Newlywed Games (18 page)

“Thanks.” As always, he made sure to be considerate of her privacy. Did he know how much that meant to her? She hoped so.

In the bathroom, Meghann flipped on the exhaust fan before stepping into the steamy shower. The water felt great against her tense muscles, so she lingered longer than normal, secure in the knowledge that Bruce
wouldn’t be back for a while yet.

Her tension started to ease away, and she wished her problems would do the same. Where was this emotional roller-coaster ride she’d put herself on going to end? She didn’t know, but she feared it would be no place good. How could it? Yes, there were moments when she could almost let herself believe she and Bruce were growing close, but then she’d remember they were simply playing their respective parts—playing a game, as Bruce said.

They’d managed to pull it off so far, but how much longer could they keep it up? At least she felt fairly confident it couldn’t get much worse.

She slipped on her lavender chenille robe and towel dried her hair to the hum of the fan. She wondered if her mother was up yet; with the fan on there was no way of telling. It would be best to go wake her now—if she wasn’t already awake—and tell her of their dinner plans. That would give her mother plenty of time to get ready.

Meg glanced at the wall clock. Bruce wouldn’t be back for another half hour, so she could wander through the apartment in her robe. She pulled the heavy garment tight around her. Even if he did happen to return earlier than he thought, she was covered from her neck to her toes.

She turned off the fan and reached for the doorknob. A rapping sounded on the door. Her breath caught, then she released it. Her mother, it had to be.

The knob turned, and she smiled, ready to greet her mother. “Oh!”

A strange man with shoulder-length brown hair stood before her, looking as startled to see her as she was to face him. A scream escaped her lips and she threw her whole weight against the door. It slammed shut and she fumbled to lock it. Her mind raced as fast as her heart. Terror swept through her as she wondered what the intruder wanted and who he was.

She put her ear to the door and listened for any sign of him. There was no sound from the bedroom. That’s when it hit her…her mother was out there. With the intruder!

She grabbed the knob, then froze. What if he was waiting out there for her? What if they struggled and the noise woke her mother? She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the door.

Lord, what do I do?

Feeling trapped and sick to her stomach, she sat on the toilet to wait. But for what? The stranger to return? For Bruce? He would still be gone for a while. She wasn’t about to just sit there like a ninny. Not when her mother might be in danger! She had to do something. She scanned her small surroundings, her heart still beating wildly.

She grabbed the hair dryer for protection, just in case he had ill intentions, and reached for the doorknob, then realized going out there in her robe was not a wise choice. She donned the jeans and sweater she’d had on earlier, took up the hair dryer again, and whispered a prayer of protection for her and her mother. She paused, listening with her ear to the door, but no sound came from the bedroom.

Taking special care to make no noise of her own, she filled her lungs with a breath of courage as she unlocked the door and eased it open, scoping out the room. No one was there. With her hair dryer drawn and at the ready, she went to the other door and listened. Was he out there? Or had he left the apartment all together, having already found what he had come for? She whispered another prayer for protection and grasped the doorknob with all the courage she could muster, then paused. What was that sound? Voices? Yes, voices.
Happy
voices!

Easing the door open, she cautiously stepped out and found her mother chatting cheerfully with another woman and a stately man, both of whom looked to be about her mother’s age. With them was the younger man who had come into the bathroom.

Mom was the first to notice her. “Meg, come over and meet your in-laws.” She barely noticed that her mother motioned her over to the dining room table where they were huddled.

In-laws?

The other woman turned adoring eyes on her and a friendly smile spread across her face.

“Olivia, this is my daughter, Meghann, your new daughter-in-law. Meg, this is Olivia Halloway. Bruce’s mother.”

The woman rose, all elegance and grace; she had an inviting warmth that reached out to touch Meghann, despite her astonishment. Meghann had the strong sense this woman accepted her fully, and her words confirmed that fact: “Meghann dear, welcome to the
family.” She gave Meg a quick but seemingly sincere hug. “I’m so glad to meet you.”

Speechless, Meghann gaped openmouthed at the trio.

“I would like to say that Bruce has spoken so much about you that I feel as if I know you, but my son has been silent where you are concerned.” There was a note of censure in her voice the woman couldn’t hide.

What could she say?
“He didn’t mention me because he didn’t know we were married”?
Oh, that’d go over great. But to give any other excuse would be lying. Again. This time to Bruce’s family.

She felt as though she were falling, spiraling into a dark, dark hole.
Lord, how much deeper are we going to get into this?

“I…I don’t know what to say.” That, at least, was the gospel truth.

Bruce’s mother regarded her quietly, then smiled. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’m sure Bruce had his reasons and he will explain them to us in his own time.”

That will be worth hearing.
…

The elegant woman turned to draw the man beside her forward. “This is Bruce’s father, your father-in-law, Ivan Halloway.” She said his name reverently.

The face studying her was hauntingly familiar; Bruce definitely favored his father. The same strong jaw-line, piercing blue eyes, aristocratic nose…but the resemblance ended there. Where Bruce’s eyes overflowed with kindness and humor, this man’s expression was decidedly…aloof. That expression combined with his stiff posture and tailored suit made his reception
considerably cooler than his wife’s, but he wasn’t altogether cold. Not really. Meg sensed his reaction to her was more like indifferent tolerance. As he gave her a critical looking over, she had the urge to call him
sir,
at the very least
Mr.
Halloway.

“And this is our son Brock.”

Their son? That made him Bruce’s brother. Where Bruce resembled his father, Brock took after his mother. He was tall and broad in his frame like Bruce and his father, but his face was a masculine version of his mother’s.

