The Wedding Audition

by Catherine Mann

  “Annamae, I hope you’ve packed your things. You can ride home with your mother and me.” He checked his phone, scrolling through messages. Her stepfather was only half-present it seemed, bound to the device in his hand.

  She winced, knowing how much Wynn discouraged phones’ location features.

  “Dad.” She cleared her throat. “I would appreciate it if you’d either turn off the cell or at least disable the location setting. I’ve worked hard to let the public think I’ve left Alabama.”

  Not to mention, Wynn’s safety depends on that continued belief.

  As well-dressed as his wife normally would be, Spencer Jessup could have been in one of his advertisements. His brand thrived in better department stores—high end, but attainable—and he repped it at all times. This year’s nautical motif came through in the navy cloth belt that he wore with his khakis, his pressed white button-down made more casual with a red and white sweater vest. His boat shoes probably cost more than her VW Beetle.

  He stared at her blankly. “And you will be out of Alabama. Within the hour. So I’m sure it doesn’t matter. Would you like help with your bags?”

  She grit her teeth, wondering who he’d call to help with the bags if she said yes. Certainly, he had no plans to carry anything himself. That wasn’t his style.

  “Pfft.” Her grandmother made a rude sound, shaking her head. “His mama forgot to teach him he’s not the only person on the planet. Want me to take his phone from him, darlin’?”

  Annamae shook her head, wondering if she’d dreamed that foolish moment of camaraderie with her mother and grandmother.

  “Don’t be silly, Hazel.” Delilah slid the phone from her husband’s fingers and tucked it in her purse. “He was just finishing an important business meeting.”

  Spencer scowled, but didn’t argue. Hazel Mae rolled her eyes.

  “Dad, why are you even here?” Annamae took a seat beside her grandmother on the old couch beside a player piano. One of Wynn’s more sluggish looking felines lay across the closed roll top, swishing its tail, eyeing the scene with intense feline disinterest.

  The black and white kitten who’d been on her bed the night before sat on the piano bench, watching the other cat’s tail go back and forth like a metronome, probably timing a pounce.

  “To support you, of course.” He spoke his lines like an old-time soap opera star, with a bit too much drama.

  Then again, maybe her thoughts were as catty and judgmental as she accused her mother of being.

  “I appreciate the thought.” She reminded herself to be fair. “But I had asked you and Mom to give me some space to figure this out.”

  “Yes, but we knew the kind of…” he said, eyes going to Hazel “influences that awaited you here. And I’m not about to let that woman tear apart my family.”

  “This ought to be good.” Hazel Mae leaned forward. “Do tell, Spence. Are you afraid Annamae might learn the truth about how much we wanted to keep her away from you? Too late. She already knows.”

  “Oh for crying out loud, Hazel.” Delilah jumped to her feet, clearly agitated. “It’s not that. He doesn’t want you and Earl showing up on the set of the show and turning it into some hillbilly joke.”

  Silence settled, the heavy, embarrassed kind of quiet. And she knew right then, she wasn’t as catty as her mother because that hadn’t crossed her mind.

  Hazel picked at her bracelets, mumbling, “Apparently money doesn’t buy manners.”

  Annamae agreed one hundred percent. Then another thought hit her. “Is my father even on this continent?” Annamae demanded, trying to get a read on all their expressions. She watched Hazel Mae exchange a glance with Delilah.

  “I thought he was in Australia. Or was that some made up story?”

  That her grandmother would have lied and her mother would have gone along? That stung.

  Hazel looked up, jaw jutting. “Believe what you want. Time for you to start making your own assessments without a crew deciding for you.”

  Ouch.

  Thank God her father rose, all full of drama, saving her from answering that too astute comment.

  “Delilah, I came here to bring you home.” He picked up her mother’s purse and handed it to her. “Annamae, dear, we want you to leave with us. This woman has never had your best interests at heart.”

  Annamae didn’t know whom to trust. No one looked at her square in the eye except for—oddly—her stepfather.

