Gorgeous Grooms: Her Stand-In Groom / Her Wish-List Bridegroom / Ordinary Girl, Society Groom

You’re a Danbury, she almost said. One Danbury would be as good as another to her mother. The connections, the social position, the prestige…the money.

“They’ll be a little surprised.” She offered a small smile.

He didn’t smile. “I’ll bet.”

“What time do you think you’ll be home?”

“Six.”

And she would be there, she realized, in his big, quiet home, waiting for him.

“We’ll just drop by my parents’ house for drinks. I won’t make you sit through an entire meal, I promise.”

He walked her to the door of his office, opened it and then stood there for a moment, leaning against the jamb. “I wouldn’t mind. They’re bound to have questions.”

Yes, Catherine thought. But she didn’t have answers. At least not ones they would like hearing.

“Drinks only.”

“Will you tell them about the codicil?” he asked.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so, but I just thought we should have our stories straight.”

As she boarded the elevator, and hit the button marked “lobby”, it saddened Catherine to realize that her parents would understand marriage as a business arrangement. After all, it was what they had. It was why they had thought her foolish for not marrying Derek even after his duplicity had been exposed. And not for the first time she wondered if the cool reserve for which she’d become well known was a byproduct of her parents’ cold union.

Stephen was not home when Catherine arrived at his house late that afternoon, but the movers had dropped off another batch of boxes. Last night she had been grateful to immerse herself in the tedious chore of unpacking and assigning other boxes to storage in Stephen’s attic. Now she was simply too tired to hunt through the boxes for the shoes she wanted to wear that evening.

Her cell phone rang as she contemplated where to start. She pulled it from her purse and sank onto her bed, grateful for the reprieve.

“Hello?”

“Cath, it’s Felicity. Where are you?”

“I’m…home,” she said, not quite ready to explain. She’d rather get it all over in one shot, which was why she’d asked Felicity, who still lived with their parents, to be sure to be there that evening.

“You’re not home. I dropped by your apartment to borrow your diamond choker and the doorman said you had moved out. What’s going on?”

Catherine sighed. “I’ll explain tonight at the house. It’s really not something I want to discuss over the phone.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Of course not.”

She was touched by her self-centered little sister’s concern until Felicity added, “That’s a relief. You’ve already upset everyone enough by calling off the wedding. And then we’ve had to endure the tabloid stories. Mother’s so embarrassed she hasn’t been to the club in weeks, and I can hardly go out of the house without being laughed at.”

“Yes, I know what a trial this has been for her, and for all of you,” she said, somehow managing to keep sarcasm out of her voice. Just once, she thought, it would be nice to have someone in her family worry about her feelings and be supportive of her decisions. Perhaps she would get her wish later that night. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you around eight.”

She hung up, even less enthusiastic about spending the next couple of hours unpacking than she had been before, so she decided to stall a little longer.

In the kitchen, she took a glass from the cupboard and went to the fridge for some orange juice. She noticed the cake right away. It was a double-layer with chocolate frosting. Not quite half of it was missing. Stephen’s birthday cake. Much as it should have pleased her that he had had someone with whom he could celebrate, she couldn’t suppress the spurt of jealousy that that someone had not been her.

Catherine chose a beige linen pantsuit to wear to her parents’ house. Her mother would frown on the pants. Her mother often frowned, though, making pleasing her a virtual impossibility. Besides, Catherine figured by the time Deirdra Canton heard the word “married”, she wouldn’t be paying any mind to her daughter’s wardrobe. She heard Stephen coming up the stairs as she put on her earrings. Sticking her head out the door, she watched him jog up the last few steps and turn in the opposite direction.

“Hello.”

He turned, startled. “Hi.”

She was surprised, too. The neat executive was nowhere to be found. In his place stood a sweaty man in gray cotton shorts and a T-shirt, hair windblown and skin glowing from exertion.

“You’re ready.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not.”

“I heard the water running in your room when I got home. I figured I had time for a run and quick shower before you were ready. Most women…” He wisely let the thought go unfinished. “Give me fifteen minutes,” he said.

She allowed her gaze to roam over the damp T-shirt that seemed molded to his powerful build. The fantasy she’d entertained in his office that morning came back to her in a breath-stealing rush. “Take twenty.”

Catherine used the extra time to do some more unpacking, figuring the monotony would keep her mind off inappropriate thoughts. She had finally managed to reel in her pulse when, arms loaded with lingerie, she turned to find Stephen standing in her open doorway. His dark gaze lingered on the silky garments she clutched in her hands.

“I wondered…”

“Wondered what?” she asked, as she hastily stuffed the assorted unmentionables into the top drawer of the bureau without bothering to neatly fold and arrange them.

“I wondered…if this was appropriate attire for meeting the in-laws.”

He wore a lightweight sport coat, crisp white shirt and dark trousers. He’d forgone a tie, a definite no-no in her mother’s book.

“Perfect.”

The Cantons were already having drinks when Stephen and Catherine arrived. The economic downturn had decimated Deirdra and Russell Canton’s once robust stock portfolio, but it had not changed the way they lived. They still insisted on having the best of everything, because keeping up appearances was more important than the fact their retirement funds were nearly gone, their savings obliterated and the house had been remortgaged twice.

Her parents and sister were seated in the room her mother insisted on calling the front parlor. They had no back parlor, so Catherine’s practical mind had never understood the need for the distinction. As long as she could remember the room had been decorated the same, with spindly-legged antique chairs and a settee that had once belonged to her mother’s mother. It was indeed a parlor, Catherine had thought more than once: a funeral parlor.

“Someday the furniture will be yours,” Deirdra Canton had said often enough. Catherine considered the words a vague kind of threat, as if someday her own personality would be stamped out of existence and she would become her mother.

Not that she didn’t love her mother, she just didn’t believe they had much in common—whether it was their taste in furniture or their support for social causes for that matter. Deirdra Canton sat on beautification committees and raised funds for animal shelters. Worthy causes, certainly, but Catherine thought it more important to wade into the trenches to reach people who were too frightened and desperate to notice the lilies blooming in a downtown garden and too poor to afford food for their children, let alone their pets.

Her parents had objected to her having a career until she’d snagged a position at the shelter. It was close enough to charity work in their book so as not to raise eyebrows among their friends, whose debutante daughters had ensured their social standing by marrying well soon after college. Apparently her parents had entertained the same notion, expecting Catherine to earn a degree but not actually use it. Just as they had provided the scholarship that had allowed a young girl from one of Chicago’s roughest neighborhoods to attend the same exclusive prep school Catherine had. Then they had objected strenuously when the girl had become Catherine’s friend.

“We don’t become involved with people like that on a personal level,” her mother had chastised her more than once.

Catherine was still haunted by that lack of involvement, and what had happened to the young girl who, despite Deirdra’s objections, had become Catherine’s most treasured friend.

“Are you going to stand there staring at the furniture, dear?” her mother asked with an embarrassed laugh.

“Sorry, my mind was elsewhere. Mother, Dad, Felicity—you remember Stephen Danbury?”