Better Than You (The Walker Family Series Book 3) (22 page)

Billingsly was incredible. He wished he’d read the brochures because he wished he knew
the history behind the odd combination of architectural styles: the hundreds of mullioned windows that caught the evening sun and shattered it; the steep peaks and jagged teeth of the roofline to his left; the broad merlons on the wing to his right. The structure sat in a bed of gardens, and lawns stretched emerald away from it, on and on until they hit the lake and forest. There was a fountain behind him that rushed loud as a rainstorm, and the staff coming down to meet their arrival – down wide stones steps and between flickering coach lamps – looked straight out of the novels Delta read.

Movement drew his eye as Delta spun to face him, her hair flaring rich mahogany in the sun as it swung across her shoulders. He didn’t expect the tension on her face as she tipped it up to him.

“The itinerary,” she said in a rushed whisper. “Mom wants a picture of us, with the invitation, right here in front.”

He’d seen the note on the list Louise had printed, but he hadn’t expected it to cause such panic in Delta. He’d been about to admit to her that, okay, it was expensive as hell, but the place was crazy impressive…but it was clear, looking in her eyes, that she wasn’t even seeing the castle. She was seeing her mother’s itinerary and focusing only on pleasing her. Her face was pale, drawn, her hands shaking as they settled on his chest. She was rattled.
Too rattled.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s just
– ”

“We have to do it now,” she insisted. Then she ducked around his shoulder and called to her father in a high, brittle voice he’d heard her use several times now. She’d had some sort of conversation with Dennis a while back and been sugary sweet with him at times since. “Daddy
, get the camera!” she called. “I want you to take a picture of Michael and me as we’re arriving.” Her eyes darted back to his face and she said, “I’m so sorry,” in an undertone. Then, back to her dad: “And bring the invitation! I want the invitation in the shot!”

“Baby.
” Mike caught her wrist in his hand. “Calm down.”

She shook her head. “My mom wants this. Even more, she wants
me
to want this, so we have to play along.”

He nodded, but worry bubbled along the edges of his conscience. Delta couldn’t keep “playing along” like this, not if she was this desperate to please. Something was going to blow up in their faces.

28.

           
“A
nd through there…”              

Delta didn’t listen to flaxen-haired
Tilda who’d greeted them on the front steps. As they passed beneath the cavernous, hand-painted ceiling – it was alive with a forest full of cherubs and lounging nude women – Delta’s eyes went past the grand stair that spilled down from the mezzanine, a waterfall carpeted in crushed red velvet, to the ballroom that lay beyond. She’d seen it online and in the brochures, but the glimpse of gilt-framed paintings, cathedral ceilings and terrazzo floors was enough to take her breath away.

That is, it would have if she wasn’t already semi-breathless with nerves.

The rest of the girls
oohed
and
ahhed
around her. Mike’s head was on a swivel and he kept cursing under his breath in appreciation. Louise was floating up out of her shoes, aglow with happiness.

Delta wanted to go fling herself in the lake across the driveway rather than face the reality that they were here – all of them – solely for her. No one was fool enough to think that Mike had had any say in coming to Ireland. They all knew it was her. Or, rather, her mother, but she had a feeling none of the Walkers would see the difference.

“If you’ll follow me,” Tilda said, and started up the staircase with a wave for them to follow. “I’ll show you to your rooms.” Her brogue was light, but fell heavy on certain words, proof that she’d never be able to shake it.

The stairs were wide enough for six to walk
abreast, and old and shallow and steep, something she learned halfway up them when her calves started to burn. Everyone was talking all at once, pointing out wall sconces and paintings and a thousand little expensive details. Delta took it all in through a screen of numbness, thankful for the arm Mike slid around her waist.

Their
rooms were on the second floor of the main keep, down a long hall carpeted with more crushed velvet. Umbrella stands and shoe racks done in heavy brass were stationed outside every room door. The paintings were massive, heavy oil things, all portraits of lords and ladies who’d lived in the castle at some time or other. A housekeeper in black uniform and starched apron was pushing a room service trolley and dipped her head in acknowledgement as their group passed. Itineraries were checked and key cards were withdrawn from pockets as Tilda pointed out rooms.

