by Jackie Braun
“Are you taking that, too?” He pointed to the top of her head.
With a sheepish smile she pulled the book off. It was the self-improvement one she’d purchased with him when they were at Bendle’s.
“Reading by osmosis?” His lips quirked.
Actually, she hadn’t gotten past the introduction, but she was determined to get her money’s worth.
“Very funny. I’ve been practicing walking more gracefully.” No small task wearing torture chambers that masqueraded as shoes.
“And the book helps?” He looked doubtful.
“If it stays on my head it means that my movements are more fluid and refined. I’m not flailing or stomping about.”
“Ah. So, how many times have you dropped it?” Again his lips quirked.
“That’s not the point.”
The answer was seventeen, but who was counting? Well, other than her downstairs neighbor. Mrs. McNally had started banging on the ceiling with a broom handle after the fourth thud. The woman had become a bear to live above ever since she’d gotten her hearing aids fixed.
“All set?” Simon asked, consulting his watch. He didn’t look eager to be off, as much as he looked eager to have the day behind him. She understood completely.
The wedding was at a church in Connecticut with the reception to follow at a nearby banquet hall. It might be wedding number six or seven for Simon’s father, but it was the first for the bride and she’d invited half the state’s population. At least that’s what Simon said his father had claimed.
“Just let me get my bag.”
The purse was new, too, a stylish little clutch with a silver buckle. Unlike the shoes, the only pain it inflicted had been on her bank account. Forcing herself not to limp, Chloe followed Simon outside to the limo. Its uniformed driver stood at the ready with the rear door open for them.
“Thanks. I’ve got this,” Simon told the man.
As the driver headed around to the front of the limo, Chloe said, “Wow, you went all out.”
Simon sometimes relied on hired vehicles, but generally he preferred getting behind the wheel of his Mercedes.
“Actually, my father did.” Simon’s expression turned grim. “I think he was worried I wouldn’t show up if he didn’t take care of my transportation.” He plucked at his tie then. “Dad paid for the tux, too.”
“You look very handsome in it.”
Indeed, he looked perfect. Even so, she couldn’t resist fussing with his bow tie. Afterward, she glanced up and offered an embarrassed smile.
“Your tie was a crooked.” By about a millimeter. The disturbing fact was, Chloe had been looking for an excuse to touch him.
“Thanks.”
“What would you do without me?” she asked on a laugh.
Despite his wry smile, he seemed utterly serious when he replied, “I hope I never find out.”
Her entrance through the limousine’s rear door wasn’t exactly graceful or modest given the way her skirt hiked up. She tugged at the hem after settling onto the seat. Simon joined her.
“I meant to tell you earlier that your workouts are paying off.”
Chloe was pleased he’d noticed, if a little embarrassed. She also felt guilty. The shape wear she’d purchased to help suck in her waist was worth every penny.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” He pulled at the tie she’d just straightened and his face reddened.
“Tie too tight?” she asked.
“Something’s too tight,” it sounded like he muttered.
Under his gaze, she started to feel warm, too. She cast about for something to say. “So, um, what’s your new stepmother’s name again?”
It was the wrong thing to ask. His lips curled from smile to snarl. “I think this one is Brittany, but since Dad has called them all ‘Sweetheart’ I’m not quite sure myself.”
Chloe tipped her head to one side, but before she could say anything, he said, “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t tell me to try to be happy for him.”
Okay, that had been her advice the past several marriages, which might help to explain why he hadn’t mentioned this one till the last possible moment. It struck Chloe then that even when Simon was in a relationship, he had always taken Chloe with him to his father’s weddings.
“Maybe she’s the one, Simon. Have you considered that?”
He snorted. “Please, she’s twelve.”
Chloe rolled her eyes.
“Okay, so she’s not twelve, but damned close. She’s younger than I am by a few years. It’s…disturbing.”
There was a definite ick factor there, she would admit.
“Sorry.”
She reached for his hand. Simon’s fingers wove through hers and their palms pressed together. Once again, she found it difficult to breathe. She forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying.
“At some point, you’d think my father would learn.”
“Maybe he’s a hopeless romantic,” she replied, trying to be diplomatic.
“More like just hopeless.” A muscle ticked in Simon’s jaw, a sign that he wasn’t only mad but hurt.
She couldn’t blame him. His parents had divorced not long after he’d moved into her apartment building when they were kids. His mother had been the bad guy, or so Simon had thought since she’d been the one to move out and later hadn’t fought for custody of her son.
“He looks too much like you,” he’d overheard his mother say to his father during one of their many heated arguments before the divorce was final. “And I want no reminders of you.”
That had been the first time Chloe ever saw Simon cry. He’d come to her apartment, his face ashen, his eyes swollen and red. After throwing up, he’d told her about the exchange. Then he’d fallen asleep on the beanbag chair in her bedroom.
Chloe’s parents had let him stay the night.
The second and last time she saw him cry had been when his father divorced wife number two.
