Substitute Bride (Special Edition)

by Alexander, Trisha

  Rachel sighed.

  The rest was history. By the time her year was up and she’d returned to Houston, David and Roxanne were already an acknowledged couple, and by Christmas they were officially engaged and Wylie Carlton was ecstatic. Rachel had no choice but to pretend a happiness she did not feel.

  Somehow she’d managed to get through the intervening months. Somehow she’d kept a smile on her face and said and done all the right things. Somehow she’d convinced herself that if David was happy and Roxanne was happy, she would be happy, too.

  But Roxanne wasn’t happy.

  And if she married David, he wouldn’t be happy, either. Because he wasn’t stupid. It wouldn’t take long for him to realize something was terribly wrong.

  And then what?

  The next morning Rachel wondered if she should try to talk to Roxanne again. But Roxanne’s door was shut, and when Rachel tapped softly, there was no answer. And Rachel really couldn’t stick around waiting for her sister to wake up. She had a nine-o’clock appointment with the owner of the Blythe Gallery, who was considering showing her work.

  It was already eight-fifteen. Rachel had to leave, because this chance for a show at Blythe was important to her, and she certainly didn’t want to be late.

  So, telling herself Roxanne’s problems could only be solved by Roxanne, Rachel headed toward the museum district She arrived at the gallery, which was situated conveniently near the Contemporary Arts Museum on Montrose, fifteen minutes early, but that was all right.

  Smoothing down the skirt of her oatmeal linen suit and straightening the short, fitted jacket, she opened the gleaming glass-and-chrome doors that led directly into the main gallery. A polished brunette in a short black dress sat behind a small antique desk in the corner. There was nothing on the desk top except a white phone and an appointment book. “Yes?” she said, flashing a brilliant smile. “May I help you?”

  Rachel introduced herself. Another blinding smile later, the brunette—who’d introduced herself simply as “Vivian, Mr. Blythe’s assistant"—picked up the phone and murmured something into it

  “Mr. Blythe will be with you in a few minutes,” Vivian said.

  While she waited, Rachel walked slowly around the main showroom and studied the paintings on the walls. They were all abstracts in shades of red and brown, painted by an artist whose name she recognized from recent articles in art magazines. He had been described as “up-and-coming” and “a brilliant new talent.” Envy pricked at her. She wanted this, too—the validation of knowing that others admired her work and were willing to pay for the privilege of owning it.

  It was funny, she thought. She loved teaching art to children. She would probably always want to teach, no matter how successful she might be with her own art. There was something very satisfying about introducing a child to the wonders of creating something with his or her own hands and imagination. But she also needed this other kind of recognition, and the need was all tied up in her feelings about herself and her father and her sister.

  “Miss Carlton?”

  Rachel turned. A tall, gaunt man with a pencil-thin mustache and thinning gray hair smiled at her.

  “I’m Phillip Blythe,” he said, walking forward and extending his hand. “Let’s go back to my office.”

  Rachel followed him down a carpeted hallway to a small, sun-filled office that faced the side street. She declined his offer of coffee and sat in the indicated chair. He took a seat behind a cluttered desk. Rachel’s heart was beating a bit too fast, and she told herself to calm down. This isn’t world peace, she reminded herself. The worst thing that could happen here would be for him to decline to give her a show.

  He fingered her portfolio. His gaze was thoughtful.

  Rachel girded herself for disappointment, resolving to be gracious even if it killed her.

  “I like your work,” he said. “I like it very much.”

  Rachel flushed with pleasure. “Thank you.”

  “I can give you a show in September, if you can give me at least thirty suitable paintings by then. Otherwise, we’d have to wait until next spring, because the gallery is fully booked for the remainder of the year as well as January through March of next year.”

  September! So soon! Euphoria flooded her, and she had the almost uncontrollable urge to jump up and hug him. Somehow she restrained herself and instead did a quick mental calculation. She already had the eighteen paintings that had comprised the portfolio she’d submitted for Blythe’s evaluation. And she had more than two months before school started in the fall. If she worked hard from now until then, she should easily be able to complete twelve additional paintings. “That should not be a problem,” she said.

