Mr Destiny (31 page)

Her expression said she was already mentally preparing herself for the worst as she walked in his direction. He used to enjoy
seeing that tentative look on people's faces. It made him feel important.

At the moment, all he felt was ashamed.

She bent down when she stopped beside his seat.

“We should be landing at JFK in about fifteen minutes, Mr. Wellington. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yes,” Harold said, looking up at her. “I hope you can accept my apology for being so rude to you a few weeks ago. My behavior
was totally unacceptable. I deeply apologize.”

She smiled, dimples flashing. “Oh, don't you worry about it, Mr. Wellington.” She patted him on the arm. “Everyone has an
off day now and then.”

A bell sounded.

She hurried off to assist someone behind him.

An off day?

How about an off life?

That's what his entire life had been—way off.

It was a sobering experience to wake up screaming and realize you weren't asleep—realize that you'd always been one of those
people who brightened up a room only if you
left
it.

He'd certainly been a chip off the old block, all right. He'd been exactly the type of son his dear old dad had always wanted.
Except lately, thoughts of his father made him incredibly sad.

Poor self-centered Dad.

What a bitter, wasted life.

Funny, that it had taken Carla walking out on him before he finally started seeing himself through everyone else's eyes. Not
that it had done him any good where Carla was concerned.

He'd tried to call her cell phone repeatedly, but to no avail. When he'd finally realized she never intended to answer his
call or call him back, he'd also realized he didn't know a thing about her.

He'd never even asked.

Not where she lived.

Not if she had family in Chicago.

Not who her friends were.

Nothing.

It simply hadn't mattered to him.

He'd logged Carla's life right into his Palm Pilot like he did everything else, assuming because of his money and his power
she would follow right along with his schedule like everyone else around him had always done.

Biggest mistake of my life.

He'd also thought of contacting the desk clerk, seeing what information he could get out of the clerk, but he'd eventually
decided against it. Besides, what was the point? Carla had made it perfectly clear she had no interest whatsoever in becoming
his mistress.

Plus, he already had a fiancée.

The fiancée who was going to become his wife that afternoon.

Kate.

Harold leaned his head back against the seat, thinking that at least maybe he would be a better husband to Kate now that he'd
had a complete attitude adjustment. He didn't love Kate, but he would be good to her.

He knew she didn't love him, either, but they'd talked about the whole “love” dilemma before he ever proposed to her. They
were both big skeptics when it came to love. Which was why they'd both agreed they were a compatible life match.

Compatible life match.

Something Carla definitely wasn't.

Men like him married well-bred women like Kate.

Plus, I could never disappoint Mother.

His mother adored Kate.

So, he and Kate would be married that afternoon.

He'd put Kate on a pedestal where a wife belonged.

He'd give Kate everything she ever wanted.

As for him?

Sadly, he'd spend the rest of his life aching and longing for Carla.

Kate had dressed as if she were going to a wedding— just not her own. Afternoon tea at the Cocktail Terrace called for dressy
attire—casual dressy or better.

She'd chosen a pale yellow dress, simple but elegant. She was also wearing the only pair of Manolos she owned. The open-toed
d'Orsay pumps with a three-and-a-half-inch heel were the same color as the dress. The shoes had been a birthday present from
Alex, who claimed by the time you reached thirty, every woman should have at least one pair of five-hundred-dollar shoes in
her closet.

Transportation to the Waldorf for Margaret and her grandmother had been provided by Harold's driver, but Kate had declined
that invitation. She'd taken a taxi instead.

This was not a day for polite conversation.

Her goal was to say what she had to say.

Then she intended to leave as quickly as possible.

With that thought in mind, Kate took Harold's engagement ring out of her purse. She slipped it on her finger for easy access,
then walked up to the hostess with a forced smile on her face.

“The Wellington table, please.”

She followed the hostess into the dining area and looked across the room when the hostess pointed in that direction. Margaret
and Grace were already seated at the table, looking exactly like what they were—two extremely attractive well-dressed women
enjoying each other's company and the formality of sitting down for afternoon tea.

If she aged as well as either of them, Kate would be happy.

Margaret's beauty in particular had always left Kate in awe—her natural blond coloring, her gentle ways. She'd asked Margaret
once why she'd never remarried after Harold's father died. She'd known the reason couldn't have been for lack of interest.
They were rarely out together that Kate didn't notice men Margaret's age and even younger openly admiring her.

Margaret's reply had been “one husband was enough for me.” At the time Kate had taken the remark as a tribute to her late
husband. In retrospect, she wondered if Margaret had meant it that way.

Kate continued making her way across the room, but winced when she noticed two large elegantly wrapped presents sitting on
the floor beside Margaret's chair. Parting gifts for the happy couple, no doubt. Margaret was thoughtful that way.

“Here is our girl now,” Margaret said, when Kate walked up to the table. She turned her smooth cheek up for Kate to kiss.

Kate kissed Margaret fondly, then repeated the same gesture for her grandmother.

Her worry about polite conversation, however, was unfounded. She'd no sooner seated herself at the table when she saw Harold
heading across the room in their direction.

