Читать книгу The Forbidden Bride-To-Be - Kathryn Taylor, Kathryn Taylor - Страница 8

Prologue

A light wind rustled the black lace curtains at the door, causing the candles to flicker. Sophie Anders adjusted the shawl on her shoulders. Golden threads shimmered in the candlelight. The heavy scent of sandalwood incense tickled her nostrils and she had to stifle a sneeze.

The carousel’s Wurlitzer organ piped out a hauntingly familiar song on the midway. She raked a handful of curls back from her face and smiled at the handsome man sitting in the folding chair across from her. “Why do you want to introduce me to your family as your fiancée? We’re not even dating.”

Damon Winston grinned sheepishly. “The family is nagging me about getting married, so I sort of told them I had a fiancée.”

She glanced down at her white peasant blouse and red swirling skirt. “And I’m the best you could come up with? They’ll never buy it.”

“Actually, you’re the worst I could come up with, and I don’t want them to buy it. I want them to oppose it.”

“Why, thank you.” She punched his shoulder in mock exasperation.

“You know I didn’t mean that as an insult. To my family, a nonconformist is someone who wears white after Labor Day. You would be an alien being.”

Sophie knew better than to be insulted. She had worked for Damon while in college, and their friendship had begun in part due to their mutual enjoyment of taunting each other. She credited their enduring relationship to the fact that she had never gotten romantically involved with him.

“Why don’t you just tell them you don’t want to get married? I, for one, would vouch for your poor character—fidelity not being one of your strongest suits.”

“Come on, Sophie. I’ve never asked you for anything.”

“What about all those double shifts you had me pull at the restaurant?”

Damon gave her one of those charming smiles that usually had the ladies falling at his feet. “Besides that.”

“How about the time you set me up on a blind date with your college pal, Octopus Man?”

“After one date with you, he decided to be a priest.”

“Or the time you asked me to pick you up at the airport and left me waiting two hours because you had made a short detour with one of the stewardesses.”

“Okay. I get the point. But this is absolutely the last favor I will ever ask of you. No one will get hurt.”

Sophie lowered her head. Some Gypsies would think her crazy for hesitating. Running scams might be part of Romany heritage, but not a part her family had cultivated. “I don’t know, Damon. I’d planned to work the carnival over my vacation. The youth center needs money for art supplies....”

He groaned in frustration. “How many times have I told you, you won’t get rich by working for free?”

“I didn’t get rich working for you, either,” she jokingly shot back. “That’s why I’m selfemployed.”

Damon had never understood why she volunteered her time teaching art classes at the youth center. She received so much more than she gave those kids. Wealth had different meanings for different people. To him, the measure would always be monetary.

He lifted the tarot card and turned it facedown on the table. “Are the paying customers really fooled by this Gypsy act you put on.”

“The carnival is for charity. And it’s not an act. I’ll admit that I don’t have the talent my mother does, but I get really strong impressions about people.”

“I’ll make a deal with you. Do this for me and I’ll donate two thousand dollars to the center.”

Her eyes widened. “Two thousand dollars?” Although her first instinct was to decline the offer, she thought about all the things the center could do with the money and she found her resolve wavering. What harm could there be in playing the part of an unsuitable fiancée for a few days?

“And you’d get an exciting, fun-filled vacation, all expenses paid to beautiful Fairfield, Connecticut.”

The evening sky crackled with heat lightning. Was it a sign she should go, or a warning to stay away? Get a grip, Sophie. It was a quirk of nature. “There is no such thing as a free ride, Damon.”

He twisted his fingers together until his knuckles cracked. “Jeez. You sound like Alex.”

“Who’s Alex?”

“My stepbrother.”

That Damon had never mentioned a stepbrother in the four years she had known him should have been enough to send up the alarm bells. “I don’t know....”

He arched his eyebrow. “You’ll be doing it for charity.”

“All right,” she found herself saying despite her misgivings. Gooseflesh covered her skin. She glanced down at the intersecting lines on her palm. Was this the crossroad her mother had predicted in her future?