Clarissa had been Simon’s babysitter since shortly before his mother left, which, looking back later, explained a lot of things to Chloe and shed light on the whispered conversations of some of the neighbors. But Simon had loved the woman and she’d loved him back, treating him, finally, like a child deserved to be treated by a mother. Clarissa had gone to his school functions, made a fuss over his accomplishments, arranged fun if sparsely attended birthday parties. Simon was a nerd, after all.
Clarissa had promised him that, no matter what happened between her and his father, she would always—always—be there for him. That’s not quite how it had worked out, though.
“It’s just too painful,” she told him after Christmas during his sophomore year of high school. By then, Simon’s father had married wife number three.
Simon had come to Chloe’s apartment once again. Sobbed as he’d sat in her bedroom. The beanbag chair was long gone, but he’d fallen asleep on the rug next to her bed. Despite the fact that Chloe and Simon were teenagers, her parents once again let him stay over. They’d been less worried about their daughter’s virtue than the emotional well-being of the boy they’d long considered a son.
Recalling his pain now, Chloe asked, “I know you’ve said in the past that his multiple marriages aren’t the reason you’ve never settled down, but…but don’t you think they might have something to do with it?”
“Analyzing me?”
Another person might have been put off by his flinty expression. Indeed, adversaries in business probably cringed when they saw it. Chloe had grown up around it and so was immune. “Yes. So?”
“I don’t want to make his mistakes,” he admitted after a moment. “You wouldn’t.”
“You say that with such confidence.”
“And yet you don’t believe me.”
His response was surprisingly candid. “I’d like to.”
“Simon—”
“Have I mentioned that you look lovely?”
He was trying to change the subject, but she decided to let him.
“Only once.” That had been when she’d opened her apartment door. His appreciative smile had caused her flesh to prickle. It was nice to be complimented. That was the reason behind the reaction. Which was why she said now, “Feel free to say it again.”
“You do look incredible, Chloe. An absolute vision.”
“What? In this old thing?” She plucked at that fabric of her new dress, but she couldn’t keep a straight face.
As the car made its way through traffic, he poured two glasses of champagne and handed one to her. “Did you buy it for the reunion?”
“Our class reunion?”
“Is there another one I don’t know about?”
He had her there. “No. And not exactly. I’ve got three contenders so far. Two still have the price tags on, so I can return them if need be.”
His lips quirked. She remembered how they’d felt pressed to hers.
“Hedging your bets?” he asked before taking a sip of bubbly.
“More like my bank account,” she admitted ruefully.
By the time it was all said and done, between clothes and the dentist, special diet foods and God only knew what else, Chloe was going to be out several hundred dollars.
Or more.
None of which she could afford on her current salary. Her credit cards had been inching toward their limits even before that cursed reunion invitation arrived. Her boss kept promising her a full-time position with better benefits and paid vacations, the date for which she could never pin down.
“It’s the economy, Chloe,” Mr. Thompson pointed out whenever she asked. “The company’s bottom line has taken a real beating.”
After saying this, he would grimace and turn slightly pale, making her regret having confronted him. So, she freelanced when and where she could. Even so, she never broke even, especially since her landlord had raised her rent yet again.
Simon would be appalled if he knew her true financial state. He was always after her about being prudent with her money and offering insight on smart investment opportunities. She appreciated his advice. Truly she did. And she would take it, too. Except that she never seemed to have the extra cash to spare.
Still, she considered the dresses and all of the other things for the reunion to be as smart an investment as the ones Simon had noted in the past. To her way of thinking, they would be worth the cost and then some, even if they never paid off monetarily.
Chloe needed to make a stand.
She was determined to show those horrid girls from high school that despite their nasty treatment of her, she’d turned out to be a successful, desired and appreciated adult.
Which was why it almost pained her to admit to Simon, “You’ll be happy to know that I’ve opted not to have my teeth fixed.”
To the outside observer Simon wouldn’t have appeared affected by the news. Chloe knew him too well. She caught the glimmer in his eyes just before he sipped his champagne. He was delighted.
“Cloned, you mean,” he said afterward.
She frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing about your teeth needs to be fixed, Chloe.” He shrugged. “That’s why I say you were going to have them cloned, to look like some Hollywood starlet’s.”
“Whatever.” She took a sip of her own beverage, not quite willing to agree with him.
“So, sanity prevailed. I hope something I said made a difference in your decision.”
He could be boorish when he thought himself in the right. Still, recalling his argument now—and the kiss that followed it—warmth shimmied up her spine, every bit as effervescent as the champagne’s bubbles. It caught her off guard, so much so that she spoke the truth.
“Actually, it had more to do with my bank account. Even if all I do these days is eat lettuce, I still couldn’t afford it.”
She laughed afterward, trying to turn her words into a joke. Simon, however, didn’t share her humor. He stared straight ahead in stony silence before turning to face her.
“If you really want to have veneers put on your teeth, I’ll pay for them.”
Her mouth gaped open, no doubt giving him a good look at all of the dental wizardry that would be involved. “Oh, that’s not necessary. I mean, I can pay for it myself.”
It was a bald-faced lie and they both knew it.
“What’s the latest word on your promotion to full-time?”
“Oh, you know. The economy.” She shrugged her shoulders.
“I know you like your job, Chloe. And I admire your loyalty, as you know. But you need to either become more assertive or start sending out your resume. He’s taking advantage of you.”
“I know.” She sighed.
“I’ll pay for it,” he said again. “If you really want those veneers, go for it.”
A lump formed in her throat. It was a moment before she managed to say around it, “Why?”
“If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”
“After the comment you just made about cloning, you’d do that?”
“I just said I would.”
“I…I don’t know what to say.” It was rare Chloe was struck speechless. But this was one of those occasions. Simon had been so vocal in his opposition to her getting veneers, yet now he was offering to pay for the dentist’s services.
“It can be an outright gift,” he was saying. “Your birthday is just around the corner.” Actually, it was seven months away, but who was counting? Not Simon apparently. “Or it can be an interest-free loan if you prefer.”
He’d covered all of his bases. He’d made sure that she could choose an option that left her pride intact. Emotions swelled inside her so intense that for just a moment she had to turn her head, look out the window and battle back tears.
“Chloe?”
“The bubbles from this champagne, they’re making my eyes water,” she lied. She gazed into the face she knew almost as well as she knew her own. “Thank you for your kind offer, but my answer is no.”
“No?” He seemed surprised.
Oddly, she wasn’t, even though mere days ago she would have considered selling her soul to the devil to swing the cost of those veneers. “I’ve reconsidered.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “You know, you’re right.”
How perverse, but she loved the sound of his dry chuckle just before he said, “I don’t hear that often enough from you.”
“Do you want to hear this or not?” she challenged.
“Oh, definitely. Go on.”
“I rather like my unconventional smile. It’s got…character.”
“I like it, too.”
He reached for her chin and pretended to examine the smile in question. She nearly started to laugh, but quickly sobered when he leaned toward her. For just a moment she thought… Nah. Ridiculous, she chided when he pulled away. He hadn’t been going to kiss her.
Damn. He’d come close to kissing her again. It was going to be a very long day if every time he turned around he found himself tempted to pull her into his arms and bare his soul.
He needed her in his life too much to ever risk losing her. Friends stayed friends. Lovers…even the best of them parted ways eventually. And, when their feelings ran deep, they parted with enough acrimony to keep them from ever speaking again.
If it had been up to him, Simon would have made a perfunctory visit at the wedding reception and called it good. As far as he was concerned, his father’s multiple marriages made a mockery of the institution.
But his father had ensured he would be there for the duration by tapping Simon as his best man, a fact Simon didn’t know until he showed up at the church, ostensibly to deliver the ring his father had asked him to collect from the jewelers the week before.
He walked out of the back room the groomsmen were using to prepare for the ceremony and sighed with relief when he spied Chloe. She was standing next to a large potted palm tree, looking furtively abo
ut as she divested herself of her heels. He’d wondered how long she would last in them. In the choppy wake of his father’s emotional ambush, the usual humor Simon would have found in the situation was lacking.
When he reached her, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
He unclenched his jaw. The words that spilled out of his mouth were no less bitter. “You know how my dad asked me to pick up the ring for him?”
“Uh-huh. Saved him a drive into the city you said.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought when I agreed to do it.” He plucked at his pleated shirtfront. “And this tuxedo and the stretch limo…”
“Hedging his bets,” she said slowly.
“Exactly. He wanted to be sure I’d be here today. On time and dressed the part.”
She frowned. “The part? What do you mean?”
“I’m the best man.” Simon swore afterward, soft enough that he couldn’t be overheard by anyone but Chloe.
And God.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. Here he was, in church of all places, and he’d let loose with a prime curse. It just went to show that, as always, Sherman Ford had a knack for bringing out the worst in his only child.
“Best man, hmm.” Chloe whistled through the slim gap in her teeth. “I guess he really was hedging his bets.”
“He set me up.”
“Yes.”
“He manipulated me.”
“He was worried you would say no,” she said softly.
“That’s because I would have. I’ve told him no ever since I was the best man at his second wedding.” Simon had been a boy then, still wounded from his mother’s abandonment and so damned idealistic that he’d actually believed his father’s second stab at “until death do us part” would hit the mark.
“So, what are you going to do?”
He wasn’t one to make snap decisions, but he made one now, eschewing manners or protocol or whatever else a situation such as this demanded in favor of righteous indignation. “I’m going to leave. Put your shoes back on. We’re out of here.”
She slipped her feet back into the pumps, not quite able to camouflage her wince as she did so. And, yes, he’d noticed the bandages she’d applied where blisters had started to form. Another time he would have teased her about them. Right now, he was too focused on his anger.