dressed. That evening’s party was Ricky’s informal fraternity reunion, held in a pub in midtown. When he’d called that morning, he’d told her to just wear jeans and a sweater.
Still, knowing how men were about pride in front of fraternity brothers, and back to her mission of making sure he had a good time, Eloise dressed with care. She slid into an emerald green cashmere sweater that she’d been saving for a special occasion, fixed her hair in a long ponytail and applied just the right amount of makeup to look cheerful and festive.
She would get this guy out of his misery if it killed her.
He arrived, helped her into her parka and led her down the stairs.
“This might be like hell week.”
She laughed. The fact that he hadn’t mentioned putting in an appearance and leaving early encouraged her. “You think I can’t handle a roomful of men and their dates?”
He paused at the door and looked back at her. “Some won’t have dates.”
“Oh.”
He started walking again, and she stood rooted to her spot. He had to be in his midthirties. The people he went to school with would be about the same age, but they wouldn’t have dates?
What did that mean?
When he reached the limo, Norman opened the door. Realizing she was standing in the lobby like a ninny, she scrambled to catch up. As soon as they were settled, Norman took off.
“So you’re married.”
Surprise kicked the air out of her lungs and made her forget all about the fact that some of his fraternity buddies wouldn’t have dates. “What?”
He faced her, his eyes cool and direct. “You’re married. I found your marriage license through a quick internet search and didn’t find a divorce decree. Ergo, you’re married.”
Her heart galloped. Her nerve endings jumped. Every ounce of blood fell to her feet as every possible answer she could give him winged through her brain. But none of them would work. Shock and anger collided to create a horrible sourness in the pit of her stomach.
“For a guy who has his fair share of secrets, you’re certainly not shy about uncovering mine.”
“Believe it or not, I searched your name because I felt bad for you. I could tell from how you avoided the topic of college that something had happened and I wanted to know what.”
His voice was soft, honest, but tinged with a bit of hurt. And why not? He thought he was going out with a married woman.
She sucked in a breath and said the words that didn’t just pinch her heart; they filled her with shame. “My husband died.”
The expression of concern that came over his face was totally unexpected. “Your husband died?”
She nodded.
He sighed in obvious disgust with himself. “I’m sorry. I was just so flabbergasted to find the marriage license and no divorce degree that I didn’t look any further.” He shook his head. “You’re so young. I never in a million years thought to look for a death certificate.” He shook his head again. “I am so sorry.”
“If it made you so angry to find the marriage license and no divorce decree, why didn’t you just call and cancel?” But before he could answer, she figured it out on her own, and she gasped. “You hoped I had an explanation.”
“I need you. I need this charade. Plus, you’ve been nothing but a nice person around me.” He shrugged. “It was only fair that I give you a chance to explain.”
Hope filled the black hole of shame that lived where her heart should have been. Laura Beth and Olivia accepted her, understood her. But she’d never had the courage to test another person’s feelings about her. She wasn’t supposed to care if Ricky Langley liked her. But it was suddenly, incomprehensibly important that he hear the story and understand.
“I fell for a guy with tattoos and a motorcycle and ran off with him. Although we loved each other, getting married was a huge mistake. It took only two months before I realized we were in trouble. He sat at home or in his buddy’s garage, talking bikes and drinking beer all day.”
His eyes sought hers, but he said nothing.
Shame and fear shivered through her, but she trudged on.
“I spent every day supporting him by waitressing.” She glanced down at her hands, then back up at him. “This story makes me sound like I quit loving him when he refused to support me, but the truth was I never stopped loving him. I just knew we’d made a mistake getting married. I was about to leave him—”
“When he was killed on his bike and you were free.”
A shard of pain sliced through her. For a guy who clearly hoped she’d redeem herself, he certainly was quick to find the dark cloud. “When he was diagnosed with cancer. I spent three months taking him to doctor’s appointments, helping him through chemo, cleaning up messes, offering words of hope. That’s when we started talking. It killed him that he couldn’t find work, so he masked his pain by pretending not to care that I had to support him. I reacted by getting angrier and angrier with a guy who was already hurting, filled with shame.” She stopped and closed her eyes. “Then he died, and I’ve spent the past years angry with myself.” She opened her eyes. “Feeling guilty. Feeling desperately wrong. I hadn’t left him, but I was about to and he would have died alone.”
He studied her silently, then finally said, “I’m sorry.”
This time she looked away. “It certainly wasn’t your fault.”
“No. But I shouldn’t have probed into your private life.”
The limo stopped. Norman opened the door and they stepped out.
Memories followed her up the sidewalk and beneath the portico, tormenting her with the knowledge that she’d been immature and foolish. Not in marrying Wayne, but in almost leaving. True, she’d stayed and nursed him until he’d died. But if he’d visited the doctor one week later, she would have been gone. The man she’d loved would have died alone.
When they walked into the pub, the noise of the crowd swelled over her, along with the scents of corned beef and cabbage. Ricky directed her to the room in the back, where round tables were partially filled with men his age. The pool table entertained six or eight tall, lean guys and two dartboards had the attention of another four or five.
Only about seven women, dates of the guys laughing and talking, were there. More than twenty guys but only seven women. And three of them she recognized—Jennifer, Muriel and Binnie. In spite of the trauma over telling her story, Eloise almost smiled. Ricky must have been in the geek fraternity.
“Hey, it’s Ricky.”
Everybody faced them. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall before he turned and took her coat. She swallowed. Nice shoulders and a solid chest filled his warm amber sweater to perfection. His jeans all but caressed his perfect butt.
Before she could chastise herself for noticing, his mouth fell open slightly as his gaze rippled down her emerald green sweater to her tight jeans and tall black boots.
With her story out and his fear that she was a liar alleviated, she smiled in question. He’d brought her to the party to continue the charade for his own benefit, but he knew her now. And the confidence she could muster as a fake date suddenly seemed all wrong. Now, she was herself. Eloise Cummings Vaughn—not just struggling working girl, but also widow. She needed a word, something from him, that let her know things between them were okay.
He leaned in. “You look fantastic. But you always look fantastic. Thank you for doing this for me.”
His warm breath tickled her ear. He smelled great. And his words told her what she needed to hear. They were back in good standing. She might be a real person to him now, but she was still a fake date.