‘‘I can start a fitting room for you,’’ the saleswoman offered.
I’d bet five bucks she’d make a move on Connor the second that door closed. I couldn’t fault her taste in men, anyway. ‘‘Whatever. I’ll need some shoes, too. Size eight.’’
There was a knock a few minutes later and an arm reached in offering lacy undergarments, silk stockings, and a pair of hooker stilettos. I peeked around the door. Connor grinned wickedly.
‘‘We do have others more suited to a . . .’’ the saleswoman said, trailing off while she openly stared at Connor’s backside from her position directly behind him. Bitch.
‘‘These are fine.’’ I snapped the door closed. Social camouflage came in layers. Who knew? I struggled into the lingerie. Something told me getting out was going to be a lot easier. I caught myself in the mirror. Hello, Moulin Rouge. The dress went on easier. The neck was low-cut, and the back showed a lot of bare skin dipping to the edge of the silk underwear. The shoes needed an instruction manual—and maybe a helmet—but the overall effect was pretty good. I might even blend in with the club set.
There was a knock. ‘‘You about ready, Sara?’’
I opened the door for Connor.
‘‘God.’’
‘‘Thank you.’’
‘‘You can thank me better than that.’’ Not a don’t-worry-about-it peck. This was hot and wet and endless. His hands moved to my shoulders, down my back, and to my hips. Everywhere he touched, I sizzled. I wrapped my arms around him and he lifted me off my feet. I hung from his neck, eyes closed, savoring. Connor’s heart beat so loudly I could hear it knocking against his ribs.
‘‘You two okay in there?’’
Connor pulled back, breathing hard. He squeezed me harder.
‘‘We’re fine,’’ I called back.
‘‘You, maybe,’’ Connor whispered.
‘‘Take my word for it. You’re fine, too.’’
He leaned down.
‘‘We’ll be late,’’ I protested.
‘‘That would be a tragedy. Do we have to go?’’ he asked.
‘‘We’re working, remember?’’
‘‘No.’’
Connor wandered away and I went to the register. I turned so the saleswoman could snip the tags from the back of the dress and the top of the merry widow. She scanned them into the register.
‘‘Three thousand, nine hundred and forty-one dollars and eleven cents.’’
‘‘I beg your pardon?’’
‘‘What’s going on?’’ Connor asked, coming up and setting a pile of silk on the counter.
‘‘Oh, my God. You’ve got to be kidding.’’ I reached over and grabbed the dress’s tag.
Connor reached into his wallet and pulled out a platinum card. He handed it over with the frilly stuff. ‘‘And these.’’
I grabbed his wrist. ‘‘What are you doing?’’ ‘‘Paying.’’>
‘‘Three thousand dollars, Connor. For a damn dress. Four thousand with the shoes. Probably five with whatever you just gave her. Five thousand dollars. That’s a car.’’
‘‘Okay.’’
‘‘Five thousand dollars,’’ I repeated, speaking slowly.
The saleswoman slid his card into the machine. I grabbed him by the front of his uniform and pulled him away from her hearing.
‘‘Don’t be crazy, Connor. There’s gotta be someplace around here where I can get a dress.’’
‘‘You’re the one who keeps saying we’re running late. Besides, you look great.’’
‘‘Are you insane?’’
The saleswoman put the slip on the counter and he stepped forward to sign it. The clerk handed him the bag. He took it and offered me his arm. I ignored him and left the store.
I strode to his BMW, reaching out once to steady myself on a Mercedes. He clicked the locks as I got close and I opened the driver’s door, climbing inside. Connor got into the passenger seat. I took shallow breaths, trying to keep from screaming. The ring. The club. The car. The condo. All of it. We were never going to fit. I’d been kidding myself. I held out my hand.
‘‘Keys,’’ I said.
‘‘I can drive.’’
Breathing hurt. I couldn’t let him go and I couldn’t keep him. I was ordinary and he wasn’t. Everything else and he was rich, too. A real prince. I’d been fooling myself. Seeing practical obstacles like long distance and a quickie wedding. Our differences ran so much deeper. I worked with the rich—the lawyers in my firm, the clients. I wasn’t even a person to them. He needed a Lily, not a Sara. Not the cheating part. I didn’t wish that on him. But someone beautiful. Accomplished. Rich and talented and amazing. Someone I wasn’t and could never be.
