Marrying Mr. Right. Carolyn Greene
even though his posture was perfectly erect. Serious-minded Donald, on the other hand, would someday run for a local political office—with Christina and the children he promised her by his side—and with no fear of any past indiscretions being exposed. His hands hanging awkwardly at his sides, he looked as though he’d rather be reading the stock report than dealing with this unexpected intruder.
“Uh, no, this is...” Her voice trailed off as she lifted the latch on the screen door and pushed it open. Where was Miss Manners when you needed her? For the life of her, Christina had no idea how one should introduce her fiancé to her husband.
Current husband, that is.
Greg stepped inside, filling the foyer with his massive bulk. How was it that, after all these years, he could still make her heart go flip-flop? Christina stepped back in a futile attempt to put distance between them. She would have to broach the subject of their relationship very carefully.
“Donald, I’d like you to meet Greg Primo...an old friend from high school. Greg, this is Donald Winkler, my fiancé.”
Greg raised one dark eyebrow. Christina mentally cringed as she waited for something unpleasant to hit the fan. He had just opened his mouth to speak when a rapping sounded at the screen door.
“Greggie, what’s taking so long? The mosquitoes are eating me alive out here.”
Even in the dark, the woman’s platinum-blond hair glowed like a defective nuclear reactor. Christina noticed the barely suppressed sigh Greg gave before he opened the screen door to her. As his companion stepped inside, it was easy to see why the mosquitoes considered her a fieast.
She was tall; Christina guessed her height at close to six feet, even without the three-inch heels. But it was the elastic tube top, filled to overflowing and suspended by two narrow shoulder straps, that riveted her attention. The image brought to mind a life-size Hollywood Heather doll gone amok. Christina tried not to stare in amazement.
Her gaze was drawn upward to the woman’s face. It was difficult to tell her age, what with all the makeup she wore, but her bright red smile seemed genuine and friendly.
“It’s okay, hon. I get those kinds of looks all the time,” the woman informed her.
Christina snapped her mouth closed, certain that her reaction had prompted the announcement.
“Some people think it’s too much,” the stranger babbled happily on, “but when you’re aiming for a stage career, you have to go with the theatrical look.” She peered at Christina through her spider-leg lashes. “Maybe we could get together sometime and I’ll give you a makeover.”
Suddenly Christina felt frump. Was that why Greg had changed his mind about staying married to her? Had he been disappointed with what he saw on their wedding day?
No, such a thought was ridiculous. Even so, she self-consciously crossed her arms over her chest. Then, in a burst of nervousness, she uncrossed her arms, captured a strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail and tucked it behind her ear. Mindful of the grass stains on her knees, she mentally chided herself for not paying more attention to her own appearance tonight. She felt certain her female visitor meant well, but it stung to have it pointed out that she could use some work.
The woman looked up and, apparently noticing Donald’s openmouthed fascination, smiled broadly.
“Pardon my manners,” she said to Christina, but her attention swiveled to Donald. “I’m Katrina Humboldt, but you can call me Trina. That’s my stage name.” As she thrust her hand forward, the movement caused her breasts to bobble like overfilled helium balloons.
The action didn’t go unnoticed by Donald. He licked his lips and blinked twice. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said, taking her hand in his.
Considering the circumstances of Donald’s and her unusual marriage arrangement, his enthusiastic response to the bombshell didn’t stir any jealousy. But it did make her feel invisible in comparison.
This was getting out of control. She needed to get rid of Greg, and quick. Otherwise, she ran the risk of having her secret exposed, and possibly in a way that would hurt an innocent person. Because her marriage to Greg was over before it had a chance to begin, it had never seemed fully real to Christina, so she had pushed it to the back of her mind. She hadn’t purposely withheld the information from Donald. Rather, she had put off telling him since she still felt foolish about having done something so impulsive and uncharacteristic. Now she wished she’d had the foresight to mention it sooner.
Greg cleared his throat. “I hate to break up this touching introduction, but I need to speak to Christina...in private. Excuse us.”
At that, he took Christina’s elbow in one hand and placed his other hand at the small of her waist and guided her into the living room where Donald had been reading earlier. Greg’s touch was matter-of-fact, but Christina hated how her skin tingled beneath the gentle pressure of his fingers. As if unaware of the conflicting feelings that battled within her, he paused briefly to stare at the watercolor painting of an enormous sunflower that hung over the fireplace. His mouth twisted in distaste. “I hope you didn’t pay money for that.”
Before she could respond to his slur on her home decor, he pushed past the multitude of houseplants, hesitating only a second to gather his bearings before aiming her toward the kitchen.
Willing a strength she didn’t know she possessed, Christina pulled her elbow from his grasp, but he easily maneuvered her into the brightly lit room. It was happening again. He had decided what they should do, and he expected her to go along willingly—to bend to his will—just as she had in the past.
Well, she wasn’t a dreamy-eyed teenager anymore, and now was as good a time as any to clue him in. And her traitorous body, too, while she was at it.
As the door swung shut behind them, Christina stepped away and turned to face him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove by barging in here and pushing me around, but I don’t appreciate it one bit.”
He took the papers out of his back pocket and slapped them against the palm of his hand. “Just as I didn’t appreciate getting this little surprise today. Ten years you haven’t worried about getting an annulment, and you have to pick now of all times to finally go through with it. What have you been doing all this time?”
“I was...”
She caught herself before blurting out the truth. She’d almost said waiting for you, which was what she’d subconsciously been doing until recently, when she’d finally given up her childish dream and chosen a more mature arrangement with Donald.
The years had slipped by in a blur, first as she had finished high school and earned her college degree, and then while she’d lived with her parents to save for a down payment on this house. In those early years, she’d been so busy with her goals that she seldom had time to feel the empty ache that had begun with Greg’s arrest. But, living on her own the past three years, the loneliness had threatened to engulf her, even as she began spending more time with Donald. Eventually she came to the realization that it was children she needed—caring for them, listening to their laughter, and hugging their cuddly little bodies—to fill the void.
When Donald had offered to give her the children and family life she wanted in exchange for playing the role of a politician’s wife, she had readily accepted. In her estimation, it was foolish to be guided into marriage by raging hormones. She’d already made that mistake once. This time she would have a future to look forward to. With Donald.
But she wasn’t about to tell all that to Greg. Instead she softly concluded her statement.
“...busy.”
The curl of Greg’s lip told her the excuse sounded as lame to him as it did to her own ears. He stepped closer, the very proximity of him bringing back the sense of adventure and danger he had instilled in her as a teen. She stood her ground and felt the air fairly prickle with the charge that surged between them.
He had been forbidden to her. He was