Magnolia by Diana Palmer Read Free Book Online Page A

Claire,” he said stiffly, and turned to go back down the aisle to the altar, where the minister waited to marry them. He was disgusted with himself. Pity was no excusefor marriage. His heart was forever Diane’s, now more than ever.
    Good Lord, would he ever forget what Diane had just confessed to him? Would he ever forget the torment in those beautiful eyes? How could he have thought to marry Claire when a simple loan of money would have done equally well? But sanity had come far too late to save him. He could hardly walk out of the church now, with half of Atlanta’s most prominent citizens watching. The scandal would ruin him…and Claire. He had to go through with it.
    Claire heard the music start and she walked down the aisle, all alone. There was no one to give her away; there were no bridesmaids, no attendants. It was a church wedding, but more funereal in tone than joyous. John had looked angry, unhappy. She glimpsed Diane through her veil and saw the woman looking straight at John with a curious, drawn expression. She still wanted him, it seemed. And a split second later, she saw John’s head turn helplessly toward Diane, saw his tormented gaze rest on the other woman.
    As she stopped by his side and the minister began speaking, Claire’s heart raced. John was in love with Diane, and, judging by the way she was looking at him, it was reciprocated. Diane loved him, too! Claire felt trapped. John was as helpless in his emotions as she was in her own.
    She loved him, but it wasn’t going to be enough, ever. He’d live with her, someday he might even make love to her and they might have children. But he’d be dreamingof Diane, loving Diane, wanting Diane, every minute of every day—just as she wanted him. It was going to be an empty triumph and a hollow, heartless marriage. And she’d realized it too late, overwhelmed as she had been with grief for her uncle and hopeless love for John.
    The minister asked John if he took Claire to be his wife; he replied “Yes,” in a terse, forced tone.
    The same question was put to Claire. She hesitated. At that instant, she felt John’s hand grasp hers, hard. She said the word without conscious volition, flushing. He put the ring on her finger, and the minister concluded the service, adding that the groom could kiss the bride.
    He did, to give him credit, lift the veil from her face and look at her, but his expression was troubled. He bent and barely brushed his cool, firm lips against her own, in a kiss so very different from the one she’d hoped for, dreamed of, wanted with every thread of her being.
    He took her arm and they walked down the aisle to the standing congratulations and happy cries of the audience. Only Diane didn’t cheer them on. John glanced at her miserable face once and felt his heart go cold. He looked away. He walked out the door without a single glance backward.
    Â 
    T HEY ARRIVED AT J OHN’S apartment late, after the boisterous reception. It might have been fun, except that Diane looked like a grieving widow, and John’s forced smiles wore on Claire’s nerves. By the time it was over, Claire felt as if she’d been shaken to pieces.
    The apartment was nice. It was on Peachtree Street, in a very pleasant neighborhood, with trees lining the road out front and plenty of them around the yard. Claire wished it were light enough so that she could see more. Tomorrow, she’d look at that shed John had told her about. She could keep Uncle’s motorcar there.
    She hesitated in the doorway of the upstairs floor of the sprawling, late-Victorian house where John lived. There were fancy sofas and chairs in the parlor and curtains at the windows. There was a large ashtray, with a half-smoked cigar in it, and a fireplace in which a fire burned briskly, because some September evenings were cool even this far south.
    â€œThis will be your room,” John announced in a subdued tone,