  “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  They smiled at each other.

  “Well,” he said briskly. “Let’s talk about specifics.” For the next thirty minutes they discussed the particulars of the show and then worked out the details of the contract. “I’ll have Vivian send you the contract by the end of the week,” Blythe said, standing.

  Rachel stood, too. Blythe escorted her to the front door, where they shook hands.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Blythe,” Rachel said. “I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

  He smiled, and this time his smile was warm. “Please, call me Phillip. And the pleasure is all mine. I have great hopes for you, my dear.”

  Rachel practically floated home. All her unhappiness over the episode with David had been forgotten, and she couldn’t wait to share her news with Roxanne. It was only when she reached the town house that her euphoria dimmed somewhat and she was reminded of how unimportant her triumph might seem in the face of Roxanne’s problems.

  Maybe I shouldn’t tell her.

  She needn’t have worried. Roxanne wasn’t there. And although Rachel spent most of the day at home, sorting through her sketchbooks and leafing through her idea file, Roxanne didn’t return until very late that night, by which time Rachel was already in bed and half asleep.

  The next morning, when Roxanne finally came downstairs and Rachel got a good look at her sister’s strained expression and the shadows under her eyes, she decided her good news could definitely wait. Somehow, being happy about the upcoming show seemed cruel when Roxanne was so miserable. Rachel knew her misgivings about telling Roxanne were ridiculous. It wasn’t as if everything in Rachel’s life was wonderful. She had her own hell to live with. After all, the man she loved was soon to marry someone else. But, of course, Roxanne didn’t know that.

  The excitement that had sustained Rachel for the past twenty-four hours faded completely, and the old, familiar ache of longing threatened to overwhelm her.

  In that moment a terrible foreboding seized her.

  They were in such a mess.

  No good could possibly come out of this impossible situation. Rachel knew, with a terrifying certainty, that sooner or later, something dreadful was going to happen.

  It was only a matter of when.

  By the time the day of the rehearsal dinner arrived, Rachel felt as if she’d been holding her breath for days. She got up at seven, taking care not to be too noisy. She knew Roxanne had been out very late the night before. She was afraid to know the reason.

  Consequently, she was surprised to hear Roxanne coming down the steps twenty minutes later.

  “You’re up early,” she said, turning to smile at her twin. The smile died on her lips. Roxanne’s eyes were all puffy and red. She looked awful.

  Rachel poured Roxanne.a mugful of coffee and silently handed it to her. “Sit down,” she said gently. “Tell me what’s happened now.”

  Roxanne’s face twisted. Her eyes filled with tears. “C-Carlos is leaving on Monday. H-he’s going back to Mexico. I—I’ll never see him again.” The tears spilled over, rolling down her face.

  Even though Rachel knew this was probably the best thing that, could have happened, she couldn’t help feeling compassion for her sister’s distress. She walked o
ver and put her arms around Roxanne, who buried her face against Rachel and cried as if her heart were breaking. Rachel held her and smoothed her hair and wondered what on earth was going to happen to all of them.

  When Roxanne finally quieted, Rachel said, “Is Carlos leaving because of you?”

  Roxanne sniffled. “Yes. He asked for reassignment. He said he couldn’t stay here, not if I was going to marry someone else. He…he said he loves me, and the thought of me being with another man was too much.”

  In some strange way, knowing that Carlos cared for Roxanne, that this affair wasn’t a casual thing with him, as Rachel had feared, made Rachel feel better.

  “He wants me to go with him.”

  “Marry him, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  Rachel couldn’t prevent the tiny spark of hope that ignited. “And…what did you tell him?”

  “What could I tell him? I told him it was impossible. How. can I go with him? How can I marry him? I mean, my wedding to David is tomorrow!” She sank into a chair. She looked completely drained, as if the life had been squeezed out of her.

