get you a Coke, and there’s somebody I want you to meet.”
Freddy put his warm hand against the small of her back and guided her toward the others. The Olympic-size pool was as turquoise as her bikini, and shimmered under the beautiful afternoon sun. The people who stood around it were tall and elegant, murmuring to one another in low, laughing tones, making a collective sound that Mindy had come to associate with money.
White-coated waiters braided through them with trays of cocktails, and constantly refilled the beautiful tables piled high with pyramids of fruit and clear crystal vases of orchids.
For a minute, Mindy was afraid her feet wouldn’t move, but somehow she forced herself to be steered into the crowd. She couldn’t ever admit to Freddy that she was afraid. A politician’s wife had to be good with people. Outgoing, glib and graceful.
He had told her that when he asked her to marry him. He loved her, he’d said, but he couldn’t ask her to share his life without being completely honest about the responsibilities that came with the job.
Completely honest…
Her face had burned as if someone had lit a fire under her skin when he’d said that. She’d almost told him the truth right then. But of course she had chickened out, as always.
How could she take the piece of heaven he’d just handed her, and give it back? How could she resist the joyous security of being the cherished fiancée of Mr. Frederick Earnshaw—and go back to being poor little screwed-up Mindy, who had no future and way too much past?
“Jill, I’d like you to meet Mindy. Mindy, this is Jill Sheridan-Riley. Judge Sheridan-Riley,” he added with a teasing smile at the other woman.
Mindy smiled, too, without the teasing, and held out her hand, trying to remember, among all the things she needed to remember, that she had to shake firmly enough to look confident, but not so tightly as to seem absurd.
How could Freddy feel comfortable calling such an imposing woman “Jill”? She must be almost six feet tall, six feet of elegant, dramatic bones—collarbones, jawbones, wrist bones, cheekbones—every inch of her was jutting and determined. Dark hair and dark, intelligent eyes. Not yet forty. Still beautiful, but an uncompromising, unconventional beauty.
Judge Sheridan-Riley was one of those women who always made Mindy feel ridiculous, as if being short and blond was a character flaw. As if wearing lip gloss was a sign of weakness. Jill Sheridan-Riley hadn’t spent two hours getting ready this morning. She hadn’t needed to. She’d been born ready.
“Hi, Mindy,” Jill said. Her voice was dark, too, thick and elegant, but it held a surprising warmth. “I’ve been telling Freddy that if he didn’t introduce you soon I’d hold him in contempt.” She laughed and patted Freddy’s arm. “I’ve been dying for a chance to say that.”
She turned back to Mindy with twinkling eyes. “I’ve only been a judge about a week.”
Her laughter was infectious, and as Mindy chuckled she felt the knot in her stomach relax a millimeter. Maybe she could do this after all.
But just then, in the depths of the clever turquoise macramé drawstring purse Mindy had purchased to match her bikini, her cell phone began to ring.
Freddy shot a quick glance at her, and, her cheeks heating up, she shrugged helplessly. Dumb, dumb. She should have put it on mute.
She squeezed her hand over the purse, hoping to muffle the sound, but Freddy shook his head. “Go ahead, answer it,” he said in an understanding voice. “It might be Mallory. It might be about your mother.”
She nodded gratefully. He was such a special guy. He always seemed concerned about her mother’s health. He didn’t even seem to mind that his new fiancée came with so much baggage.
She excused herself from the other two as she dug out the small, silver phone. The caller ID showed that he’d been right. It was Mallory.
Mindy found a quiet corner, between an untended bar and a trash can, the least picturesque square foot of the entire party. She clicked the green answer button.
“Hi, Mallory,” she said. “Is everything all right?”
“Mom’s fine,” Mallory said. That was the first sentence of every conversation they had. “I just wanted to talk to you for a minute.”
Mal sounded a little edgy, Mindy thought. Her own guilty conscience pictured the overpriced bikini. But there was no way Mallory could know about that. Mindy had bought it with her own credit card, and she’d pay for it with her own paycheck. Somehow.
“Okay. What’s up?”
“I just—” Mallory stopped. She sounded uncertain, which was unlike her. She was the big sister. Now that their mother was…sick…Mallory was the boss, and the job suited her. Just like Mom, Mallory had always been completely sure of herself and her decisions. Of all the Rackham women, only Mindy was tormented with self-doubt.
“I just wondered,” Mallory said slowly, “if you’ve thought any more about when you’re going to tell Freddy.”
God, that again? At a time like this? They’d just had this conversation three days ago, and Mindy had promised to think about it, to look for the perfect moment. They both knew she was going to have to tell him. Even in Mindy’s most selfish dreams, she didn’t imagine that she had the right to marry him without telling him the truth. It was just a matter of when.
“Mal, it’s a little awkward to discuss this right now. I’m at a party. With Freddy. It’s a political thing.”
“Oh. Oh…well.”
“What’s wrong?” Mindy could tell that Mallory was upset. “Can’t we talk about this later?” She lowered her voice to a near-whisper. “You know this kind of thing intimidates me, Mal. But I’m doing pretty well, I think. I just can’t let myself get upset now.”
“Yes, of course, later is fine.” Mallory’s voice resumed its normal, brisk, cheerful tones. “I’m sorry. I didn’t remember that the party was today. Good for you, honey. I’m really proud of you for deciding to go after all.”
Mindy remembered sheepishly that she’d told Mallory she might plead a headache, or the flu, and skip the party. She was so afraid of letting Freddy down. She was so afraid that someday, at one of these functions, the mist would fall from his eyes and he’d see her as she really was.
Too young, too gauche, too shy. Pretty enough to be a trophy wife, but not worthy in any other way.
In the end, a liability.
“Thanks,” she said self-consciously. “Well, I guess I’d better go see what Freddy’s up to.”
“Of course.” Mallory was back in cheerleader mode. “I’ll bet you look like a million bucks, kiddo. Now you go out there and just be yourself. Show them how sweet and smart you are. Before this party is over, they’ll all love you just as much as Freddy does.”
As Mindy put her phone away, she watched Freddy and his friend the judge, who had been joined by three other suave people with drinks in their hands and clever laughter on their lips. She tried to convince herself that Mallory was right. They would love her, too…love her just as much as Freddy did.
But that was the question, really, wasn’t it? How much did Freddy love her? When the time came, would it be enough?
FORGET FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH, Mallory thought as she opened the last of the day’s mail. Thursday the twenty-second was every bit as evil.
So far her day had consisted of two obnoxious publisher’s reps, one carton of damaged books, three hefty returns, one irate mother who apparently didn’t know that a CD called All Night Long might contain sexual content, and a call from Valley Pride Property Management Inc., notifying her that they planned to raise her rent.
But she could handle all that. She’d been a bookseller for almost two years now, and she