I drove like Mario Andretti on caffeine.
He reached over and ran a finger up my stocking to the point where the slit in the dress was. ‘‘It is a nice dress.’’
He either played the stock market, like Warren Buffett, or it was family money. It explained lunch at a place where salad cost thirty bucks. Ryan and Siobhan both seemed okay. Normal. Or maybe they were just polite. Backing his decision to marry beneath him. Beneath him. I sounded like Masterpiece Theatre.
‘‘It should be, for what you paid for it.’’
‘‘Worth every penny.’’
‘‘No dress is worth three thousand dollars, Connor.’’
‘‘When a dress is that right, babe, you’ve gotta go with it.’’
‘‘And I object to girl shoes on principle.’’
‘‘I like them, too.’’
‘‘I know you do. You’re really kind of a prince in that way.’’
‘‘I’m a prince in every way.’’
‘‘I know,’’ I muttered. ‘‘I think I figured something out.’’
‘‘Hm?’’ He pushed a couple of curls out of the way and slid a finger along the clasp at the nape of my neck.
‘‘The car, the apartment, the country club membership.At first I just thought it was a single guy with no student loans and a regular job. I haven’t known that many.’’ I shifted gears.
‘‘Single guys?’’ he asked.
‘‘The gainfully employed. Then I thought, Maybe it’s all for show. Not that you bragged about it or anything; maybe you were just one of those people who preferred living well to retirement planning.’’
‘‘The navy’s got a good retirement plan.’’
‘‘The car could be leased. The apartment sublet from a navy bigwig happy to have his plants watered. And maybe the country club isn’t that exclusive.’’
Who got married without so much as casually discussing money? Wasn’t it the biggest cause for arguments in marriages? Hadn’t I read that somewhere?
‘‘Where is this going?’’ Connor asked.
‘‘I’m making a point.’’
‘‘Okay.’’ He sounded confused.
He probably was. Even I couldn’t explain it, really. It’s just money, Sara. Green paper. Meaningless in and of itself. Except . . . it was the straw. The embodiment of everything Lily had said to me. All the ways they were alike. The last piece of evidence I needed to confirm that Connor and I didn’t know each other. We didn’t come from the same place or speak the same language. When we stopped being surprised, we’d have nothing in common. No way forward.
‘‘The lease, the workingman’s club, the passbook savings. You’re not any of those things, are you?’’
‘‘No.’’
‘‘Yeah. That’s what I thought.’’
‘‘You don’t sound too happy about it. We don’t have money problems. Less to fight about.’’
Oh, I don’t know. I’d bet I was about to pick a pretty good one on just that basis. ‘‘I don’t know about that.’’
‘‘We’re going to fight about having money?’’
‘‘We don’t have money, Connor. You do. Your family does. I do not.’’
‘‘There is no ‘mine’ anymore, Sara. What I have, we have. You can afford a sexy dress when
you want one,’’ he said. ‘‘That’s good, right?’’
‘‘I guess.’’
I pulled into the parking lot of the Yacht Club and the zoomed past the valet. Pressed and coiffed potential donors chatted under the awning. I pulled into a slot and turned the car off, handing him the key.
‘‘What’s the problem here?’’
I didn’t look at him, keeping my eyes fixed on the hedge in front of me. ‘‘You don’t tell me things. I don’t know which fork to use. These shoes hurt my feet. Take your pick.’’
‘‘You never asked. Use whatever fork you want. Take them off.’’
I looked at him then, just for a second, before looking away, blinking fast. Major mistake. I wanted. I needed. I didn’t fit. She did. I took a deep breath.
‘‘My family didn’t come over on the Mayflower, okay?’’ I said. ‘‘I don’t get invited to thousand-dollar-a-plate fund-raisers, and I don’t have flashy jewelry to wear with dresses that cost more than my car so that I can blend with your ex-girlfriends. Excuse me, I mean ex-fiancées.’’
‘‘You want jewelry?’’ He took my hands. I tried to pull away but he held on. I knew he could feel the tremors in them. ‘‘What? Just tell me and I’ll give it to you.’’
‘‘You totally missed the point,’’ I said, looking away.
‘‘That much I know.’’
I gulped. I couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a sob.
