Jared's Love-Child. Sandra Field
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“Then you’d better get out of here and let me get ready,” Devon said, smiling. “I’m sorry I’m so late. You know I’d originally planned to be here for last night’s rehearsal dinner—but between Yemen and here it was one delay after another.”
“I had to sit between Benson and Jared.” Alicia gave a shudder of pure nerves. “Do you know what he did three days ago? Jared, I mean. He tried to buy me off.”
“He what?”
“He offered me a great deal of money to call off the wedding. And I can’t even tell Benson; Jared is his only son, after all.”
“How dare he do that?”
“He’d dare anything. He’s the head of Holt Incorporated. Millions of dollars, darling. Millions. He didn’t make those by pussyfooting around.”
Devon’s jaw dropped. “Jared Holt runs Holt Incorporated?”
“He doesn’t just run it. He owns it. He’s made a fortune; he’s fifty times richer than Benson.”
Holt Incorporated involved chains of resorts the world over, some of which Devon had stayed in, a fleet of cruise ships, several commodity conglomerates and an outstandingly successful computer company. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Devon croaked.
With some of her normal spirit Alicia said, “Long distance? From Borneo and Papua New Guinea and all those other places you’re always going to? I’ve got better things to talk about than Jared Holt.”
Devon sat down on the bed and said with a gurgle of laughter, “Guess what? I asked him if he worked in his father’s stables.”
“Darling, you didn’t!”
“And before that I wanted to know if he’d ever done any modeling.”
Alicia groaned. “Oh, no…how could you?”
“Very easily. He’s the rudest and most arrogant man I’ve ever met in my entire life. And I’ve met a few.”
Alicia gave a little shiver. “You don’t want to cross him. He’d make a bad enemy, Devon.”
Her mother only called her Devon when she meant business. “I’m not scared of Jared Holt,” Devon said, not altogether accurately. “But I am scared of arriving half an hour late at that charming arbour I saw set up in the garden. Out, Mother. I’ve got to get ready.”
Alicia gave her a quick, fervent hug. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, and clicked the door shut behind her.
Wishing she could feel the same way, Devon unzipped her case, shook out one of the two dresses, and headed for the shower.
CHAPTER TWO
AT ONE minute to six Alicia tapped on Devon’s door. “Are you ready, darling?”
Devon was standing in front of the full-length mirror outlining her mouth in Luscious Pink. “Come in, Mother. Two seconds more,” she called, and swiftly filled in the outline. Then she inserted long drop earrings made of Australian opals, deeply blue and iridescent.
“I’m a nervous wreck,” Alicia babbled. “I know this is my fifth wedding, but I truly love Benson and I really want this one to last forever. For all of us to be one happy family. Do you think I should marry him, Devon, or do you think I’m making another terrible mistake?”
As Devon had yet to meet Benson, she could scarcely answer this question. Although if Benson was anything like Jared, her mother was making the biggest mistake of her marital career. And “one happy family” was sure to be a pipe dream. Christmas with Jared Holt? Devon would rather die. “Of course you’ll be happy,” she said soothingly, seeing with a twinge of compassion that her mother’s lips were quivering. Briefly she tucked Alicia’s arm in hers and said, gazing at their joint reflections in the mirror, “Come on, Ma, let’s go knock ’em out.”
“The flowers are on the table in the hall…we do look rather nice, don’t we?” Alicia said naively.
“Nice” wasn’t the effect Devon had been aiming for. Her dress, a long shimmer of turquoise Thai silk, was artfully simple, its neckline cut so that it cupped her breasts, its slim-fitting skirt slit to the knee. Another opal nestled in her cleavage; her shoes were thin-strapped sandals with very high heels. She’d piled her hair on her head, a few curls casually caressing her neck and her cheeks. “We’re gorgeous,” Devon said. “And don’t you dare let Jared Holt ruin your wedding day; he’s not worth it.”
“I won’t,” Alicia said, and gave her daughter a militant smile. “I’m learning a few things, Devon. I told Benson I wouldn’t promise to obey, I was too old for that. He just laughed and said he didn’t want a doormat for a wife. He’s a very nice man; you’ll like him.”
The romantic Italian, the British aristocrat and the Texas oilman, husbands two, three and four, had all been introduced to Devon in a similar manner; Alicia always wanted her daughter to like the prospective groom. Devon said diplomatically, “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”
The flowers were clusters of pale orchids and the photographer was waiting for them. Feeling her heart begin to beat uncomfortably fast, Devon picked up the smaller of the two bouquets and smiled obediently into the camera. Then she walked down the stairs at her mother’s side. As they reached the bottom step, Alicia said, “I did ask you to give me away, darling, didn’t I?”
Devon almost tripped over the faded Ushak runner on the hall floor. “Nope.”
“Benson’s brother-in-law was to have done it. But he had an operation for varicose veins two weeks ago. The only other choice was Jared. Please say you’ll do it, Devon!”
Allow that cynical, overbearing creep to escort her mother up the aisle? No way. “Sure I will,” said Devon.
After they’d emerged into the sunshine on the front step, the photographer took several shots of them gazing in a heartfelt manner into their bouquets. Devon in the meantime was sneaking peaks at the set-up. White awnings stretched between the trees, providing shade from the sun. Baskets of mock-orange, roses and delphiniums flanked the array of wicker chairs where the guests were seated, and the soft ripple of harp music fell over their chatter.
Finally the photographer was satisfied. As Alicia and Devon approached the chairs, the harpist drew one last chord from her instrument and fell silent. From an organ near the white flower-bedecked altar came the first notes of the wedding processional. It was being played, Devon noticed abstractedly, with very little regard for either rhythm or accuracy.
Alicia whispered, “That’s Benson’s sister at the organ. She insisted. Benson didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Oh, Devon, I’m so nervous. I should never have agreed to marry him. Why do I keep getting married? I’m not young, like you; I should know better.”
“Come on, Mother, it’s too late now. So let’s do it in style,” Devon said, took her mother’s hand and drew it through her arm, and then struggled to establish some kind of accord between their steps and the music. It wasn’t easy. But it did take her mind off the array of guests, the waiting clergyman, and the two men standing in front of the altar. Benson, the groom, and Jared, his son. Both had their backs to the two women pacing up the green carpet that had been laid over the grass.
Benson was shorter than his son and had a well-groomed crop of gray hair. As the organ hit a sharp instead of a flat, he turned, saw Alicia walking toward him and smiled at her. He wasn’t as handsome as Jared and his waist had a comfortable thickness. He looked human, thought Devon. Unlike Jared. And his smile was both loving and kind. Also unlike Jared.
Kindness was right up there on Devon’s list of virtues. She had long ago decided you couldn’t fake it.
Well, she thought, how interesting. And not at all what I was expecting. She whispered into her mother’s ear, “I think you picked a good ’un, Mother,” and was rewarded with a