  For long moments, neither spoke. Then Roxanne sighed deeply. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be dumping this on you. None of it is your problem.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course it is. Anything that affects you affects me, too. You know that. I just wish I could help.”

  Roxanne’s attempt at a smile didn’t quite make it. “You have helped. You’ve listened, and you haven’t told me I’m a terrible person.”

  “That’s because you’re not a terrible person,” Rachel said softly.

  Roxanne’s eyes filled with tears again. She angrily brushed them away. “Yes, I am. I’m a coward. If I wasn’t, I’d tell Daddy and David the truth.”

  “It’s not too late.”

  “Yes, it is. It was too late the day I accepted David’s proposal, and you know it” She took a long, shaky breath and stood. “Well,” she said with a false briskness, “it’s not the end of the world, is it? I’ll get over this. I’ve gotten over love affairs before. It’s time to stop feeling sorry for myself and go back upstairs and try to get some sleep. Otherwise I’m gonna look like hell at the rehearsal tonight”

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

  Roxanne shrugged, her eyes bleak. “I have to be, don’t I?”

  As soon as the dessert dishes were cleared away, Wylie Carlton stood and tapped his spoon against his crystal water goblet. The babble of voices from the attendees at the rehearsal dinner died down. Smiling faces looked his way expectantly.

  When he was satisfied that he had everyone’s attention, Wylie reached for his champagne flute. Raising it, he smiled across at Roxanne and David, who were seated on the other side of the round table.

  “To Roxanne, my darlin’ daughter,” he announced in his usual booming voice, “and to David, who has always been like a son to me.” He smiled happily. “Tomorrow’s the day I’ve been waitin’ for for years— the day that will mark the official merger of our two families.”

  “Hear, hear,” someone said.

  Wylie lifted his glass higher. “May you live a long and happy life together, and may you present me with lots of grandchildren!”

  The guests laughed and drank the toast.

  Rachel sipped her champagne and looked at Rox anne. She looked beautiful in her short black lace cocktail dress, and she was trying hard to act happy and normal. Too hard, Rachel thought. Her smile was brittle and there was an almost hectic glitter in her eyes. Was it only Rachel who saw the unhappiness and desperation behind them?

  Her glance slid to David. What was he thinking? she wondered. Tenderness flooded her as she studied his beloved face. He wasn’t classically handsome. His face was too long, his nose a bit too large, his features too strong. Despite these minor flaws—or perhaps because of them—he was enormously appealing.

  His eyes were his best feature, she thought. They were a melting brown, the color of dark chocolate, and fringed by thick, curly dark lashes. His hair was almost black, and he always kept it cut short, because otherwise it curled too much, which he didn’t like. He wasn’t extremely tall, maybe five-eleven or so, but he seemed taller, maybe because he had a powerful build from his regular workouts. He had a deep, quiet voice and an endearing, almost shy smile.

  He was also a really nice man, the kind of person who listened more than he talked and who always seemed interested in whatever you had to say.

  He was, in a word, perfect.

  He looked wonderful tonight in a beautifully cut charcoal pinstripe suit. Clothes looked good on David, and he liked dressing well. It was his one vice, Rachel had often teased.

  As if he felt Rachel’s eyes upon him, he turned and smiled at her. Rachel’s heart turned over. She loved him so much. She smiled back, again wondering what he’d been thinking. Did he suspect a problem? Surely he realized Roxanne wasn’t herself tonight. Oh, David, why couldn’t you have fallen in love with me?

  Just then David’s grandmother, Georgina Hanson, stood to make her toast. Rachel shook off her melancholy and smiled fondly. She loved Georgina—almost as much as if she were her grandmother instead of just an old family friend. The older woman looked beautiful tonight, her petite figure and snowy hair complemented by a pale blue chiffon dress. She was wearing a necklace and earrings of sapphires and diamonds that Rachel knew were old family heirlooms that would probably be passed on to David’s wife someday.

  To Roxanne.