‘‘That’s progress, I guess.’’ I sighed. ‘‘I’m being a bitch. Chalk it up to bullets and adrenaline and forget it.’’
‘‘And have this come back to bite me? No way. Something’s wrong. I’d love to ignore it. Long-term, that’s a no-win. I’d rather tackle it than wait. Talk to me.’’
I shook my head.
‘‘C’mon. Tell me. If you don’t, I’m just going to screw it up again.’’
‘‘You’re going to screw it up again regardless.’’
‘‘Not if you tell me.’’
‘‘You’re a doer. And you have the resources to back it up. Not just money. Will. Nerve. Smarts. It was like when the gun went off. I just stood there. You saved me.’’
‘‘I love you.’’
‘‘You’re the male version of the fairy godmother.’’
‘‘Never saw myself that way before.’’ His thumb stroked the back of my hand.
I wanted to believe. ‘‘It’s true,’’ I said. ‘‘She never thought she had to explain herself, either. She didn’t ask Cinderella if she wanted to go the ball. Of course she must want to go to the ball. The godmother couldn’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t. The thing is, Connor, maybe Cinders had big plans with a video and a pint of Häagen-Dazs. Maybe she didn’t think the tiara would fit. Maybe that was okay with her.’’
I looked out the window and watched as an older couple got out of a brand-new Lexus in the parking space next to ours. The man, dressed in a tuxedo, made a production of using his remote to set the alarm. The woman, wrapped in some sort of multicolored shawl with fringe, took his arm and never once looked our way.
Connor reached over and took my hand, interlacing our fingers. He nuzzled my hair. ‘‘It fits. We fit.’’
The was a loud bang against the rear window and I jumped. I saw Ryan, dressed in a tuxedo, move around to the driver’s side and open the door. He offered a hand with a bow.
‘‘M’lady.’’
‘‘Hello, Ryan.’’ I took his hand and let him pull me from the car. Connor unfolded himself and got out.
I took Ryan’s arm and let him lead me toward the entryway.
‘‘That is a great dress.’’
‘‘Thanks.’’
‘‘Wait.’’ Connor put his hand on my arm. I stopped walking but didn’t look at him.
‘‘Give us a minute, Ry,’’ Connor said.
He looked from Connor to me and his smile faded. ‘‘Everything okay?’’
‘‘It’s fine. We just need a minute.’’
‘‘Sure. I’ll be right over there.’’ He nodded toward the doorman. ‘‘The devastatingly handsome one.’’ He smiled at me and drifted away, pretending not to watch us.
I turned to face Connor. People walked past, their expressions curious, but no one spoke to us.
‘‘Forget I said anything, Connor. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not usually so nuts. Really. Let’s just go in and do this. I can be professional if I really put my mind to it. I’ll just concentrate on that and try to act normal.’’
‘‘There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s been a crazy couple of days, that’s all. In-laws and machine guns could make anyone a little nuts.’’
‘‘You’re not.’’
‘‘I’m a raving lunatic. Trust me on this.’’
He wasn’t. He was perfect. I was a mess.
He lifted my chin. ‘‘We’re fine. The rest is just details.’’
‘‘Okay.’’
‘‘Good.’’ He kissed me lightly.
I gave him a wobbly smile. He offered me his arm but I took his hand instead. We walked toward Ryan.
‘‘A rubber-chicken dinner will fix you right up.’’
Chapter Twenty-five
The entryway of the club was packed with people, all in their Sunday best. If they prayed, it was at the church of Rodeo Drive. Connor greeted several other officers.
‘‘I’ll bet he sets off the detector at the airport,’’ I said. ‘‘Friend of yours?’’
‘‘The Secretary of the Navy.’’
‘‘How many words a minute do you think he can type?’’
‘‘Funny.>
It wasn’t. Maybe I ought to get a billboard painted: I DON’T KNOW WHY HE PICKED ME EITHER. All caps. Big font.
‘‘And her? Trophy wife?’’
‘‘Soprano at the Met.’’
‘‘Very cultured of you to know that,’’ I said. To my right we had important politicos. On my left, minkclad—in August in San Diego, no less—operatic superstars. Elegant naval officers and, drumroll, me. Work. Concentrate on the job. Gretchen Dreznik. Famous psychiatrist and potential lead to the elusive Charles Smiths.
