“Not exactly what you’re used to, huh?”
She shrugged. “It’ll do.”
He grunted in response.
The shower had been exceptional, the water hot. Curling her toes in the thin bath mat, Lucinda wrapped an even thinner towel around herself and stared at her clothes hanging on the back of the door.
She dreaded crawling back into them, but she had nothing else. Why hadn’t she talked Jake into a quick trip to Maynard’s so she could get a clean outfit from her suitcase? True, it was packed full of honeymoon clothes not exactly appropriate for her present situation, but almost anything would be better than sleeping in her jeans.
A light knock sounded on the door, and she jumped two feet in the air. Gathering her wits, clutching the paper-thin towel, she opened the door a crack.
“Thought you might need something to put on.” He dug a white shirt out of his bag and handed it to her. “It’ll look a heck of a lot better on you than it ever could on me. Wear it if you want. Up to you.”
“Thanks.” She shook it out. “A dress shirt?”
“Yeah, well, you know. Gotta clean up every once in a while.”
A few minutes later, damp hair streaming over her shoulders, dressed in his shirt and little else, she opened the bathroom door. Jake lay sprawled over the bed, remote in hand, flipping through the channels. He looked her up and down as if she was dessert and he a starving man.
“Your turn,” she said.
The shirt worked up as she moved onto the bed, and she noticed that he noticed. She slid between the sheets.
“What a wedding day,” she muttered.
“What about the wedding night? We could still work on that.” His voice had grown husky.
“So not going to happen, big guy.”
He threw her a lopsided grin. “Can’t blame a man for tryin’.”
“Your side struck out today. Big-time.” She pulled the covers over her, heard his jeans hit the floor. Squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
He dropped back onto the bed, and she rolled toward him as the mattress sagged still more. Opening her eyes, she saw him staring, transfixed, at the TV screen.
“Ah, you might want to watch this.” He grimaced and turned up the sound. “Then again, maybe not.”
Something Borrowed, Something Blue. Something Missing flashed on-screen, accompanied by a picture of her earlier that morning in her gown, a big smile on her face. It was followed by a shot of her hurling mulch at Donald, then a still of her Porsche sitting abandoned alongside the interstate.
In a voice far too full of glee, the announcer began, “Today’s wedding between heiress Lucinda Darling and Donald Kimball—”
“Turn it off.”
He did.
“So you’re the something missing,” he said. “Probably blue too?”
She tilted her head, hesitated. Tried not to look at him, all tanned and toned, wearing only his boxers. “Surprisingly enough, no. I should be, though, shouldn’t I?”
“I’d think so.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m angry.”
“Ahhh.”
“There’s no ‘ahhh,’” she said. “True love. Romance. I should have known better.” She tapped the tips of her fingers on her forehead. “And, actually, I did. I figured a marriage built on respect for one another, on common interests, and yes, to be totally honest, on shared business interests had a better chance of succeeding. But even that didn’t work.”
He gave her a strange look.
“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t.” He threw up his hands in surrender. “But if the media comes anywhere close to the truth, you haven’t had much in the way of role models when it comes to marriage, have you?”
She hated that her family lived their life in the headlines. Hated that he knew so much about her while she knew so little about him. “Well,” she said, “that depends on how you look at it. I’ve sure witnessed the don’ts, up close and personal. When I was fifteen, Dad left Mom for a newer trophy wife—a pregnant one—before moving on to another, then another. He’s given me two step siblings—both girls—a mom and three step moms. The latest and present one is three years younger than me.”
“Lucy—”
“Don’t call me that! And let me finish. They say purging is good for the soul.” She twined her fingers together. “Not to be outdone, my mom married an older man after Dad, then moved on to one my age. At the moment she’s between husbands.”
“I’m sor—”
She glared at him, and he held up a placating hand.
“Dad’s philosophy is love the one you’re with—while she suits you—then move on. Mom, on the other hand, is hurting and trying to hide it. I don’t think she ever really got over my father. Viviana made the mistake of truly falling in love with Andrew Darling and buying into the whole happily-ever-after fable. Big mistake.”