Elizabeth Bevarly - Society Bride

Unfortunately, as unwilling as Renee was to explore the feelings he’d roused in her, she still hadn’t been able to forget about them. Or about Garrett. He’d crept into her thoughts when she least expected and had wandered into her dreams at night. And worse, when he did so, he had the very troubling tendency to be at least partially naked.

And although three months had passed since their brief interlude, she could still feel the soft brush of his mouth over hers, could still taste the faint flavor of champagne on his lips, could still inhale the dusky male scent of him that had surrounded her. Those three months might as well have been three minutes, so vivid was her memory of that night.

And it was that memory, she was sure, that kept making her question the wisdom of her impending—upcoming—wedding. Because less than an evening in Garrett’s presence superseded months in Lyle’s. When Renee thought about happily ever afters these days, Lyle was nowhere to be found. Instead, a whiskey-eyed man with pale brown hair—a man who had absolutely no interest in marriage—was the one who appeared in Renee’s plans for a future.

And that simply would not do.

She told herself she was totally distorting her memory of Garrett Fortune, that no one could possibly be as wonderful as she was remembering him. He was little more than a stranger. The two of them had spoken for less than an hour. The kisses they had shared had been no more than a celebratory welcome to the New Year.

It had not been the earth-shattering, mind-scrambling, libido-twisting experience she kept recalling. It hadn’t. And that single incident certainly wasn’t something that should influence her decision to marry Lyle.

She reminded herself again that she and her fiancé—she ignored the roll of nausea that swept through her as the word formed in her head—were a good…well, a good enough…match. By mutual agreement—at least, Renee was pretty sure the agreement had been mutual… She’d certainly been all for it herself—they’d agreed to wait until their wedding night to make love. But even though there were no fireworks in their relationship—yet, she told herself—even though there was no mystery, no magic—yet—Renee could live her life quite…quite adequately with Lyle. She didn’t need romance. She didn’t need love. She didn’t.

She didn’t.

Although she liked to think she was a woman of the nineties, a woman who made up her own mind and planned her own destiny, she was old-fashioned enough to believe in fulfilling obligations, too. And she did have an obligation to her father, one that was none too small.

He’d put so much of his life on hold so she would be happy. He’d never remarried, because he’d worried that such a relationship might somehow leave Renee feeling edged out of his life. He’d forgone vacations because she’d been in school and unable to accompany him. He’d worked long hours to build a business that would insure a future for her. He’d spent a considerable amount of money on private schools, tutors, riding lessons, piano lessons, etiquette lessons. He’d made certain Renee had the best of everything.

Everything Reginald Riley had done since her birth had been with his daughter’s welfare first and foremost in his mind. Renee couldn’t possibly betray him now, couldn’t possibly risk his losing everything he’d spent decades working to build. There was no way she could do that to him.

Or to herself, she reminded herself ruthlessly. It wasn’t just her father’s welfare at stake. Renee, too, stood to lose a lifetime of memories and mementos, of sentiment and souvenirs. Not to mention sacrificing the only way of life she’d ever known. Certainly she could get by without money and a social position. But she really would hate to see it all go.

In frustration, she raked a hand through her tangle of curls, wincing when she snagged one in the gaudy engagement ring Lyle had given her. Carefully, she freed her hair and gazed at the dazzling, exquisite, four-carat diamond marquise.

Never big on jewelry unless it was of the antique variety, Renee had picked out a simple, half-carat solitaire perched in a silver setting embellished with marcasite. But Lyle had laughed good-naturedly at her choice, assuring her there was no reason for her to “settle” for something so small and unassuming, not when she was about to marry Lyle Norton. So he had bought this ring for her instead. The gem was brilliant. Beautiful. Breathtaking.

And Renee felt guilty as sin wearing it.

It just wasn’t right, she told herself. Not the ring, not the dress, not her feelings, not Lyle. She sighed heavily as the doubts threatened to overcome her again, closed her eyes at the waves of uncertainty that tried to shatter her fragile conviction that marrying Lyle was the Right Thing to do. And as always happened when she felt such a tremor in her convictions, Renee knew there was just one thing for her to do.

Get a facial.

Oh, what the heck, and a manicure, too, since she’d been so good about kicking the nail-biting habit. A facial and manicure were always good antidotes to anxiety and indecision. A trip to the spa was just about the only way she knew to relax, if even for a short time.

Carefully, she hung the wedding dress on its hanger and zipped it into the nylon bag to protect it. After a quick check in the mirror of her lavender velvet tunic and leggings, she made her way to her car.

The spa was surprisingly busy for a Monday afternoon. Although she got in for her manicure right away, thanks to a last-minute cancellation, without an appointment for her facial, Renee was directed to the waiting room for what she knew could be a rather lengthy wait. She knew that because she’d shown up without an appointment lots of times over the past three months.

Unperturbed, however—hey, where else did she have to be?—she settled back in her chair, gazing at the pale pastels and silk flowers that adorned the room, tuning her ear to the muted strains of a delicate Bach piano concerto. And she tried to find some peace of mind in the soft beauty that surrounded her. But when even the soothing environment of the spa’s waiting room couldn’t calm her, she closed her eyes and tried to think of something—anything—besides her impend—uh, upcoming wedding.

Unfortunately, as usually happened, the moment she cleared her mind, Garrett entered it. Oh, well. At least, this time, he wasn’t naked. Well, not too naked. She remembered him the way he’d been on New Year’s Eve—with just a few more buttons unbuttoned than had actually been unbuttoned at the time—heard his low, masculine laughter, felt the brush of his warm, rough skin against her own, recalled the heat and scent of him as he lowered his head to hers again and again and—

“Renee? Renee Riley? Is that you?”

Her eyes snapped open at the summons, and the heated images of Garrett dissolved in a fine, fleeting fog. Immediately, though, another member of the fabulous Fortune family replaced him—Kate Fortune, the matriarch in charge of the whole shebang, Fortune Cosmetics as well as the Fortune clan.

“Hi, Mrs. Fortune,” Renee said with a heartfelt smile, genuinely happy to see the other woman.

She liked Kate immensely, having met her on a number of occasions, usually when she was with Kelly, who worked as Kate’s social secretary. Well, who used to work as Kate’s social secretary, at least. These days, of course, Kelly had her hands full with almost-two-month-old Annie—not to mention Mac. But that was another story.

“Oh, please,” Kate said with a smile as she folded herself into the chair beside Renee’s, “how many times do I have to tell you—call me Kate.”

Renee smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Kate shook her head ruefully, but smiled. “So how are you, dear? Kelly tells me you’re getting married this month.”