Everything But Perfect (6 page)

“Sara!” Cheyanne stood and went
straight for her sister. “No one said you were coming.”

“As in, no one told me you were
home,” her sister replied.

Sara’s husband Henry was coming
through the patio doors, as well. He greeted Cheyanne with a huge bear hug.
“You are just too thin. Don’t you eat wherever you are?”

Henry was quite plump. His
thoughts always centered on food.

“I eat…when not busy. Where are
your adorable kids? Inside?”

“Left home this time. Cheyanne,
you have no idea how little time we spend alone. If Henry isn’t in court with
depositions, I’m stuck on some committee, up to my eyeballs in charity
functions.”

Sara loved every minute of her
life. Perhaps it was true they did not get enough time with each other, but
that was to be expected. Not once would Sara complain about it, other than in
jest.

“Oh, before I forget…thanks so
much for those photographs you sent us,” Henry said, taking up the abandoned
chaise. He watched a bird flutter toward the rose gardens. “The kids adored
them, and I must say, they were quite breathtaking.”

“I’m so glad you liked them.
Angel and I…” She stopped, checking her emotions at the door. She gave a weak
smile to her sister and brother-in-law.

Thankfully, Henry cleared his
throat, changing the subject.

Told by Sara that Martha would
not be coming, made dealing with this charade bearable. Martha was the astute
one; nothing ever hid from her without being called out on it.

Dammit. How could she be honest
about anything now? Sooner, or later, they would know the truth. She, however,
was not going to be the blabbermouth who confessed.

After Sara and Henry went back
into the mansion, Cheyanne remained minutes more outside. Caterers and florists
were starting to invade the mansion and she would only get in their way.

She did stop to smell an enormous
bouquet jammed into a crystal vase, once inside; the patio doors left open to
allow the fresh breeze to walk through. White linens on banquet tables, tall
candles in every corner, and mouthwatering appetizers being brought through and
carried into the kitchen; the whole place smelled like lilies and orchids, not
a rose in sight.

Was Regina trying to make a
statement?

Even if the mansion weren’t
adorned with breathtaking fauna, She still would have felt out of place. This
wasn’t her life anymore. She was the dirt girl. Give her a pile of rock and
sand, and then step back and watch a miracle happened.

Her frown came quick. No more
rock or sand for a few months, until ridding herself of Mitch’s watchful eye.
Simply aware of his smug, self-satisfied way was enough to make her sick.

She went up to her room to shower
and change. Moments later, a soft knock sounded on her door. She opened it to
find Rosa. The woman carried a large box across the threshold.

“What is this?” Cheyanne asked,
eyeing with dread the foil-wrapped box with huge white bow.

“I have no idea. It just came for
you.” Rosa set the box on the bed.

“I’ll open it later. For now, I
need a shower.

Rosa seemed put off that she was not
ripping the box open, her curiosity appeased to what was inside.

Cheyanne knew it was from her
father and she did not want to acknowledge his attitude or desire that her
attire be upgraded to the standards of a Ribbons. Did he really think she would
fall for this heavy-handed play? How dare he think so little of her?

She decided she would leave it
unopened for at least a week. Let him stew on that.

Rosa, with so much to do, left
her to her thoughts. Cheyanne could see the package in the mirror, its presence
mocking her. Dammit. The sooner she weds, the sooner she can go back to
Benghazi and regain control of her life.

Chapter Seven

Chagrined at continuous thoughts
bordering on mutiny, Cheyanne resigned to getting dressed for Jessup and
Regina’s engagement party. She slipped on the green silk bought earlier in the
week, letting the cool material slide down her slender frame. She had to admit
she felt sexy in silk, the gown cut quite low in the back and
very
low
in the front. A luxury she hadn’t bothered with for four long years was feeling
feminine.

Oh, if only Angel could see her
now. Angel, who’d mercilessly teased her about wearing a dress on the dig site
on a particularly hot afternoon. She never did it again.

A sudden sigh burned through her
chest. If only she could change time.

Dammit! I am going to enjoy myself
tonight, even if it kills me.

Donning shoes, she headed
downstairs a little past six. Now, for getting to midnight hour unscathed.…

She felt like Cinderella, but
even Cinderella was given limitations.

Downstairs, half the guests
mingling in the crowded rooms were for Joe, the other half for Jessup. Even
from a distance, she could tell which was which. Jessup’s crowd was the rowdier
of the two.

Unfortunately, Regina wasn’t in
sight, and it was obvious Louise was beside herself. Her mother hated it when
things did not go as planned.

Waiters dispersed wine-filled
glasses. Trays of mushrooms, shrimp, and caviar were carried around each room.
Fruits, cheeses, and petite mignardises were gobbled up like there was no
tomorrow. No expense spared.

Sara and Henry were already
mingling, knee deep in conversation with an older group.