“I’m sorry.” He held up his hands in mock surrender, letting his gaze settle on her weapon. “I didn’t know you were in the bathroom, honest. I thought it was Bruce.”

Meghann looked down at the hair dryer in her hand, still poised to protect herself and her mother. Dropping it to her side, heat rose in her cheeks. If there were only a hole, she would gladly climb in.

“It seems my dear brother Bruce has been keeping secrets from us. But what a very pretty secret you are.” Brock took her free hand and graced it with a light kiss.

By now Meg was so numb she scarcely reacted. She just stood there, mute, staring at them all. At Bruce’s family!

So much for thinking things couldn’t get any worse!

Bruce stepped through his apartment doorway, then stopped in pleasant amazement when Meghann came to greet him.

“Hi there,” she said, smiling warmly.

He’d expected her to be in a dress for the evening and was mildly concerned that she was still wearing the jeans and sweater from earlier and her hair was slightly wet. He was looking forward to seeing what she had picked out to wear—but all thought of that fell away when she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Mmm. This was nice! The kind of greeting a man could get used to. He knew her mother must be close at hand for such a display of affection, but he held her tight and made the most of it all the same.

He pulled back and held her at arm’s length, smiling as his gaze took in her full attire. “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said ‘dress for dinner.’ ”

She smiled again, but he noticed this time that it seemed a bit forced. “I was distracted by our company, dear.”

Meg was definitely tense, and a tickle of alarm shot through him. “Where’s your mom? She is up, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she’s up,” she said through gritted teeth, still smiling. “She’s in the dining room.” Her look was pointed. “With your
family.
”

“My…what?” He stared down, sure he had heard her wrong. What would his parents be doing here? The pleasure he had felt a moment before was sucked from him, and a gnawing panic gripped the pit of his stomach.

“Bruce, darling.”

He spun at the sound of his mother’s velvet voice.

Sure enough, she stood there, watching him and Meghann with raised brows. “I have a bone to pick with
you, son.” Her voice was light and without malice.

Bruce’s focus went to Meghann’s concerned face, then back to his mother’s as she approached. She was really here. His mother was here, in his apartment, with—dread filled him—with his
wife.

Oh, Lord…you’ve got to be kidding.
“Mother, whatever are you doing here?” Still in a bit of a daze, he let go of Meg and stepped into his mother’s embrace for a perfunctory hug.

“No hello? No how are you? It’s great to see you?”

“This is just so…unexpected.”

Now, that was an understatement! And the surprises just kept coming, for there, behind his mother, was the rest of the family: his father and Brock.

“You’ve been keeping secrets.” His mother glanced at Meghann with adoration. “She’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.”

Bruce’s father held out his hand. “Congratulations, son.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bruce said, giving his father’s hand a firm shake despite his confusion. There was nothing worse than a weak handshake, his father would say. Weak handshake, weak character.

Brock gripped Bruce’s hand next and pulled him in for a back-slapping hug. “Congratulations, you sly old dog you. Sneaking off and getting married to the prettiest girl in town, no doubt.” The approving look Brock gave Meghann sent a wave of irritation through Bruce. He’d seen his brother look at women that way before…too many times. Well, he could just forget it this time. No way they were going to repeat history. Meg
was his, and he’d see to it that Brock understood that in no uncertain terms.

Maybe you should let Meg know first?

He cast a quick glance at the woman who stood at his side. He’d hoped to do exactly that tonight, at dinner. But now.

“Did I hear you say something about dinner?” Brock’s smile was broad. “I’m starved.”

Bruce watched with dismay as his family took charge. Before long, they were all heading for their rooms to change for dinner while Bruce—at his mother’s direction—reluctantly changed the reservations from three to six people.

And as he dialed, he saw all his plans and hopes for the evening flying right out the window.

Meghann, the last to get ready, glanced at her watch and knew there was no time now to curl her hair as planned without making them all late. Though she preferred it in flowing curls and hoped Bruce would like it as well, she resigned herself to pulling it back in a French twist. A quick touch with the curling iron to her bangs and wisps she pulled out in front of her ears softened the look.

After exiting the bathroom, she stopped in front of the bureau mirror to put on a pair of black dangly earrings and the matching necklace. Twirling around so the full skirt swished out, she inspected her overall appearance in the full-length mirrors on the closet doors. She ran her hands down the side of her simple black dress
and smiled approvingly.
The pearls would have looked great with this dress.

Joining the others, she heard a wolf whistle and turned—a teasing smile on her face, ready to scold Bruce playfully for his forwardness. Her heart sank when she found herself facing Brock.

“Dahlink, you rook mah-velous,” Brock said with a perfectly affected Caribbean accent. “May I escort you to dinner?” He offered her his arm, and she had no choice but to slip her hand into the crook of his elbow. His wavy brown hair was now slicked back into a neat ponytail.

“I’ll
escort
my
wife.”

At the cold words, Meg jumped slightly. But before she could say anything, Bruce took her by the arm and all but carried her to the door.

Good heavens, what was his hurry?

And what was with that proprietary tone when he said
my wife?
What’s more, did he have to keep such a firm grip on her arm? Appearances notwithstanding, he was carrying the game a bit too far this time.

She reached over to pry her arm free, and he released her immediately. Studying him, she realized he was angry! He probably hadn’t even been aware of the hold he had on her. His displeasure seemed to be focused on Brock. But why? Brock had only offered to escort her.

“I’m sorry,” he leaned down and whispered in her ear as they stood to wait for the elevator.

“It’s all right,” she answered quickly, but knew it wasn’t. Something was going on between Bruce and his brother…something that made Bruce irritable and left
her feeling as though she’d wandered into some kind of minefield.

And that was a feeling she didn’t care for. Not one little bit.