The Groom Said Maybe!

As if on cue, the trumpet player rose to his feet and sent a shattering tattoo of sound out into the room.

“And now,” the bandleader said, “let’s give a warm welcome to Dawn and Nicholas!”

The Crowders, then the Blums, looked toward the dance floor as the introductions rolled on. Stephanie breathed a small sigh of relief. Perhaps David Chambers’s attention was on the newlyweds, too. Her hand closed around her small, apricot-silk purse. Carefully, she moved back her chair. Now might be the perfect time to make another strategic retreat to the ladies’ room...

“Leaving so soon, Mrs. Willingham?”

Stephanie froze. Then, with as much hauteur as she could manage, she turned her head toward David Chambers. His expression was polite and courteous; she was sure he looked the picture of civility—unless you were sitting as close to him as she was, and you could see the ridicule in his eyes.

Okay. It was time to take a bite, however small, of humble pie.

“Mr. Chambers.” She cleared her throat. “Mr. Chambers, I suppose—what I said before—I didn’t mean...”

He smiled coolly and bent toward her, his eyes on hers.

“An apology?”

“An explanation.” Stephanie sat up straight. “I was rude, and I didn’t intend to be.”

“Ah. What did you intend to be, then?” His smile tilted and he moved closer, near enough to make her heartbeat quicken. For one foolish instant, she’d thought he was going to kiss her.

“I simply meant to make it clear that you and I were not together.”

“You certainly did that.”

“I’m sure Annie meant well, when she seated us this way, but—”

“Annie?”

“Annie Cooper. Surely, you know—”

“You were seated on the groom’s side.”

“I know both the bride and the groom, Mr. Chambers.”

“But you’re Annie’s guest.”

“I can’t see of what possible interest it could be to you, sir.”

Neither could David—except that it had occurred to him. as he’d gone down the receiving line, that word had it that the groom’s uncle, Damian Skouras, had a mistress in attendance at the wedding. Perhaps Stephanie Willingham was she. Or perhaps she was a former mistress. Or a future one. It was a crazy world out there; there was no telling what complications you got into when you drew up guest lists. He’d avoided the problem, his one time in the matrimonial sweepstakes. You didn’t draw up a guest list when you said “I do” at city hall.

“Humor me, Mrs. Willingham,” David said with a chilly smile. “Why did you choose to sit on the groom’s side?”

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Chambers?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with my question.”

“Suppose you humor me, and answer it.”

David’s frown deepened. “I’m an attorney.”

“Ah. Well, I suppose that explains it.”

“Explains what?” David said, his eyes narrowing.

“Your tendency to interrogate.”

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Willingham. I did not—”

“I must admit, I find it preferable to your tendency to strip a woman naked with your eyes.”

The band segued from a bouncy rendition of “My Girl” to a soft, sighing “Stardust.” Stephanie’s words rose clearly over the plaintive opening notes.

A strangled gasp burst from Honoria Crowder’s lips. Her champagne glass tipped over and a puddle of pale golden wine spread across the white tablecloth.

“Oh, my,” Honoria twittered, “how clumsy of me!”

Bobbi Blum snatched at a napkin. “Here,” she said, “let me get that.”

Saved by the spill, Stephanie thought hysterically. She smiled blindly at the waiter as he served their first course. The Crowders and the Blums grabbed their oyster forks and attacked their shrimp cocktails with a fervor she suspected was born of the desire to leap to their feet and run from what was turning into the kind of encounter that ends with one of the parties bleeding.

If you had any brains, Stephanie told herself, you’d do the same...

Instead, she picked up her fork and began to stuff food into her mouth because if she was chewing and swallowing, maybe—just maybe—she’d stop saying things that only made this impossible mess messier.

“I don’t.”

Stephanie’s head snapped up. She looked at David, and the smug little smile on his face sent a chill straight into the marrow of her bones.

“Don’t what?” Bobbi Blum said, and everyone leaned forward in eager anticipation.

“Don’t have a tendency to strip women naked with my eyes.” His smile tilted, and his gaze swept over Stephanie again, sending a flood of color to her cheeks. “Not indiscriminately, that is. I only focus that sort of attention on beautiful women who look to be in desperate need of—”

Music blared from the bandstand.

Forks clattered to the table.

The Crowders and the Blums pushed back their chairs and rushed to the dance floor.

Stephanie sat very still, though she could damn near feel the blood churning in her veins. She thought about slugging the man beside her, but that wouldn’t be fair to Annie, or Dawn, or Nicholas. Besides, ladies didn’t do such things. The woman—the girl—she’d once been might have. Would have. Steffie Horton would have balled up her fist and shot a right cross straight to David Chambers’s square jaw.

A tremor went through her. Steffie Horton would have done exactly what Stephanie Willingham had been doing all afternoon. She’d have been rude, and impolite; she’d have spoken her mind without thinking. She might even have reacted to the heat in a stranger’s eyes. It was in her genes, after all. Avery had been wrong about a lot of things, but not about that.

What was wrong with her today? She was behaving badly. And even when David Chambers had held out an olive branch—a ragged one, it was true, but an olive branch nevertheless—she’d slapped it out of his hand.

Stephanie took a deep breath and turned toward him.

“Mr. Chambers...”