As Cheyanne descended, there was
not one set of eyes that hadn’t turned to stare at her. Was it the daring gown
she had on? Did she have something in her teeth?

“Is that her?” someone asked.

“Jessup’s found a keeper,”
another was bold enough to say.

“No. Regina’s a red-head,”
answered another.

Other comments roamed about, but
none of them stopped her descent. She had no desire to hear idle gossip, or be
a part of it, but she had to join the party or there would be hell to pay.

Extremely uncomfortable, sweating
at the back of her knees, luckily her sister pushed through the crowd and came
to her rescue. Sara grabbed her wrist, hoping she would join in the
conversation.

“Did someone die in here?” Jessup
suddenly said, announcing his arrival with the usual crass mouth. “There are
enough flowers to kill a horse in here.”

Regina was hanging all over her
brother, smiling at the gathered guests.

Cheyanne ground her teeth
together. Her eyes went searching the room for familiar faces. She met a mocha
stare and felt the ice flowing through her veins, tenfold. She smiled weakly, and
then turned her head. How dare he ruin her night?

Sara left her side, beckoned by another;
and Cheyanne felt so alone. Her eyes rose again, Mitch still staring at her, his
face masked by an odd frown.

****

Mitch dropped his gaze, turning
his head. She could not get to him tonight. Yes, he was more than aware of her
presence…Hell, the silence upon her descent had been deafening to his ears.
Still, he was not about to cower by her venomous glares or be drawn in by her
daring gown, as most of the men were.

He drank his wine, ate his
appetizers, and twenty minutes later could barely control his fury. Her
laughter, her perfume, her easy banter with men drooling on her every word, was
making him sick. So much so, it was all he could do to control his body from
reacting wrongly as he moved toward her.

“Did you enjoy your little
performance?” he questioned, coming up behind her. His hand set on her elbow,
his fingers a firm grip.

Cheyanne held her smile, but he
knew it was only a ruse. “I don’t know what you are talking about?” she said
slowly.

“Oh, I think you do know,” he
said, grinding the backs of his teeth.

She turned to face him. “For your
information…”

Mitch was not going to argue with
her in front of guests. He easily guided her to the open patio door, his
fingers firmly gripped to her arm.

“What do you think you are
doing?” she said, stumbling on the hem of her gown.

“Taking you outside—to talk. What
the hell does it look like I’m doing?”

“I can talk to you inside the
mansion. This manhandling is getting a little old, Mitch.”

“I don’t care what you think,” he
said under his breath.

“And I don’t care what you want
or don’t want of me. Let go of my arm before I make a scene.”

Mitch held his temper in check as
a passing guest gave him a questioning glance.

“Are you done, sweetheart?” he
muttered gruffly.

“Done with what? Hating you?” she
said, smiling at his face.

His grip tightened, probably into
painful, since her eyes widened and she looked down at his hand. “I did ask you
to let me go.” She tried to free her arm from his hand. Mitch tightened the
grip more.

“We can make this easy, or hard.
Your choice.”

“Some choice.”

By now, he had walked her over to
a bench near the rose garden. “Sit down.” He pushed her toward the bench.

“Up yours!”

“Cheyanne…”

“Mitch…”

Why was he suddenly feeling a
huge headache coming on? “Would you please sit down, Ms. Ribbons?”

“No. I would prefer to stand.”

The more she pushed his every
button wrong, the more his temper rose. Mitch had to look away.
If only he
could strangle her without anyone knowing…

“Did you enjoy all those men
staring at you?” he blurted out, unable to hold it in for very much longer.

“Excuse me?”

“This daring gown,” he said,
fingering the delicate strap over her left shoulder, “is a bit much for an
engagement party. Or should I say…not much at all.”

“Do you have a problem with what
I am wearing?”

“No. Not at all,” he said,
smiling devilishly.

“Then what the hell is your
problem?”

“You’re my problem, sweetheart.”

“If I am such a problem to you,
then why are you bothering with me? I was not at all concerned with your
conversations. Can’t you just leave me alone until I have to march to the
guillotine and wed you?”

“I don’t enjoy being made the
fool. Nor do I care for a woman who flaunts her body in front of others if
already claimed by another.”

Her eyes widened. “Claimed? You
really are an ass. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I’m telling you are one—a
huge one.”

Mitch could feel the veins in his
neck sticking out, his temper at full boil.

“Mitch, Cheyanne…come inside.
Your father’s about to make his announcement,” Louise chimed from the open
doorway.

Cheyanne growled at his face but
smiled at her mother. “Thankfully, I have one savior in this family still able
to knock you down a peg or two,” she supplied under her breath.

“We’ll see about that,” he said,
allowing his future bride to bolt back into the mansion, unharmed.

****

I will not crack.

I will not crack.

I will not crack!

