proverbial girl next door—a little plump but cute, with a mop of curly blonde hair, a pert, upturned nose, and an easy smile. Her husband’s grin was wide and infectious, revealing the dimpled cheeks and twinkling eyes of a man who enjoyed a good joke.
They presented Melania with two bottles of wine.
“Congratulations, newlyweds!” Candi hugged Melania, then Jared.
“Newlyweds? It’s been a month; they’re an old married couple now.” Tucker slapped Jared on the back.
Everyone chuckled, but Melania feigned a laugh, fearing the month marked the termination and not the beginning of her marriage.
As most parties did, this one ended up in the kitchen, with everyone either perched on barstools or leaning against the granite island, enjoying canapés and cocktails.
When it was time for dinner, Melania ushered the group into the dining room. Jared helped her serve, then pulled out her chair. Gingerly but not so much as to attract attention, Melania eased into her seat, grateful her dining chairs were padded.
On any other evening she would have had a good time, would have enjoyed the conversation and company immensely. Their guests raved about her cooking, and while the two couples obviously had history together, they went out of their way to include her. Candi appeared to be a perky, happy young wife, while Liz oozed a quiet confidence that reminded Melania of her mother. Otis was reserved but pleasant, while Tucker was a joker. He kept the group in stitches.
Everyone except Melania. She had to force herself to pay attention, to laugh on cue. Her ass throbbed while her mind raced on a treadmill of indecision. She made conversation and smiled when appropriate, but longed for the evening to end.
After her lemon torte had been eaten and coffee served, Jared rose and offered the men a brandy and a cigar. Adding to her angst, they accepted.
“Let me give Melania a hand in the kitchen, and I’ll meet you in my study.” He picked up a platter. Melania’s stomach tightened with tension. While maintaining an appearance of normalcy in front of their guests took effort, it would be nothing compared to the strain of facing Jared alone.
Liz glanced from Melania to Jared. “Candi and I will help Melania. Why don’t you go with the boys?”
“Melania?” Jared peered at her.
With everyone staring, she was forced to meet his gaze. Jared’s eyes signaled a silent entreaty, but she ignored it, turning her head to look at Liz. “That’s a good idea.” She latched on to the woman’s suggestion. “Thank you.”
“If you need anything, you know where to find me.” Jared set the platter on the table and touched her shoulder. Warmth seared her flesh through her dress, disturbing in its comfort, and she shied away from it, surreptitiously shrugging off his touch.
Yes, she knew where to find him. If she had anything to say about it, she’d never enter his office again. She didn’t even want to dust in there anymore.
With Liz and Candi’s efficient assistance, the table was cleared with lightning speed and the dishwasher loaded with everything but the china and the crystal. Liz insisted on washing, and as Candi dried, Melania put things away.
She liked the women, enjoyed their company, and with the men gone—especially Jared—it became easier to make conversation, but she still felt like a robot, going through the motions of being sociable. Part of the problem was physical. Her bottom hurt so much, it took enormous concentration to move naturally. She couldn’t remember what natural was. Had she always moved this stiffly? The other problem was mental. Her thoughts were like the shuttlecock in a badminton game: constantly in play, never at rest, always being batted about.
She thought she hid her turmoil pretty well until Liz approached her after the dishes were done. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping my bounds, but you seem a little out of sorts.” Liz fixed a direct but compassionate gaze on her face. “Is
KyAnn Waters, Natasha Blackthorne, Tarah Scott