Delta rolled her own key card between her fingers and glanced up at Mike, who’d gone curious, lines pressed between his brows. “I’m rooming with Regina,” she said, and his frown lines deepened.

“We’re rooming with
who
?”

“Not ‘we’. Me,” she said with a wince.
“We have separate rooms.”

He blinked.

“Dad made the arrangements and – ”

“We’re practically living together,” he cut her off.
“Have been –
for a year
. And we need
separate rooms
?”

She had to give him credit: it was the first time since they’d stepped out of the townhouse so many hours ago that he’d sounded impatient. “I know it’s annoy
ing – ” she started, and he cut her off.

“Annoying? Do I not get to touch you this week?”

Delta shot a glance to her right, taking in her parents just a few feet away. “Someone will hear…”

“I get that you’re trying to keep your mom happy,” he continued, a frustration lacing his words that was akin to anger. He was staring hard down at her, and caught her wrist in his hand, just to make sure she stood still and listened. “But your mom doesn’t get to keep us from having sex all week.”

“Mike,” she pleaded, sighing. She kept her voice low and hoped he’d follow her lead. “We can still have sex. But the rooms – ”

“This is bullshit.”

It was, but she wasn’t going to argue about it out in the hall like this. With another sigh, she slipped her wrist through his fingers and turned away from him, heading for the door to her room. She heard his heavy steps behind her. “What are you doing?” she hissed over her shoulder.

In answer, he wrenched her rolling suitcase out of her hand.
Roughly. She made a face at him. “Carrying your bag to your room,” he said, but his face was lined with unhappy tension.

Great;
her anxiety was a virus she was going to pass along to him.

“Michael,” Dennis called, clearing his throat. “You’re down the hall with Lance.”

He kept following her. “Yeah. Thanks.”

The door to the room was open and Regina was already inside, unzipping her suitcase on top of the double bed closest to the door. The room itself was beautiful, done in mint green and cream, with deep navy accents. The drapes – pulled back with silver cord – were a heavy mint and cream brocade that matched the duvet covers. The carpet was plush oatmeal with a mint runner between the beds. The nightstands and little table and chairs by the window were a high-sheen walnut, buffed and polished until they reflected like glass. A massive arrangement of white roses and wispy blue wildflowers sat on top of the TV armoire. The door to the bathroom stood ajar and she glimpsed clean, modern white tile beyond.

Delta saw all of this at a glance as she marched to the foot of the bed Regina had left for her and spun on her fiancé. Mike was scowling.

“Seriously?” he turned loose of her suitcase and it fell, the plastic handle clacking against the footboard of the bed. His misuse of what was probably antique furniture left
her
scowling. “Separate rooms?”

“Saying it more won’t make it go away,” she snapped, arms folding beneath her breasts. “You knew this wasn’t going to be fun, Mike.”

“I knew the wedding wasn’t going to be fun – I didn’t know
you
weren’t gonna be fun.”

Regina snorted and Delta sent her a sharp look, wishing this conversation was in private.

“He’s got a point, Delt.”

“I know that,” Delta said, eyes going back to Mike. “I know it,” she repeated to him. “Look,
separate rooms doesn’t mean anything. We can still…”
hook up
sounded too juvenile and she couldn’t make herself say it.

“It’ll be like you’re in high school,” Regina offered, smiling as she pulled clothes from her suitcase.
“Sneaking into each other’s rooms, trying not to get caught.” She shrugged. “Could be interesting.”

But Mike didn’t think so. Delta watched a muscle in his jaw twitch and wondered if the mention of high school had sent his brain to where hers was now – to her high school mistake and the product of her sneaking around. Or maybe that was just her being paranoid.

“Regina,” she said, “could you give us a second?”

Regina glanced between the two of them and then nodded, set the shirt in her hands on the bed and slipped out through the still-open door.