  “I’d like to be the judge of that,” she told him flatly. “I need some more time to think things over, but I appreciate you caring enough to come all the way here and talk to me.”

  “Come back to Atlanta with us,” her mother urged, placing a well-lotioned hand over hers. “We don’t have to talk about this now, or the broken engagement on the show—.”

  “No.” She shook her head, snatching her hand away, unwilling to justify her actions to a woman who didn’t listen to her anyway. Any accord they’d shared earlier seemed to have faded when her stepfather showed up. Was this the price of security over wild love? Was this what life would have looked like had she decided to stay with Boone?

  Would her mother have been a much different person if she’d married Earl Smith? A woman Annamae might have really related to? But at least she understood her mom better. Understood that her mother had the capacity for an unscripted adventure, even if she stifled those urges now.

  And Annamae was on the way to understanding more about herself, oddly enough in the way Wynn just … accepted her. No lights and script. Just Annamae. Plain and simple.

  “That’s just the thing, Mom. I can’t sweep this under the rug. I need to face what I’ve done, but I’m going to gather my strength here first. I’ll go back when I’m ready.” She squeezed her mother’s hand, face earnest. Delilah nodded slightly, eyes warming to the truth in her daughter’s words. Maybe she was wrong to have second-guessed her mother’s camaraderie earlier.

  Spencer patted her on the shoulder before heading for the door. “The script writers will come up with something, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

  Delilah followed him. “I need to change first, Spence. You don’t want to be around me dressed like this.” Once he left the room, she hugged Annamae. “I’ll make sure we keep the lid on Beulah. You try to do the same here, okay? We don’t want to advertise the Alabama connection any more than you do.”

  “Thank you, Mom.” She stepped over a big orange tabby cat snoozing in the middle of a big braid rug. “I appreciate you respecting my privacy.”

  “Be careful with the apple farmer and all his cats,” Delilah warned. “Any man with that many locks on his doors has secrets to hide.”

  A comment too astute by half. Her mother saw too much. She needed to leave.

  “Seems to me we all have our secrets to keep under lock and key, missy,” Hazel Mae piped up, coming slowly to her feet.

  For the first time since Annamae met her, her grandmother looked her age. No doubt she was tired from all the drama. Annamae felt more than a little weary too.

  She wanted nothing so much as to find Wynn and lose herself in his arms.

  “Your grandmother has a soft spot in her heart for reprobates,” Delilah warned. “Just ask her.”

  Without another word she turned on her heel and marched out of the room in her burlap skirt.

  Hazel Mae chuckled softly. “She thinks she’s so damn different from my son but honey, if you met your daddy, you’d see they were a match in every way. She runs right over that Spencer fellow like he’s a nautical colored rug.”

  Annamae didn’t think that was entirely accurate, but she could see her grandmother’s point. Relationships were … complicated. More than she’d realized before she’d even dialed up the Sex Talk lady. Which didn’t give her a lot of confidence for how she would handle things with Wynn and wherever their affair was going.

  They were having an affair, right? It wasn’t a one night stand. And she wasn’t her mom, so unsure of what she wanted out
of life that she hopped from one guy to the next, leaving a trail of wreckage behind.

  She would take things one day at a time. He had too much uncertainty in his future. He didn’t need pressure and confusion from her. And yet, her heart squeezed in panic over … making a bad decision or making a good decision because either way she didn’t get to stay in limbo.

  Hazel patted her cheek. “Quit thinking so hard.”

  Now why hadn’t she thought of that?

  “You’re right. Let’s just enjoy this evening. Tomorrow, I’m going to quiz you all about my dad,” she informed her, taking her by the arm. “I’ve got a lot of questions. But first, I’m going to let you rest. You’re going to love my carriage house.”

  And once she had her grandmother snoozing through her night away from the retirement home, Annamae intended to take her grandmother’s advice about living in the moment. For tonight at least.

