Just a Little White Lie(43)
Ewww. Lucinda grimaced. Maggots? Roadkill? Gone was the illusion of the sweet Southern belle.
Wanda Sue’s eyes narrowed. “You’d better believe I’ll sing about everything I know. I saw your daddy on the news. He’s already mad as a wet hen, and he’s sure not gonna be any happier after I spill the goods.”
She planted a hand on her waist. “And Mr. Parker? Don’t expect any gratitude or help from that corner. Jake’s going to take on this crusade, but you and I both know your daddy and his Armani-clad army of lawyers will bury him. All your playin’ around is going to ruin Jake’s life, his credibility. You’d better think about that. Decide if it’s what you really want.”
Lucinda listened to the words coming out of the other woman’s mouth, and she knew without a doubt that Jake’s instincts about his high-school sweetheart had been right all along. Wanda Sue Baker was not a nice person.
And she didn’t love Jake. Not Jake the person, the man.
“What do you want, Wanda Sue?”
“I want to be married to Jake. I want to be a lawyer’s wife. When I walk into the best dress store in town, I want them thinking I am somebody.”
Lucinda dropped the lipstick back into her bag. “After all this time, you don’t know Jake very well, do you? Money and social standing don’t rate high on his priority list.”
“How do you know?” Wanda Sue spat the words out.
“Because he’s a giver. That’s why he and his father are at each other. Because he’s spent the last year in Bay Saint Louis giving away his time to improve other people’s lives.”
And didn’t that just make him adorable? Lovable?
She picked up her purse, fought to keep her hands steady. How was it she understood Jake better after just a couple days than this woman who’d known him so long? And how was it she understood Jake a whole lot better than she did Donald Kimball, someone she’d promised to spend her life with?
“We’re done with this conversation, Wanda Sue.”
Lucinda stiffened her spine and left the room. Donald waited for her in the poorly lit hallway. A vase of lilies sat on a stand, their fragrance cloying.
When she tried to sidestep him, he blocked her way.
This was too much. The unmasking of the real Wanda Sue. The guilt with Grandma Hattie. Now Donald. She wanted to cry. But it wouldn’t happen. Not here. Not now. She might have let him get the better of her at the church, but it wouldn’t happen again.
So she hid the pain, threaded steel into her voice. “Get out of my way.”
“We need to talk.”
“You and I have absolutely nothing to talk about.”
“Do you have any idea how much trouble you and that little snit fit of yours caused?”
“Me? Me? Excuse me one minute. My memory must be playing tricks. I could have sworn it was you lip-locked with another woman.”
“I told you it meant nothing. It was beyond juvenile of you to run away like that. Your father is furious.”
“Yeah? Well, then, that makes two of us.” She paused. “Where’s Rebecca tonight?”
His jaw clenched. “I have no idea.”
“Hmm.” Lucinda tipped her head. “I figured by now you two would be thick as thieves again. And I chose that word carefully. Rebecca’s very good at that. Stealing things that belong to someone else.” Lucinda tamped down the emotion that threatened and found it reassuringly easy, because it didn’t matter anymore.
“That was an awkward situation. One she directed for your benefit and her amusement. Without my prior knowledge,” Donald snapped. “And you fell for it.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. In fact, I’m not sure it really ever did. Not deep down. Remind me to thank her if I should ever be unlucky enough to run into her again.” She met his gaze straight-on. “Have a safe trip home, Donald. And don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”
He didn’t bat an eye. His arm shot out, grabbing her and pulling her to him. His head dropped, both his hands cupped her face and he captured her lips.
She hadn’t expected it and was caught off-guard. His lips moved over hers. Rigid with outrage, she fought the urge to gag. She’d just managed to get her hands between them when a flash went off.
She jerked away. Saw the phony smile explode on Donald’s face as yet another blinding flash erupted, this time with her face-on to the camera. There’d be no doubt in anyone’s mind exactly who Donald Kimball was smooching.
His ex-fiancée. The one who’d left him standing at the altar. And the fresh lipstick she’d just applied now stained his lips. She groaned, imagining the headlines.