Читать книгу You're Marrying Her? - Angie Ray - Страница 11

Samantha sat at the dinner table of the West L.A. restaurant, watching the laughing couple across from her. They seemed giddy with happiness. There was a glow in Brad’s eyes that she’d never seen before—except, perhaps, when he was working on some complicated project. But this wasn’t the same. A sense of electricity seemed to envelop him.

Heather glowed, too. Sam had never met a woman who glowed so much.

Sam looked down at her menu and tried to subdue the wave of dislike she felt for Heather. So far, she’d seen nothing about the blonde that would justify Brad’s falling in love with her. Except for her gorgeous face and figure. But Heather must have more to her than that. Brad wasn’t the kind of man to care only about a woman’s looks.

Sam shifted her gaze to Brad as he raised a finger and a waiter rushed over. Watching him place their order, she was struck once again by a sense that he had changed—and not just on the surface.

Sam could restrain her curiosity no longer. “What happened to you, Brad?” she asked after the waiter left. “You used to be a strictly meat and potatoes man and now you’re ordering shrimp and jicama. And you look like you should be on the cover of GQ. Isn’t that an Armani suit?”

“Heather happened to me.” Putting his arm around his fiance´e, he smiled down at her. “She convinced me to try some new dishes and helped me make a few changes—new clothes, haircut and contact lenses. An improvement, don’t you think, Sammy?”

“I always thought you looked fine.” Forgetting her own attempts to change Brad’s wardrobe, Sam realized suddenly that she really didn’t care for this new style that Heather had foisted on him. Before, he’d looked like…Brad. Now he looked almost alien. He looked rich. Sophisticated. Masculine.

She shook her head. Brad was Brad, no matter how he dressed. That much she was sure of.

Heather had arched her brows at Sam’s response. “I think appearance is extremely important. Some women, especially older ones, don’t set any standards for themselves at all. I’m always careful to wear the right clothes and makeup and watch my weight. I count every calorie. I think it’s worth it, don’t you, Brad?”

Brad’s gaze wandered over Heather’s magnificent figure. “Sure, sweetheart.”

Heather beamed.

A waiter passed by with a dessert tray, and Sam resisted an urge to seize a slice of strawberry torte and stuff it down Heather’s throat. Instead she told herself that Heather probably hadn’t meant to imply that Sam was old and fat. Forcing herself to smile politely, she asked, “So, how did you two meet?”

“At the RiversWare Run,” Brad said. “Heather loves to run and enters competitions whenever she can.”

Heather sipped her drink. “Do you run, Samantha?”

“Not if I can avoid it.” Sam tried to remember exactly when the RiversWare Run had been. About four months ago, she was pretty sure. That wasn’t very long.

“Running doesn’t appeal to everyone,” Heather said in a kindly manner. “I like to try something different once in a while, too. Like in-line skating. I started just a few weeks ago. Brad says I’m a real fast learner.”

“Heather’s amazing on skates,” Brad interjected. “I’ve never seen anyone as graceful as she is.”

Heather smiled modestly. “In-line skating’s very easy. Even the biggest klutz imaginable can do it.”

“Sam can’t,” Brad announced cheerfully.

Sam’s fingernails curled into her napkin.

Heather’s eyes widened. “You can’t?”

Sam could barely stay upright on skates and usually wouldn’t have minded admitting it. But something about the blonde’s incredulous blue eyes made Sam say, “Of course I can.” She looked past Heather to the approaching waiter. “Oh, here comes our food.”

Brad wasn’t diverted, however. Releasing Heather’s hand so the waiter could put their plates down, he stared at Sam. “Since when? That time I took you skating, you almost fell on your face.”