  The thought brought a sharp stab of pain, and Rachel wondered if the day would ever come when she could think about Roxanne and David as husband and wife without the accompanying misery.

  “I hope you will be as happy in your marriage as I was in mine,” David’s grandmother said, finishing her toast and pulling Rachel’s attention away from her worries and back to the festivities. “I know if David’s parents were alive today, they would be as happy as I am.” Her smile was bittersweet. David’s parents had died in a boating accident when he was only eight years old.

  Again the guests drank.

  Several others made toasts, including Hank Schermer, David’s best man, who had flown in from Atlanta that morning. As he spoke, Rachel belatedly realized she should propose a toast, too. She quickly got to her feet when Hank was finished.

  “To Roxanne, my sister and my best friend, and to David, who already seems like part of our family—I hope you’ll be very happy.” Her eyes met Roxanne’s. I mean it. I do love you. And even if you are marrying the man I love, I still hope you’ll be happy.

  Their gazes clung for a moment, then Roxanne lifted her glass and quickly drained it.

  Someone began hitting their water glass with a spoon, and soon the rest of the guests joined in, setting up a clamor.

  “That means you have to kiss her,” someone said.

  David laughed and put his arms around Roxanne. He tipped her chin up.

  Rachel couldn’t look. She mumbled something about the ladies’ room and escaped from the table as quickly as she could. When she reached the safety of the lavatory, she splashed cold water on her face, repaired her makeup and once more got herself under control.

  Even so, she wasn’t sure how much more she could take, so after returning to the private room where their party was being held, she headed straight for Roxanne and David.

  “I’m not feeling great,” she said, “so I think I’m going to go. Do you mind?”

  “No, of course not,” Roxanne said. She looked at David. “You know, I’m really tired myself, and tomorrow’s a big day. Why don’t I go with her? The party’s about to break up, anyway.”

  “But I thought we’d—”

  “That way you can visit with Hank,” Roxanne continued, just as if he hadn’t spoken. “I know you guys have things you want to talk about, and if I’m there, I’ll cramp your style.”

  “No, you won’t,” David said.

  Rachel wondered if Roxanne’s eagerness to leave had anything to do with Carlo
s. She tried to catch Roxanne’s eye, but Roxanne didn’t look at her.

  “Yes, I will.” Roxanne stood. “I’m going to go say my goodbyes to everyone.” Now she looked at Rachel. “Then we can go.”

  Before Rachel could reply or David could protest further, she’d already moved away.

  David looked at Rachel.

  Rachel shrugged. “Sorry.”

  He seemed about to say something, then stopped, got up, took her arm and walked her over to the corner, out of earshot of any of the others. Something about his expression made Rachel’s stomach flutter in fear. She held her breath.

  “There’s something wrong with Roxanne,” he said, “and I think you know what it is.”

  Chapter Three

  Rachel’s heart skipped. “Besides nervousness, you mean?” She didn’t want to lie to him.

  He nodded, his concerned gaze moving past Rachel. She knew he was watching Roxanne make her farewells. “She seems, I don’t know…wired and weird. Like something’s bothering her.”

  “I, um, don’t know what to tell you,” she hedged. “Have you asked her if anything’s wrong?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, don’t you think you should ask her instead of me?”

  He eyed her thoughtfully, while inside she squirmed.

  Then he shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. She’s the one I should be talking to.” Frowning, he looked at Roxanne again.

  It-hurt Rachel to see the worry lines in his forehead. Honestly, this whole mess was so unfair to him, and he didn’t deserve it. Once more, she wanted to throttle her sister. “Listen, David, if you want to talk to her, I’ll leave now and you can bring her home.”

  For a moment he looked as if he were going to agree. Then, giving her an embarrassed smile, he said, “Aw, hell. She said she was tired. And she has been working hard lately. I’ve hardly seen her.”

  Guilt pricked Rachel, followed by a rush of anger. Why should she feel guilty? She hadn’t done anything wrong.