Stop the Wedding! (22 page)

Brimming with sadness and anger and longing, her finger hovered over the delete button. But at the last second, she couldn’t bring herself to do it—a fact that bothered her even more.

The room was bathed in late evening moonlight. An open window siphoned in the muted sounds of the sultry night—cicadas, night birds, and the occasional hum of a car. The rumble of a plane’s engine sounded in the distance, and she wondered if Clay was already in the air. It would seem so, given his hasty exit. And it was for the best. Annabelle sighed, stretched out on her old bed and hugged a pillow to her chest.

She had every reason to be happy. After all, Belle was marrying a man who cared about her. When she returned to Detroit, she wouldn’t have to worry about her mother being lonely or unsafe. She was convinced her mother’s heart was in the right place, and although Belle’s second marriage would bear little resemblance to her first, she deserved the right to have grown and changed as a woman.

After all, she thought miserably—every woman changed. She squeezed her eyes shut. Hadn’t she? Hadn’t she arrived in Atlanta spoiling for a fight? Unable to believe her mother could fall in love in such a short time? Now the joke was on her—she’d lost her heart in a matter of days, with a man who stopped just short of despising her. Oh, he’d stolen kisses in the heat of a charged moment, but only to prove he was capable of lording over her. A tear slipped out and curled around her cheek. How he must be gloating. Sitting in first class winging his way back to Paris, smirking over how he’d so easily manipulated her into accepting—even anticipating—his touch.

At least her mother had fallen in love with a man who mirrored her feelings. She, on the other hand, had fallen for a cold, cynical, scheming, condescending man who would never appreciate or accept her love. Clay Castleberry had made the situation crystal clear: Her love was wasted on him. Unfounded and unwanted.

So why couldn’t she simply dismiss him from her normally logical mind?

A knock on her door made her sit up and rub her thumbs over her damp eyes. “Yes?”

Her mother’s gentle face appeared in the doorway. “Annabelle, dear, are you feeling well?”

She conjured up a bright smile. “Just a mild headache from all the excitement, I suppose.”

Belle walked over to sit on the edge of the bed next to her. “Excitement indeed. I can’t remember when so much transpired in so little time.”

“Are you all packed?”

“Yes, mostly shorts and cool dresses. Hawaii will be even warmer than here.” Her mother’s smile was balm to her scuffed heart. “Thank you, my dear.”

Puzzled, Annabelle asked, “For what?”

“For giving us your blessing today. More than anything in the world, I want you to be happy for me.”

“I am, Mother. I believe you and Martin will have a good life together.”

Belle tilted her head. “Even without a prenuptial agreement?”

Annabelle smiled. “Even without a prenuptial agreement.”

Her mother picked up Annabelle’s left hand and studied the engagement ring she’d worn for thirty years. “I’m glad you’ve softened toward Martin, but I wish you would soften toward the idea of marriage for yourself someday.”

She bit down on her tongue to stem the tears of self-pity.
I-yie-yie
, if her mother only knew. Pining for a man whose interest in her extended only to illicit groping. “Mother, I’m not as hardened to the idea as you might think,” she said carefully. “I just haven’t found someone as compatible as you and Martin seem to be.”

Her mother cleared her throat. “As far-fetched as it may sound, Martin and I were rather hoping there would be a romantic spark between you and Clay.”

Her throat convulsed.

“But after his appalling behavior today, I can see we were mistaken about the match.” She patted Annabelle’s hand. “Martin is extremely upset with him.”

Annabelle shook her head. “I don’t blame Martin for his son’s actions. In fact,” she said thickly, “I was just as guilty as Clay for wanting to find some reason to stop the wedding.”

Belle clucked. “At least you were willing to own up to your mistakes. Clay seems bent on believing the worst, and I don’t like anyone misjudging my baby.”

A warm feeling of security wrapped around her shoulders, making her appreciate just how ludicrous her idea of swooping in to save her mother had been—Belle was the rock, the foundation upon which their family had rested. The irony of her father’s plea for her to take care of her mother showed just how well Belle had fostered the illusion that she was dependent upon them. Even Annabelle had believed it. But now, looking into her mother’s wise blue eyes, she realized she should be so lucky to one day possess her mother’s strength and capacity to love.