“That was a long time ago. I’ve improved,” Sam lied. She remembered the time he referred to very well. It had been a high school fund-raiser, and she’d been falling all over the place until Brad came to her rescue. He’d helped her up and held her upright—until someone brushed by them, knocking her off balance. Legs and arms sprawling, they’d both ended up on the floor. Tangled together, they’d started laughing uncontrollably. By the end of the evening, they’d both had more bruises than two boxers—not to mention a bad case of the hiccups.

“Unfortunately, I can’t go skating very often,” Sam added as she cut a bite of chicken and swished it in mango-chili sauce. “Helping at Jeanette’s shop takes up all my time.”

“I work, too,” Heather said. “But I still find time to exercise.”

“Keeping fit is very important in Heather’s business,” Brad explained. “She’s an actress.”

Heather preened. “I just had a part in a special TV movie called Baywatch—the California Reunion.”

“Oh, really?” Sam had never watched the show, but she knew it was something about lifeguards at the beach. “That must have been exciting.”

“Yes, it was. David Hasselhoff himself rescued me when a great white shark attacked the swimmers in the middle of an earthquake right after a deranged yoga instructor blew up the pier. I didn’t have any speaking lines, but I did have to scream very loudly. Jim, the director, is editing the final cut of the movie right now, so I’m on call. That’s why I’m staying at the hotel across the street, because it’s close to the location shoot.”

“You’re not staying with Brad?”

“My house is too inconvenient,” Brad said.

Sam, chewing on a bite of risotto with pine nuts and green chilies, was surprised but strangely relieved. The thought of him living with Heather was very distasteful. The thought of him sleeping with her…

The rice and pine nuts in her stomach oscillated.

Forcing herself to keep her tone pleasant, Sam asked Heather, “When will the movie be on TV?”

“Not for several months,” Heather said. “But my agent says the offers will pour in once it airs. Not that I’ll accept any of them, of course.”

“Why not?” Sam asked.

“Because I’m marrying Brad. I want nothing more than to be his wife, to love him and support him with every fiber of my being. And, if God is willing, I will bear his children, the precious fruit of our deep and eternal love for each other.”

Sam smiled, thinking the blonde was joking. But her smile faded when she saw Brad wasn’t laughing. He was gazing tenderly at his fiance´e, who gazed back worshipfully.

Sam gagged on her mango-chili sauce.

Her cough broke the spell. “Are you all right?” Heather asked.

“Mmm.” She coughed once more to clear her throat and to prevent any resumption of adoring gazing. “Brad said you wanted me to design your dress.”

“Oh, yes,” Heather said. “It would mean so much to Brad and me. Do you think you can do it?”

“Of course,” Sam said automatically. “You must come to my sister’s shop tomorrow and we can look through the catalogs.”

Heather tapped a French-manicured nail against her chin. “Well…I hope you don’t mind…but I would really like something unique. Something that suits my personality.”

Something with lots of frills and lace. And maybe a big lollipop. The bitchy thought popped into Sam’s head before she could prevent it.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Heather said, laying down her fork. “I promised to call my agent about a possible part playing a housewife in a commercial. He thinks I would be perfect for it.” Her eyelashes fluttered in response to Brad’s warm look. “I’ll be back in a minute, darling.”

She rose and glided gracefully away.

Sam watched her go, wondering how on earth the girl got her hips to sway like that.

She peeked at Brad to see his reaction. To her surprise, he was looking straight at her, paying no attention to Heather’s hips. A crooked smile quirked the corner of his mouth.

“So, what do you think?” His gaze was strangely intent as he asked the question.

“She’s…” Sam paused, several unkind remarks hovering on her tongue. She took a deep breath. “She’s perfect,” she admitted. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy, Brad.”

Brad leaned back against his seat, his face expressionless for a long moment. Then he smiled. “She’s amazing, isn’t she? I couldn’t believe my luck when she said yes to my proposal.” He stirred some cream into his coffee. “What about you, Sam? Are you seeing anyone?”

“No, not right now. I’ve been too busy at the shop.”

“Oh, yes, the shop. Are you planning on working there permanently?”

