jewelry to complement the look. But the dress fit well, accentuating her figure and bringing out the color of her eyes. She felt beautiful—the most beautiful she had ever felt in her life. She couldn’t wait to see Clayton.
She scurried downstairs—it was nearly seven now and she’d have to race in order to meet Clayton in time—but was stopped short at the entrance to the kitchen. Butch was awake, and sitting in the kitchen with Ralph.
Cora tried to turn around and run back upstairs, but she didn’t get away fast enough.
There was a wolf-whistle, followed by Ralph’s lust-laden voice, “That’s a damn fine sister you got there, Butch.”
“What the hell are you wearing?” Butch drawled from the doorway.
Cora turned around, cursing herself for having not anticipated running into Butch. She tried to barrel past him. “I’m sorry. I’m running late,” she said.
“You ain’t going anywhere dressed like that,” Butch said.
“I’ll take her somewhere and deal with that dress,” Ralph said with a leer.
“You’re meeting him, aren’t you?” Butch asked. “I thought I told you not to speak to him again.”
Cora said the first lie that popped into her mind.
“I’m not meeting anyone. I got a job at McPherson’s Supper Club for the night.”
“Doing what? Cause I’ve never seen a waitress dressed like that.”
“I’m trying out to be a cigarette girl.”
“You ain’t pretty enough to be a cigarette girl,” Butch said.
“Don’t they have special outfits?” Ralph asked. “You know, those sexy numbers with the short skirts and fishnets?”
“Not until you get the job. You have to wear your own dress for tryouts.” Cora had no idea if that was true, but it was the best explanation she could come up with.
“Ralph’s right. That’s a whore’s job,” Butch said. “Go upstairs and take that stupid dress off. I’m hungry.”
“Come on, Butch. It’s good money. Just let me go and I’ll split the tips with you.”
“How much are we talking?”
“I don’t know. Maybe five dollars.”
“For one night?” Ralph asked. “Jeez-Louise. Even I’d tart myself up to make five dollars in one night.”
“Fine,” Butch said. “But I make your first three dollars, no matter what. Then spilt it after that.”
Cora knew he wouldn’t believe her if she didn’t put up a fight. “Come on, Butch. That’s not fair. You’re not the one doing all the work. How about my first dollar and a half? Then we’ll split whatever’s left. Sixty for me and forty for you.”
“The way I see it, you’re not gonna make anything if I lock you in your bedroom all night.”
“And neither will you.”
“Your first two dollars. Then fifty-fifty.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Cora stalked toward the door, but Ralph caught her arm as she passed. He licked his lips as he gazed at her cleavage.
“You want a ride up to the supper club? Just finished the car I’ve been working on. It’s real nice. You’d like it.”
Cora pulled her arm away. “No, thank you.”
“Come on. It’s just a little ride. And you said you were running late, didn’t you?”
“I’ll be fine.” She tried to walk past him, but he blocked her way—putting his arm on the door jamb.
“I’d show you a good time, Cora. If you were my girl, I’d show you a real good time.”
“I’m not your girl, Ralph, and I never will be.”
Cora ducked under his arm and sprinted out the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Clayton
Clayton was waiting by the bridge that led over the river. Meeting here was his last concession to her about hiding their relationship. After tonight, everything would be different. He’d already made all the arrangements, liquidating a number of his assets to prepare for every possibility, just in case. His boat had gone fast once he’d listed it for sale. The new owner was coming to pick it up next week. And he had several buyers interested in the car. When he thought about a life with Cora at his side, they were easy sacrifices.
His first sight of Cora was the top of her head as she came up over the rise. Her rich hair was drawn back so her deep blue eyes and luscious lips took center stage. Eagerly, he started to lope toward her, then came to stop as the sleek dress came into view. The neckline was demure, but the silky fabric clung to her body and made him burn with the knowledge of what lay beneath the elegant gown. A fan of gauzy blue material swished behind her back, making her look like she was floating on the breeze. He had never seen anyone more beautiful.
He pulled her close, bending his forehead to meet hers.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he said.
“Hi,” she said shyly, averting her eyes. Could she possibly have any doubt how lovely she looked tonight? It seemed unthinkable.
He took her hand and twirled her around.
She laughed, and her face lit up.
God, that smile. That laugh. He couldn’t wait to walk into the gala with her on his arm.
“Cora Murphy, you may be the death of me in that dress.” He was glad he’d thought to bring the necklace. He pulled it out of his pocket. “I kept it for you, like you asked. Will you wear it tonight?”
She smiled up at him, and with no hesitation said, “Yes. I’d love to.”
His heart leapt as he fastened it around her neck. She wasn’t fighting it. She was accepting his gift. Could she have any idea what that meant to him?
