She was no longer “sweet, suffering in silence for love of Allan” Beth Ann. She was her own person. Beth Ann, salon owner and businesswoman. And she liked that new Beth Ann.#p#分页标题#e#
Now if she could just get everyone else on the same page as her. Mrs. Douglas’s ignorance was forgivable—she only saw the elderly woman at fund-raisers, and those only happened a few times a year. But that didn’t excuse the old friends, the bridge club buddies, the society friends, the business acquaintances, and all the others who’d come up to her over the course of the evening with the same types of comments.
So where’s your other half?
When are you and Allan going to kiss and make up?
I don’t see Allan with you.
Hey, can you give Allan a message for me?
She’d gritted her teeth and endured politely, deflecting questions. No, Allan wasn’t with her. They weren’t together anymore. No, really. No, they weren’t getting back together. No, she hadn’t moved on to someone else. No, that didn’t mean she was holding a torch for Allan.
People would smile and give her faintly puzzled looks, as if they couldn’t understand why a perfectly nice woman like herself wouldn’t marry her high school sweetheart after being engaged for so long.
That part was her fault. Allan’s business ran on customers and referrals. Gossip would destroy him, and the truth of their relationship? Would definitely be a career destroyer for him—as well as terribly embarrassing for her. She still loved Allan even if she didn’t want to be with him. And so she’d kept her mouth shut about the affairs. He’d been discreet enough—all his mistresses had been out of town, and he’d been careful to cover his tracks. No one in Bluebonnet suspected the truth as to why she’d gone back and forth so many times with Allan before finally breaking it off with him. If people asked why they’d gone their separate ways, she simply told them the relationship had run its course. Which, of course, made everyone think that she was crazy. Allan Sunquist was a wonderful guy—nice, funny, wealthy, and devoted to her. Or so they all thought. Allan didn’t help things, either. He seemed to think that it was just a matter of time before Beth Ann took him back, and that he simply had to say the right thing or give her enough sad, puppy-dog eyes to melt her heart and she’d forgive him all the hurt.
It was good that he wasn’t here tonight. She’d been able to concentrate on the fund-raiser.
A hand grabbed her arm. “There you are. Can I see you for a minute?”
Her mother. Surprised, Beth Ann allowed Jeanette Williamson to drag her toward the ladies’ room. “What’s going on, Mom?”
“‘Jeanette’ out in public, dear,” her mother said with a frown. Her free hand held an empty champagne glass and she handed it to a passing waiter, then took a fresh one off of his tray. “We need to talk, Beth Ann. I need a favor.”
Beth Ann stifled a groan. A favor? Now? “We’re kind of busy, Jeanette,” she said, stressing her mother’s name. “There’s still two rounds of the silent auction to be awarded—”
Her mother sipped from her champagne glass and waved her hand. “I can handle that. I need you to do something else. Now go into the bathroom. I don’t want anyone to hear us.”
Rolling her eyes, Beth Ann obeyed. The party—a fund-raiser for her father’s political party—was one of her family’s favorite events. And while she wasn’t big on politics, she recognized a lot of the familiar faces from society parties. Even though the Williamsons lived in quiet Bluebonnet, her father had friends in high places, and as a result, they went to a lot of benefits and fund-raisers. Beth Ann volunteered at her fair share because it was expected of her as Allan’s fiancée and her father’s daughter. This party was no exception, and the beautiful room was filled elbow to elbow with people in cocktail dresses, wineglasses in hand as they strolled past the silent auction placards she’d carefully placed on the tables earlier that day.
Luckily, the women’s restroom was empty. She moved into it and locked the door behind them, then did a quick scan under the stalls. No one. Good. She turned around and observed her mother swigging her champagne through the massive gilt mirror. “What is it?”
Jeanette waved, trying to swallow her drink, and Beth Ann leaned against the marble countertop of the sink while she waited. If she was with Miranda at a party, she’d have sat up on the countertop and swung her legs, but her mother wouldn’t have approved of that. So she settled for checking her updo for out-of-place strands of hair and examining her figure in her short, swingy cocktail dress. It was glittery and had spaghetti straps and revealed a lot of skin. Allan would have hated it.