When she was gone, Delta reached up and set her hand on Mike’s chest; he tensed beneath her touch, but didn’t step away. She had a fleeting wonder why she’d even expected that, then shook her head and tipped it back so she could meet his eyes. They were the same shade of green they’d always been, but there was a shadow in them. He wasn’t pissed about the room arrangements; for the first time, his nerves were bleeding through, out where she could see them. This wedding and this week were making him anxious too, and he wanted, needed for them to be together so they could remind each other why they were doing this. Down the hall, with Lance – who wasn’t his brother or his best friend – he would stare at the ceiling like she would, both of them questioning things they shouldn’t.

Delta took a deep breath and dredged up what logic she could afford, tried to find a reassuring smile for him. “It’s just sleeping arrangements,” she reasoned. “We’ll be tired – we’ll need to sleep. And this is a huge estate – we
can find places to be alone together.” She swallowed, hoping it was true. “I promise.”

One corner of his mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. “We should get ready for dinner,” he said, and eased a half-step back until her hand fell away from him.

“Mike – ”

He attempted a grin. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

She watched him leave, watched the muscles in his broad back roll under his shirt, the fabric wilted from travel and clinging to him. She still felt like something was wrong. And now loneliness made itself known, spreading slowly under her skin.

Whatever it cost her, she’d have to find a rendezvous point tomorrow. Maybe even before then.

29.

M
ike was waiting for her outside the main dining room in a clean white shirt and pressed khakis. He’d showered, she could tell, because his hair was soft and shining. He looked just the way he was supposed to. It was his smile that faltered her step.

It wasn’t the smile he normally gave her – boyish and excited, hinting at
aren’t I cute
and
you’re smoking hot
. She’d come to lean on that smile, had let it into the cold corners of her heart and let it warm her, had stopped trying to steel herself against it. This smile, though, as he lingered in the hall, was coolly polite and subdued. No great amount of affection shone through his eyes. His feelings or his pride…something was hurt, and she knew it was her fault because of what had happened upstairs.

Now she had a man to cheer up in addition to welcoming the guests that waited on the other side of the open French doors – she could hear the buzz of voices, knew that dinner wouldn’t be served until she’d done her little speech bit. She forced her lips – they were stiff and heavy with fatigue – into what she hoped was a genuine smile and sidled up to her fiancé, slipped her arm through his.

“I think I found us a spot,” she said in a stage whisper, and his pretend smile dropped away, real interest coming into his eyes.

“You did?”

“There’s an empty coat closet just inside the ballroom.” She smiled up at him, and was rewarded with a spark of excitement. “Turn to your left and it’s through two potted ferns.”

“And it’s empty?”

“And unlocked.”

The real Mike smile made an appearance.
“After dinner?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

He stepped away from the wall and put a hand over hers where it rested on his arm, pulled her in close to his side, to her relief. “Okay…ready?”

She squared up her shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.”

“You gonna say that before the ceremony?”

“I might.”

The dining room – one of several within the castle – had already seen its dinner hour and was now filled only by the wedding party and a few stragglers having coffee and dessert at the opposite end. It was a room just as elegant as all the others, the long far wall composed entirely of white-framed French doors that opened out onto a terrace. In the dark, she could make out the flickering torches that lined the slate pad on the other side of the windows. Heavy brocade drapes and fine white sheers were art in and of themselves, and the candelabras that marched down both lengths of the room looked centuries old, candle wax hanging like icicles from the wrought iron frames.

Mike towed her up to the little platform at the head of the ro
om, snagging two glasses of champagne from a sideboard on their way. Delta took hers and snuck a thankful sip. As she stepped onto the low dais and turned to face the group, she wished she’d chugged the thing.

This must be what an elementary school teacher feels like
, she thought, eyes roving over all of her chatting, laughing friends, and Mike’s family. The Walkers were the kids with the braces and glasses, shooting dirty looks at the popular kids. Jo and Tam were at the same table, she noted with a sudden surge of hope, then realized that Ryan Atkins’ arm was across the back of Jo’s chair, that
he
was her date, and those power lines were still down.
Idiots
, she thought, and it only soured her mood further. That, and the fact that all of her friends noticed her standing up here, flicked her glances, and kept right on talking. It was bad enough she had to make a spectacle of herself. Apparently, she was going to have to ask a whole room of adults to shut up so she could thank them for coming, too.