“Come on. I don’t want to miss a single dance with you tonight.”
“Wait,” she said, clasping her hands.
They were trembling, and Clayton took them in both of his. They were cold, delicate, and so small it seemed impossible. He rubbed them to warm her. Then he brought them to his lips and kissed her fingertips.
“You can still change your mind,” she said. “We don’t have to do this tonight.”
“No,” he said. “It’s long past time I introduced you to them properly.”
Cora’s brow furrowed, and Clayton had that old sense that she was a moment away from fleeing—a mare spooked by a rattlesnake.
“Just promise that no matter what your family says tonight—even if it makes you change your mind about me—”
“I won’t,” he said.
“Just promise me you’ll say goodbye, okay? And that we won’t hate each other? I want to cherish every moment we’ve had together.”
He hated it when she talked like this. If Clayton was a weaker man, he would doubt Cora’s feelings for him. But he knew Cora—understood both her selflessness and her self-doubt. If he had to, he’d spend the rest of his life making sure she never had reason to doubt herself—or his love for her—ever agai
n.
“I want to cherish our time together too,” he said.
“No matter how long we get to share it?” she asked.
The ring felt alive in his pocket. He almost pulled it out right there. Almost knelt before her and slipped it on her finger. God, he couldn’t wait to see it there. But he had plans for how he wanted to do it. And he wasn’t about to ruin them.
“No matter how long,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said, seeming to relax a bit.
Her lips looked so soft and full in the twilight. How could he resist them?
He leaned down and kissed her, exploring her mouth with his tongue, twisting his hand around the delicate nape of her neck, and teasing those ruby lips until she was kissing him back with the same fervor.
When they finally parted, he had half a thought to ditch the whole party and have her right there. But that could wait. Tonight was about showing her off, about finally taking a stand.
“Come on. Let’s try to have some fun tonight. What do you say?”
“All right,” she said. She smiled as though the smile itself was her sword. The act was so brave he felt his heart swell. He wouldn’t deny that tonight would be hard. They would be the subject of ugly gossip and scornful stares. But he was prouder than ever to have her by his side.
The party was already in full swing by the time Clayton and Cora arrived. They could hear the big band music and see finely dressed people swarming inside as they drove under the awning of the wide drive leading up to the McPherson Supper Club.
Clayton opened the door for Cora and tossed his keys to the valet. Then he noticed Cora tugging on her dress, trying to smooth her already perfect hair. The nerves were practically radiating off her.
“You look incredible,” he said.
She peeked inside before saying, “Everyone in there looks so elegant. I feel like a fraud.”
“You’ll put them all to shame,” he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. He had no doubt she would be able to hold her own in the crowd. In terms of beauty alone, she was hands down the loveliest creature there. And almost none of them had had the benefit of her kindness, her zeal, or her smile. He was almost jealous of them—getting to experience her for the first time.
He led her into the crowded ballroom. The place was packed with guests holding champagne flutes and practically shouting to each other over the spirited music from the twenty-piece band on stage. The lights were dimmed and candles were flickering from all the tables, which were clustered around a large, crowded dance area. Glittering silver streamers and festive silver balloons shaped like stars hung from the ceiling, making it almost feel as though they were outdoors.
“It’s lovely,” Cora said. Her eyes were bright, taking it all in. And not for the first time, Clayton felt a renewed sense of appreciation for his life when he could see it through her eyes.
Then he felt a hard tug on his elbow.
“Excuse me, I need to borrow my son for a moment,” the voice came from his father, who, from the looks of it, was raging mad. He was probably sore from losing their bet, but Clayton wasn’t about to let him go back on his word.
Clayton took a deep breath. It was now or never. “Father, I’d like you to meet Cora Murphy.”
Cora’s nervous smile faded when his father didn’t even bother to look at her.
“I need a few words with you, son.” The last word was almost a threat.
“Let go,” Clayton said, keeping his voice even. He clutched Cora’s hand while his father pulled him in the opposite direction.
“Don’t make a scene,” his father growled. “I only need you for a moment, and then we can forget all of this.”
Did his father mean he would be willing to accept Cora? Clayton felt a surge of hope that he might be able to heal this rift with his family before it truly began.
Clayton eyed Cora apologetically, “Get us some punch? I’ll be right back.”
She nodded and headed toward the bar, though worry furrowed her brow and doubt clouded her eyes. This was not the way Clayton had hoped things would go.
“What is it?” he asked his father.
“Come with me.”
Reluctantly, Clayton followed his father through the crowd toward the front of the room. But when he got up on stage as the band was finishing their song, Clayton balked.
“Come on. I have an announcement to make and I need you by my side.”