‘‘Where are the parents?’’ Connor asked Ryan.
‘‘They’re here somewhere. They bought a table.’’
‘‘What about Siobhan? Is she coming?’’
‘‘Doubt it.’’ Ryan sounded annoyed.
‘‘What’s the problem?’’ Con asked.
‘‘The worthless bastard she’s married to made the guest list.’’
‘‘You’re kidding,’’ I said. Ooh, the gang’s all here. Terrif-ic.Apparently Jack’s invitation to a ‘‘working’’ dinner didn’t mean he wasn’t coming.
Connor moved me between him and Ryan. ‘‘He’ll recognize you.’’
‘‘He won’t,’’ I denied.
‘‘He will.’’
‘‘He never looked at my face. Trust me on this, Connor. He can’t pick me out of a lineup.’’
‘‘Who?’’
‘‘Jack,’’ Connor muttered.
‘‘You know Jack?’’
‘‘I wouldn’t say I know him. We’ve met. Sort of,’’ I said.
‘‘It’ll screw the pooch. I thought since he asked you out, he wasn’t going to be here. That was stupid.’’ Connor looked disgusted. ‘‘He’ll take one look and that’ll be the end of it. He’ll go straight to Gretchen. She’s practically his mother.’’
That could be a problem. I bit my lip.
‘‘Jack asked you out?’’ Ryan huffed. ‘‘When? How? Why is he still upright?’’
‘‘It’s a long story,’’ I said, shuffling deeper into their protective cocoon.
‘‘Looks like you’re not going to have time to tell it,’’ Connor whispered. ‘‘He’s headed this way.’’
‘‘This is a problem?’’ Ryan asked. ‘‘Allow me.’’
With that Ryan steamed off, people parting before him like the Red Sea. He headed straight toward Jack. Ryan grabbed a glass of
red wine off a waiter’s tray and dumped it down Jack’s front without any attempt to make it look like an accident. Postdousing, his contrition was so over-the-top I could hear it above the din of conversation. I swallowed a laugh.
I tried to tiptoe in my high heels, grabbing Connor’s arm for support. ‘‘Bull’s-eye. You know who Ryan reminds me of?’’
‘‘Jerry Lewis?’’
‘‘Close, but no. Russ.’’ At that moment I missed my best friend more than I knew was possible.
‘‘Talk about your lethal combination,’’ Connor remarked.
‘‘I shudder to think. You know, I did that to a guy who sat next to me at a wedding once. One second we were eating hors d’oeuvres, the next his powder blue tuxedo went tie-dye.’’
‘‘It could only improve powder blue.’’
Ryan came toward me, winking. ‘‘White is really an impractical color, don’t you think?’’
We looked at Connor.
‘‘Makes guys look’’—Ryan rolled his eyes at Connor’s uniform—‘‘like ice-cream vendors.’’
‘‘I like chocolate—chocolate chip.’’
We laughed.
‘‘He’ll be back, you know,’’ Connor said. ‘‘We’ll need to get to Gretchen before then. Just to be on the safe side. She clearly expects him to be here, and he won’t disappoint. She intimidates the hell out of him.’’
A ship’s bell sounded. ‘‘First bell for dinner,’’ Connor said.
‘‘So we should do this now. Can you see her?’’ I couldn’t see anything through the elegantly clad Amazon contingent surrounding us.
‘‘Relax. Let’s go to the table. She’ll find us.’’
‘‘Are you sure?’’
‘‘He’s sure,’’ Ryan said, taking my arm. ‘‘She’ll stop by long enough to condescend to us. If she didn’t, her head would probably explode.’’
People began moving toward tables, pulling out chairs, and sitting down. We followed Ryan to a table in the middle of the room where his parents sat. Dougal rose as we approached.
‘‘Hello, Sara.’’ He moved over and kissed my cheek. If he was just tolerating me, I couldn’t tell. ‘‘We’re so glad you could join us.’’
‘‘Yes, we are. That’s a lovely dress, dear,’’ Alyssa said, smiling from across the table. Okay so the father’s tux might be rented, probably not, but maybe. Her dress was not. The gold flattered her coloring. Her hair was smooth and shiny. No frizzy curls for her. And the diamond-and-emerald necklace probably didn’t come from a Cracker Jack box.
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