Only something was wrong.

Harold usually commanded a room.

Today he looked subdued—almost humble.

Harold humble?

That was a laugh.

Unless.

Unless her grandmother had felt so guilty, she'd finally called Harold to warn him there wasn't going to be a wedding. Or,
he'd simply figured it out for himself. After all, they hadn't spoken directly to each other since their don't-ask-don't-tell
fight on the phone.

The thought that Harold knew she'd been serious about calling off the wedding was a relief in one way, yet it scared her in
another. If Harold already knew she wasn't going to marry him, that meant he'd had plenty of time to come up with a dozen
reasons why she should change her mind.

Pushover?

Not this time.

Harold seated himself at the table without saying a word to anyone.

He looked at Kate.

Kate looked at him.

“I can't marry you,” they said at the same time.

“What?” they both echoed again.

Grace looked at Harold.

Margaret looked at Kate.

“I'm sorry, Kate, I've fallen in love with someone else.”

“But that's fabulous, Harold, so have I.”

“What?” Margaret and Grace both shrieked.

Kate leaned across the table and handed him the ring.

“The cop?” Harold asked, slipping it into his pocket.

“Yes,” Kate said, “and he's wonderful.”

“Carla is wonderful, too,” Harold said with a big grin.

Grace looked at Kate. “What cop?”

Margaret turned to Harold. “Who's Carla?”

Afternoon tea at the Waldorf turned into a downright hootenanny after that. Harold was out of his chair, giving her—of all
things—a big genuine I'm-so-happy-for-you hug. Kate was hugging him back, wishing him nothing but happiness with the new woman
in his life.

Harold pulled her aside for a moment, leaving Grace and Margaret sitting at the table, stunned looks on their faces.

“Kate, I owe you a huge apology,” Harold said, “and if I've hurt you in any way, I'm terribly sorry for that. I knew I was
pushing you into something you didn't want to do. There's no excuse for my behavior.”

“I owe you an apology, too,” Kate said. “I never should have accepted your proposal. I want you to know I truly do hope you're
happy.”

He smiled. “Who knew two skeptics like us would actually fall in love?”

“Who knew?” Kate agreed, smiling. “But aren't you glad that we did?”

They walked back to the table.

Harold pulled her chair out for her.

Kate sat back down.

He remained standing.

He looked at his mother, then at Grace, and shrugged.

“Well, I did say I wanted this to be a big surprise.”

Kate laughed.

Margaret and Grace didn't.

Harold making a funny?

She couldn't believe it.

This Carla had to be some woman.

Love had definitely made Harold a better man.

“Well,” he said brightly. “You ladies continue enjoying your afternoon tea. Morgan will be at your disposal for as long as
you need him. But I'm off to hail a taxi. With any luck, I'll be back on a plane to Chicago within the hour.”

He bent down and kissed his mother on the cheek, waved good-bye to Kate and Grace, and hurried out of the dining area.

“I'm not sure what just happened here, are you, Grace?”

“The only thing I'm sure of, Margaret, is that there isn't going to be a wedding today.”

Kate reached out and took Grace and Margaret both by the hand. “I'm so sorry we've disappointed you,” Kate told them. “But
Harold seems happy, and so am I. I hope you'll both forgive us.”

They each mumbled responses that were more than acceptable under the circumstances.

Kate looked down, then back up at Margaret. “And I'm so sorry you went to the trouble to bring presents, Margaret. Save those
presents for the woman Harold
is
going to marry.”

“I didn't bring those,” Margaret said, looking down at the packages herself. “One of the waiters brought them over shortly
after we arrived and said they were for you. We assumed they were presents from Harold.”

“Isn't there a card?” Grace said. “I thought I saw a card attached to the top package.”

Kate scooted her chair back and looked down at the prettily wrapped packages. She bent down, picked up the card, and opened
it.

She recognized the handwriting immediately.

All the card said was—Go for it!

Alex had found what she was looking for in the closet.

It
wasn't
her lucky Kate Spade bag.

Kate sat there for a moment.

She looked up at Grace.

She looked over at Margaret.

“I'm going to need your help,” Kate said, and stood up from the table.

R
eally, Kate,” Grace fussed. “What is the point in all this nonsense?”

Kate didn't answer.

She turned around so Grace could zip up the back of her dress.

“Do you really have to torture me and poor Margaret further by showing us the dress you would have worn.
If
you and Harold hadn't suddenly lost your minds?”

“But it is a beautiful dress, Grace,” Margaret said, smiling at Kate. “And Kate looks absolutely beautiful in it.”

Kate turned around and looked at herself in the full-length bathroom mirror.

A tad wrinkled?

Yes.

Did she think Tony would notice?

Not a chance.

“I'm not showing you the dress, Gram,” Kate finally said, “I'm going to wear it.”

Grace's mouth dropped open. “Wear it? Where?”

“To Central Park,” Kate said, as if that made perfect sense.

“Central Park?” Margaret and Grace both echoed.

“Sorry, I don't have time to explain right now.”