The Bridesmaid and the Billionaire. Shirley Jump
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She let out a gust.
He turned back and for a second, Kane swore he heard a spark of himself—of the last few months, the days that had driven him to this town, to this crazy idea—in that sound. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, and the spark of distrust had returned.
“You still haven’t told me why you’re barefoot on the lawn in the middle of the day.”
Kane’s jaw hardened. “We’re back to that again?”
“When did we ever leave that topic?” She parked her fists back on her hips, the cell phone dangling between two fingers.
Telling her why he was here, and what he was doing, involved getting into far too many personal details. If he started opening up about his problems, he’d have all of Chapel Ridge—all 4,910 residents, as it were—knowing his identity, and there’d go his plan to enjoy some much-needed R & R.
He had no intentions of telling anyone anything. Particularly Jackie’s sister.
Susannah Wilson. That was her name. Suzie-Q, Paul called her, like the packaged dessert.
Before she could question him further, he headed over to his little blue rental car, a cheap American model, light-years away from the silver convertible Bentley Azure he usually drove. The rental was nondescript, plain. Like something anyone else in the world would be driving. And perfect.
Susannah followed him. Not one to give up easily, that was clear. “You still didn’t answer my question. Who are you? And why are you here?”
“That’s two questions. And I don’t have to tell you anything, either. It’s a free country.”
He could almost hear her internal scream of frustration. Oh, this was going to be fun.
She scowled. “Trespassing is a crime, you know.”
He grinned. When he’d booked this trip, he’d had no idea there’d be a fringe benefit of this little fireball. “Only if you’re not invited. And I was invited.” He paused a beat, watching her eyes widen in surprise at the word invited, waiting to deliver the last punch of surprise. “I’m the best man, after all.”
“You have the worst taste in friends.”
Paul Hurst, Jackie’s fiancé, laughed. “Suzie-Q, you need to give Kane the benefit of the doubt. He’s not so bad. And he had his reasons for what he was doing, I’m sure.”
“Where did you meet him anyway? Prison?”
“College. He had the room next door to mine, and we had a few classes together. And he’s—” Paul cut himself off. “He’s a good guy. Just trust me on that.”
Susannah got to her feet, gathering the mess of dishes on the coffee table. The collection of plates and glasses had grown over the day, multiplying like bunnies in her absence. Jackie and Paul didn’t move from their positions in the living room of the old Victorian-style house. Paul had his feet up on the scarred maple coffee table—a garage sale find of Susannah’s from last summer—and Jackie was curled up beside him, the remote control in her hands. Across the room, a detective show played on the big-screen TV, an early wedding gift from Susannah and the bridesmaids, who had chipped in on the electronic extravagance. “The last time I trusted you, you stole my sister’s heart.”
Paul laughed. He wrapped an arm around Jackie and drew her to him. The leather sofa, a replacement for the plaid one that had sat in this room for nearly twenty years, creaked beneath his weight. “Just think of it as gaining a brother.”
Jackie leaned into the brown-haired man she had dated for the better part of three years and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “A very handsome brother.”
Susannah grinned. “Santa must not have heard me when I said I wanted a pony.”
She headed out of the room, the dishes in her hands, and loaded them into the sink. She ran hot water over them, added dish soap, then started washing. She had stood at this sink for nearly all her life, looked out this same window at the same yard, washing dishes ever since she’d been old enough to stand on the small wooden stepstool and reach into the deep-bottomed stainless steel sink. Back then, she’d washed while her mother dried, the two of them falling into a natural rhythm, working along with the radio in the background, and the sunny yellow kitchen seemed to beam back the sunshine in her mother’s voice.
But those days were gone, the radio had broken years ago, and the kitchen’s paint had faded. And now the dishes had become a chore.
“You don’t have to do that,” Jackie said. She leaned against the refrigerator, filing her nails with an emery board.
“If you let them sit—”
“They won’t break,” Jackie cut in. “Leave the dishes for later. Or even better, don’t do them at all.”
If Susannah didn’t do them, they’d never get done. Neither Jackie nor Paul was much for housework, despite their protests to the contrary. In exchange for living with the two of them for a nominal rent to help pay down the mortgage, Susannah had agreed to do the majority of the housework and even though the deal had worked out so that she ended up doing all the chores, most days the arrangement suited her just fine. It helped her save money, which went to her ultimate goal.
Freedom.
One week. Just one more week, and she’d be out of here. Out of this house. Out of this town. On her way to the life she had dreamed of for so long it seemed like she had been born with the dream. Susannah’s gaze drifted to the stained-glass Eiffel Tower hanging in the kitchen window. Gold and orange glints bounced off the countertops as the sun’s afternoon’s rays streamed through the tiny glass shards.
I’ve never been here, her mother had said, that last Christmas when she’d given Susannah the small reproduction of Paris’s famous landmark, but I hope someday you can go, sweet Susannah. See the world I never got to see.
Susannah would. No matter what it took.
“I’ll just get these few before I go to work,” Susannah said.
“But you just got home. I thought you were done for the day.”
“I had a couple late appointments. Every appointment is another dollar, you know.” She gave Jackie a smile.
“You work too hard.” Jackie held her hands out, checked all ten fingers, deemed them perfect and tucked the file into her back pocket.
“All for the ultimate goal, sis. All for the ultimate goal.”
“A discreet way of saying you hate living with us.” Jackie laughed, showing Susannah no offense was taken, then gave her sister a quick hug. “Oh, when you go out, do you mind doing me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Can you stop by and pick up the centerpieces? I have a fitting tonight and then…”
“The party.”
The bachelorette party. The same one that Susannah had planned, as maid of honor, but wasn’t attending. She’d never known Jackie’s friends very well, and as the date had approached, felt herself less and less inclined to spend the evening with the other bridesmaids. Women who had always been Jackie’s friends and included Susannah only as an afterthought, like adding one more fern to an already perfect floral arrangement.
“You can still come. You are one of the bridesmaids, after all. The bachelorette party is one of the perks.” Jackie grinned.
“I’m cool, Jackie. Really.” She ran the sponge over a plate, scrubbing at the center until the stoneware gleamed. “I’m not much for parties anyway.”
“You’re just avoiding, like you always do.”
“No, I’m not. I have to work.”
Jackie sighed but let the subject drop. She placed a