“I adore you, Mom,” she whispered.

Her mother leaned forward and touched her forehead to Annabelle’s. “And I adore you.” Belle pulled back and smoothed Annabelle’s hair away from her face. “It means so much to me that you’re staying to witness the ceremony tomorrow.”

Remorse stirred in her chest. “I’m glad you still want me there after all the trouble I caused.”

“Shush, of course I want you there. And so does Martin. I think it takes the sting out of Clay going back to Paris.”

Annabelle averted her gaze and bit her tongue against the lump of emotion that blocked her throat.

“Don’t worry, dear, you’ll never have to see the man again.”

Her mother had verbalized the fear that had hovered in the back of her brain since she’d last seen Clay at the foot of the steps. She pressed her lips together, and her jaws ached from clenching her teeth, but she was helpless to stop the tears that spilled over her cheeks.

Her mother’s eyes flew wide, then narrowed. “Annabelle, there’s more going on here than injured feelings, isn’t there?”

She nodded wretchedly.

Belle leaned over and removed a tissue from a box on the nightstand, then held it out. “Tell me.”

Annabelle wiped her eyes, then blew her nose and exhaled a cleansing breath. “Nothing to tell really. I misinterpreted Clay’s interest.”

“Interest?” Her mother pursed her mouth. “I see. You’re in love with him?”

She lifted her shoulders. “I think I fell in love with the
idea
of him. Infatuated, maybe, with a man who’s different than anyone I’ve ever known.”

Belle cleared her throat delicately. “Did he…did you…?”

Annabelle’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, no. Which makes this situation even more bewildering because we’ve barely spent any time together. But I thought I was getting to know him. I thought….” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I was obviously out of my league, not to mention out of my mind.”

Her mother angled her head. “I know you’re hurting now, but opening your heart to someone else is nothing to be ashamed of. The fact that Clay is blind to your feelings is his loss.”

“You sound suspiciously like a biased mother.”

Belle smiled. “I don’t think you should take Clay’s behavior personally, dear. Martin said he’s always had a thorny personality were women are concerned. But if it’s any consolation, Martin also said that the way Clay looked at you gave him hope that he’d someday settle down.”

One side of her mouth pulled back. “Apparently he was just trying to scope out my weaknesses.”

Her mother reached forward to stroke Annabelle’s cheek. “I’m glad to see your sense of humor returning.”

In truth, she was feeling minutely better. Just confessing her lapse of judgment concerning Clay eased the tightness in her chest. She laid her head back against the headboard and stifled a yawn.

“It’s lights out for you,” Belle said, suddenly all mother as she stood and fussed with the covers on the bed. “I can’t have my maid of honor falling asleep in the middle of the ceremony tomorrow.”

She smiled up at her mother, savoring the intimacy of the moment. “Mom, why do you think I fell for Clay of all men, and why now of all times?”

Belle’s eyes danced as she tucked the covers under Annabelle’s chin. “That’s the most mysterious thing about love—it takes hold of you whether you’re ready or not.”

She swallowed. “But it hurts.”

“It’s supposed to. Otherwise, you wouldn’t notice.” Belle leaned forward and kissed her. “But the sun will rise tomorrow.”

“I hope it’s a beautiful day for your wedding.”

Belle smiled. “It will be, regardless of the weather.” Then she whispered goodnight and crept to the door.

With a surge of admiration, Annabelle wondered when her mother had become so wise to the ways of the heart. “Thanks for listening, Mom.”

“You’re welcome. Try to get some rest.”

The door closed, and Annabelle dutifully began to count sheep. She owed it to her mother not to look like a puffy-eyed, heartbroken discard on one of the happiest days of Belle’s life. Annabelle sniffled. After tomorrow, however, she couldn’t make any promises.

Chapter Seventeen

INDEED, IT WAS A beautiful day, and Belle was a blushingly lovely bride dressed in pink, with white flowers in her hair.