“No,” she said. “Not really. I’ll probably look for some other job soon.”

“Still haven’t made up your mind what you want to do with your life?”

Samantha pushed her rice around on her plate. “Not yet. I never could figure out what I wanted. Unlike you. You always knew, didn’t you, Brad?”

“Yes, I did. I still do.”

She’d never paid much attention before, but he really had the most determined chin she’d ever seen—a square jaw ending in a resolute knob. There was no softness beneath, no cleft to compromise it. “You’ve done very well for yourself. You’ve accomplished a lot.”

He shrugged. “A case of being in the right place at the right time.”

“You’re too modest.”

“So Heather tells me.” He grinned. “She’s an extraordinary woman. I really am the luckiest man alive.”

“I think Heather’s the lucky one.”

He leaned forward in his seat, his gaze intent. “Do you, Sam?”

“Of course. You’re my friend.”

He leaned back. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, then held out his hand. “Best friends, right?”

Nodding, she put her hand in his. They sat there for a moment, smiling at each other. His hand was much larger than hers, warm and strong.

Suddenly, for no reason she could think of, Sam felt like crying.

“Sam?” His fingers tightened on hers. “Are you okay?”

Sam blinked hard. “I’m fine.” But she had to force herself to smile.

Brad’s gaze went to her mouth, then flickered back up. “Uh, Sam…I hope you don’t mind me mentioning it, but you’ve got a green chili stuck in your teeth.”

Sam stopped smiling immediately. Licking her teeth with her tongue, she wondered uneasily how long the chili had been there.

Please don’t let Heather have seen it, she prayed silently. “Is it gone?” she asked, parting her lips again.

He shook his head. “Looks like it’s wedged in there pretty good.”

She stood up and put her napkin on her chair. “Please excuse me,” she muttered.

Weaving in between the tables toward the rear of the restaurant, she continued to try to find the chili with her tongue.

She entered the rest room, bared her teeth into the mirror, but saw no sign of any chilies. She must have gotten it out on the way, she thought.

She washed her hands, glad for the small respite to try to make sense of her fluctuating emotions. Ever since she’d heard of Brad’s plans to marry, she’d felt a bit off balance, a little shaky inside. Perhaps because in some odd way, she’d always thought of Brad as hers. Her rock. Her anchor. Her friend. She’d thought that nothing would ever change that. But she knew, without a doubt, that once he married Heather, everything would change. Everything would be completely different.

She washed her hands again, trying to banish the tears prickling at the back of her eyes. Really, she was being incredibly foolish and selfish. She and Brad could still be friends. She was happy for him. She was.

Feeling more in control, she held her palms under the dryer, muttering to herself, “I am happy for them. I am happy for them.”

Her nose twitched a little as she smelled cigarette smoke. It seemed as if someone was always lighting up in the bathroom, trying to circumvent the no-smoking laws. “I am happy for them.…”

A toilet flushed, and the door to one of the stalls opened to reveal Heather.

“Oh, it’s you,” the younger woman said. “I thought I was about to be busted.” Opening her tiny evening bag, she pulled out another cigarette and lit it. “You want one?”

“No, thank you,” Sam said automatically, hiding her surprise. With a cigarette in her hand, Heather didn’t appear nearly as young and sweet as she had in the restaurant. “Brad must have changed more than I thought—he used to hate smoking.”

“Are you kidding?” Heather snorted, smoke blowing from her nostrils. “He’s such a health freak, he’d probably break our engagement if he found out.”

“He doesn’t know?”

“Of course not. I’m not a fool. You won’t tell him, will you?”

Sam stared at her. Surely the girl couldn’t be serious? “I would think he could smell the smoke on your breath.”

“Oh, I’m very careful, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried—that is, I’m sure Brad loves you enough that he won’t care that you smoke.” Sam gave Heather a strained smile and tried to make a joke. “Although he may insist that you quit when you start having children.”