Ah, hell, who am I kidding? I’m
gonna crack.

Cheyanne was beyond angry with
Mitch. How dare he criticize her attire? How dare he manhandle her whenever the
mood overcomes him?

From across the room they stared
each other down. His words and deeds had made her feel cheap, and she was not
going to stand anywhere near him. She’d been wounded before, but never so deep.

Don’t you have a backbone?
she mused, drawing her gaze away
from him. Moments later, trying to hide behind a crowd it seemed that
everywhere she looked he was looking at her. What was his problem?

Resigned to her night ruined by
his presence, she was overtaken by murderous thoughts to the man.

“May I have you attention?” her
father boomed, now standing on the top step of the staircase, looking down at
the gathering crowd. All eyes turned to him.

“It has come to my attention, and
greatest joy, that not only will Jessup and Regina wed fairly soon, but my
youngest daughter and her fiancé have announced their engagement tonight. Cheyanne
will be marrying Mitch Lavede, and of course, you all know who he is,” Joe said
laughingly.

The crowd went into an uproar. Ten
seconds later, they pointed out who she was. She was being congratulated by unknowns
and well-wishers at every turn of the head.

Her eyes searched for Mitch. She
found him making his way up the stairs to stand near her father, giving no help
to this relative disaster.

Mitch then took up where her
father left off in the announcement.

“With my greatest pleasure, and Cheyanne’s…,”he
started, eyeballing her hard, “we have set our wedding date for next Wednesday.
No reason to wait when you know it’s right.”

Joe slapped him on the back,
laughing at this. “Here, here. To the happy couple and a hasty wedding!”

The room went wild, raising
glasses of champagne high above their heads.

Cheyanne wanted to crawl in a
hole and die.
Next Wednesday?
She felt claustrophobic, could not
breathe, could not think, and could not move a muscle had she tried. Mitch was
staring at her as if he had won the war, his eyes boring deep holes into her.

Gasping for breath, she barely
made it to the patio doors alive, leaving from the room with no destination in
mind. Stumbling, tripping, she found the rose garden in a daze, dropping to her
knees. Her emotions were choking her, her heart racing. How could he do this to
her? Just spring it on her, when he could have said something earlier, gave her
warning?

The bastard!

“There you are, sweetheart,” he said
gloatingly, coming up to her side. He helped her to her feet, the world
spinning out of control. “I was so worried about you. I know you’ve had a lot
to drink…”he adlibbed.

“Go to hell,” she muttered
rudely.

Mitch smiled down at her then
bent near her ear. “There are folks looking and listening, Cheyanne. Do try to
behave.”

“Like I said…go to Hell!”

A half-second later, he crushed her
mouth with his warm lips, punishing her for her sins.

If doing his best to kiss her
into submission, it was not working to his favor. He drew back only far enough
to whisper. “I am in Hell, sweetheart. No sense telling me to go there.”

“Oh, yeah?” she sputtered, wiping
off his kiss with the back of her hand. “Well I’m in Hell, too.”

He grabbed her arm, rushed her into
the glass gazebo and shut the door, giving them needed privacy. A mere taken
breath was all the warning she had to what was coming next.

“I am sick to death of your
self-pity! You either pretend you’re happy to marry me when in front of New
York’s finest, or I call off the whole deal with your father, and then see you and
your family in bankruptcy court, bitch! Either way, Ribbons is mine.”

Tears sprang to her eyes in
breakneck speed. “I can’t pretend what I don’t feel.”

“Try, dammit! I am giving you ten
seconds to pull it together. Then, I am walking out of this gazebo with my
darling betrothed hanging on my arm, hopelessly in love with me. Do I make
myself clear?” The anger was venting out of his every pore, all of it aimed at
her.

To combat this fury, she raised
her eyes, letting the tears fall. “Perfectly clear…Mr. Lavede.”

“That will be Mitch to you,
sweetheart. We wouldn’t want to start our marriage on the wrong foot, now would
we?” His tone suggested he could care less if it started at all.

****

Being mad at her was not going to
make this any easier on either of them. She made him look the fool, and he was
just trying to clean up the mess. From his point of view, when a woman bolts
out of the room after an announcement to her wedding, something is amiss. He
could not have tongues wagging unnecessarily.

He was not in love with her,
hell, far from it. In fact, he could barely stand her at this point, but if he
was going to make this look legit, he had to play the part.

“Look, I’m not the bad guy here,”
he said, maneuvering her close to him, staring into her incredible eyes.

“No, just a willing participant,
it would seem.” The tears were streaming down her face by now.

Mitch, captivated by this open
display of unchecked emotion, set his thumbs against her cheek and wiped away
what he could. His actions were not deliberate, more instinct. He then held her
close, leaned down and set his lips to her mouth again. This time, she did not
balk to his touch.