You're Marrying Her?. Angie Ray
tenderly at his fiance´e, who gazed back worshipfully.
Sam gagged on her mango-chili sauce.
Her cough broke the spell. “Are you all right?” Heather asked.
“Mmm.” She coughed once more to clear her throat and to prevent any resumption of adoring gazing. “Brad said you wanted me to design your dress.”
“Oh, yes,” Heather said. “It would mean so much to Brad and me. Do you think you can do it?”
“Of course,” Sam said automatically. “You must come to my sister’s shop tomorrow and we can look through the catalogs.”
Heather tapped a French-manicured nail against her chin. “Well…I hope you don’t mind…but I would really like something unique. Something that suits my personality.”
Something with lots of frills and lace. And maybe a big lollipop. The bitchy thought popped into Sam’s head before she could prevent it.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Heather said, laying down her fork. “I promised to call my agent about a possible part playing a housewife in a commercial. He thinks I would be perfect for it.” Her eyelashes fluttered in response to Brad’s warm look. “I’ll be back in a minute, darling.”
She rose and glided gracefully away.
Sam watched her go, wondering how on earth the girl got her hips to sway like that.
She peeked at Brad to see his reaction. To her surprise, he was looking straight at her, paying no attention to Heather’s hips. A crooked smile quirked the corner of his mouth.
“So, what do you think?” His gaze was strangely intent as he asked the question.
“She’s…” Sam paused, several unkind remarks hovering on her tongue. She took a deep breath. “She’s perfect,” she admitted. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy, Brad.”
Brad leaned back against his seat, his face expressionless for a long moment. Then he smiled. “She’s amazing, isn’t she? I couldn’t believe my luck when she said yes to my proposal.” He stirred some cream into his coffee. “What about you, Sam? Are you seeing anyone?”
“No, not right now. I’ve been too busy at the shop.”
“Oh, yes, the shop. Are you planning on working there permanently?”
“No,” she said. “Not really. I’ll probably look for some other job soon.”
“Still haven’t made up your mind what you want to do with your life?”
Samantha pushed her rice around on her plate. “Not yet. I never could figure out what I wanted. Unlike you. You always knew, didn’t you, Brad?”
“Yes, I did. I still do.”
She’d never paid much attention before, but he really had the most determined chin she’d ever seen—a square jaw ending in a resolute knob. There was no softness beneath, no cleft to compromise it. “You’ve done very well for yourself. You’ve accomplished a lot.”
He shrugged. “A case of being in the right place at the right time.”
“You’re too modest.”
“So Heather tells me.” He grinned. “She’s an extraordinary woman. I really am the luckiest man alive.”
“I think Heather’s the lucky one.”
He leaned forward in his seat, his gaze intent. “Do you, Sam?”
“Of course. You’re my friend.”
He leaned back. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, then held out his hand. “Best friends, right?”
Nodding, she put her hand in his. They sat there for a moment, smiling at each other. His hand was much larger than hers, warm and strong.
Suddenly, for no reason she could think of, Sam felt like crying.
“Sam?” His fingers tightened on hers. “Are you okay?”
Sam blinked hard. “I’m fine.” But she had to force herself to smile.
Brad’s gaze went to her mouth, then flickered back up. “Uh, Sam…I hope you don’t mind me mentioning it, but you’ve got a green chili stuck in your teeth.”
Sam stopped smiling immediately. Licking her teeth with her tongue, she wondered uneasily how long the chili had been there.
Please don’t let Heather have seen it, she prayed silently. “Is it gone?” she asked, parting her lips again.
He shook his head. “Looks like it’s wedged in there pretty good.”
She stood up and put her napkin on her chair. “Please excuse me,” she muttered.
Weaving in between the tables toward the rear of the restaurant, she continued to try to find the chili with her tongue.
She entered the rest room, bared her teeth into the mirror, but saw no sign of any chilies. She must have gotten it out on the way, she thought.
She washed her hands, glad for the small respite to try to make sense of her fluctuating emotions. Ever since she’d heard of Brad’s plans to marry, she’d felt a bit off balance, a little shaky inside. Perhaps because in some odd way, she’d always thought of Brad as hers. Her rock. Her anchor. Her friend. She’d thought that nothing would ever change that. But she knew, without a doubt, that once he married Heather, everything would change. Everything would be completely different.
She washed her hands again, trying to banish the tears prickling at the back of her eyes. Really, she was being incredibly foolish and selfish. She and Brad could still be friends. She was happy for him. She was.
Feeling more in control, she held her palms under the dryer, muttering to herself, “I am happy for them. I am happy for them.”
Her nose twitched a little as she smelled cigarette smoke. It seemed as if someone was always lighting up in the bathroom, trying to circumvent the no-smoking laws. “I am happy for them.…”
A toilet flushed, and the door to one of the stalls opened to reveal Heather.
“Oh, it’s you,” the younger woman said. “I thought I was about to be busted.” Opening her tiny evening bag, she pulled out another cigarette and lit it. “You want one?”
“No, thank you,” Sam said automatically, hiding her surprise. With a cigarette in her hand, Heather didn’t appear nearly as young and sweet as she had in the restaurant. “Brad must have changed more than I thought—he used to hate smoking.”
“Are you kidding?” Heather snorted, smoke blowing from her nostrils. “He’s such a health freak, he’d probably break our engagement if he found out.”
“He doesn’t know?”
“Of course not. I’m not a fool. You won’t tell him, will you?”
Sam stared at her. Surely the girl couldn’t be serious? “I would think he could smell the smoke on your breath.”
“Oh, I’m very careful, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried—that is, I’m sure Brad loves you enough that he won’t care that you smoke.” Sam gave Heather a strained smile and tried to make a joke. “Although he may insist that you quit when you start having children.”
“Children—ha! I detest the creatures. No way am I going to have a passel of brats. They’d ruin my figure—not to mention my career.”
“But…but I thought you were giving up your career.”
“I had to tell Brad that, or he never would’ve proposed. He wants a little woman who will adore him. But I have plans of my own and no man is going to stand in my way.”
“Why are you marrying him, then?”