Louise, sitting with Dennis at the nearest table, slipped from her chair and came up to the dais holding, to Delta’s horror, a fork. “Give them a little ring,” she instructed as she pressed it into Delta’s hand.

“I am not doing that,” she said, and tried to give the fork back.

“
Just – ”

Her toe started tapping because her entire right leg was quivering with a mixture of exhaustion and low blood sugar. Nausea rolled through her – she hadn’t eaten a bite that day – and she grimaced against it. “No, Mom,” she said, and let go of the fork, let it drop to clatter across the carpeted dais.

Louise’s face screwed up as she put her back to her daughter and returned to her table, mumbling, the fork left on the floor. Delta heard “ungrateful.”

“You want me to yell?” Mike offered, and to her horror, lifted his hands like he meant to cup them around his mouth.

“No,” she snapped. “If they can’t all shut up like adults, then I won’t say anything at all.”

Mike was smiling at her – a vacant, somewhat polite smile, but he whispered between his teeth, “You’re being a bitch.”

He might as well have slapped her. She pressed her lips together until her teeth bit into them. All that her mother was doing and orchestrating, and
she
was the bitch? She didn’t speak for fear of what would come out of her mouth, instead scanned the crowd again.

There were eyes on her now:
All of the Walkers. Mitch Huddle, whatever his wife’s name was, Lance and Ryan whose arm was getting closer and closer to actually being around Jo’s shoulder. Regina was attentive, as were the Jennifers. And Carly. Delta’s eyes went to the source of the noise. How was anyone still talking?

“Stacy, Sydney,” she said before she could stop herself. She knew her glare was murderous. “This is not the time for talking.” She forced a smile and could feel that it was a gross imitation of one, hating how awful she had to sound and look. “Okay?” Both girls rolled their tongues back into their heads, eyes
wide. “Good.” She turned to Mike, shooting him daggers for the bitch comment. “Baby, why don’t you start us off?”

He swallowed hard, still wearing his pretend smile, and shot her back a venomous look of his own. He gave her a nod and turned to their guests. Looking at them, his smile spread, all white and convincing, and he tried to drop an arm across her shoulders.

She shrugged him off. “Don’t make me a bitch with bad hair,” she hissed at him.

Neither of them touching, both of them stewing, they tried to play the happy couple as they thanked and welcomed everyone. At one point, Delta’s eyes collided with Jo’s and she shuddered
; something was wrong, and Jo knew it.

**

“So I guess the coat closet isn’t happening,” Mike said, resolute, as he followed Delta out of the dining room two hours later. She was tired – he could read the fatigue in her face and in the slow way she’d cut into her dinner – but she was doing a damn good job storming off, hips twitching inside her second-skin dress.

She whirled on him, indignant finger already aimed at his chest. “Oh,” she said through her teeth, eyes flashing. “It’s happening.”

He hadn’t expected that. “What?”

“You heard me.” She presented her back – more importantly, her ass – again and headed toward the castle’s main entrance, toward the grand stair and the ballroom behind it.

He may have wanted to put his hands around her pretty little throat and throttle the nastiness out of her, but he wasn’t passing up a tumble in the coat closet. If anything, the angry sparks between them would probably make the whole thing hotter. He sketched a quick picture in his head and felt an expectant non-smile darken his face.

It was late
, only a skeleton crew lurking in the halls, and the ballroom was awash in shadow, only a few sconces left on for security’s sake. The cavernous room seemed almost sinister – at least, Mike thought that’s how a woman would have seen it. It was full of hiding places, and for him, that was a good thing. The potted ferns Delta disappeared between were black reaching arms in the shadows, the alcove beyond totally hidden. Mike stepped through after her, into total darkness, and felt her hand latch onto the front of his shirt and curl into a rigid claw.

He couldn’t see anything. Wasn’t even sure his eyes were open. She pulled at him and he followed, half afraid he’d stumble and fall on top of her. The musty smell of old mothballs – like his grandmother’s attic – shot up his nose and there was a whisper of air movement across his skin. The door shut with a soft
click
and he knew they were in the closet. Or hell. Or a tomb. Or a dumbwaiter. Or God knew where – it was black as pitch.

