by Baird, Ginny
Mike walked over and whisked Carrie out of his father’s arms. “Sorry about that, old man. But I got to her first, and you know what they say --”
“Finders, keepers,” Mike and Carrie parroted together.
Jack’s eyes sparkled. “Quite a handsome pair the two of you make. So, when’s the big day?”
Mike swallowed hard.
“June 23rd,” Carrie raced in. “The church has been reserved for months.”
Jack shot Mike a quizzical look. “That so? I was under the impression the two of you had only recently met.”
“Yeah, but I’d been hoping,” Carrie said, giving Mike a megawatt smile.
June 23rd? What on earth...? Oh, Okay, Mike got it. Maybe this was all a little part of the rehearsal for Carrie’s big performance at the reunion. Well fine, he could play along with that. For now. Assuming Carrie accepted his authentic proposal -- and that was still a big “if,” his dad certainly wouldn’t mind a change in dates later on. Jack wasn’t, and never had been, a stickler for details.
“It’s a really long story,” Mike said, reaching down and taking Carrie’s hand. “The important thing is, we’ve already set some of those...uh, wheels in motion.
Mike didn’t know the half of it, Carrie thought, giving his hand a squeeze. Not only did they have a church and a reception hall reserved, but also a caterer and a three hundred dollar wedding cake. Mint chocolate, through a little creative rearranging, on Carrie’s part, she thought, feeling rather proud of herself. The only thing standing in their way was the minor detail of the formal marriage proposal. And that little nuance of Mike’s admitting he loved her, which, by now, she was quite certain he did. He’d brought her home to meet his father, hadn’t he? Even Alexia, as it turned out, hadn’t gotten that far.
“Yes,” Carrie said, taking the chair at the table Jack had offered. Mike pulled out another and sat beside her. “But we can get to all those details later. We still have plenty of time.”
Jack shook his head with an eye on his wall calendar. “Looks more like two weeks by my calculation. Now I don’t know much about women stuff, planning weddings and all that, but it really seems to me the two of you might be cutting things a bit tight here.”
Carrie and Mike looked at each other.
“Not that I’d want to do anything to discourage ya!” Jack said, whacking Mike across the shoulder in a sign of approval. “You just tell me what I’ll need to do from my end.”
“Not a thing, Dad. Not a thing.”
“You could walk me down the aisle,” Carrie raced in impetuously. She bit her lip in hesitation as Mike dropped his jaw and stared. “I mean,” she continued tentatively, “I never knew my father, and Grandpa’s been gone for years...”
“I’d be honored,” Jack said, a barely perceptible moisture gathering in the corner of one eye.
Holy cow! Was she nuts! How could she even do this to him?! Why would she even to this do him? Nothing like this was in his presupposed plan. Though he’d hoped to ask that big, big question. He was still smack dab in the middle of finessing the hows and whens. Now, if he didn’t act soon, he’d been lunch meat in his father’s eyes. Just look at him! Less than ten minutes flat, and his Dad was already eating right out of Carrie’s hand!
“Uh Carrie, sweetheart,” Mike said, laying a hand on her forearm resting on the table. “Don’t you think that invitation is a little -- premature?”
“Premature? Heaven’s no!” she said, wriggling her arm out from under his grasp and glowing at Jack. “Like your Dad said, our wedding is only two weeks away.”
Our wedding. It was the first time Mike had actually heard her say it. And it sent simultaneous shivers of delight and terror straight through him. This was really going to happen. He and Carrie. All pretending aside. Holy cow.
Mike withdrew a hanky from his breast pocket and dabbed his dampened brow.
“I agree,” Jack said. “Two weeks is no time at all. Besides,” he said, looking very pointedly at Mike, “she asked me, not you, young man. So, stay out of it!”
Jack returned his affectionate gaze toward Carrie. Though his hair had gone completely gray, Carrie could definitely see where Mike had gotten the gorgeous green eyes from. “So, young lady, tell me a bit about yourself. You from these parts?”
