leaving town on her honeymoon soon and wouldn’t be back for a few weeks.”
“Not if I can help it,” Annabelle muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“It looks as if her plans might change,” she said, with the most convincing smile she could muster. Behind her, the sound of her mother’s shower kicked off. “One of us will be in touch soon,” Annabelle added, stepping back. “Thank you for stopping by.”
“But—”
“We’ll call you,” she assured the woman, waving as she closed the door. Then she leaned against the door and blew her too-long bangs in the air.
“Annabelle, dear, was that someone at the door?” her mother yelled from the bathroom.
“The real estate agent,” she replied, choosing her words carefully as she moved down the hall. “She, um, rescheduled.”
Belle stuck her head out of the bathroom, her pale hair dripping, her face a mask of concern. “For when?”
“I didn’t know your schedule, so I told her we’d be in touch.”
“You should have asked me while she was here, dear.”
Annabelle crossed her fingers behind her back. “She was in a hurry.”
Belle disappeared back into the bathroom. “Remind me to call her when we return from running our errands.”
She looked heavenward and mouthed, That was close.
“Oh,” her mother’s voice echoed in the bathroom, “I forgot to mention that Martin and Clay are taking us to dinner this evening.”
“Dinner?” Her heart tripped faster. “Why?”
Belle’s laughter vibrated. “Because we have to eat, dear, and we could do worse than eating in the company of two attractive men.”
She groaned and sagged against the wall in the hallway, exhausted before their day had even begun. Right now, her seventy-hours-a-week job seemed like nirvana.
“Annabelle.” Her mother’s head appeared again. “It would mean so much to me if you would try to be friends with Clay.” She ducked back into the bathroom, and her voice floated out, muffled. “But believe me, after spending time with the man, I understand your reluctance. He has such a difficult personality.”
Annabelle worked her mouth from side to side and studied her rumpled reflection in the mirror over the hall table. “Well, after all, he did leave a business deal in Paris to come back and attend the wedding.”
“I suppose. But arrogant , mercy, mercy.”
Her hair definitely needed a trim. “I know, but at least he has accomplishments to back up his attitude.”
“And he seems kind of brooding to me.”
Annabelle shrugged. “It worked in Wuthering Heights .”
“And now that I think about it, he’s not nearly as handsome as Martin was at that age.”
Annabelle pursed her lips and leaned close to the mirror. How long since she’d last plucked her eyebrows? “He’s really not bad looking when he smiles.”
“Ha! And when is that?”
She stuck her tongue in her cheek, remembering their heated exchanges with a little smirk. “He has a subtle sense of humor. You have to get to know him, I guess.” Then she straightened. “Not that I do. Know him, that is.”
“Well, thanks for the insight, dear. Tonight we’ll both try to be more open-minded, hm?”
The blow dryer whirred to life, and Annabelle headed toward her room, dragging her feet. After stubbing her toe, she hopped into her bedroom and landed on her bed, more irritated than ever. Her skin felt bothersome, as if she might be coming down with something—which would explain the general feeling of detachment from her body. She just wanted to close her eyes and have everything the way it was before her mother called last Friday to break the news of the wedding.
And if she didn’t have enough to worry about, now she was going to have to spend this evening staring across the table at Clay. Annabelle rolled to her back and groaned.
What on earth was she going to wear?
Chapter Eight
“WE CAN HAVE THE RING SIZED while you wait, ma’am,” the man said with a courteous
“Not if I can help it,” Annabelle muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“It looks as if her plans might change,” she said, with the most convincing smile she could muster. Behind her, the sound of her mother’s shower kicked off. “One of us will be in touch soon,” Annabelle added, stepping back. “Thank you for stopping by.”
“But—”
“We’ll call you,” she assured the woman, waving as she closed the door. Then she leaned against the door and blew her too-long bangs in the air.
“Annabelle, dear, was that someone at the door?” her mother yelled from the bathroom.
“The real estate agent,” she replied, choosing her words carefully as she moved down the hall. “She, um, rescheduled.”
Belle stuck her head out of the bathroom, her pale hair dripping, her face a mask of concern. “For when?”
“I didn’t know your schedule, so I told her we’d be in touch.”
“You should have asked me while she was here, dear.”
Annabelle crossed her fingers behind her back. “She was in a hurry.”
Belle disappeared back into the bathroom. “Remind me to call her when we return from running our errands.”
She looked heavenward and mouthed, That was close.
“Oh,” her mother’s voice echoed in the bathroom, “I forgot to mention that Martin and Clay are taking us to dinner this evening.”
“Dinner?” Her heart tripped faster. “Why?”
Belle’s laughter vibrated. “Because we have to eat, dear, and we could do worse than eating in the company of two attractive men.”
She groaned and sagged against the wall in the hallway, exhausted before their day had even begun. Right now, her seventy-hours-a-week job seemed like nirvana.
“Annabelle.” Her mother’s head appeared again. “It would mean so much to me if you would try to be friends with Clay.” She ducked back into the bathroom, and her voice floated out, muffled. “But believe me, after spending time with the man, I understand your reluctance. He has such a difficult personality.”
Annabelle worked her mouth from side to side and studied her rumpled reflection in the mirror over the hall table. “Well, after all, he did leave a business deal in Paris to come back and attend the wedding.”
“I suppose. But arrogant , mercy, mercy.”
Her hair definitely needed a trim. “I know, but at least he has accomplishments to back up his attitude.”
“And he seems kind of brooding to me.”
Annabelle shrugged. “It worked in Wuthering Heights .”
“And now that I think about it, he’s not nearly as handsome as Martin was at that age.”
Annabelle pursed her lips and leaned close to the mirror. How long since she’d last plucked her eyebrows? “He’s really not bad looking when he smiles.”
“Ha! And when is that?”
She stuck her tongue in her cheek, remembering their heated exchanges with a little smirk. “He has a subtle sense of humor. You have to get to know him, I guess.” Then she straightened. “Not that I do. Know him, that is.”
“Well, thanks for the insight, dear. Tonight we’ll both try to be more open-minded, hm?”
The blow dryer whirred to life, and Annabelle headed toward her room, dragging her feet. After stubbing her toe, she hopped into her bedroom and landed on her bed, more irritated than ever. Her skin felt bothersome, as if she might be coming down with something—which would explain the general feeling of detachment from her body. She just wanted to close her eyes and have everything the way it was before her mother called last Friday to break the news of the wedding.
And if she didn’t have enough to worry about, now she was going to have to spend this evening staring across the table at Clay. Annabelle rolled to her back and groaned.
What on earth was she going to wear?
Chapter Eight
“WE CAN HAVE THE RING SIZED while you wait, ma’am,” the man said with a courteous
Similar Books