Martin looked dashing in black, and Annabelle was reminded of the day she had watched Clay being fitted for a similar jacket. The day he had stepped in to save her from certain humiliation and possible ruin. The day she had first begun to see him in a different light. In retrospect, though, he had probably believed her to be a thief and had intervened only to keep his father’s name out of the incident. She burned with shame at how grossly she’d misinterpreted nearly every move the man had made. With great effort, she forced her mind back to the moment at hand, and pasted a smile on her face as the minister called everyone to the front of the church.

She gave her mother a quick kiss and hugged Martin. He flashed her a regretful smile that said her mother had confided the extent of her feelings for his son. Poor man, his eyes kept darting to the door of the church on the hope, she knew, that Clay would somehow materialize.

But it was not to be.

Since the wedding party consisted only of the bride and groom, the minister, the organist, the photographer, and Annabelle, the wedding march was dispensed with, but Annabelle teared up anyway as soon as the music began. Her heart was full of love for her mother, sweet memories of her father, and hope that she herself would someday find someone to share her life. Who knew that her trip to Atlanta would bring such a revelation? Her tears fell unchecked as the minister began the service.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here on this blessed day to witness the union of Martin Castleberry and Belle Coakley. Marriage is a holy institution, not to be entered into lightly, but with reverence and with love.”

Belle and Martin smiled at each other and clasped hands. With a rush of affection, Annabelle decided that her father would approve of the marriage, would be happy to know that Belle was no longer alone, no longer lonely.

“If anyone knows why this man and this woman should not be married, then let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

“Stop the wedding!”

Annabelle turned, along with everyone else, at the sound of Clay’s booming voice. The organist blasted out a crash of wrong notes, then silence burst around them.

Clay stood at the back of the church, dressed for traveling in casual slacks and shirt. His face was an immobile mask. Annabelle’s heart lodged in her throat, followed by quick resentment that he would mar the day for his father by creating a spectacle.

The minister peered over his spectacles. “Who are you?”

“I’m his son,” Clay said, striding toward them. “And I can’t in good conscience see this wedding take place—”

“Clay—” Martin began.

“Without giving my father my blessing.”

Annabelle inhaled sharply in pleasant surprise.

Clay stopped in front of Martin and gave him an apologetic smile. “If you’ll have it, that is.”

Martin’s face creased in a wide grin and he clapped Clay on the back. “You’ve made me a very happy man, son. I’m glad you made it.”

The men embraced heartily, and over his father’s shoulder, Clay’s gaze met hers. Annabelle was happy for father and son, but their reconciliation didn’t change the things he’d accused her of, the things he believed her to be. She glanced away, her cheeks stinging from dried tears.

As the minister proceeded with the ceremony, she tried to concentrate on the words being exchanged, but she felt Clay’s silent presence just as tangibly as that first day on the train from the airport, crowding her mind and her body. Her eyes burned, and breathing became increasingly difficult, but she scrupulously avoided making eye contact with him across the aisle.

She silently urged the minister to hurry, but the man seemed eager to compensate for the small audience by bestowing many glad tidings, words of wisdom, and prayers upon the happy couple. Finally he pronounced them man and wife. “You may kiss the bride.”

Annabelle stepped back so the photographer could get a good shot, and bumped into someone. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, but before she even turned around, she instinctively knew it was Clay. She steeled herself for his intense gaze, and looked up.

“It was my fault,” he said, his blue eyes studying her face. “Can you ever forgive me?”

She pulled a little laugh from thin air. “It was only a little bump—no harm done.”

He pressed his lips together. “I meant all of it, this entire mess was of my making. I behaved abominably, and I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again.”

So he wanted them to be friends, or at least friendly. For their parents’ sake, no doubt, but she’d rather not have to pretend. Besides, the more time she spent around Clay, the more likely the chance he’d notice that her feelings for him ran deeper than “friendly.” And she’d suffered enough humiliation at his hand.

“Then we have an understanding,” she said lightly. “I won’t speak to you, and you won’t blame me.”

He flinched. “I deserve that. But if you won’t talk to me, then please listen. I’m sorry for doubting you, for doubting your motives. I’m so accustomed to everyone around me having an angle, I’d forgotten that there are still honest, caring people in the world.”