Body Movers Books 1-3. Stephanie Bond
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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.
Hannah grabbed her arm. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing,” Carlotta mumbled. “I don’t feel well.”
“Liar,” Hannah said, herding her out into the hallway. “Did one of Wesley’s thugs follow you here?”
“No,” Carlotta said, then released a hysterical laugh at the absurdity of her life. “It was just a guy…I used to date.”
Hannah frowned. “A guy? I’ve never seen you worked up over any guy you dated.”
“This was a long time ago. I’m overreacting. It’s nothing.”
Hannah stared at her, more curious than concerned.
Carlotta wiped her eyes. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m still worked up over Wesley’s situation. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Hannah squinted. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” She turned and walked down the hallway to the elevator and stabbed the call button.
“Carlotta!”
She turned to see Peter leaving the main entrance of the party and making his way toward her. She turned back to the elevator and stabbed the button again. “Come on,” she muttered.
“Carlotta, wait!”
When the door opened, she rushed aboard and pushed the button to close the doors, but Peter was too quick. The doors rebounded open and he walked on, his eyes dark and troubled. The doors slid closed, sealing her into an intimate space with the man she had loved for most of her adult life.
“What do you want, Peter?”
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I was afraid if I introduced you, well…I was afraid that he would say something…inappropriate.”
She watched the buttons light up as they descended slowly, then gave a little laugh. “It’s okay, Peter. I’m used to being snubbed by people like Walt Tully. Do you want to hear something funny? That man is my godfather—that’s how close our families used to be. But the last time I saw Tracey, she pretended she didn’t even know who I was. It seems I’m invisible to most of the women I once thought were my friends.” Her voice sounded surprisingly calm to her own ears. “Except for your wife, that is. Instead of ignoring me, she treats me like a servant when she comes in to shop. She flaunts her life with you and grinds me under her heel. She told me last week that giving me a commission is her little good deed, as if I’m some kind of pet project.”
His mouth tightened and he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
She clenched her jaw, her chest aching. “Stop saying that.” The elevator doors opened and she brushed past him. “Goodbye, Peter.”
“Carlotta.” He kept up with her until they reached the hotel entrance. “Give me your ticket, I’ll have the valet send for your car.”
She gave a little laugh. “I parked my own car, Peter, and walked one whole block to get here.”
He looked ashamed. “Then at least let me walk you to your car so I won’t worry about you.”
It was something in his voice that weakened her resolve—the protective note that made her feel so cared for, so safe. Darkness had fallen and in truth, she wasn’t looking forward to walking back to her