  *

  Wynn promised to have Delilah Jessup’s BMW returned to Atlanta at his earliest convenience, knowing damn well it wouldn’t be convenient until after that Dimitri trial. He’d personally escorted the Jag out the back entrance, pleased that Spencer hadn’t notice the mud Wynn had caked on the license plate while the guy had been talking to Annamae.

  It didn’t do anything to make the car less flashy, but at least it didn’t announce Annamae’s family name in neon lights.

  Now, he finished up in the barns for the night, making sure the outdoor cats had some chow. The light had gone out in the carriage house half an hour ago. He hoped that meant Annamae would be waiting for him when he got in.

  What a farce of a night it had been—a hoedown, a car chase, a trio of half-crazy relatives. The woman had turned his life upside down. If not for the risk to her and to the trial though, he wouldn’t even care. He could tell himself all day long that her romantic history was a problem, and it probably didn’t bode well for any kind of future even if his job and her fame didn’t mix. Yet that didn’t diminish the fact that being with her was the first hint of happiness he’d felt in a long time.

  Inside the house, he took his time showering in the downstairs bathroom, needing to be sure she had enough time to get in his house and in his bed. He needed her to be there when he got out. Needed it with a hunger that verged on…

  Hell. He just needed her.

  Some things were that simple.

  Drying off, he raked his fingers through his hair and wrapped a towel around his waist. He padded along the hardwood floors toward the stairs, shutting off lights and double checking locks as he went.

  A red scarf trailed over the banister.

  His heart kicked up speed. Everything else was kicking up too, taking the towel with it.

  He charged up the rest of the steps. The door of his bedroom was shut, the barest hint of light emanating from beneath. Opening it, he found the bed empty. But the upstairs shower was running. Annamae’s voice hummed a tune that drifted through the bathroom door.

  Picturing her naked and wet made his brain shut off. She was just on the other side of that door. Ready for him.

  All for him.

  A surge of possessiveness surged through him, the need to eradicate the ex-boyfriend became a Neanderthal calling in his blood. Levering open the heavy exterior door, he saw her in the frame-less shower—a luxury he’d allowed himself when he moved in, and a gift that kept giving since it revealed Annamae swaying like a wood nymph under the overhead rainfall.

  He dropped his towel and she peeked over one shoulder for an instant before he slid his arms around her waist and captured her from behind.

  Her hair was dark on her back, slick with water. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent and tasting her there. She smelled like his shampoo, his soap, but somehow, still like Annamae. With a soft sigh on her lips, she went limp in his arms.

  She rolled her hips against him, rubbing herself against his twitching erection. He wanted to sink inside her—badly. And she made it damn obvious she was ready for him to. But he wanted to take his time. Burn away thoughts of everything but him.

  Spinning her in his arms, he pressed her against the tile, watching the water run in rivulets over her lithe body. She watched him right back, her gaze curious. Hungry.

  He licked a stream of water that ran down her neck, following the trail to her breast until he circled the taut peak. She reached for him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he drew on her, giving equal attention to each beautiful breast. Then he followed another rivulet lower. Lower. He sank to his knees in front of her and her eyes went wide. He wrapped his hands around her thighs and she went boneless as he tasted the slick heat of her.

  So wet. So ready. So his.

  Her breath caught and held her hands moving over his back in restless circles. He moved deeper, working his mouth against her harder. She melted on his tongue.

  Her release went through her in waves, each lush convulsion making her cry out. When he was sure he’d wrung every ounce of pleasure from her gorgeous body, he lifted her in his arms and shut off the shower. She clung to him, her lips murmuring sweet things in his ear while he juggled a towel awkwardly over them both. He wasn’t even sure she noticed, her mouth moving to his neck. His lips.

  She tasted like toothpaste.

  He carried her to his bed and tossed her in the center amid sheets still tangled from where they’d left off that morning. He had a sudden urge to see her there every morning. Every night. But he didn’t let himself think about that. Not now. Not when they still had this window of time together.

