Solution: Marriage. Barbara Benedict

creasing her face. “Our situation, that ceremony? I mean, Mr. Fry and those ladies seemed so tickled to death for us. But it was just a lie and we kept it going.”

      It was one thing to cultivate patience, but he didn’t like being called a liar. “Our marriage is the means to an end,” he said curtly, unable to keep the irritation from his tone. “That’s all there is to it.”

      “But it feels wrong to me. Play-acting about love is like…like we’re playing with fate. Gramps always said love was a gift that should never be taken lightly.”

      “I thought you wanted a marriage of convenience. If we’re going to make it one of those arranged contracts, like between royal families, love needn’t enter into it at all.”

      “I know. It’s just…” She frowned, as if she were groping for the right words and couldn’t quite find them. “I saw how it was with my grandparents…and my folks before they died. They meant everything to each other. Just watching them together made you smile, made you want to be like them. That’s what I want someday, Luke. Not this…this travesty we call a marriage.”

      Barely an hour into married life and already she was looking for the exit?

      Pulling to a stop in front of her apartment, he told himself it shouldn’t come as a surprise. In his experience it was always this way. Maybe others could find real and enduring emotion, but all his relationships inevitably flat-lined somewhere along the way. Sooner or later the woman admitted that what she’d thought was love actually wasn’t.

      Even Callie.

      Not that he had let it deter him. He’d come back to Latour for his boy, and he wasn’t about to let any misconceived notions about love—or the lack thereof—stand in his way. “We made a bargain,” he said, turning to face Callie. “Are you going to keep your end of it, or what?”

      She blinked, as if startled by the question. “Yes. For the one year I promised.”

      “That’s that, then,” he told her. And in his mind, it was.

      Getting out of Luke’s car, Callie didn’t feel nearly as settled. Ever since Luke had kissed her, her mind had been whirling out of control. It had been a mere peck, over before it had begun, but the man’s lips had lost none of their power. Even now she could feel the old longing, the same bittersweet acknowledgment of what could never be. Dangerous, that’s how she’d always described Luke Parker. Looked as if she would have to be twice as careful, twice as wary.

      She risked a glance at him as they entered the rundown three story building, catching his ill-concealed look of dismay. Climbing the rickety stairs, noticing its threadbare carpet, she viewed her current home through his eyes. He was a Parker, accustomed to the very best money could buy; he couldn’t possibly enjoy learning, firsthand, how the other half existed.

      And he’d be even worse inside the apartment. Her nicked and battered furniture, the little messes left behind by the rush to get Robbie to school on time, the overall shabbiness of the place—what a sharp contrast to the slick and glittering world Luke normally strolled though. He’d take one look at the place and want to make changes. The next thing she knew he’d be sweeping her and Robbie into the pampered life he took for granted.

      No, she wouldn’t let that happen, she thought, as she led Luke to apartment 2B. She liked her world the way it was and what was more important, so did Robbie. Okay, maybe this hall was a little dingy, but she had neighbors who watched out for her and her boy—good, honest, caring people who stuck around through thick and thin.

      She stopped before her door, suddenly realizing that those same good people would wonder about this stranger she’d unexpectedly brought into their midst. Gramps had constantly warned of the many ripples you could cause with a single action. Marrying Luke, it now seemed, had been like setting off a tidal wave in the tiny pond that had once been her life.

      “Maybe it’s not such a good idea, your staying here,” she said, thinking out loud as she glanced back at him. “Maybe you should stay at your place tonight. Or even a motel.”

      He reached down to take the key from her hand. “What is this, Cal? Cold feet?”

      Actually, with her new husband now towering over her, she felt the chill from head to toe. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just thought that if we’re going to do this thing, we should start it off right.”

      “Then in that case,” he said, slipping the key in the lock and shoving open the door, “allow me.” Giving her no chance to protest, he slipped one arm under her knees, the other under her back, and in one fluid motion swept her up against his chest.

      “What on earth do you think you are doing?” she gasped.

      “Starting out right. The groom is supposed to carry the bride over the threshold, I’m told.”

      “This is ridiculous, Lucky. You put me down, right this minute.”

      “It’s Luke, not Lucky. Remember?”

      Held captive in his arms, she could remember far too many things—the stolen moments, the hot, steamy nights they’d shared ten years ago. And as she gazed into his eyes and saw the sudden intensity there, she realized he was remembering, too.

      She could feel the pull between them, as if some magnetic force urged their heads closer. Inches away from touching his lips, she heard footsteps through a haze, then the all too clear and startled, “Mom?”

      “Ohmigod,” she said, all but leaping out of Luke’s grasp. “It’s Robbie.”