“Yes sir, grew up in Mill Creek, right around the bend. And Mike and I, as it turns out, both went to the university.”
“Not together, I would guess? You seem a good bit younger than Mike.”
Carrie grinned. “Only a few years, sir. But, you’re right, we’re far enough apart that we weren’t in school at the same time.”
“Ships passing in the night,” Jack commented with a rather melancholy smile.
“More like swimmers,” Mike mumbled under his breath.
“What’s that?” Jack asked, when Carrie burst out laughing.
“He’s just being silly,” Carrie said, kicking Mike under the table.
“Won’t be the first time,” Jack said. “Well, at least it’s good to see his taste in women has improved. Are you working in the area?” he asked Carrie.
“Yes, I’m an investor.”
Jack whistled. “Big money in that, here tell.”
“Dad...” Mike cautioned in a low vibrato.
Not here, not now, Carrie told herself. “Uh, yes sir. Yes sir, there is.”
Carrie glanced down at her styled gold watch, the one she reserved just for evening ware. “Oh my gosh, will you look at that! Seven-fifteen. How far a drive did you say it was?” she asked, turning to Mike.
“Hey yeah, we’d better get going,” he said standing from his chair. “Dad,” he said, giving his father’s shoulder a pat. “You take care, now. And no more flirting with those nurses. If I get one more call from Dr. Shafer’s office about your hitting on the staff...”
Carrie laughed all the way to the car.
“Does your dad really hit on the nurses?” Carrie asked, once she’d adjusted her seat belt.”
“Only the pretty ones.”
Carrie smiled and shook her head as Mike started the ignition. “Now, I definitely see where you get it from." But what Carrie secretly found herself wondering was if any of her and Mike’s children would be half as bad.
****
Chapter Fourteen
The parade of oaks leading up to Ashton Hall were magnificent. Though Carrie had heard of the all-boys boarding school, she’d never once been there. Likely because the high school circles she’d run with didn’t exactly involve a “moneyed” crowd.
Carrie had plans to discuss her financial “predicament,” meaning the fact that she was exceedingly wealthy, with Mike tonight. The time for pretense was over. He’d proven well enough, in a million different ways, that the woman he cared for had nothing to do with her bank account. Of course, he’d seen her car and knew she worked in finance. What he didn’t know was that her title in New York was Venture Capitalist and that her account balance registered in the seven digits.
Carrie prayed inwardly that it wouldn’t make too much difference. Mike certainly didn’t strike her as the sort of man who would feel emasculated by a wife who made more money. The impression he’d given her was that Alexia had been well-off, and that in and of itself, apparently hadn’t phased him in the least. “Thank you for doing this,” Mike said, shutting off the engine and pulling his keys from the ignition. “You don’t know what it means to me to have you on my arm tonight.”
Oh yes, she did. Because whether or not he suspected it, it meant just as much to her. And not simply because she planned to pose as his fiancée for the night. But, more importantly, because she hoped to soon make that role a legitimate position.
Mike walked around the car and opened her door. “You ready to be my bride-to-be?” he asked, with a grin that sent her stomach all a-flutter.
More than he knew. But she just said, “yes.”
Ashton Hall was an impressive two-hundred-year-old red brick building, elegant high white c
olumns flanking the tall main entrance. The striking Georgian architecture reminded Carrie of parts of the college campus where she and Mike had both studied.
“Wow,” Carrie said, as Mike ushered her in the door.
The domed central ceiling, in and of itself, must have reached over forty feet. Elegant crystal chandeliers dripped light like sparkling tear-drops onto the well-placed circular tables that dotted the parameter of the room.
White linen table clothes lapped hand-sewn Oriental carpets. And, above the clatter of clinking glasses and conversation, a band played jazzy eighties tunes from a stage set up far against a back wall.
The mood was all gentile opulence. They’d been standing there scarcely five seconds when a server strode briskly over, offering up a tray of champagne.
“Carrie?” Mike asked, lifting a single flute off the tray and extending it in her direction.