  “I hope you’re going to join me.” She peered up at him through her lashes, her whole body flushed pink from the hot water and pleasure.

  “I’m trying to figure out how many ways I can have you before dawn.” He could look at her all night long.

  “Maybe you can do your calculations at the same time you’re—.” She gestured toward his body. “You know. Letting me feel you up.”

  “You’re going to feel me up?” Laughing, he covered her, knowing damn well that he couldn’t last long once his body started touching hers.

  “Yes.” She wriggled beneath him in a way that made his whole body pay attention.

  And that was before her fingers slipped between them to stroke him from base to tip.

  “See?” she breathed in his ear, flirty and sweet at the same time.

  “I see.” The words cracked in his suddenly dry throat. “But I get to do all the feeling up tonight.”

  He palmed her breast, lifting the soft weight of her and circling the sensitive spot that made her moan and open her thighs for him. Grappling along the nightstand for a condom with his other hand, he rolled it on and nudged his way inside her. Deep. Deeper.

  She fit him like she was made for him alone. He gripped her hips and sank into her over and over, burning with the need that had ridden him all day. She wrapped her legs around him. Locked her ankles. Held him where she wanted him.

  When she came the next time, he hurtled with her, calling her name and holding onto her tight. The pleasure went on and on, the force of all he’d been holding back throttling through him now until he was wrung out and empty. He didn’t let her go. Couldn’t let her go.

  For tonight, she was his Annamae. And he had sixteen more days to keep it that way.

  *

  The next morning, she stood in the farmhouse’s quiet kitchen, fighting the urge not to cook breakfast.

  In her fantasy life, that’s exactly what she’d do. She would invite Bagel and his cat posse outside with her to enjoy the spring sunshine, then she’d pick around the old cottage garden that Wynn had partially resurrected with a few new plantings. With any luck, she’d find some fresh herbs and use them to season some eggs. Maybe make homemade biscuits so the whole place smelled like warm, baking things. The whole thing would be a scene of domestic bliss.

  Then she’d wake Wynn and feed him the feast while she watched him eat. Regain his strength so he could take her back to his bed…
>
  Pure fantasy.

  She’d had her stolen hours with Wynn. She’d indulged in a blissful night of not thinking so hard. She knew it couldn’t go on this way. Not when there was so much unresolved back home. Her parents’ unorthodox family meeting had reminded her of that.

  Sliding down to a seat at the scarred kitchen table, she pulled one of his disposable phones from the plastic package so she could check her voicemail. She’d have to pay him back with one of hers. For now though, she connected to her service and heard her best friend’s voice.

  “Hey Annamae, it’s Lindsey.” Her words came out in a rush, sounding nervous and not at all like Lindsey. “I know it’s a hard week for you and I want to respect what you’re going through. I do. But I’m kinda losing it here with my own wedding coming up and if there’s any way on God’s green earth we could hang out for a few hours before I have to say my own vows… Or even if I just knew you’d be there when I walked down the aisle…” She paused to sniff. “Call me, okay? Or just be here for the wedding.”

  Frowning, Annamae played the message again, almost not believing her unflappable friend was so distraught. Then again, Annamae knew how much a wedding could shake a girl up. Lindsey needed her.

  Not because Annamae was a TV personality or because she was related to a rich, semi-famous family. Lindsey was a real friend who knew her. Annamae. Not the false façade.

  And the real Annamae didn’t want to be the kind of person who ran away from trouble. She wanted to be the kind of woman who solved them. She couldn’t be like her father, stepfather, mother or even grandmother. She had to find herself.

  In Atlanta.

  Where her real life—her friends—waited. She’d been hiding out here, pretending to search for answers when she was really just making excuses for the drama her life had become. That’s not the way grown-ups behaved. And she refused to play a role that was assigned to her anymore.

  Getting to her feet, she left the used phone on the table along with a note for Wynn. She’d say goodbye before she left, of course. For now, she just let him know she would be back at the carriage house doing some packing.