Body Movers Books 1-3

“Ah.”

“Is Angela with you?” she asked lightly, glancing around.

“No.” Then he cleared his throat. “So what are you doing here?”

“I’m here with a friend.”

One of his eyebrows arched. “Boyfriend?”

“No. My friend Hannah.”

“Someone you went to school with? Would I know her?”

“No, I sort of…lost touch with the girls I went to school with. I hardly see them anymore.” Then she decided to out the elephant in the room between them that he refused to acknowledge. “Except for Angela.”

He took a quick drink from his glass. “Yes, she always tells me when she, um, runs into you.”

Another stretch of awkward silence descended.

“I hear your home is very nice,” she offered. “Angela told me about the new pool.”

He gave a dry laugh. “Pool, outside kitchen, waterfall, hot tub and guesthouse.”

“Oh. How…nice.”

He looked up. “I wasn’t bragging. It’s all a little more grand than I had envisioned. I mean, it’s just the two of us, and I’m not home—” He stopped. “I mean…I work long hours.”

She thought about Angela’s flask of gin. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Peter’s “long hours” were taking a toll on their marriage.

And God help her, wasn’t she just a little bit happy to know it?

The realization left her flustered and searching for safer ground. “How did you like the jacket that Angela bought for you last week? Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, no, I’ve ruined a surprise. She said your anniversary was coming up and I completely forgot. Peter, I’m so sorry. Will you please act surprised?”

“Sure,” he said quietly. “But our anniversary was three days ago.”

Carlotta fumbled to cover her gaffe. “Well, perhaps she forgot about it, or is saving it for another special occasion…or she…changed her mind.”

“Or perhaps she bought it for someone else.”

Mortification bled through her chest at the implication.

“Such as her father,” he added mildly, then smiled.

She laughed in relief at the obvious explanation. “Of course. I’m sorry I mentioned it. I was just…”

“Making conversation?” he supplied. “That’s gracious of you, Carly, considering all the things you’d probably like to say to me after the way I behaved when…when your life fell apart.”

Carly. His pet name for her. A name she’d used several times when crashing parties incognito, under the disguise of wigs and accents.

Her mouth opened and closed. Here stood the man who had ripped out her heart and abandoned her, and now when given the opportunity to ask him why, she didn’t know what to say. She’d always known why, hadn’t she? Would it really make a difference to hear him admit that he couldn’t deal with the scandal of her parents’ actions, and the responsibility of an instant family? Would it change anything other than to tear open wounds that had long since healed?

“We were young,” she said, turning away from him, trying to keep her voice steady. “I understand why you did what you did.”

He stepped beside her. “Then maybe you can explain it to me, because I don’t understand why I did it—why I left you alone to deal with the fallout of your parents leaving, of raising a child.”

“It wasn’t your responsibility,” she said, closing her eyes against his nearness. “It was mine. Your life was going down a different path.” She looked up and smiled. “As it should have. Everything worked out for the best.”

He looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead he drained his wineglass.

“Peter, hey!”

They both turned to see a middle-aged man walking toward them, all smiles. A memory chord vibrated in Carlotta’s mind.

Peter straightened and even to her his body language seemed guilty as he extended his hand to the older man. “Hi, Walt.”

“When did you get back from Boston?” the man asked.

“This afternoon. The meeting with Matthews went well.”

“Glad to hear it,” Walt said, then cut his gaze to Carlotta, his curiosity plain.

“Walt, this is Carly, an old friend. Carly, this is Walt…Tully.”

Carlotta blinked—her father’s former partner. No wonder he looked familiar. She’d been to countless company gatherings at his house, had gone to school with his daughter. And no wonder Peter was acting so strangely. But even though her father had stained the company’s reputation, she had nothing to atone for. She stuck out her hand and when the man took it, smiling, she said, “I’m Carlotta Wren, Mr. Tully. It’s been a long time.”

He seemed confused, then surprised, then uncomfortable. “Er, Carlotta, yes, of course. How are you, my dear?”

“Grand,” she said with a big smile. “How’s Tracey?”

“Hmm? Oh…she’s fine. Married a doctor and lives in Buckhead.”

One of Angela’s lunch buddies, no doubt. “That’s wonderful. Will you tell her I said hello?”

He frowned. “Of course.” Then his gaze went back and forth between her and Peter.

“I was just leaving,” she said cheerfully, setting her glass of wine on the nearest flat surface. “Peter, it was nice to run into you. Give Angela my best. Good evening, Mr. Tully.”

She turned and fled, fighting tears as she wound her way through the crowd back into the kitchen. If she’d needed proof that being in Peter’s life would have been a constant embarrassment for him, she had it. Walking blindly, she nudged a tray of fish-shaped pâté from a sideboard and sent it crashing to the floor.

“Who are you?” a man wearing a chef’s hat bellowed. “Get out of here!”

She spied Hannah in the fray, who beckoned her toward the door where they’d met. “What’s wrong?”

Carlotta bit her lip to keep her tears at bay, but failed.