From the trailer park to this. All at once the disparity hit here. “Thank you,” Carrie said, accepting the champagne.
Mike picked up a glass of his own, and the white-gloved server made himself scarce.
Carrie took another look around the room. “I said it before, but it bears repeating. Wow.”
“I know it must seem odd,” Mike said. “I mean, after seeing the place I grew up.”
Carrie heated at the thought he’d read her thoughts. How embarrassing. He probably thought she’d been judging him. “No, actually --”
“It’s, alright. Really. Though I may have been somewhat ashamed of my humble roots as a teenager...”
“You should never have felt ashamed of your father, Mike. He’s a wonderful man.”
“Easy for me to accept now,” he told her, as they made their way into the busy room. “Not so easy for a boy in high school. I landed at Ashton Academy like a total fish out of water.”
“Scholarship?” Carrie guessed.
“Swimming.”
She might have known. “Well, I think it’s fantastic you had the opportunity. When I was a teenager, I didn’t even know places like this existed.”
An attractive couple wandered over. A pretty blonde and a stocky brunette about Mike’s age. The husky fellow set his glass on a nearby table and took up Mike’s free hand with great gusto. “Mike the Spike!” he said, cheerily pumping Mike’s arm. “Great to see you, buddy!
Mike’s eyes lit up. “Figaro? Oh, my... How are you?!” he asked, with unmasked delight. “Uh, oh, forgive me. Carrie St. John, this is Fig.”
“Fig’s not his real name,” the blonde interjected. “It’s Paul. Paul Westinghouse, III.”
Mike chuckled and turned his eyes on the woman. “Why, hello. Are you the lucky Mrs.?”
“Am at that.” She smiled. “My name’s Wendy. And you, officially, are...?”
“Mike Davis,” Carrie supplied, easily following the protocol where the women spoke for the men. She could get used to that. “But I want to know where that ‘spike’ part came from,” she said, playfully poking Mike in the chest.
Mike looked down her rigid finger and chuckled at their private joke. “Now, don’t go getting any dirty ideas,” he whispered in her ear. He turned and winked at Paul. “Spike, comes from the way I used to dive.”
“Straight out like this,” Paul said, striking a pose by extending his arms straight-arrow over his head. The group broke out laughing.
“And, Fig?” Carrie asked with a grin. “I can’t fathom that one.”
“That’s because he swam like a song,” Wendy reported. “You know, Figaro, Figaro, Figaro...”
“Yeah, a swan’s song,” Mike chimed in.
More companionable laughter.
“So, you two were on the swim team together?” Carrie asked.
“Yes ma’am,” Paul answered, “though it looks like your husband’s keeping much more fit than I am. Congratulations, by the way,” he said, turning to Mike and once more pumping his hand. “Somebody made an honest man of you, after all.”
“Well, not quite,” Mike began.
“Yeah,” Carrie said. “He’s still as dishonest as they come.”
Paul and Wendy roared.
“Know what you mean,” Wendy added. “Once incorrigible, always incorrigible. Wedding band or no.”
Wait a minute! What was happening here? He was assumed to be married? Mike shifted and dug his left hand into his pocket.
“Well, buddy,” Paul said, lifting his glass in Mike and Carrie’s direction. “Guess you had us all fooled. Heartiest congratulations on your excellent taste.”
When Paul and Wendy had made their polite goodbyes and departed to mill with other guests, Mike turned to Carrie. “Holy cow, those guys thought we were married!”
“Imagine that,” Carrie said, with a curious poker expression on her face.
“Well,” she said after a brief silence, “stop staring. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To be known as the man who beat his perpetual bachelor status?”
“Well yes, but --”
“Look,” Carrie interrupted. “People are getting seated. We’d better find our places before they start serving.”
Mike and Carrie were lucky enough to find their place cards at the same table with Paul and Wendy, and a few more of Mike’s old swim team cronies. Mike looked around the room, seeing that many of the other groups that hung together in high school had also been placed together at their respective tables. Whoever had been in charge of the seating chart had done an excellent job.
