Diana Mars - Mixed-Up Matrimony

“Being bigger and more powerful is the only thing your ‘genius’ has over his opponent, because he loses in the raw talent and creativity department.”

“‘Raw’ is the right adjective,” the man said condescendingly. “And when a player does not possess a complete game, he can afford to be fearless...after all, what pressure is there on an inferior player to beat a superior opponent?”

“Inferior? Are you so blind you can’t spot true talent?”

“True talent? What’s the matter with you? Are you—?” Suddenly a crafty look came over the man’s face. His wide forehead smoothed out, and the two laugh lines bracketing his sensual mouth deepened. “I get it. You’re an opposing scout, and are trying to psyche me out. Don’t worry...I’m not in the game of recruiting. You can have Christopher.”

Was there no end to the conceit of this man?

“Were I in the business of recruiting, you wouldn’t stand a chance,” Tamara threw at him. “Besides, I’d do a lot better than that overgrown orangutan down there—”

“You are really something,” the man said with a smile that suddenly caused Tamara’s hormones to zing. He turned his head to glance at the kids.

Tamara breathed a sigh of relief. “They’re done.”

She looked down on the courts from the open balcony. Ordinarily she would have been on the upstairs viewing area, but this goon had kept her from assuming her normal vantage point.

Now she looked on as both Christopher and Sabrina toweled off, coming together as if drawn by a magnet, their bodies almost touching. She wasn’t sure how they could even dry off with so little space between them.

Her stomach knotted. She was sure Sabrina had given her an ulcer, something her high-powered career had not managed to accomplish.

So lost was Tamara in grim thoughts that she had missed part of what the odious man was saying. He’d grabbed her arm and propelled her forward.

Leaning over the balcony, his anger temporarily on hold, Bronson called out, “Christopher, come meet this woman coach. She’s really—”

Bronson stopped in midsentence at the horrified look on the youngsters’ faces.

Both teenagers dropped their towels, their expressions mirror images of shock.

“Dad!”

“Mom! What are you doing here?”

The shock passed from children to parents.

Tamara and Bronson swung toward each other as if suspended by the same puppeteer.

“You’re—”

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

Sabrina and Christopher exchanged puzzled, and relieved, glances. As long as attention was diverted from them, they welcomed the respite.

Bronson was shaking his head, as if dazed. “ That’s Sabrina Hayward?”

The condemnation in Bronson Kensington’s tone elevated all of Tamara’s motherly hackles.

“I told you she was good!”

“Yes, for a girl,” Bronson said, his expression stormy. It was obvious he was undecided as to whom to tear into first: his wayward son, the troublesome girl who had led him astray, or the mother of the player who had been giving his son fits on the court.

After Meghan’s revelation, Tamara had ample reason to distrust the Kensingtons. Bronson’s less-than-diplomatic words did not smooth the waters.

“Sabrina is good. Period. It’s obvious from your chauvinistic, superior attitude where Christopher got his bad judgment. I guess his irresponsible behavior toward my daughter is not entirely his fault, considering the example you set.”

“My example!” Bronson exploded. He regarded Tamara Hayward with intense dislike. He had obviously underestimated the opposition. If Sabrina was anywhere near as whip-smart and determined as her mother, Christopher did not stand a chance. Alone, that is.

But then, Christopher would never have to face anything alone, not as long as there was a breath left in Bronson’s body.

Belatedly noticing some college kids and alumni watching their heated debate with interest, Bronson said stiffly, “Do you think we could carry on this conversation somewhere more private?”

Tamara blushed, mortified. She had always considered herself a cool customer, and was seldom flustered under even the most adverse circumstances.

Her daughter’s well-being and future, however, could not begin to compare to any financial transaction or career consideration. She’d just have to assume the same objectivity and astuteness when dealing with Bronson Kensington as she did with any business adversary. More important, it would behoove her to make Bronson an ally, rather than an enemy—or at least, a bigger enemy than he already was.

Trying for an even tone, Tamara said, “All right. Should we continue our discussion at a restaurant after these two young people get a chance to clean up?”

Though at first ready to debate her suggestion, Bronson Kensington seemed to reconsider his tactics. Both parents had a lot to gain by teaming up.

The teenagers were already presenting a united front.

Turning to his son, Bronson said authoritatively, “Christopher, we’ll wait for you outside. Be there—pronto.”

“Dad,” Christopher said, his handsome, broad face acquiring a stubborn set, “I’m eighteen. You don’t have any right to order me around.”

“I’m paying for your training, car, living expenses—as long as you live under my roof, you will do as I say.”

“That can be changed, Dad. I can always get a job during the day and study for a GED at night.”

Sensing dangerous undercurrents, Tamara quickly intervened. “Perhaps we could all discuss this like adults, without any threats or ultimatums? Have you chil—aces had lunch yet?”

Sabrina spoke for the first time. “No, we haven’t, Mother.” Tamara winced at the sudden change of Mom to Mother. “But I also don’t appreciate your having followed me here. I am seventeen, after all.”

Tamara refrained from reminding her that Christopher could be accused of contributing to the delinquency of a minor and some other ugly charges. She did not want to issue any ultimatums, because she knew how strong-minded Sabrina was. Daughter took after mother in many ways, and strength of character was one of the characteristics they shared. Tamara shuddered to think that if she or Bronson pushed too hard, Christopher and Sabrina might not agree to talk to them at all, and might very well carry out their original plan.

A deathly chill went through Tamara. She wanted her daughter to be an independent, mature young adult.

She did not want to lose her only child simply because she and Bronson were not able to control their tempers—even if their anger and sense of betrayal were completely justified.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Sabrina, but you know with everything that goes on nowadays, I worry about your safety constantly.”

“You knew I was safe, Mother,” Sabrina challenged, her posture defiant, her green eyes cool. “I was with Christopher.”

At this, Bronson stirred, and his gaze locked with Tamara’s. It was obvious that, in this, they were on the same wavelength. But still, his son did not stand to lose as much as her daughter. Boys, or men, never did. Women were in higher jeopardy in every department.

Resisting the urge to tell Sabrina that Christopher, at the moment, represented her main worry, Tamara merely said, “I would like to discuss some things with you, if you don’t mind. I think you’ll agree I’m entitled, after I drove almost three hours when I found out you skipped school today and didn’t tell me where you were headed.”

Tamara held her breath, awaiting her daughter’s response. Sabrina had always had a strong sense of fair play, and Tamara hoped her appeal to her daughter’s fairness would succeed where threats would not. When Sabrina said nastily, “Obviously, someone snitched, or you wouldn’t be here,” Tamara thought she had failed.