Anticipation(54)

It was a mistake, of course. Even though she was thirty years old,  Elizabeth had barely lived. She needed a man who would challenge and  stretch and inspire her, not someone who wanted to wrap her in cotton  wool and admire her from a distance.

As for Martin, she had no idea what he needed-apart from a ton of TNT jammed up his tightly clenched backside.

She stirred, looking away from the darkness outside the train. She hated  to see her friend settle. Hated watching her be buried beneath  obligation and expectation. Orphaned at a young age, Elizabeth had spent  her life pleasing her elderly grandparents-her payment of sorts for  their kindness in taking her in. From where Violet sat, Elizabeth was  living the life they wanted for her, not the one she might choose for  herself, should she ever have the option.

And foolish E is going along for the ride. All the way down the aisle.

For a moment Violet was filled with an ineffable sadness. Standing by  and watching Elizabeth make such a huge mistake was going to be one of  the hardest things she'd ever done. But she would do it, because she  loved E more than anything, and E was convinced that Martin would make  her happy.

Violet hoped like hell that her friend had the right of it.

And if she was wrong... Well, Violet would be there to help her pick up  the pieces, as Elizabeth had done for her many, many times in the past.





Martin tugged his tie loose as he pulled away from the curb. If he  glanced in the rear view mirror, he could watch Violet grow smaller and  smaller until she disappeared altogether into the distance.

He didn't. He didn't want to dwell on her, he was simply glad she was gone.

Like a burr under his skin, she'd irritated him all night with her too  loud laugh and her bold red hair and look-at-me dress. For the life of  him he couldn't understand what Elizabeth saw in the woman.

"Thanks for doing that," Elizabeth said quietly.

He glanced at her as he stopped for a red light. As usual, she looked graceful and poised. "She's your friend."

"She is. But I know you rub each other the wrong way."

He didn't respond. What could he say, after all? He'd long since reconciled himself to tolerating Violet for Elizabeth's sake.

"She hates those fundraisers. I think it reminds her of her family too much. Her step-mother was always entertaining."

Again, he didn't say anything as he turned into his street and then  again into the mews behind the converted Victorian mansion that housed  his apartment. He'd picked up enough hints from Elizabeth over the years  to understand that Violet's childhood had not been a happy one. Neither  had his, but he didn't use it as an excuse to be outrageous and  self-indulgent at every turn.

"Did you change your mind about going to the bar?" Elizabeth asked as he pulled into his allocated parking spot.

"I thought we could walk. It's just around the corner."

"Oh. Good idea."

He helped her out of the car, sliding his arm around her shoulders as they walked.

"You know, it's exactly eight weeks to the big day now," he said as they left the mews and entered the street.

There was a small pause before Elizabeth responded.

"It is, isn't it? It's all gone so quickly. Amazing, really. When you  proposed, I thought six months was plenty of time to plan a wedding.  Shows what I knew."         

     



 

Beneath his arm, her shoulders were stiff with tension. She'd been tense  a lot lately. A little distant, too. It had been nearly three weeks  since she'd stayed a night at his place-not an ice-age, but a sign, if a  person was looking for it, that all was not as it should be. Especially  with a wedding on the horizon.

"Everything is going okay? There's nothing more I can do?" he asked.

It wasn't what he wanted to ask, but Elizabeth was hard to pin down  sometimes. She tended to keep things to herself and puzzle them out on  her own. Since it was something he did himself, he could hardly  criticize her for it-but that didn't stop him from being frustrated when  she kept him at arm's length.

"Everything is pretty much taken care of. Violet has been a rock. I  don't know what I would have done if she hadn't kept pointing me in the  right direction."

He was aware that Violet had put herself at Elizabeth's disposal in the  lead up to the wedding. He couldn't fault Violet for that-she'd been  incredibly generous with her time and energy.

One point in her favor.

"It looks a little crowded," Elizabeth said as they approached the bar.

She shot him a doubtful look. She knew he wasn't overly fond of noisy  bars and clubs. On the other hand, this had been Elizabeth's suggestion,  and Violet's words were still ringing in his ears.

You should sneak out of here, too, and take E somewhere fun. Reward her for being such a stoic.

He didn't like the idea that Elizabeth had simply been enduring the  fundraiser and not enjoying herself. True, he hadn't been having a ball  himself, but that was beside the point.

"I'm sure we can negotiate ourselves a corner somewhere," he said.

Elizabeth smiled and he knew he'd said the right thing. He held the door  open and they walked into a dim space with a low ceiling. As luck would  have it, two women were vacating stools at the bar as he and Elizabeth  wove their way through the crowd and they were able to secure seats  immediately.

"Perfect," Elizabeth said, glancing around with bright, interested eyes.

"Champagne? Brandy?" he asked.

"I'll have a Frangelico on the rocks, please." She swiveled in her seat and stood. "I won't be a moment."

She headed for the restrooms. Martin caught the bartender's eye and  ordered a Scotch for himself and Elizabeth's Frangelico. He settled into  his seat, glancing around the bar with the mildest of curiosity. He  knew without asking that he had nothing in common with these people.  Almost to a person they were under thirty, fashionably dressed and out  for a good time. They'd probably never gone hungry in their lives.  Certainly they'd never had to work two jobs to put themselves through  University. Like Violet, they probably took all of life's gifts for  granted.

He frowned, irritated with himself for thinking about her again. He was  fully aware that she enjoyed provoking him-hence the strip routine in  the back of his car. He refused to spare her another moment's thought,  since it seemed to him that that was what she wanted-any and all  attention she could garner for herself. Everyone's eyes on her. Why else  would she wear such short skirts and such high heels? Why else would  she have gone to a party tonight in a tiny black top made of silk so  sheer that anyone could see at a glance that her small, rounded breasts  were unhindered by a bra, her nipples clearly outlined by the soft  fabric?

He reached for his drink and glanced over his shoulder toward the  restrooms, willing Elizabeth to return. His shoulders dropped with  relief as she exited the door marked with a silhouette of a woman. She  met his eyes across the bar and the tight, irritated feeling in his gut  and chest eased. He could tolerate a million Violets if it meant having  Elizabeth in his life.

She was the important thing. Nothing else.