Announcements weren’t exactly rare from his father, considering the bank sponsored most of the events in town and was spearheading this one. But Clayton had no idea what sort of announcement he could possibly want to make that required him to be up on stage with him. Perhaps it was about the community lending initiative. Reluctantly, he climbed the stairs and stood next to his father, who was picking up a microphone.
“Thank you all for coming tonight. We appreciate the generous donation you’ve made to the Briggs Foundation. Please consider making an additional gift. The more you give, the greater our reach.”
This was all very routine. It was the same sort of speech he gave at every event. Clayton scoured the crowd for Cora, and spotted her at the very back of the room, hovering near the door with two glasses of punch. He winked at her and saw the curve of a smile touch her mouth.
“But that’s not what I’m up here to talk about. As it turns out, I have a very special announcement of a personal nature to make.”
His father motioned to someone, but Clayton couldn’t see who. He noticed waiters coming out of the dining room, circulating the crowd with fresh trays of champagne.
“You see, my son has found someone very special.”
Clayton’s eyes snapped to his father. Was he really about to publicly endorse Cora? He’d hoped for a civil conversation between Cora and his parents tonight, that was all. This was more than he ever dreamed possible. His mouth curved into a curious smile.
“The two lovebirds have been trying to keep it a secret, have a few final kicks before the end of the summer I suppose, but his mother and I aren’t blind.” He slapped Clayton on the back as everyone laughed. “You don’t need to hide it anymore, kid. We know. And we very much approve.”
Clayton beamed. He felt pride welling up in his chest at his father’s generosity toward Cora. Even though his father was clearly upset, he was keeping his word. A gesture like this would certainly garner her acceptance into their crowd. It would make things easier on all of them. He glanced out toward her, and saw that she was smiling too. There was light in her eyes, a confident set to her posture.
But then he saw something else, and his entire opinion changed in an instant. Violet was being led up the stairs by a waiter, looking just as shocked as Clayton.
“So tonight,” Clayton’s father said, “I’d like to officially announce the engagement of my second son, Clayton Anthony Briggs, to the very lovely and very accomplished Violet Miller.”
Violet’s eyes snapped to him, wide and hopeful and overcome with emotion. She put a hand to her mouth in surprise like she thought … Oh, God. Did she think Clayton was about to propose?
No. This couldn’t be happening. The joke was on Violet too. His father intended to humiliate them both if Clayton didn’t fall in line.
The crowd erupted in hearty applause.
Clayton turned to his father with fire in his chest. “What is this? We had a deal.”
His father dropped the mic down to his side. “Accept your loss gracefully, son. You’ll thank me for all of this one day.”
Clayton was flabbergasted.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” the crowd cheered.
He glanced over at Violet who suddenly looked panicked. Her fingers were balled in her skirt. Tears clouded her vision and the look in her eyes seemed to be demanding him to look at her, look at her, look.
It was only then that it occurred to him to look for Cora, to reassure her that this was all a mistake—a terrible trick concocted by his parents. He scanned the crowd for her and sp
otted her staring at him from the same place she was standing before. The glasses were no longer in her hands. And the look on her face—that look.
Oh god.
He shook his head to try to tell her it was all a mistake, but she ran. He had to catch her. He took one step toward the stage stairs, but Violet was by his side in an instant.
“Please don’t leave me alone up here, Clay,” she whispered. “Please.”
What could he do? This wasn’t fair to her either. He took Violet by the hand and bolted off stage, trying to spot Cora. But people kept getting in their way.
“Congratulations, son.”
“Come on, let’s see that kiss!”
“You make such a lovely couple.”
“I always knew you two would end up together.”
He dodged through them, not even bothering to acknowledge their comments. His father could explain it to them; he certainly wasn’t going to.
“Cora!” he called, letting go of Violet’s hand, letting the crowd swallow her behind him.
But he could no longer see Cora anywhere. She had already made it outside, and he was only halfway through the room—just past the dance floor.
“Clayton. Come back here,” his father called after him.
There was an air of confusion in the room—a bubbling of gossip as quick and popping as the champagne they all sipped. But then the band started up again—a loud happy song Clayton couldn’t place.
“To the happy couple!” the bandleader said into the mic, then started singing lyrics about everlasting love.
Clayton barreled through people—now all headed to the dance floor—fighting his way to the door. Finally, he saw an opening in the crowd and dashed toward it.
He raced through the endless room to the exit. But it was too late. She was already so far gone he couldn’t see her, didn’t know which direction she’d fled.
“My car,” he said to the valet.
“It might be a minute, sir. It’s a bit buried now.”
“As fast as you can,” he said, and the valet raced off.