Джеки Браун – Gorgeous Grooms: Her Stand-In Groom / Her Wish-List Bridegroom / Ordinary Girl, Society Groom (страница 14)

“And tacky, too, apparently,” Deirdra harrumphed. Her near fainting spell had apparently passed.

“We wanted you all to be there, of course,” Catherine said, as if her mother hadn’t spoken. “It just seemed better this way.”

“Well, then, by all means, let’s pop out the bubbly,” Felicity snarled. “We still have a few cases left over from Cath’s other wedding, don’t we, Daddy?”

“Felicity, there’s no need for your editorial comment,” Russell said.

“Yes, stop your annoying chatter,” Deirdra added. “You’re giving me one of my migraines.”

Felicity sat down on the settee, outwardly subdued. This was quite the role reversal, Catherine thought. Usually Catherine toed the line that Felicity regularly stepped over. Catherine hadn’t merely strayed a few inches into forbidden territory, though. With her unexpected marriage to Stephen she had taken one huge flying leap.

“I can’t believe you did this,” her mother said.

“We’re very disappointed,” her father added.

“I apologize for not including all of you in our plans or the ceremony,” Stephen said. “Catherine wanted to, but I insisted on secrecy. I felt it would be best to do this quickly and quietly.”

As he accepted the blame, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. The gesture seemed both chivalrous and protective. It seemed to say, We are a unit. And so it gave her strength.

Deirdra waved away his explanation. “There’s going to be plenty of talk now. Is this—” she said the word “this” as if it referred to something vile “—why things didn’t work out with Derek?”

“This has nothing to do with Derek,” Catherine replied, and then felt her face heat. In a way, it had everything to do with Derek.

“What were you thinking, Catherine?” her father asked.

Anger rose to the surface, the source of which she could not determine. But it was there, bubbling hot, as impossible to hold back as steam from a boiling pot. “I was thinking you’d be happy for me. I was thinking that after the fiasco with Derek you might be wish me well.”

“But Stephen?” Her mother sighed, as if the man were not standing in the room.

Beside her, Catherine felt him stiffen. “What’s the problem, Mother? He’s a good man, and I know it can’t be his pedigree. He comes from the same family as Derek.”

“But…” Deirdra let the thought go unfinished.

“But what?” Catherine persisted.

“I think I know where this is heading,” Stephen said, his voice quiet, his features tight. “I’m not the right Danbury, am I, Mrs. Canton?”

“It’s nothing like that.”

“Like what? What’s going on here?” Catherine asked, but she was afraid she knew. And it horrified her to think that her own mother could harbor the kind of prejudices that had already so wounded the man standing beside her.

“We’re sure you’re a fine man, Stephen. We just don’t know you well,” her father said.

“You can get to know him.” You can get to know both of us, she almost said, because in that instant she realized there was more than one stranger in the room.

Perhaps it was her pleading stare, or the fact that her mother preferred entertaining to arguing, but her parents seemed to thaw a little. Resignation, Catherine decided, would be a welcome substitute for acceptance at this point.

“I’d love some champagne,” Deirdra said. “Fetch a bottle from the cellar, would you, Russell? Felicity can get the glasses.”

She waved Catherine and Stephen toward the settee. “Come and sit.”

Catherine had barely settled onto the brocade upholstery when her mother added, “One day, you know, that settee will be yours.”

Chapter Six

“THAT went well,” Catherine said as they drove home after one of the most excruciatingly long and awkward hours of her life.

“Yeah. I’m sure they won’t go into mourning when our marriage ends.”

“Sorry about that.”

“We are what we are, Catherine.” And she knew he was talking about more than her parents.

Neither one spoke again until they arrived at the house. He parked the car in the garage and then held the back door for her.

As they passed through the kitchen, Catherine said, “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

The way he looked at her when he said it had her mouth going dry. Something simmered in his dark eyes, and the memory of their last kiss stirred her blood.

“I could fix you a sandwich.”

“A sandwich?” He smiled as if she’d told a joke. “Why not? But I’ll fix it myself. Is there anything you want?”

His question went beyond cold cuts, she was sure. She shook her head. “I’ll keep you company, if you’d like?”

“I’d like.”

She sat in the nook and watched him, the wealthy head of one of the most recognizable store chains in America, move around in the well-planned room in his stockinged feet.

When he was seated across from her, a huge sandwich and generous wedge of cake filling his plate, she said, “It looks like someone remembered your birthday.”

“Rosaria made it.”

Relief had her grinning. “I met her the other day.”

“Yes. She mentioned it.”

“She seems very nice. Does she just work for you the one day a week?”

Sandwich half way to his mouth, he paused. “Excuse me.”

“She mentioned that she does the grocery shopping for you.”

He dumped the sandwich back onto the plate. His tone angry, glacial, he said, “And you want to know what days she works for me?”

“I believe that’s what I asked.”

“Because someone who looks like her would of course be the hired help?”

“Stephen, did I miss something here? You’re suddenly angry and I have no idea why.”

“Of course you don’t. I don’t know why I expected you to. We are what we are,” he said, echoing his words from the drive home.

“If I’ve said something to offend you, please tell me so I can apologize.”

“Drop it. It’s not important.”

“It seems important to you. I’d like to know—”

“Rosaria is my aunt,” he interrupted. “You assumed she was the hired help.”

It was her turn to be angry. “Yes, I assumed. I saw a woman, wearing a uniform, putting away groceries in your kitchen. I put two and two together and came up with four.”

“Because that’s the stereotype.”

“Because no one told me differently.”

“And it never occurred to you that I would have family?” His voice rose and he said something in Spanish that she decided was not at all pleasant. “I do. A family that looks a hell of a lot more like me than I look like the Danburys. It is because of them that I know how to speak my mother’s language, even though my grandparents forbade me from doing so in their home. That only made me all the more determined to become fluent, which I was by the time I was thirteen.”

“Did you see them regularly, then?”

“I saw my maternal grandmother every day. When the Danburys wouldn’t allow her to visit me she offered to clean their house. She hired in as their maid so that she could be near me.”

His voice shook with emotion—anger, and something else that caused Catherine’s heart to ache for the little boy who had been denied so much.

“It’s because of mi abuelita that I have pictures of my mother. My grandparents would not allow a single snapshot of her to be displayed. They were ashamed of her, ashamed that their Harvard-educated son had married a Puerto Rican maid who spoke broken English.”