Snowy Encounters
Page 10
Rebecca glared. “I'm not the one buying the furniture. I am the furniture.”
“Stop. It's just one date with a stranger. And his money is going to go to whatever charity or good cause you want.”
“I don't know why I let you talk me into this.” She drew in another breath, wondering when the strings were going to snap and her breasts would be free again.
Erin laughed. “No one is going to recognize you. Don't worry. Stop being a nervous twit.”
Rebecca threw her hands up. “I can't help it. You would be, too, if you were baring everything on a stage in front of horny, sex-deprived men.”
“Yeah, but they'll be waving stacks of money at you, and that hospital you volunteer at will have happier kids,” said Erin, as she packed up the cosmetics case.
Rebecca’s shoulders hunched in defeat. “How did Kelly find this auction anyway?”
“They do it every year. Not many people know about it. Richie Mann hosts the event.”
She groaned. Known as the Hugh Heffner of the East Coast, Richie was constantly on the Tattler for his playboy ways and disrespect for the female race. “That's disgusting.”
“Yeah, but a lot of the guys come to this thing, even the ones with wives.”
Rebecca stared at Erin through the mirror. “It's a good thing we won't know anyone here.” She waited till her friend met her gaze. “Right?”
Erin smiled.
“Right?” Rebecca asked again. Unease rose in the back of her throat.
“Why don't you put on your costume, and I'll go check to see when it's your turn.” Erin whipped around and headed to the door.
With a sigh, Rebecca moved to stand in front of the costume—a slip of white cloth, fitted to cover her underclothes and imitated an ice queen with layers of short white lace and chiffon. Next to it, a diamond-studded tiara went along with the outfit, shining under the light, taunting her.
Her hand gripped a fistful of lace. Everyone thought her cold and snobby, but they didn’t know or understand the pressure she’d had growing up as the perfect daughter, the perfect hostess, or the perfect socialite. Her mother, Catherine Hathaway was a legend in town—the ideal citizen to society. Expectations were rules Rebecca had followed since birth, and to destroy her mother’s hard work would hurt the whole family.
How she wondered what it'd be like to be a normal girl—just hanging out with friends, staying out late, drinking and maybe even attending a club or two. No. The only things she knew were tea parties, book clubs, art shows and etiquette—everything expected of an Ice Princess.
Grabbing the skirt of the costume, she slipped it over her lace-clad bottom. The white top wrapped around like bandage, held together with fishhooks and sequins, undoubtedly the gaudiest thing she'd ever seen. As she clasped the hundreds of hooks together, the door burst open then slammed shut. Erin leaned against the door, holding a hand to her chest.
“What is wrong with you?” Rebecca asked then growled at the hooks.
“We have a problem.”
With the last clasp done, Rebecca tried to breath. The corset was too confining and she cursed whoever invented the blasted thing. “What's the problem?”
“Your brother and Mark are here.”
The blood drained from her face. Her heart stopped, and a wave of dizziness warped through her. Her hand groped for something to hold onto. “What do you mean?”
Erin took a step forward. “I'm sorry. I saw Mark and Lucas standing in the back.”
Rebecca plopped down in the chair with a thud. “That can't be. Why would they be here?”
Her friend made a face. “Bec, this is a rich boy's club. I'm sure your brother and Mark are here to have fun like all the other guys.”
She wanted to die. Mark Passmore, her brother's best friend, her ex-boyfriend, and the devil in a black suit—the man who’d haunted her since boldly dumping her three years earlier. He’d crushed her ego, and her pride dissolved to dust, left only with shame and disappointment from her parents.
And a broken heart.
Old pain seeped into her chest.
“I'm going to kill my brother.” Rebecca dragged in another breath.
“Not if he kills you first.”
Her body jerked as fear whipped through her. She'd almost forgotten about the auction. To walk on that stage meant instant death—there was no way she could do it. “What am I going to do?”
Erin sat down on the couch. Worry marred her pretty features—her neat eyebrows rose, blue eyes filled with doubt, and lips pursed. “I don't know now. If Lucas finds out you've even stepped foot in here, he's going to have your head and probably tell your mother. I'm more scared of your mother.”
Rebecca nodded. Her mother intimidated everyone. One look, one frown, and a person's life as they knew it, ended—kicked out of the circle of snobby friends the Hathaway's kept, which meant no more invites to parties, no business dealings and total deterioration of social class. Every resident in Grant knew her mother or knew of the woman. Her mother had power. No. Catherine Hathaway was the power in Grant.
“Erin, I can't go out there.” Hysteria bubbled in her chest. Her hands started to shake. She panted short, hard breaths to ease the nausea rolling in the pit of her stomach.
Erin threw her a speculative glance. “Maybe they won't recognize you.” She paused. “This would be a good chance for you to get back at Mark for dumping you, too.”
A flicker of hope stung her chest. She frowned. In love with a man all her life then dropped like an old shirt was not something to take lightly. She remembered the exact day. On a stroll to the garden gazebo, Mark had informed her of the need to talk. Thinking he intended to propose, he'd dropped to her side on the bench only to apologize; he didn't believe that they were right for each other, and she deserved better.
Anger started to pulse through her the more she thought about it. How did he know what she deserved? What right did he have for not giving her a chance to fix their problem? But instead of begging, she'd lifted her nose and said fine. Then she walked away.
As her brother's best friend, Mark was difficult to avoid. He attended every Hathaway function, did business with their family, and even showed up at her mother's garden parties, most likely because his mother insisted he attend. Three years of watching Mark flaunt woman after woman had created a block of resentment and hate within her. But she would never let him see the pain he'd caused her.
Catherine Hathaway's daughter did not exhibit emotion.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue