Читать книгу Married by Mistake - Abby Gaines - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS TEN O’CLOCK at night—her wedding night— by the time they got to the Romeo and Juliet Suite at Memphis’s famous Peabody Hotel.

Casey—or Mrs. Carmichael, as the hotel receptionist had called her—roamed around the room, while Adam tipped the porter. The original honeymoon Channel Eight offered hadn’t included the suite, which Casey suspected went for several hundred dollars a night. But a standard hotel room wasn’t going to work for a newly married couple who had no intention of sharing a bedroom, let alone a bed.

Judging by the crowd of reporters who’d followed them from the TV station, and were now being held at bay by the Peabody’s doorman—so much for their promise to respect the newlyweds’ privacy—Casey and Adam wouldn’t be leaving the hotel in a hurry, so the bigger the suite the better. Casey climbed the curving staircase to the bedroom. The king-size bed was a sea of snowy-white covers and elaborately arranged pillows. Surely a real honeymoon couple would want something cozier?

There was a bathroom off the bedroom, in addition to the one she’d seen adjoining the living room. More white—marble and porcelain—offset by highly polished stainless steel fittings.

“Casey?” Adam called from downstairs.

Dreading having to sit down and hash out the legal implications of what they’d done, she joined him in the living room. How was she going to explain this to her family? How would she respond when they demanded her immediate return to Parkvale?

Right now, she doubted she could resist. The newfound backbone that had empowered her to seize control of her future had crumbled when Joe jilted her. She would get it back; of course she would. But not tonight.

“It’s late,” Adam said. “You must be exhausted. How about we get some sleep and talk in the morning, when we’ve heard back from Sam about the annulment?”

“Sounds perfect.” At least she’d married a man who didn’t expect her to solve all their problems.

“You take the bedroom, this couch will do me.”

Considerate, too. Casey wasn’t about to argue. She tried but failed to stifle a yawn. “Thanks, Adam.” She ran a hand around the back of her neck to ease muscles exhausted from the strain of holding her head high through today’s fiasco. “Good night.”

A knock at the door interrupted his reply. Adam opened it and a bellboy presented him with an envelope. Casey caught a glimpse of the words Private and Confidential.

“From Sam,” Adam said.

Thank goodness. Hopefully the lawyer had figured a way out of this predicament.

Adam tore it open. It took him only a second to read the contents. He uttered a half laugh, half groan.

“What is it? Bad news?”

He didn’t answer, only gave her a brooding look.

She stretched out a hand. “May I see it?”

He held the note just out of her reach. “I’m not sure you want to.”

In answer, she snatched it from him. And read Sam Magill’s instruction, etched on the fine paper in bold blue strokes.

DO NOT CONSUMMATE THE MARRIAGE.

“Oh.” Casey dropped it on the coffee table, her cheeks burning. “As if we were going to. That’s…that’s…”

“Ridiculous?”

“Exactly.”

“Sam is very thorough. I imagine he wanted to cover all contingencies.” Adam grinned, and that furrow of tension disappeared. “Perhaps he was worried by your enthusiasm when you kissed me at the TV studio.”

Casey sputtered. “I kissed you? You’re the one who heated things up.” The memory of his mouth on hers flooded back, leaving her light-headed. She clutched at the only possible explanation. “It was a rebound thing for me.”

That wiped the smile off Adam’s face. He looked pointedly toward the couch. “I think it’s time we got some sleep. Separately.”

In the bedroom, Casey discovered the reason why someone else had buttoned her dress for her at the TV studio. There must have been at least thirty tiny pearl buttons down her back, most of them beyond her reach.

She grappled with the dress for another minute, but it was hopeless. Peeking down into the living room, she was relieved to find Adam hadn’t yet gone to bed, he stood by the window, staring out over Union Avenue, deep in thought.

Casey headed down the stairs. “Adam? I can’t undo my buttons. Could you help?”

She half turned her back so he could see the problem, and he came to her aid.

Casey had never realized the area between her shoulder blades, where the buttons started, was so sensitive. The brush of Adam’s fingers against her bare skin stimulated a whole bunch of nerve endings. She shivered.

“Cold?” he asked, his tone impersonal.

Casey nodded, holding herself rigid to prevent any more of those traitorous shivers. But it didn’t lessen the sensation. She felt the release of each little button, aware that more and more of her flesh was showing. Warmth rose within her—was it possible her back was blushing?

This had to be because of that note from the lawyer. They’d been told not to consummate the marriage, and five minutes later she’d had to ask Adam to undress her.

“You can probably manage the rest yourself,” he said, his voice clipped.

She stepped away. “Thanks. I hope you won’t be too uncomfortable on that thing.” She gestured to the couch.

He looked at her for a long moment, then his gaze dropped to her shoulders. He said tightly, “Time you were in bed.”

DESPITE HER EXHAUSTION, Casey slept badly. All that subterfuge, her humiliation aired on national TV, the extreme step of marrying a stranger, and she was no better off than when she had left Parkvale on Friday morning. Her family would be frantic to know what was going on. But perhaps the worst thing was that she hadn’t even thought about Joe since he’d run out on her, aside from a brief urge as she left the stage to murder him by the most violent means possible.