“Children—ha! I detest the creatures. No way am I going to have a passel of brats. They’d ruin my figure—not to mention my career.”

“But…but I thought you were giving up your career.”

“I had to tell Brad that, or he never would’ve proposed. He wants a little woman who will adore him. But I have plans of my own and no man is going to stand in my way.”

“Why are you marrying him, then?”

Heather looked at her as though she were a mental case. “Are you crazy? He’s incredibly attractive, straight and rich. With $100 million, he can help finance a movie for me so I won’t have to do these crummy little commercials anymore.”

Sam couldn’t stop staring at her. The only thing she could think to say was “He’ll only have $50 million once he gives half to his employees.”

Ashes fell from Heather’s cigarette to the pristine marble floor. “God, are you naive. You don’t really think I would allow him to do that? You really fell for my little act in there, didn’t you? I thought another woman would see through that pack of lies immediately. So, what are you going to do now? Tattle to Brad?”

“Brad’s my friend.”

Heather laughed—an ugly, distorted sound. “Don’t tell me—you’re one for all and all for one, or some crap like that, right? God, what century were you born in? Tell him whatever you like—he’ll never believe you.” She cast a sly sideways look at Sam. “He’s so besotted, he would never take someone else’s word over mine.”

“You think so?”

“I know so, sweetie.” Heather stubbed out the cigarette on the floor. “Don’t try to make trouble for me—or you’ll regret it.”

Heather popped several breath mints in her mouth, then glided out of the bathroom. Sam stood where she was, staring at the crushed cigarette butt on the floor. She felt like she’d wandered into a soap opera—with Heather playing the part usually reserved for Susan Lucci.

In something of a daze, Sam walked back to the table. She spent the next half hour watching Heather smile and laugh and press up against Brad as if she thought he was the most wonderful man in the world. No one watching her would ever doubt that she was deeply, wholeheartedly in love with the man at her side.

Sam could barely doubt it herself. The scene in the bathroom was beginning to take on a surreal quality—it seemed like a bad dream. Could she have imagined it?

Heather glanced over at her. For an instant, a catlike smile curved her lips. Then it vanished and she was gazing up at Brad, the adoration back in her eyes.

Sam’s lips tightened. No, she hadn’t imagined it. Without a doubt, the blonde was the greediest, most conniving female she’d ever met. Sam wouldn’t have believed such an amoral person existed if she hadn’t heard the evidence with her own ears. Heather didn’t care about Brad at all—she cared only about his money.

Sam’s gaze flickered to Brad. He smiled down into Heather’s eyes, completely unaware of her deceit. Poor Brad. Did he have any idea what he was getting himself into? No, of course not. Poor, poor, poor Brad.

He thought Heather was perfect. He was in love with her. He would be devastated when he found out the truth. Sam hated to think of him being hurt like that.

Memories flashed through her brain—memories of Brad listening while she ranted and raved about Joe Danvers’s jerkiness. Joe had dumped her because she wouldn’t have sex with him, and her pride had been hurt more than her heart, but still Brad had listened and supported her decision.

Brad had always been there for her. If it hadn’t been for him, she never would have gotten through calculus in college. She’d had little aptitude for math, but he’d explained the theorems over and over until she’d understood.

He’d been there, too, when her parents divorced, and then, a year later, when her father died. She’d cried on his shoulder, and he’d rocked her and smoothed her hair back from her face and held her tightly. The warmth of his arms around her had helped banish the coldness, given her strength to go on.

Brad was a nice guy. The nicest guy she’d ever known. He didn’t deserve a piece of work like Heather.

Brad bent over to whisper something in the blonde’s ear. As if reading Sam’s thoughts, Heather stared at her, her gaze mocking.

Sam clenched her teeth until they ached. She couldn’t let Brad ruin his life. He was her friend. She had to do something to save him. He needed her.

She wasn’t going to let him down.