“I’m very excited for tomorrow,” I murmured into his chest, catching the scent of his cologne. Heady.
“I mentioned to Nancy Nickerson that you’d be interested in volunteering some time when we get back in town. She’s chairing the committee for the new pediatric wing at the hospital. I signed you up.”
“Well, okay. But I’m not sure how much time I’m going to have. They just got two new therapy dogs at the hospital, and they need some help with—”
“Chloe. Baby. We talked about this before. Working with your pageant platform is one thing; the therapy dog charity was great. But you’re not doing pageants anymore, and we agreed it’s time to start moving on, taking on some new projects, right?”
“But, Charles, I’ve worked with this organization since high school; it was never just because I was in pageants. They always need help, and I think that—”
“No.”
“Um. What?” I asked, crinkling my nose and looking up at him.
Charles Preston Sappington was tall. Dark. Handsome. Perfect. My mother, who traded in perfect, had introduced us. He was an attorney. He argued for a living, which is why I never bothered to argue with him. Hard to go toe-to-toe with the toughest litigator in all of Southern California. I know this because he had it on a plaque above his desk. So I rarely bothered. However . . .
“Did you just tell me no?”
“Yes.”
“Can you explain to me why?” I asked, pushing against his chest a bit when he tried to hold me tighter.
“Not right now.”
“But—”
“Baby, it’s late. We’ve got plenty of time to talk about stuff like this. But for now? Just concentrate on getting some sleep tonight so you can be beautiful for me tomorrow.” His voice sounded soothing. “You know I can’t wait for tomorrow, right? But then after that? The honeymoon, baby—the best part.”
His hands slid up my back and succeeded in pulling me into him. I sighed, bit back my remark, and concentrated on the band that was tightening around my chest. His arms, I mean.
“Two weeks in Tahiti. Private bungalow. Bikini. Maybe even no bikini,” he whispered, hands sliding down and giving my bum a grab.
“Charles! Someone could see!” I protested, looking around. He laughed, thinking this particular squall was over. After all, I was getting married tomorrow. Sigh.
“Baby, go to sleep. And then tomorrow, I’ll be waiting at the end of that aisle. You’ll be gorgeous. We’ll say some words, slip on some rings, and then you’re all mine. Sound good?” he crooned as he spun me around, then set me down to open the limo door.
“Mm-hmm,” I managed, a bit dizzy from all the spinning.
“There you two are! Now, Charles, scoot. She’s all yours tomorrow, but she’s still mine tonight,” my mother cried, appearing at my side with a grand smile.
“Yes, Mother Patterson,” Charles replied, knowing how much she hated when he called her that.
I giggled in spite of myself, and my mother frowned at me.
“Say good night to Charles,” she said primly, keeping any comments about Mother Patterson to herself for a change.
“Good night, Charles,” I echoed, leaning in for a kiss on the forehead.
“Night, ladies. See you tomorrow,” Charles said, packing us into the limo in a swish of silk and satin.
Sitting next to my mother, I listened to her chatter as we pulled away from the restaurant and headed toward our home. Where I’d lived since college.
Parents’ house. Sorority house. Parents’ house. Husband’s house? Sigh.
An hour later, I was in the bedroom I’d been sleeping in since I was seven. Canopy bed. Pom-poms. Tiaras. Sashes. Trophies. Pageant girl, remember? Elbow elbow wrist wrist.
Curled up on top of the covers, I was hot, my heart beating faster than normal. Nervous about tomorrow, I suppose. Marrying Charles. Becoming a Sappington and everything that meant.
I looked at the picture of us on my nightstand, taken the evening he’d proposed. The ring shone as brightly in the photo as it shone on my hand now. It was the largest diamond I’d ever seen, almost embarrassingly so. I slipped it off, setting next to the picture.
I’d met Charles eleven months ago. We were engaged five months to the day after we met. Whirlwind to say the least, and Charles was the most perfectly put-together whirlwind you’ve ever seen. Never a hair out of place, never a spot of food on his tie, or a piece of spinach in his teeth. The spinach would never dare.