That compulsion had passed, leaving a curious void.

It took no great psychological insight to realize how little Joe really meant to her. How could she have planned to marry him? She’d convinced herself she could give him the no-strings love she wanted for herself, when really she was using him to get away from her family.

In hindsight, she deserved to be dumped. Perhaps not quite so publicly… but she’d brought that on herself.

Casey allowed the recriminations to chase around in her head as she lay in bed until eight o’clock, when she was sure Adam would have had time to get dressed. She showered, then looked in her suitcase at the clothes she’d packed for her honeymoon. She’d bought a couple of new items, skimpier than she would normally wear, with the idea, she supposed now, of turning Joe on.

She rejected a strappy top in favor of a white, sleeveless T-shirt, which she teamed with a denim skirt. She checked her reflection in the full-length mirror. No way could Adam think she’d dressed to turn him on.

He was standing at the dining table when she got downstairs. Someone must have brought his luggage during the night. He wore jeans and a black polo shirt, open at the neck. Casey’s gaze was drawn to his bare forearms, tanned and strong, as he lifted the covers off several dishes on a room-service trolley. He pulled a chair out for her, and Casey wiped her palms against the sturdy fabric of her skirt as she sat down.

“I ordered breakfast,” he said. “It’s not safe to go down to the restaurant. The manager tells me a couple of journalists checked into the hotel.”

Casey helped herself to fruit and yogurt, shaking her head at Adam’s offer of a hot meal. He piled his own plate with scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, raised his glass of orange juice to her in salute, and started on his breakfast.

Casey took a sip of her own juice as she glanced at the newspaper that lay folded by her plate—and promptly choked.

“Oh, no.” After all those photos she and Adam had posed for at the press conference, they’d published one taken in the TV studio, obviously at the moment Joe had jilted her. Her face, panic in her eyes, mouth open, gaped back at her from the front page beneath the headline Carmichael Rescues Jilted Bride. She grabbed a napkin, wiped away the rivulet of juice she could feel on her chin, without taking her eyes off the newspaper.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Adam was presumably referring to the article and not to her photo, because that couldn’t be any worse. “They speculate that Channel Eight cooked up this scheme to boost the ratings of Kiss the Bride. They tried to get a comment out of your fiancé, but he wasn’t talking.”

Casey unfolded the paper, then clamped a hand to her forehead at the sight of her father, peering around the front door of the house. “They spoke to my dad.”

“That’s not so good,” Adam admitted. “They also talked to my stepmother. Seems she told them we’ve been secretly engaged for months.”

“Why would she say that?”

Adam shrugged. “My guess is she didn’t want to be caught not knowing about something as important as my wedding.” Casey gathered from the careful neutrality of his expression that he didn’t much like his stepmother. “Still, she’s probably helped confuse the press, which can’t hurt.”

“Any word from the lawyer?” Casey asked.

“I’ve had a few calls.” He gestured to the cell phone on the table between them. “But not from Sam.”

His phone trilled again.

“Hello, Eloise,” he said with resigned patience. “Did you like the show?”

Who was Eloise? His stepmother? His girlfriend?

Whoever she was, Adam was obviously enjoying her reaction to their wedding. Not his girlfriend, then. He grinned and held the phone away from his ear—Casey heard a spate of words pouring out. “Sorry, Eloise, I have another call coming through. I’ll get back to you.”

That set the pattern for the next few minutes, with Adam receiving one call after another, mostly, she gathered, from family, all anxious to know how his marriage might affect their interests. His reticence must have infuriated them.

Bored with waiting, Casey turned on her own cell phone. Almost immediately, it beeped with a text message from the answering service to say she had twenty-one new messages.

She dialed the service and scrolled through the worried communications from her father (five messages), her sister (six) and her brother (one). There was also one from Brodie-Ann, and several from people who were concerned her wedding might make Casey unavailable to help them. People like the church choir director (did the wedding mean she wouldn’t be singing her solo this Sunday?) and the head of the Parkvale Children’s Trust (Casey was still okay to bake two cakes and a batch of cookies for next week’s open day, wasn’t she?).

No and no. She couldn’t help smiling. She’d figured getting married would give her the perfect out, but not like this. Still, she wouldn’t call anyone back just yet. Not until she and Adam had talked. His phone rang again, and she sighed. Whenever that might be. She realized she hadn’t touched her food yet, and took a mouthful of yogurt-smothered melon.

Then her own phone rang, chirping “You Are My Sunshine.” By the time she’d convinced the Parkvale librarian she wasn’t available to fill in during children’s story hour that afternoon, Adam was off the phone and regarding her quizzically.

“Did your phone just play ‘You Are My Sunshine’?” he asked.

“Uh-huh. It’s a personalized ring tone. It’s affirming.”

He laughed, until the dignified raising of her eyebrows told him she was serious.

“Affirmations are good for your self-esteem,” she told him. “Every time my phone tells me I’m its sunshine, it makes me feel good.” Though at this precise moment it didn’t seem to be working. Still, she gave Adam a sunny smile as she popped another piece of melon into her mouth.

“You really believe that?”

She nodded. “You have to find an affirmation that works for you, of course. ‘You Are My Sunshine’ gives me confidence.” Casey thought about that furrow that had made a permanent home in Adam’s brow. “Whereas you might want to look in your mirror each morning and tell yourself you won’t get stressed today.”

He frowned, and the furrow deepened. “I hope you didn’t pay good money to learn that psychobabble.”

“That comes direct from my community college lecturer,” she protested.

“I’ll bet he didn’t tell you to get affirmation from your cell phone.”

“No, she didn’t. I’m extrapolating.”

Adam tackled his bacon and eggs, which must surely be cold after all those phone calls, with renewed energy. “So why are you studying psychology? To overcome childhood trauma?”

“I’m not in therapy,” she said with exaggerated patience. “I study psychology because it helps with characterization in my writing.” Her phone warbled again and she looked at the display. “It’s my dad.”

Her father took a moment to remind her he loved her, then launched into a monologue about how much her family needed her and how she’d better sort out this confusion and get back home as soon as possible. He ended with a plaintive query: “How am I supposed to get to physical therapy on Tuesday?”

Call a cab. Don’t you think I have more on my mind right now? But she’d taught her father she would always be there when he needed her, so how could she blame him? She was saved from answering by a beep on the line.

“Just a moment, Dad, I have another call.” She switched to the other line.

Her sister. Casey straightened in her seat. “Yes, Karen, I did just get married. No, I’m not crazy—” she hoped that wasn’t a lie “—and no, I’m not coming back to Parkvale.” She hoped that wasn’t a lie, either. “I’d like you and Dad to— Hello?”

When she got back to the other line, her father wasn’t there.

“Bad connection,” she explained to Adam. She put her phone on the gilded, glass-topped table between them and looked hard at her plate so he wouldn’t see the hurt she knew must show in her face. “Now that we’re both free—”

“Free being a relative term,” he interrupted. “We’re still married.”

“—let’s have that chat you mentioned.” Her phone rang again, but after a glance at the display she ignored it.

“You could always turn that thing off,” Adam said. His own phone rang, and he answered it. Which at least gave Casey a chance to regain her fighting spirit.

“You were saying?” she asked sweetly, when he’d finished.

He frowned. “I’m expecting a call from Sam. I don’t want to miss it.”

“And I need to talk to my family,” she said. “Even though I don’t know what to tell them.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Casey’s phone chirped “You Are My Sunshine” again.

“Karen, please, honey, don’t cry.” Casey’s voice wobbled. “I’m sorry, I know you wanted me there, but this is for your own good, sweetie.”

Adam realized Casey was blinking in an effort to hold back tears. Rising hysteria emanated from her cell phone, audible even to him, several feet away.

He checked his watch. If she was going to spend the whole morning arguing with her family, they’d never get this mess sorted out. From what he could see, her folks were as bad as his own relatives. There was only one way to deal with people like that. Get tough.

One look at Casey told him that wasn’t going to happen. In two seconds, Adam had moved around the table and slipped the phone from her grasp—easily done, since she wasn’t expecting it.

“Karen? I don’t know who you are, but you’re not helping Casey right now.” He crossed the room, aware of Casey’s startled expression. Karen sputtered on the other end of the phone.

“My wife and I—” damn, that sounded weird “—need some time alone.” He reached the huge vase filled with an elaborate display of flowers, delivered last night compliments of the Peabody management. Casey, following right behind, bumped into him. “So goodbye.”

With Karen still squawking, he dropped the phone—right into the vase.

Casey yelped. “Have you gone crazy?”

“You’re not prepared to turn that thing off, and it’s upsetting you. I’m dealing with the problem.” He dusted his hands together. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

“No! How could you…” She stopped. “Actually,” she said slowly, “it does.” She ventured a small smile.

From across the room they heard the sound of his phone.

“Allow me to deal with that.” Casey moved toward it.

“It’s okay.” He followed her. “I’ll take it.”

She’d picked it up already and was reading the display. “It’s Eloise.”

“My stepmother again.” He rolled his eyes. “Pass it here.”

“I said I’d deal with it,” Casey reminded him. She stepped back and moved around the other side of the sofa.

Adam wasn’t quite sure what happened next. But somehow, he went one way and she went the other, toward the open window.

“Casey, don’t—”

Too late.

She dropped the phone just as he reached her.

Adam looked so shocked, Casey wondered if she’d gone too far. She held her breath as he stuck his head out the window. When he turned back into the room, his face was grave. “You just killed an Elvis impersonator.”

Casey clapped a hand to her mouth. “No! I looked, there was no one—” Then she caught the grin he was trying to hide.

And they were laughing, clinging to each other in helpless hilarity that for a moment made the whole mess go away.

Adam looked into Casey’s eyes, where tears of merriment glistened. On automatic pilot, he wiped the corner of her eye with his thumb. And found himself robbed of all sensation except the pressing desire to feel her mouth beneath his.