The various courses flowed by with good conversation and wine, both of which seemed in endless supply. Everyone at their table was duly impressed with Carrie, both her financial acumen and her personal style. Mike could tell by the body postures of his former fellow athletes who seemed intent on angling close to Carrie to absorb her every informed word on the financial markets. Either that, or to catch a whiff of her heather perfume, which made Mike more than just a little bit jealous. Though he didn’t know why. She was doing exactly as he’d hoped she would, knocking the socks off of every one of his buddies. If only they didn’t look like they’d be happy to also have Carrie knock their boxers off...
“You’ve been quiet,” Carrie whispered in his ear. “Getting tired?”
“Just tired of the conversation,” Mike whispered back.
“Ah,” she replied, her tone still hushed, “finances bore you.”
“No,” Mike said, his voice coming out louder than intended. “Men putting the moves on my ‘wife’ bore me.”
The two couples seated across the table from them stopped conversing and stared.
Oh, Jesus. Mike pushed back his chair and stood. “Excuse me, I’m going to get some air.”
“Then, I’m coming with you!” Carrie said, scrambling to her feet and hurrying after him.
Carrie followed Mike out a large glass door that led to a sweeping veranda, then settled beside him on a carved marble bench. She couldn’t believe it. He was jealous! All rationale told her that was a bad sign. The books, the magazines all told you that jealousy meant possession. But way deep inside Carrie’s heart was doing a jig shouting: yes, yes, yes!
He loved her, she knew he did. All she had to do was get him to say it.
“If any of those men were flirting,” Carrie lied, “I certainly didn’t know it.”
“Flirting? Carrie, Billy Smith looked like he was ready to up and carry you away! That, with his wife Elizabeth sitting next to him!”
“Mike,” Carrie said, scooting in toward him. “Only one man in this crowd could carry me away. And I think you know exactly who that is.”
Oh, if only, Mike thought looking up at the big, bold moon. But what if when he really asked, and she said no? Mike had nothing to offer her. Nothing but what was in his heart. And Carrie already had it all. He knew from talking to her grandmother. Feeling it only right, he’d gone by this afternoon to discuss his intentions. Grandma Russell had assured him that the money business didn’t really matter one way or another. And, at the time, feeling hopeful, he’d believ
ed it.
Now he just didn’t know. Mike had seen the way Carrie’s jaw had dropped when she’d walked in here. Though she came from more humble roots like he had, this was the sort of world she was meant for. That ambition was what had taken her to New York. And to see the way she had meshed with his Wall Street buddies at the table, he guessed that’s where she belonged. Certainly not stuck permanently in Central Virginia with the likes of him, much less down in the far-off Cayman’s. Mike heaved a sigh, his heart heavy with the moment.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she said, lightly touching his arm.
“Carrie,” he began, “there are some things I need to tell you.”
“No,” she said, laying a hand on his thigh. “Me first.”
Mike looked up into her beautiful dark eyes sparkling with starlight.
“I think,” she began, then stopped. Come on, Carrie, don’t lose your nerve. But what if he couldn’t love her for who she really was, a woman with money? What if he said they were too different, that their lives were worlds apart?
“What do you think?”
“Mike, I have something personal to tell you. I mean, personal about my job. Of course, normally, it’s nobody’s business so I don’t discuss it at all. But with a man I... What I meant to say was... Crimminy!”
“Crimminy?” Mike asked, leaning in and raising her chin.
“Oh gosh, it’s an expression I picked up from my grandmother.”
“Speaking of your Grandma Russell...”
“No, Mike,” she said, lightly brushing aside his hand. “Let me finish. It’s very important to me I get this out -- before I lose my nerve.”
Mike set his palms on his thighs and waited.
“Mike, I’m --”
“Dirty rich,” he said, turning his eyes on hers.
Carrie gasped. “Have you been talking to my grandmother?”