Delta was there, though;
he knew her hands, the familiar feel of her fingers as they slid up his chest, following the grooves between his abs and pecs through his shirt. His back hit something hard – the wall or door – and she leaned into him, her breasts full and soft as they pressed against his chest. Her narrow, tight thighs brushed his, his belt buckle made contact with the soft flat of her stomach.

The dark, he thought, might make
it not just hotter, but better. She couldn’t glare at him in the dark. He couldn’t see her crumbling composure and read all the jarring layers of unhappiness shining in her eyes. They could only hear and feel and touch.

He brought a hand up, envisioning her dark hair against his fingers, wanting to pull her face up to his so he could kiss her.

“
Ow
!” she exclaimed, and it wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear.

“What?” he froze.

Her hands fell away from him and he heard her suck in a sharp breath. “You poked me in the eye, you idiot!”

Mike let his head slump back against the wall, the little energy he’d rallied at the promise of sex bleeding out of him.

“Damn,” she murmured.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” She sounded sulky.

“You want me to walk you back to your room?”

“No.” She sighed and inside the empty closet, the sound seemed too loud, heavy and pressing down on them. This whole trip was going to be one long sigh. The whole wedding. All of it.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

The door opened with a rush of air that smelled of furniture polish, and he could tell she left it open, the sense of open space beside him hard to miss. Mike listened to her heels clip across the terrazzo until they faded into silence, then followed.

**

Delta didn’t sleep well. She told herself it was because Mike had stabbed her in the eye with his thumb, but really, the only thing more overwhelming than jet lag was guilt. It wasn’t fair that she turn on him when he wasn’t the source of her stress.

She was awake at seven, readied herself for the day, and shook Regina into consciousness when th
e alarm didn’t stir her. “Photo shoot,” she reminded with a grim expression. “Mom will expect us.”

The morning was a glorious fury that limned the stacked gray clouds in gold and violet. When the wind finally decided to come sweeping across the lake and chase away the gloom, the day would be vivid. Delta saw this through windows as she descended the grand stair, wishing she was on her way to the garden with a book and a cup of tea rather than preparing for the first of many photo sessions. Regina joined her in the small parlor that was to be their meeting place a few minutes later.

“Where’s your momager?” she asked as she flounced down onto the chaise beside Delta. Her hair was still damp at the ends and her eye shadow was uneven. Louise wouldn’t be happy about that.

“Examining her imaginary wrinkles in the mirror, no doubt,” Delta said and stifled a yawn.
“I have this really bad feeling today isn’t going to go well.”

“Feeling?
I know it won’t,” Regina snorted. “But who cares? You’re too worried about keeping Mommy dearest happy.”

Delta made a face.

“I’d be more worried about Mikey dearest if I were you.”

She had a point.

Carly, big-eyed and still a little bit speechless as she continued to survey the castle around her, was the first bridesmaid to arrive. Then Stacy and Sydney. The Jennifers. Brittany and Heather were running late, but that wasn’t unusual. The two absences that were alarming to Delta were the missing Walker sisters. None of her friends would miss a chance to have their picture taken. But Jo and Jess…she didn’t put it past them not to stay in bed on purpose.

“Wait here for my mom,” she told Regina. “I’m
gonna go find Mike’s sisters.”

“Good luck with that.”

Jo was rooming with her brother Jordan, and that was where Delta went first. She tapped on the door. She rapped with her knuckles. She knocked. Finally, she hit the thing with the heel of her hand and heard, “Jesus, I’m coming!” from Jordan.

A moment later, the door cracked just wide enough to give her a view of his narrow face. His hair was a disheveled nightmare, hanging over his forehead and tops of his ears, and the red rim around his big blue-green eyes told her he’d had too much to drink the night before at dinner. He was in a white t-shirt and boxers, long feet bare on the carpet. Still, after a year, she could find nothing about him that reminded her of Mike. Save, maybe, the unenthusiastic look he shot her.